Miss Witch Doesn't Want to Become a Songstress-Chapter 185

At night, the cityscape was even more vibrant than during the day. Perhaps only after work did people finally get a moment to breathe.

Inside a brightly lit shop window, a mermaid floated in a pool of glowing liquid, singing softly. Her voice, amplified through speakers, filled the store while her mesmerizing figure captivated passing pedestrians.

Red exhaust trails streaked through the sky as sleek, chrome-plated hovercars glided by. Their polished surfaces reflected the flashing billboards, neon lights dancing across them in a cascade of color.

Those who couldn’t afford a car were crammed into overcrowded maglev trains, surrounded by the mixed scents of sweat and perfume, silently praying to reach their destinations quickly. They didn’t think of it as "going home"—after all, the tiny rented rooms they lived in were far from what they could truly call a home.

Under dim streetlights, groups of "Night Wanderers" dressed in fluorescent outfits drifted aimlessly. During the day, they were invisible—ordinary, forgettable, lost in the crowd. But at night, their glow-in-the-dark clothing, marked with symbols and insignias, made them stand out, expressing their only remaining sense of "free will."

They longed to assert their identity, to carve out a presence in this vast sea of people. They wanted to distinguish themselves from AIs that could replace them at any moment. They pursued what they called "individuality," because if they let even that slip away, they wouldn’t be able to convince themselves that they had any reason to exist over an AI.

Beneath the city, in hidden tunnels and secluded underpasses, graffiti covered every surface. Some expressed resentment toward society, some were desperate cries for help, while others simply recorded the frustrations and despair of their creators.

Technological advancements had driven productivity to unprecedented heights, making countless jobs obsolete. While some benefited from newfound leisure, those left without work were shunned by society—branded as failures, unworthy of government support.

If a person lived from birth to death indulging in nothing but food, drink, and entertainment without ever contributing labor, what meaning did their existence hold for society? Did society have an obligation to support such people? And was it fair to those who toiled and paid taxes?

The liberation of productivity had not ushered in a utopia. Even in high-welfare societies, people were still expected to actively seek their place within the system. Humans needed recognition, a means to prove their value—value that was acknowledged by others.

Not everyone possessed the mental fortitude to reject the values imposed by society. Humans, after all, were animals—animals that could be unconsciously domesticated. Once the domestication was complete, a single, unified value system took hold. Just like countless others, they would chase after fame and fortune, trapped in an endless spiral of competition.

Physiologically, all life needed was space, food, and water to survive. But in this era, after witnessing the dazzling brilliance of the city lights, no one could bear the thought of living in a gutter.

Chasing dreams was a beautiful thing, but in a ruthless and unfair competition, even beautiful things could cut deep.

The internet showcased only the best sides of countless people. Yet behind those dazzling peaks stood mountains of failure, built upon the crushed aspirations of the many. People had grown accustomed to seeing only perfection. Any minor imperfection was met with scorn. As expectations rose higher and higher, reality became unbearable. In the end, people preferred to believe in illusionary beauty rather than confront an incomplete, flawed reality.

"What a sorrowful world," someone murmured.

At the top of a neon-lit skyscraper, Hestia Thilan gazed out over the city’s nightscape. The wind tousled her hair, while the shifting beams of searchlights painted her face in shades of blue and violet.

After spending six stable and fulfilling months in the academy, this was her first time stepping out—standing over the vibrant metropolis of Southern 1st District at night.

Tonight was the duel between the Hat and Dagger club and the Meteor Spear club from Thunder Edge Academy. These inter-academy competitions were a routine occurrence each semester, keeping the top institutions in the Star Region locked in constant rivalry.

On a skybridge below, a group of students from Thunder Edge Academy stood waiting. Dressed in blue trench coats, they numbered about a hundred. Some wielded electrified spears that crackled with energy, others idly kept their hands in their pockets, glancing around in boredom, while a few engaged in video calls with distant friends through their personal terminals.

"Are they still not here? Did those cowards from Edess Academy get too scared to accept the challenge?" a student in blue glasses twirled a keychain around his finger, complaining impatiently.

"Who knows? I doubt the Edess students are that spineless, but after their losses last year—even failing to place in the Winter Festival Tournament—they’ve probably given up," another replied.

"Hah! And they kept boasting about challenging Saint Ingo. I say we should be the ones taking on Saint Ingo’s throne, while those little roses from Edess should just stay in their corner."

As their impatience grew, movement finally stirred on the opposite side of the skybridge.

Around twenty hovercars sliced through the city’s vibrant nightscape, coming to a stop by the roadside. One by one, students clad in black uniforms stepped out. Some wore hoods, others tactical visors, and a few carried equipment cases. But they all shared one thing in common—the swords in their hands.

Though unsharpened, the engraved patterns along the blades shimmered with latent power. Infused with magic, these swords could pierce electromagnetic fields and breach certain magical barriers with ease.

"They’re finally here. Those Edess Academy bastards," someone murmured.

The students in blue trench coats fell silent. They closed ranks, setting aside their personal devices. Their casual postures shifted into combat readiness as they tightened their grips on the engraved weapons in their hands.

Overhead, high-definition camera drones silently ascended. They hovered on both sides of the skybridge, capturing every detail of the event. Though this was merely a battle between school clubs, numerous media outlets had taken interest in the match. Even the Southern 1st District authorities had stationed observers nearby to ensure the confrontation remained within reasonable limits.

Classroom achievements alone were never enough to convince the world of one’s true strength. Inter-academy duels served as the ultimate proving ground.

Victory brought honor, increased funding, and greater opportunities. Defeat tarnished reputations and led to gradual obsolescence. This rigorous system ensured that the top ten academies in the Star Region maintained their high standards, never daring to slack off.

"Who will emerge victorious tonight? Will it be the rising dark horse, Thunder Edge Academy, who shocked everyone in the Winter Festival Tournament? Or will Edess Academy, locked in their eternal struggle against Saint Ingo, once again prove their dominance? Let us witness the outcome!"

Across the city, countless exhausted office workers sat before cheap, mass-produced meals, projecting the live broadcast onto their personal terminals. In their rare moments of leisure after a long, grueling day, they watched the match unfold with anticipation.

Most of them had already given up on advancing further in life, but seeing these young warriors in their prime stirred something deep within them.

"If only I were one of them—how thrilling, how exhilarating that would be."

For now, the projection on their screens showed a man stepping forward. He wore deep pink tactical goggles and carried a massive greatsword on his back. As he walked, he slowly unsheathed the blade, its surface gleaming under the city lights.

Behind him, one by one, the black-clad students of Edess Academy drew their own swords. Their blades shimmered, casting glimmers of light into the night.

Like sparks igniting in the darkness, they surged forward—toward the sea of blue waiting on the bridge.

The battle was about to begin.