This was a force Rita could not overcome. Her strength was equal to the angler’s, but she could not drag him into the water. In a deadlock, the one who exhausted her stamina first would lose, and that would be her. No fish lingered nearby for her to pull down into the struggle. Her earlier trick had scared the other students away, leaving her without any chance to repeat it. The pier offered no help. This section had no supporting posts beneath it, as if designed to prevent tangled lines and stalemates. The boats? Too far away. Her line wasn’t long enough. As she skimmed the waves, Rita scanned the entire shoreline, then suddenly veered toward the black-haired barista’s pier. That pier was shorter than the one where White Bear stood, and it was at a corner, directly opposite his position. If she could leap across and wrap the line around, she might force an advantage. And near there floated a lone, idle boat that hadn’t gone out. Whether the corner of the pier or that small vessel, either could serve as an anchor point. The Blue-striped Bluru darted forward, slicing the sea with a white trail. Each time White Bear reeled, she broke the surface, skimming across the waves like she was running on them. It was not easy. White Bear seemed to sense her intent and yanked her back several times. The black-haired barista noticed as well, her gaze flicking to watch. Again and again Rita charged for the pier, again and again she was pulled back by the towering White Bear, taller than any building on the shoreline. At last, White Bear grew tired of toying. He began stepping back, paw on the reel, drawing the line in. Rita’s range of motion shrank with every turn. On Golden Hills’ largest screen, the whole crowd could see the Bluru straining forward with every ounce of strength. They could also see that White Bear was reeling her in. Though they could not see the specific skill tied to the bait, the game’s system had been "helpful." Above the screen glowed a bar, divided into ten segments. The more segments lit, the more important the skill was to the student. All ten were blazing now. Whatever this bait was, Rita considered it vital, something she could never bear to lose. Blood Elf murmured, "It must be a divine gift." Black Cat countered, "Could also be some top-tier skill Lightchaser taught her." Blood Elf sighed. "This whole setup is unfair for weapon users. Their core skills are tied to weapons. Earlier rounds they could scavenge or craft, but now they don’t even have hands. How do you fight with weapons? Mages have it easy." The pink-haired dwarf, face stern as she watched, finally spoke. "Who says you can’t use weapons? If she can’t figure that out herself, it doesn’t matter what she learns." Blood Elf blinked. "...Mind telling me your name?" "Why?" the dwarf asked flatly. "No reason. Just curious why you’re so confident." The dwarf’s lips curved in the beginning of a mocking smile. She was about to spit venom, then stopped, gaze fixed back on the screen. "There!" Blood Elf snapped her head up. On the ocean, the Blue-striped Bluru suddenly flared with light. Evolution? No—this was skill activation. Rita was trying something. Dragged back again and again, she cycled through her limited skills in her head. Time Walk seemed like the best bet. If she could leave the timeline, she would slip the hook. But the rules were clear. Skills had no effect on anglers or bait. She could escape, but the bait wouldn’t come with her. And this bait was too important. Even if she escaped, she would return. Worse, like the white-robed angler before, this one gave her no chance to dodge when he jerked the line. Whether from skill or superior rod, she couldn’t tell, but she knew: if she was hooked again, the outcome would be the same. She had to solve it now. Time Walk was out. Her recovered skills numbered fewer than ten. She remembered the days before Moonlight Marsh, when her skill list had been just as short. She used to pester Lightchaser on the way to Garbage Street, begging for more techniques. She asked every day. Lightchaser’s answers were always different. "The more skills you know, the more you waste time deciding instead of figuring out how to make one skill solve the problem." "A top assassin doesn’t need dozens of skills." "In the end, you’ll realize you only ever rely on a few." "Learn to treasure each skill you’re given." "Greedy cubs get carried off by dwarves at night and sold for gold." She also remembered asking, during her first-year winter break, if she could switch to ranged. Lightchaser had been irritated, but she’d asked for a reason. Rita swallowed the truth—that ranged combat meant better odds of surviving—and said instead that ranged fighters needed weapons less, that magic users didn’t depend on them. Lightchaser had refused, but explained why. "Our weapons aren’t so restrictive. If you’re willing, teeth can be weapons. Didn’t you use Throat Slash to bite out an enemy’s throat in the arena?" She had been right. Lightchaser was always right. Rita became the blade, the ocean her bone. She executed a Debone against the sea itself. The Bluru ripped through the water, waves surging two meters high. In a flash she surged forward dozens of meters, the reel screaming as line that had been drawn in was stripped back out. Over and over she Deboned the sea, until at last—before she could even wrap the line around the pier corner—the line snapped. She was free. And School Rule No. 801 was hers again. White Bear shrank to normal size, studied his broken line, and smiled faintly without showing emotion. Foolishness was still locked in a tug-of-war with Quex’s mini rod, but said nothing to Deceitful Bloom. He could see the demon had taken the match seriously—maybe not all out, but serious nonetheless. More than he had been during the Gourmet Street War. Even Captain, for once, did not mock. Rita had truly broken free by strength alone. Outside, the pink-haired dwarf chuckled softly, nodding. "Not bad." New ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄhapters are published on novelꞁire.net Blood Elf took a deep breath, twisted expression turning to Black Cat. "If I lose it and pick a fight with her later, will you heal me?" Black Cat, who had been staring at the dwarf for some time, finally looked back. His tone was firm. "No." Blood Elf: "..." Why?!