100 Failed Dates

Chapter 2: Duel of the Fates (and Flowers)

"Give it your best shot, Westfall," Chronis said, a slow, dangerous grin spreading across his face. "I've got all the time in the world."

Adrian’s face contorted, his silver hair catching the morning light as he stepped into a combat stance. "You’ve got a big mouth for a scholarship rat, Chronis. Do you even know how much this gauntlet costs? More than your family’s entire estate."

"Probably," Chronis replied, shifting his weight. "But does it come with a manual on how to actually land a hit? Because you’re looking a little stiff."

"Stiff?" Adrian let out a sharp, jagged laugh. "I’ll show you stiff when I’ve broken every bone in your legs."

"Wait, wait!" Lucan’s voice rang out as he came skidding around the corner, still clutching his half-empty bucket. "Chronis! What are you doing? That’s Adrian Westfall! You know, the guy who owns the training grounds? And most of the professors?"

"I know who he is, Lucan," Chronis said without breaking eye contact. "He’s the guy who thinks flowers belong to the loudest person in the room."

"They belong to the person with the status to deserve them!" Adrian roared. He lunged forward, the gauntlet trailing a wake of red sparks. "Burn!"

Chronis didn't even draw his practice wand. He simply took a half-step to the left, the glowing fist whistling past his ear so closely he could feel the heat.

"Missed," Chronis whispered.

"Shut up!" Adrian swung a backhand.

Chronis ducked, the movement fluid and effortless. "Missed again. You’re tilting, Adrian. Your weight is all on your heels."

"How are you—stay still!" Adrian swung a flurry of punches, each one bolstered by a concussive blast of mana.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

The cobblestones cracked under the pressure, sending dust and debris into the air. The growing crowd of students gasped, pulling back to give the duelists room.

"Is he serious?" someone in the crowd whispered. "Chronis is dodging Adrian Westfall like he’s practicing against a training dummy."

"Look at his feet," another student added. "He’s barely moving. It’s like he knows where the punch is going before Adrian even thinks it."

Lucan stared, his jaw hanging open. "Chronis, man... since when were you a ninja? Seriously, did you find a secret manual or something?"

"Just a lot of practice, Lucan!" Chronis shouted over the sound of Adrian’s grunts.

"I’ll kill you!" Adrian screamed, his face turning a deep shade of purple. He pulled his fist back, the runes on his gauntlet glowing with a blinding, incandescent light. "Crest of the Crimson Lion! Eat this!"

"Oh, the big one," Chronis muttered to himself. "Took you long enough. Loop forty-two, you used this at the five-minute mark. You're getting impatient today."

"What are you babbling about?" Adrian unleashed a massive cone of fire and force, the energy rippling toward Chronis like a tidal wave.

"Chronis, get out of there!" Mirelle cried out, her voice filled with sudden terror.

Chronis didn't run. He waited until the flames were inches from his face, then he pivoted on his right heel, tucked his shoulder, and rolled through the narrow gap in the spell’s dispersion pattern—the one flaw in the gauntlet’s design that he’d discovered three weeks ago.

He popped up directly behind Adrian.

"Nice light show," Chronis said, tapping Adrian on the shoulder. "But you’re wide open."

Adrian spun around, his eyes wide with shock. "How? That’s a Tier Three spell! No one dodges that at point-blank!"

"Maybe you should spend less money on gear and more time on your footwork," Chronis suggested. "You’re telegraphing every move like you’re reading a bedtime story."

"I’ll show you telegraphing!" Adrian swung a desperate, wide hook.

Chronis caught Adrian’s wrist. The heat from the gauntlet was intense, but he didn't let go. He used Adrian’s own momentum, stepping in and sweeping the noble’s legs out from under him.

With a heavy thud and a metallic clang, Adrian hit the ground, his silver hair splayed in the dirt.

The courtyard went silent. The only sound was the bubbling of the nearby fountain and the distant tolling of the academy bell.

"You... you tripped me?" Adrian gasped, looking up from the ground in utter disbelief. "You tripped a Westfall?"

"Technically, you tripped yourself," Chronis said, standing over him. "I just provided the floor."

"You’re dead," Adrian hissed, scrambling to his feet, his dignity in tatters. "I’ll have you expelled! I’ll have your scholarship revoked by noon!"

"For what? Defending myself in a fair duel you started?" Chronis asked, crossing his arms. "There are about fifty witnesses here, Adrian. Including a Royal Carriage crew. Probably not the best look for your 'prestigious' family."

Adrian looked around, finally noticing the crowd. He saw the whispers, the snickers, and the way the younger students were looking at him—not with fear, but with amusement.

"This isn't over," Adrian spat, pointing a trembling finger at Chronis. "You think you’re special because you can dodge? You’re a nobody. A glitch in the system."

"If being a nobody means I don't have to be a jerk, I'm fine with that," Chronis replied.

