Amidst the Waves [Wuthering Waves]

"We're Resonators. A duel is a fair way to resolve this. Once it's settled, we forget it."

"A respectable duel. If any leniency is shown, I will leave the duel unconcluded."

These were the conditions they had set before the duel. Changli had sought a simple exchange—one where victory and defeat held no weight.

Initially, Kyorin found the idea agreeable. A battle fought for its own sake, with no lingering resentment, was something he could respect.

Yet, something had felt incomplete. There were no true constraints, no clear boundaries.

So, he had added one final condition—one that ensured neither of them would have to dwell on the outcome. It was a duel meant to be fought with conviction, free of hesitation or regret.

At first, he had admired Changli. For her age, she was an exceptional Resonator, and he did not deny it. But as their battle unfolded, her true intentions began to surface.

The Changli who had spoken of a fight devoid of enmity now seemed a farce. Kyorin had believed in those words, had respected her for them. Yet now, as he stood before her, something in him recoiled.

This duel—it wasn't about dueling itself.

It was about superiority.

Changli didn't fight to test her limits, or exchange blows in fair combat. She fought to prove something—to stand above.

And Kyorin felt his stomach churn with disdain. Every word she had spoken before now, every claim of a duel without resentment, felt hollow.

This woman wasn't a phoenix.

She was a snake.

And that enraged him completely.

The battle had taken a turn he could no longer ignore, leading to the moment where he struck Changli with enough force to send her tumbling, her teeth dislodging from the impact.

He stood there like a volcano on the verge of eruption, his fury raw and uncontained.

Shock rippled through the onlookers, but none were more stunned than DEVA.

She had never seen Kyorin like this before. His presence, usually as deep and unmoving as the ocean, now churned with a seething heat.

This was not just rage, not the kind that burned out in wild destruction—this was something far more dangerous. A quiet, simmering fury, controlled yet scorching, like a blade forged in searing flames.

Changli stood before him, breath unsteady, shoulders rigid beneath an unseen weight. She had not fought for the sake of strength, nor to settle their dispute as they had agreed. No—she had fought out of fear.

Fear of inadequacy. Fear of failing in her master's eyes. Fear of looking weak before the watching crowd. And in that fear, she had twisted this duel into something Kyorin detested.

A spectacle.

This was no longer a fight between Resonators—it had become a performance, a display meant for the eyes of the masses.

The battle had lost its meaning, warped into a contest of dominance where perception mattered more than the clash itself. And to Kyorin, that was the worst kind of battle.

He had agreed to a duel to settle their conflict—a true exchange of blows, where nothing lingered beyond the final strike. A fight that meant something only to the two locked in combat. But now, Changli had shattered that purpose.

When he finally spoke, his voice was colder than tempered steel.

"This is not a fight. This is just a performance." He spat; disdain evident in his voice.

Changli flinched, but he did not waver. His anger had nothing to do with winning or losing—it was about her intent.

The moment she cared more about how she was perceived than the battle itself, she had tainted it. This was no longer about them. It was about validation. About proving something to faceless spectators.

And that, to him, was unforgivable.

"If I lose here, I become a joke," Kyorin said, his tone sharp, unwavering. "If I win, I become a hero. Either way, it means nothing to me. But to you—it means everything."

His words struck like a blade. Changli remained silent.

"You do not fight for the battle itself. You fight to be seen." Disgust twisted his expression as he spat onto the ground near her feet, his contempt laid bare. "Do you even realize how pathetic that is?"

To him, her display of dominance was nothing more than a hollow performance—one that had completely desecrated the integrity of this duel.

Without another glance, he turned away, his decision already made.

"I will not fight for the sake of an audience," he declared, his voice firm. "If that is what you want—then find someone else."

He strode toward DEVA, lifting her effortlessly, his grip firm but not harsh.

DEVA, however, even as she transformed back to her gourd form, and hung on the side of his belt, her processors strained to comprehend the depths of his anger.

Kyorin was above such things, was he not?

He had always spoken of detachment, of existing beyond struggle and consequence. Then why had this ignited such fury within him?

Her circuits buzzed in search of clarity, the weight of his emotions an anomaly she could not compute.

Then, Kyorin's voice cut through her contemplation. "Something troubling you, DEVA?"

She turned to him, her synthetic voice measured yet uncertain. "I do not understand. Kyorin, you have always spoken of being unshaken, of embracing the present without attachment. Then why are you angry?"

Kyorin's gaze remained ahead, his expression unreadable. Then, he asked, "Tell me, DEVA, do you believe anger is always born from attachment?"

She hesitated. "It is an emotion. And emotions arise from desires, from expectations, from—"

"—From values." Kyorin's voice was quiet, yet unyielding. "And is it wrong to be angered when something you value is desecrated?"

DEVA processed his words, but before she could craft a response, he continued.

