Heroine Creation: All My Summons Are Custom Made

Lancet let Kasto drag him through the Academy’s lower levels without protest, though his thoughts were already running ahead of them.

They were stepping down into the Old Training Arena, half-forgotten space beneath the Academy, where the rules loosened and the students who liked to break things came to do it away from the eyes of professors.

It had been some time since Lancet had set foot there. The last time, he had fought the Terrible Three and their ugly summons, and the place had already been a ruin even before they were done with it.

The cracked floor, the broken stands, the splintered stone pavements and gashes in the walls all carried the memory of battles fought too hard for too long, until the arena itself looked less like a training ground and more like a wound that had never finished healing.

When Lancet and Kasto emerged onto one of the fractured upper ledges, students were already gathered inside — another proof of speed of gossip in Awakener Supreme.

Lancet saw that nearly all of them were first-years, standing shoulder to shoulder on the broken seating and cracked platforms above the arena floor, craning their necks and staring down with the rapt hunger only young Awakeners could bring to a forbidden fight.

Their faces were lit with excitement, nerves, curiosity, and reckless fascination. Even the Inter-Class Competitions didn’t scratch the itch students had when it came to watching fights.

Knowing this was exactly the kind of spectacle they were not supposed to be watching made it all the more fun.

In the center of it all stood Luke Travers, holding a firm stance with his legendary blade Sunpiercer held out before him like a challenge made physical. Across from him was Renan Falconhart, calm as winter water, one hand resting lightly on the pommel of Black Gale as though the entire situation was beneath the need for urgency.

Luke looked like he had been burning from the inside for this moment.

”Do it!” he shouted, his voice cracking across the arena. ”Draw your sword and let us battle! Combat duel! You versus me!”

Lancet’s eyes widened as he looked down from the broken slab where he stood. ”What the hell are you doing, Luke?” he muttered under his breath, and Kasto beside him made a low sound that suggested he was asking himself the exact same thing.

Renan looked entirely unbothered. He simply looked at Luke with a calm, faintly bored expression that angered the Arsenal even more. ”I’ve already beaten you before,” he said at last. ”I know how this ends, and I do not particularly want to repeat it.”

Luke’s grip tightened around Sunpiercer. ”You’re already here!” he shouted. ”So do it. Fight me!”

Renan’s expression remained flat. ”The only reason I am here is because you lured me here. You tricked me. You said Lancet was waiting here. That he wanted to fight.”

Lancet’s brow twitched. He glanced at Kasto, who looked as irritated as he felt and just as unwilling to interrupt the disaster unfolding in front of them.

Luke’s eyes narrowed. There was jealousy in the look, but something more raw too, something ugly and desperate. The challenge didn’t feel like posturing anymore. Now, it seemed like a wound Luke had been trying to cut out of himself.

”So you won’t fight me,” he said with a lower, despondent pitch, ”but you’ll fight Lancet? He’s not as good as I am in combat. I’m an Arsenal. If you want a challenge, then fight me. Or are you a coward?”

Lancet watched Renan for any sign of temper, but the Specialist only looked at Luke with mild, almost disappointing disinterest.

”No,” Renan said. ”I just do not care.”

That, more than anything else, made Luke look as though he might explode.

He had clearly come here with the intent to corner Renan into accepting a duel. If he wanted, he could force the duel out of Renan simply by attacking him.

But Luke didn’t want that. He wanted this to be a proper duel. He wanted Renan to look at him, accept him, and lose to him in a way that would mean something. There was something almost noble in the stubbornness, if one ignored how absolutely foolish it was.

Kasto leaned forward from beside Lancet and shouted down into the arena, frustration thick in his voice. ”Stop, Luke! You do not have to do this. Renan is the strongest in Year One. We all know that.”

Luke didn’t look at his friend, his teeth were bared. ”Shut up, Kasto! I need this duel! I have to defeat him! I have to prove myself!”