Adrian growled, turning on his heel and storming off toward the main hall, his gauntlet still sparking angrily.

Chronis let out a long breath, the adrenaline starting to fade. He turned back toward the fountain, a triumphant smile beginning to form. He’d done it. He’d handled the bully, saved the kids, and kept his cool.

"So," Chronis said, approaching Mirelle. "That was a bit of a detour. Sorry about the—"

He stopped. Mirelle wasn't smiling. She was looking at him with a look of deep, quiet disappointment.

"Mirelle?"

"Is that what you wanted, Chronis?" she asked softly.

"What? I... I just stood up to him. He was going to attack me."

"You provoked him," Mirelle said, gesturing to the scorched cobblestones. "I saw the whole thing. You were mocking him. You were playing with him like he was a toy."

"He’s a bully, Mirelle! He’s been terrorizing the lower-class students for years!"

"And how are you any different right now?" she asked, her voice steady but cold. "You had a dozen chances to walk away or de-escalate. Instead, you chose to humiliate him in front of everyone. You looked... you looked like you were enjoying it."

"I was just... I was trying to show you that I could handle it," Chronis stammered, feeling the ground shift beneath him. This wasn't how the loop was supposed to go. This wasn't the reaction he’d worked a hundred days for.

"I don't care about who can 'handle' a fight, Chronis," Mirelle said, looking down at the bouquet of Azure Lilies in her hands.

The intense heat from Adrian’s fire spell, combined with the shockwaves of mana, had done their work. The shimmering blue petals were curled and brown, the silver dew evaporated into a sticky, dull film. The flowers were dead.

"These are ruined," she said, her voice tinged with sadness.

"I can get more! I’ll go back to Silas, I’ll—"

"It's not about the flowers, Chronis. It's about the fact that you’d rather win a petty argument than keep a promise of a quiet morning." She sighed, handing the wilted bouquet back to him. "I have to get to my alchemy lab. My thesis won't write itself."

"Mirelle, wait! What about the tea? We were going to grab tea after class!"

She didn't stop. She didn't even look back. "I think I’d rather study alone today. Goodbye, Chronis."

Chronis stood frozen as she walked away, her practical braid swaying with every step. The crowd began to disperse, the excitement over, leaving him standing by the fountain alone.

"Hey, man," Lucan said, stepping up beside him and placing a hand on his shoulder. "That was... uh... that was some moves. Seriously. How did you do the leg sweep?"

Chronis didn't answer. He looked down at the dead lilies in his hand. The deep blue glow was completely gone, replaced by the smell of burnt vegetation.

"She’s just stressed, you know?" Lucan tried again. "The Mid-Terms are coming up. She’ll cool off by tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Chronis repeated, the word tasting like ash in his mouth.

"Yeah! Tomorrow’s a new day, right? Fresh start and all that."

Chronis looked up at the clock tower. The sun was fully over the horizon now. The day had barely begun, and yet, he already knew how it ended. He’d spent a hundred days trying to master the perfect morning, and he’d finally realized the one thing he couldn't control.

He couldn't script a heart.

"Yeah," Chronis whispered, his grip tightening on the shattered stems until they snapped. "There’s always tomorrow."

He looked at the fountain, then at the scorched earth where he’d humiliated Adrian. He’d won the fight, but he’d lost the girl. And in a world where time was his to command, that felt like the biggest failure of all.

"Lucan?" Chronis asked, his voice hollow.

"Yeah, buddy?"

"Does the water in that bucket still have the ice charms in it?"

Lucan blinked. "Uh, yeah? Why?"

Chronis took the bucket from his friend’s hand and, without a second thought, dumped the entire gallon of freezing, magically-chilled water over his own head.

"Gah! Holy—! Chronis! What the hell?" Lucan yelled, jumping back.

Chronis stood there, dripping wet, the cold shocking his system and numbing the frustration in his chest. He wiped the water from his eyes and looked at the sky.

"I needed a reset," Chronis muttered.

"You need a doctor! Or a priest! You’ve finally lost it, haven't you?"

Chronis didn't respond. He just started walking toward the dormitory, his wet boots squeaking on the stone.

"Where are you going now? We have Combat Theory in ten minutes!" Lucan shouted.

"I'm going to sleep," Chronis called back over his shoulder. "I've got a very long day ahead of me. Again."

He didn't care about the classes. He didn't care about the stares. He just wanted the sun to go down so it could come back up. He had ninety-nine versions of a mistake to fix, and he was going to need every second of the next loop to figure out how to be a hero without being a jerk.

As he reached his door, he paused, looking at the blue-winged warbler still chirping on the windowsill.

"Enjoy it while it lasts, bird," Chronis said, his voice grim. "Because tomorrow morning, we’re doing this all over again. And this time, I’m leaving the ego at the door."

He slammed the door shut, the sound echoing through the empty hallway like a gavel. The loop wasn't a gift, he realized. It was a mirror. And he didn't like what he’d seen in it today.