"I did not seek victory. Nor did I fight for pride. But I respected this battle." His gaze flickered back toward the dueling area, towards Changli. "And in that…" His voice dropped, tinged with something bitter. "I had foolishly expected the same from her."

DEVA's attention focused and refocused, shifting between Changli and Kyorin. And then, she understood.

His anger was not born of wounded pride. It did not stem from a loss or a failure.

No—his anger was because Changli had reduced the battle to something lesser. She had disrespected it, not just for him, but for herself.

Kyorin's rage was not personal. It was not for his own sake.

It was for the fight itself.

Her processors whirred, recalibrating her understanding of him.

'How unexpected of you,' she thought.

For all his indifference, for all his talk of detachment—

There were some things Kyorin believed were worth fighting for.

And some things… that were worth being angry for.

"You know," DEVA said, her tone carrying a trace of exasperation, "you could have been easy on the slap. You broke your wrist, and her face is swollen. What if it ends up disfigured?"

Kyorin barely spared her a glance. "DEVA," he uttered, his voice calm but resolute, "it seems you are not aware of how much I held back."

Her gourd form shook slightly as he continued, "To be honest, I had already reasoned with myself to heavily restrain my anger there."

His eyes, sharp as tempered steel, flickered with a thought unspoken before he finally voiced it.

"As a man, I believe that striking a woman is wrong. She is the wellspring of life, the bearer of creation, the nurturer of existence." His words were steady, deliberate. "But I cannot disrespect her, can I?"

"Disrespect?" DEVA repeated, her processors whirring.

"She entered this battle as a Resonator, didn't she?" He asked.

"Correct," DEVA replied.

"Then is there any reason I should fight her differently? Should I see her as a woman first and a Resonator second?" His voice was cool, unwavering.

"If a woman wields a sword in battle, is there any law—written or unwritten—that says she must not be met with one in return?" He questioned as in battle Kyroin saw any warrior regardless of their gender as equal.

DEVA processed his logic. It was simple, direct—unyielding.

But then Kyorin added, "Besides, you know of my past lives."

The moment he spoke those words, DEVA fell silent.

Because she did know.

This was a man who, in a past life, had drowned an entire world. In another, he had stood against an entire civilization, making the world itself his enemy.

And yet, he had done none of it out of mindless wrath or senseless hatred. He did so in calmness, out of necessity, out of exploration.

He had already lost everything a man could lose. He had already become everything a man could become.

What, then, was left to shake him? What was left to bind him?

And yet—here she was, thinking that something as mortal as rage could unsettle him.

DEVA imagined it then—if Kyorin could bring entire worlds to ruin in absolute calm, what would he be capable of if he were truly angry?

In truth, she should not even be surprised if he had beheaded Changli in a single motion. The fact that he had resolved his fury with just a slap...

That was mercy.

And for the first time, DEVA realized the sheer depth of Kyorin's restraint.

And now, Kyorin was just steps away from exiting the arena, but then, Changli's voice cut through the air.

"Resonator Dan!" she called.

He halted. Slowly, he turned his head, his gaze falling upon her.

Changli knelt, her breath unsteady, her chest rising and falling with the weight of realization.

The truth had struck her at last, crashing over her like a relentless tide—she had defiled this battle with hesitation, with expectation, with fear.

She had turned it into a measure of worth in the eyes of others instead of what it was meant to be—a clash between warriors, a duel that should have been untainted by pride or humiliation.

Her knees hit the ground.

"I was wrong," she admitted, her voice trembling beneath the weight of truth. "I forgot the meaning of our fight. I… let my fear of losing control me."

Her head bowed, not in submission, but in sincerity.

"Please… let us continue." She requested.

A silence stretched between them.

Then, Kyorin turned. His eyes searched her face, looking beyond the words to the heart of her resolve. And there, in the depths of her expression, he found it—sincerity.

He exhaled, the tempest within him settling into something quieter. The fury that had raged like a storm did not vanish, but it no longer consumed.

With a flick of his wrist, he unhooked DEVA from his belt. The gourd shimmered, shifting back into the form of his scythe.

"Then stand," he gestured with a broken wrist. "And fight properly this time."

The duel reignited.

The cheers from the sidelines roared, yet to the two Resonators locked in battle, they were distant echoes, nothing more than whispers beyond the battlefield.

This was no longer a fight for the crowd. It was no longer about proving anything to the world.

This was their fight.

Watching from the sidelines, Fu coughed lightly, shifting his gaze toward Xuanmiao.

"I hope you won't hold enmity toward that kid," he said cautiously, fearing Xuanmiao might bear a grudge for his student's humiliation.

But Xuanmiao merely grinned, his expression brimming with satisfaction.

"No, of course not," he answered. "Rather, I'm glad it ended this way."

And as those words left his lips, a final cheer erupted from the spectators—Kyorin, with his fractured wrist, had finally fallen.

Changli had won.

To be continued...