Transmigrated as the Cuck.... WTF!!!
Chapter 81. Domestic Abuse!!!

Chapter 81: 81. Domestic Abuse!!!

The class started filing out, following Celia through an arched doorway that led into the practical training grounds in Wing 6. The murmurs had resumed—louder now. Everyone was buzzing about the combat pairs.

Some were thrilled.

Most were terrified.

As we stepped into the training coliseum, the atmosphere changed.

Massively.

The ceiling arched high above us, enchanted to reflect the sky outside. Marble stone tiles lined the ground, etched with glowing sigils.

Mana saturation in the air was thicker than outside. Every breath felt like it was laced with power.

Celia walked to the center of the coliseum and turned. "You’ve all been paired based on compatibility, potential synergy, and your unique abilities. These evaluations were drawn from your entrance records and mana signatures."

She paused.

"In other words... this wasn’t random."

I frowned. That meant whoever made the decision thought Amelia and I would work well together.

Or maybe they thought pairing a volatile, reckless bastard with a calm, composed noblewoman would create balance.

’...Idiots.’

"Your first test is simple," Celia continued, her voice booming with clarity. "Fight your partner. No lethal attacks. No holding back. First to yield, loses. Fainting counts as yielding. Being unconscious doesn’t win you anything here."

I couldn’t help but snicker... of course inwardly.

Amelia let out a soft breath beside me. "I thought we were partners, not opponents."

"You heard her," I said. "This isn’t about teamwork. It’s about gauging how we function under pressure."

Celia pointed to the center arena platform.

"Lancaster. Everhart. You’re first."

Of course. ’Perks of being with the heroine, I guess.’

I exhaled slowly. "You ready?"

Amelia gave me a side glance. "Are you?"

We stepped forward, walking across the glowing sigil-covered floor, climbing the short steps up to the platform. The moment our feet hit the arena, a dome of light shimmered around us, sealing us in.

The class went quiet.

All eyes on us.

Celia raised her hand. "Begin."

Just because Amelia was a girl—and technically my fiancée—didn’t mean I was going to back down.

I believed in equality. I was a feminist, through and through.

Equal rights, equal fights. And equal privileges. Like being able to walk around bare-chested like the boys.

’Yup. They definitely deserved that one.’

But my noble, virtuous thoughts—along with some very ’hardening’ feelings—were abruptly thrown into the cold, merciless abyss the moment Amelia made her move.

She conjured her sword in a blink.

A rapier.

Pure white. Serene. Like moonlit snow resting on a winter lake. A perfect reflection of her elements—ice, snow and water. Flowing and calm. Lethal and sharp.

Beautiful. Deadly.

Meanwhile, I... had whatever the hell my elements were.

Self-sabotage? One erased my memories and the other played me like a controller.

Hell, I’d trade them all for a boring old fireball spell at this point.

But I wasn’t here to cry about that. This wasn’t a therapy session.

Amelia moved.

Her rapier shot forward, a straight-line thrust aiming for my throat.

I ducked. Effortlessly. Gracefully. Almost smugly.

But—and this is important—a big fucking but—

It was a goddamn feint.

The moment my head dipped, her left leg shot up and rammed straight into my gut.

Air left my lungs like a deflating balloon.

I staggered. Groaned.

Her boots were definitely enchanted, I definitely wasn’t saying that because I was salty. My stomach would be carrying that signature for the next week.

She wasn’t playing nice.

And then—

The floor beneath us shifted. Turned slick. Frosted over.

Snow.

A whole layer of the damn stuff blanketed the arena, slowing my movement, locking my boots just enough to ruin my balance.

Her rapier glimmered again.

It came for me, tip-first, aimed directly at my chest.

And then it pierced me.

Dead center.

The room went still.

Amelia froze, her crimson eyes wide in disbelief, her hand trembling.

She hadn’t meant to. That much was clear.

She had pulled her thrust. I could feel it. Her movements were measured. Calculated. Controlled.

Which meant—

She wasn’t the one who made her arm move forward.

I was.

[Phantom Surge].

My body flickered a few feet behind her, cloak fluttering, a whisper of motion.

I had pushed her. Just enough to make the thrust land.

The shock on her face? Priceless.

She slowly turned, her wide eyes locking with mine.

I winked. "What’s up, sweetheart?"

Her jaw parted, but before any words escaped, I moved.

Arms coiled around her waist.

And then—

Boom.

I suplexed her.

Hard.

The ground cracked where her back met it, her head smacking against the frosted marble floor with a dull thud.

Gasps rang out. One student even shrieked.

Amelia groaned, dazed but still conscious. She tried to twist away, to rise, but my hand was faster.

It surged up and pinned her throat—not hard enough to crush, but enough to send a message.

I leaned in close. Voice low. Cold.

"Yield."

She shivered beneath me. Not from fear. From the ice in my tone.

For a long moment, she didn’t speak.

Then—finally—she met my eyes, her own expression softening.

"I yield."

The barrier dome dispersed with a flicker of golden light.

Silence fell over the arena.

Then the sound of heels echoed. Sharp. Crisp. Commanding.

Professor Celia entered the ring, her expression unreadable.

Her hand landed on my shoulder.

"Well done, Mister Lancaster," she said. "You’ve got enough skill to back up your barking."

I blinked.

Really?

Barking?

I stood slowly, brushing frost from my clothes, and turned to meet her gaze directly.

"Barking?" I repeated. "That’s a pretty poor choice of words."

She tilted her head slightly. "Should I have said growling instead?"

I gave her a look. "If you’re calling me a mutt, I’d at least like to know what breed."

Celia’s lips twitched—barely. Almost like a smirk. But it vanished as quickly as it came.

"I don’t care what kind of beast you are, Lancaster," she said smoothly. "Just don’t bite the wrong throat."

’Instructions unclear; I will bite you.’

With that, she turned and walked off, calling the next pair.

Behind me, Amelia sat up slowly, rubbing the back of her head, snowy hair tousled and full of melting snow.

I offered a hand. She stared at it for a moment... then took it.

"Was that really necessary?" she muttered, standing with my help.

"Absolutely," I said. "For equality."

She just stared at me, with deadpan eyes.

And that was enough.