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Once they had returned to the lecture hall, Sekhandur found that he now had the focus to actually pay attention to what the professor was saying. He quickly got the impression that their professor was quite a ruthless, embittered fellow. He wondered what had transpired in his past to make him so, or if all of the academy's graduates were similar. His opinion of the institution continued to complicate as the conditions of the upcoming decennial tournament were explained. It came as a surprise to him that what appeared to a be a cushy, western institution could be so fiercely competitive. He was beginning to suspect that his father had known about these conditions when he chose to send him away to this academy specifically, hoping that the cutthroat environment would result in him being expelled in disgrace. Sekhandur admitted to himself that this was more cunning than he usually gave his father credit for, but as he leaned back into his seat and quietly smiled, he knew his father still had not tried hard enough to get rid of him.

Once they were back out into the courtyard, the professor announced that they would be facing off against each other as a first round of cuts. Sekhandur quietly wondered if their teacher had been bullied as a child, and was now externalizing that frustration as an adult. The explanation of his lexicon intrigued Sekhandur, and he wondered if the Shan'iatu had not possessed similar power when they established the foundations of the Sehsa-Hebsu in the dawning days of Kemet. Regardless, it was clear that he needed to win this fight swiftly and cleanly if his education was to progress. Half of the class being expelled after one-on-one fights boded poorly for those that lost their fights. 

Stepping up to the corner of the courtyard that his opponent had wandered over, Sekhandur eyed him as he made his own preparations. He honestly had no idea who this person was as, again, he had not been paying much attention during the introductions. But he could surmise enough through observation. Diminutive, but with an aggressive posture. Obviously overcompensating for perceived inadequacy. He could expect a direct, aggressive, and persistent offensive presence. Avoidance and misdirection would be key, as Sekhandur would not likely withstand direct confrontation. Sekhandur took off his cloak, his robe, and his sandals, leaving him in his linen undergarments, and set them aside, folding them carefully. He stretched, the dusky skin over his statuesque physique glimmering in the afternoon sunlight. All the while, his own mana took hold in the aura around him, the cold glare of golden starlight, the eyes of a thousand dead kings all staring, watching, waiting.