Minutes later, as the medics finished stabilizing the combatants, Matsu—tactical leader of the Kurogane clan and aunt to the siblings—walked with purpose toward Homura and Satsuki. Neither of them had moved from their brothers’ sides.

  —"May I have a moment?" Matsu asked, her voice calm but serious.

  Both girls turned toward her.

  Satsuki looked curious.

  Homura… unbothered.

  —"Both families have reached a consensus," Matsu continued cautiously.

  "We believe it would be best… to cancel the final match."

  Satsuki’s eyes widened—her usual playful demeanor completely shattered.

  —"What? Cancel? Why?"

  Homura didn’t react. She stood with her arms crossed, as if the conversation wasn’t worth her time.

  Matsu sighed, lowering her voice.

  —"We’ve found evidence of infiltration in the arena. Everything points to the same organization behind the attack on Ishiki. And if they didn’t act during the second match… we believe they’re waiting."

  Satsuki’s brows furrowed. The weight of the situation was beginning to settle.

  Matsu’s gaze fell directly on Homura.

  —"If they didn’t strike during Seiji’s fight… then it means their true target is you."

  Homura still didn’t flinch.

  But the temperature in the room began to change.

  A subtle pressure filled the air.

  —"That’s why…" Matsu continued,

  "we’re asking to suspend the fight. For your safety."

  Homura slowly lowered her arms.

  Her mana became visible—an orange-red veil swirling gently around her. A wave of heat pulsed through the infirmary, making the walls tremble.

  —"That… won’t happen."

  Her voice was sharp. Firm. Final.

  Matsu stared at her in silence.

  And in that silence, she understood.

  “So that’s why she was so calm…

  It wasn’t resignation.

  It was restraint.

  She’s been holding back her fury this whole time.”

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  Satsuki stepped forward, a flicker of excitement in her eyes. Her usual grin was still there—but now it carried something deeper.

  —"I agree with Fire Curls.

  Besides… I’ve been waiting for this moment since I was a kid."

  Homura turned to face her.

  For the first time, their eyes met.

  One was smoldering fire.

  The other—a storm of desire to fight.

  And in that gaze, without a single word…

  they understood each other.

  The collision of these two titans was inevitable.

  The main course of the night had been served.

  Their thirst for battle was as palpable as the crowd’s anticipation.

  And the only thing hotter than the arena that awaited them…

  Was their pride.

  Beneath the roaring stadium, the backstage area felt like another world—silent, still, and full of pressure.

  Inside one of the private dressing rooms, Satsuki Amagiri tightened the straps of her combat gloves with surgical precision. Every movement was deliberate. Her gear was already on: a fitted top that left her midriff exposed, and a short purple skirt designed for high mobility.

  She looked lightly armored at first glance.

  A dangerous assumption.

  That "light armor" was designed to be enhanced by her prana. And in Satsuki’s case… her prana was an ocean with no bottom.

  Just as she finished her last adjustment, a slight tingle ran down her spine. Her killing instinct reacted before her brain.

  In one motion, her blade flashed—aimed at the throat behind her.

  —"Heh… Still as sharp as ever."

  Satsuki (without lowering her weapon):

  —"Father."

  The man facing her, completely unfazed by the blade at his neck, was none other than Saburo Amagiri—patriarch of the clan and a renowned swordsman of legend.

  Saburo (calmly):

  —"Your opponent this time isn’t just anyone. It’ll be tough."

  Satsuki (grinning dangerously):

  —"Good. That’s how I like it."

  Saburo:

  —"You really are a dangerous little duelist.

  Though, from what I’ve heard, Homura seems… oddly calm.

  Too calm, even."

  Satsuki glanced sideways, thoughtful.

  —"I noticed it too. It’s not normal… but I don’t care.

  Whatever it is,

  I’m not letting her breathe."

  Saburo let out a quiet laugh—somewhere between pride and resignation.

  There was nothing more to say.

  His daughter was ready.

  On the other side, in the Kurogane prep room, Homura Kurogane sat in absolute silence. Her gear was ready. Her blade rested on her lap as she breathed slowly, eyes closed, mana flowing in perfect control.

  Everything was calm.

  Until it wasn’t.

  A presence broke the stillness.

  Hostile. Wrong.

  Homura opened her eyes slowly.

  A hooded man stood across from her, cloaked in black, pointing a gun directly at her head.

  She didn’t flinch.

  Homura (coldly):

  —"So that was the plan…

  Kill me while they’re fixing the arena."

  The man didn’t speak.

  He just tightened his finger on the trigger.

  Homura (smirking):

  —"Not toda—"

  BANG.

  The shot fired point-blank.

  But it never landed.

  The bullet melted before it could touch her.

  The air around her boiled.

  The walls trembled under the pressure.

  The assassin stepped back—

  Too late.

  His skull burst, like it had been cooked from the inside.

  Then his entire body combusted in silence, consumed by invisible flames.

  Homura didn’t move.

  Her expression didn’t change.

  But her aura—

  It burned like a star.

  She stepped out of the room.

  Standing at the door, waiting for her, was her grandfather.

  He said nothing.

  Just nodded.

  Words weren’t necessary.

  Homura understood.

  And walked toward the arena.

  The final duel was about to begin.