Renan’s gaze sharpened a fraction, now less bored and more observant as he studied Luke. After a moment, in a tone that was almost too calm to be sincere, he said, ”If this duel means that much to you, then surely your friend Lancet can agree to a deal that lets me give it to you.”

Luke blinked and looked up.

Lancet went still.

Then, slowly, Renan lifted his head and looked past his challenger, his eyes finding Lancet in the stands.

”What deal?” Luke asked.

Renan straightened slightly, then drew Black Gale from its resting place with a smooth metallic whisper that turned the entire arena’s attention toward him.

Silver and black energy spiraled around the blade in twisting currents, dark and brilliant at once, and he pointed the tip directly toward the broken ledge where Lancet stood. The gesture was so precise it felt personal.

”If I defeat you,” Renan said, ”then Lancet must accept a duel with me. Do you accept?” His eyes remained fixed on the ledge above, though the words were for Luke as much as they were for everyone watching. ”Will you help your friend get the duel he wants, or will you back down from a fight?”

For a second, Lancet did not move.

Of all the absurd ways this day could have gone, being dragged into Renan Falconhart’s orbit through Luke’s ego was not one he had expected to happen this soon.

He had been avoiding confrontation with Renan deliberately. Not out of fear, exactly, though there was certainly some of that. More because he understood the cost of standing in front of the main character too often, especially when the world itself seemed determined to make sure every rivalry became a defining one.

And Lancet knew that ultimately, he would lose.

He had tried, in his own way, to steer Luke away from becoming obsessed with beating Renan. After the Tribute Coin Harvest, he had seen the shape of that road very clearly. He knew it would happen.

But it seemed Lancet had ultimately failed to stop it.

And of course he failed. Luke’s destiny was to forever be lesser than Renan Falconhart. Just like it was in the original story.

Luke was that rival. The one who burned through his school years chasing the shadow of Renan Falconhart’s strength. In the original timeline, Luke had been the one to obtain the Orc King’s heart from that Difficult Dungeon.

He’d gotten far more than he was now because of it, and even then, he couldn’t defeat Renan.

In this timeline, this version of effects. Lancet had claimed the Orc King’s heart, and in the back of his mind, he thought it would veer Luke into a different path afterward.

But the duel, the challenge, the hunger in Luke’s face—it all felt too familiar.

Too much like the old story trying to claw its way back into place.

And that’s what it did.

Luke Travers, son of Egon Travers, heir of the fallen Travers Estate, had reawakened his unrequited rivalry for Renan Falconhart.

Lancet stared at the scene in front of him. ’It’s the opposite of a butterfly effect,’ he thought. ’A temporal inertia.’

’Events, arcs and stories will find a way to happen, regardless of changes made in the past.’

Lancet couldn’t believe it. So much was going through his mind and he had to force himself to focus on one.

On Luke.

If he refused Renan’s offer, Luke would hate him for it. Worse, Luke would not stop. He would twist harder, obsess longer, and possibly grow even more dangerous in the attempt.

If he accepted, then at least the confrontation would happen in the open, and maybe Luke would learn something from it. Or maybe he would only try harder afterward. Either way, Lancet was getting dragged into this whether he liked it or not.

Below him, Luke had gone still.

He turned and looked up at Lancet, saying nothing at all, just staring with that hard, locked-in intensity that made the whole arena feel smaller. Around them, the first-years had already begun chanting, the energy of the crowd rising fast as they sensed a fight, a consequence, a turning point.

”Accept it!”

”Fight him!”

”Accept!”

Lancet let out a quiet breath through his nose.

He had tried to avoid this.

He had tried to sidestep Renan again and again, to stay out of the line of fire and let the story move around him.

But Renan Falconhart was standing there, sword drawn, challenge hanging in the air, and Lancet didn’t even know why yet.

Luke was looking up at him like this mattered more than pride, more than ego, more than anything Lancet had wanted to steer him away from.

If this was going to happen, then it was going to happen now.

Lancet straightened where he stood.

His voice came out calm.

”I accept.”