Chapter 23 – The Duel of the White Handkerchief

The cafeteria buzzed with the usual lunchtime chaos.

Students crowded around tables, plates clattering, conversations overlapping into a wall of noise. The smell of roasted meat and fresh bread hung thick in the air. Alfred sat alone at a corner table, sandwich in hand, completely oblivious to the wide berth everyone gave him.

He took a bite, mayonnaise squishing out the side.

(Man, they really load these things up. Should’ve asked for less mayo.)

He grabbed the white handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his mouth. A blob of mayo clung to the corner of his lip. He wiped again, more thoroughly this time. The fabric slipped from his fingers like it had a mind of its own.

The handkerchief fluttered down in slow motion.

It landed at the polished boots of Cedric Ashford, Knight Class top student, three-time tournament champion, and owner of the most condescending smirk in Starfall Academy. Cedric froze mid-conversation, his fork hovering halfway to his mouth. His two cronies went silent. Every eye in their section turned to the white cloth on the floor.

The cafeteria noise died like someone pulled the plug.

(Oh, butterfingers. Hope it didn’t get dirty.)

Alfred bent down to pick it up.

“Stay back!”

Cedric’s chair screeched against the floor as he shot to his feet. His hand flew to the ornate sword at his hip, fingers wrapping around the hilt. His face had gone pale, then flushed red with what looked like fury. Or maybe fear. Alfred couldn’t tell.

(Dude, it’s just a napkin. Why’s he freaking out?)

“You dare—”

Cedric’s voice cracked slightly before he steadied it.

“You dare issue the White Challenge to me? Here? In front of everyone?”

Alfred straightened up, napkin forgotten.

“Uh, what?”

(White Challenge? Is that like a cafeteria rule I missed?)

Cedric drew his sword fully now, the blade singing as it left the scabbard. Sunlight from the high windows caught the polished steel. Students scrambled back, chairs toppling, trays abandoned. A circle formed around them like water fleeing from oil.

(He’s actually pulling a sword. Over a napkin. This school is lowkey unhinged.)

Cedric’s hands trembled on the grip, but his stance was textbook perfect.

(Look at his eyes. That dead, bored expression. He dropped it so casually, like my life means nothing more than a piece of cloth to be discarded. The disrespect. The absolute audacity.)

“I accept your challenge, Nightshade.”

His voice rang through the silent cafeteria.

“May the gods witness this duel to the death!”

Alfred blinked twice, processing the words.

“Wait, death? Bro, I just dropped my—”

“Silence! The challenge is issued and accepted. There is no withdrawal. No mercy. Only one of us leaves this circle alive.”

(He thinks I’m gonna kill him over a napkin? What kind of medieval nonsense is this?)

Luna appeared from nowhere, perched on a nearby table edge. Her wings sparkled with barely contained glee. She kicked her tiny legs back and forth, chin resting in her hands like she was watching her favorite show.

(Oh this is going to be good. I should’ve brought snacks.)

Elizabeth materialized at the circle’s edge, notebook already open. Her pen moved frantically across the page, black-dyed hair falling over her face as she hunched forward. Her eyes gleamed with manic devotion.

(The White Challenge. Ancient. Irrevocable. Lord Alfred issues it with such casual dominance. He doesn’t even deign to draw a weapon. The psychological warfare is magnificent.)

Alfred looked around at the crowd, then back at Cedric.

“Listen man, I think there’s been a huge misunderstanding—”

“Enough talk!”

Cedric lunged forward, his blade a silver blur.

“Lightning Thrust!”

The technique was famous, taught only to the academy’s elite. Cedric’s body became a comet of speed and steel, closing the distance in a heartbeat. The blade aimed straight for Alfred’s heart, moving faster than most students could even see.

Alfred’s eyes widened.

(Oh crap, he’s actually coming at me. Wait—he’s moving too fast. He’s gonna trip!)

Cedric’s form was perfect, too perfect, like a textbook illustration. But Alfred had seen enough martial arts tournaments to recognize overcommitment when he saw it. The guy was putting everything into this one strike. If he missed or got thrown off balance, he’d eat floor.

Alfred stepped forward instinctively, arms outstretched.

“Woah, careful there—”

(Why are people in this world so clumsy? First Grom, now this guy.)

Cedric’s eyes went wider than dinner plates.

(He’s stepping INTO my attack range? Without a weapon? Without even raising his hands to defend? He’s—he’s planning to catch my blade with his bare skin! The disrespect! The overwhelming confidence! I’m dead. I’m so dead. He’s going to counter and I won’t even see it coming—)

The sudden spike of fear threw off Cedric’s rhythm. His front foot landed half an inch off target. His back leg didn’t compensate. His perfect form crumbled like wet paper. The sword swung wide, missing Alfred by a solid foot.

Cedric’s momentum carried him forward.

His boot caught on absolutely nothing.

He pitched forward, face-first, directly into Alfred’s abandoned sandwich on the table. Mayo exploded outward. Lettuce went flying. The tomato slice stuck to Cedric’s forehead like a sad, red badge of failure. His sword clattered to the floor, spinning away.

The cafeteria was dead silent.

Alfred stood there, hands still outstretched in his aborted attempt to catch the guy. His face was a mask of pure confusion.

(Did he just… faceplant into my lunch? Over a napkin?)

Cedric pushed himself up slowly, mayo dripping from his chin. His perfect hair was ruined, plastered to his head with sandwich debris. His eyes were unfocused, dazed. A piece of bread clung to his shoulder.

Alfred bent down and picked up his handkerchief.

“Here, let me help you up.”

He reached out, grasping Cedric’s arm and hauling him to his feet with easy strength. Cedric swayed slightly, still stunned. Alfred started brushing the crumbs and mayo off Cedric’s uniform with the white handkerchief, patting his shoulders, dusting off his chest.

(Poor guy. That’s gonna be embarrassing later. At least I can help clean him up.)

Cedric stared at the handkerchief moving across his chest. Each gentle pat felt like a death sentence. Each brush of the cloth screamed a message into his soul.

(The white cloth. He’s… he’s wiping me with it. Like dust. Like I’m nothing. ‘I could turn you to dust anytime.’ That’s what this means. He’s showing everyone. He defeated me without drawing a weapon, without breaking a sweat, and now he’s demonstrating how completely beneath him I am.)

Tears welled in Cedric’s eyes.

He dropped to his knees, head bowed.

“I surrender!”

His voice cracked, raw with emotion.

“I pledge my sword, my skill, my very life to you, Lord Nightshade! You showed me mercy when you could have wiped my existence from this world. I am yours to command.”

The cafeteria erupted into whispers. Students pulled out phones, scribbling notes, recording everything. This was legendary. The top Knight Class student, defeated and sworn to service in under two minutes.

Alfred froze, handkerchief still in hand.

(Why is he crying? It was just a sandwich. Like, yeah it was a good sandwich, but not worth tears. This school is so weird.)

“Uh, you don’t have to—”

“I swear it on my family name, on the blade I carry, on every honor I’ve ever claimed.”

Cedric’s fists pressed against the floor.

“You are the strongest. I was a fool to think otherwise.”

(I literally just helped him up. That’s what normal people do. Why is everyone acting like I just conquered a kingdom?)

Luna floated down from her perch, circling Alfred’s head with a massive grin.

“And the winner, by overwhelming superiority and display of mercy—Alfred Nightshade!”

Her voice carried through the cafeteria like a bell.

(This is the best thing I’ve seen in centuries. He has no idea. No idea at all.)

The crowd erupted into applause, hesitant at first, then thunderous. Students bowed their heads. Some looked terrified. Others looked awed. A few Knight Class students were helping their traumatized champion to his feet, but Cedric kept his eyes locked on Alfred like a loyal puppy.

Elizabeth’s pen moved faster than humanly possible.

She was writing so hard the paper tore in places. Her handwriting devolved into frantic scrawls.

(Lord Alfred conquered the Knight Class with a piece of cloth. Economy of force: Absolute. Psychological dominance: Unparalleled. He didn’t even finish his sandwich. The confidence. The casual dismissal of the academy’s so-called ‘elite.’ He is everything. He is perfection. This confirms it. He is the destined Demon King, and I will stand at his right hand when he claims his throne.)

She looked up, eyes wild with devotion.

“My lord! Shall I record this as your first official vassal?”

Alfred turned to her, still holding the mayo-stained handkerchief.

“Record what? The dude slipped and fell into my lunch. I was just helping him up.”

(These people are reading way too much into everything. I just wanted to eat in peace.)

Elizabeth’s smile widened impossibly.

“Your humility knows no bounds.”

She scribbled more notes, underlining certain words three times.

Cedric finally stood, his friends supporting him on either side. He looked at Alfred with something between terror and worship. His voice was hoarse.

“When you need me, I will answer. No matter the task, no matter the danger.”

Alfred scratched his head, completely lost.

“Cool, I guess? But seriously, you should probably wash that mayo off before it stains.”

(I’m giving genuine advice and somehow I feel like it’s gonna be misinterpreted again.)

Cedric bowed so low his forehead almost touched his knees.

“Your wisdom shall guide me.”

Alfred watched him shuffle away, surrounded by whispering students. The cafeteria slowly returned to normal volume, though eyes kept darting back to him. Luna settled on his shoulder, practically vibrating with suppressed laughter.

“You know, Alfred, you really have a gift.”

“A gift for what? Dropping stuff and confusing people?”

(That’s literally all I did. Dropped a napkin and tried to help a guy who tripped.)

Luna’s grin was pure mischief.

“Something like that.”

Alfred looked down at his ruined sandwich, then at the white handkerchief in his hand. Mayo and tomato juice had stained it pretty badly. He sighed, pocketing it anyway.

(There goes lunch. And somehow I gained a crying follower. This world makes zero sense.)

Elizabeth appeared at his elbow, notebook clutched to her chest.

“Lord Alfred, shall I arrange a proper oath ceremony for your new vassal? Perhaps in the grand hall? With witnesses from all the major houses?”

“Please no. I just want to eat.”

(Why does everything escalate so fast here? It’s exhausting.)

She nodded enthusiastically, completely missing his tone.

“Of course. You prefer to build your forces quietly, in the shadows. Brilliant strategy, my lord.”

Alfred gave up, turning toward the exit.

The crowd parted before him like he was radioactive. Students pressed themselves against walls. Some bowed. Others fled entirely. Luna hummed a cheerful tune on his shoulder, occasionally giggling when someone looked particularly terrified.

(I dropped a napkin. That’s it. That’s all I did. And now I apparently have a sworn knight and everyone thinks I’m some kind of duel master. I hate it here.)

Behind him, Elizabeth continued writing, her eyes gleaming with fervor.

Luna glanced back at the chaos, then at Alfred’s oblivious face.

(This never gets old. Never ever gets old.)