November 16, 1616 Central Calendar, 08:30

  Myriade Stadium, Xenosgram District, Runepolis

  One week later, Kaios was still as dazed as ever.

  It felt like the stars had aligned so conveniently to allow him to advance to the Exam’s Elimination Phase.

  Thankful? Yes, of course… But honestly, it made no sense. Kaios wasn’t from around here, making his understanding of the local ‘mechanism’ surface level at best, let alone what lies underneath the underneath. Compared to the other examinees, who were born for this sort of pressure-cooker trial, he was basically a tourist with a backpack full of hopes and dreams. So naturally, he realistically kept his expectations low. Rock-bottom low. Dig-a-hole-in-the-ground-and-hide-in-it-low. That way, failure wouldn’t sting so much. But this? Advancing past the preliminary round? This was something else. An achievement in ignorance.

  A stroke of gold luck. That’s what it was. Pure, chaotic, cheap novel-level luck. The kind that made no logical sense but somehow worked out in the end because the plot demanded it. And yet… it lit a tiny fire in his chest.

  That little flicker of hope surged in him. He had a team now, where he was the only member who advanced to the next stage, and a mentor who believed in him. That made the pressure way worse. Now he wasn’t just a clueless outsider stumbling through the process. He was a clueless outsider with responsibilities.

  “Uhhh… this isn’t good for my mental health,” Kaios groaned, dragging both hands down his face. “I was doing fine being mediocre, but complaining about success is bad manners…”

  At that moment, a voice came from the middle stairs’ direction.

  “Hm? What are you doing?”

  “Annette!? Uh, nothing!”

  Kaios straightened instantly, arms snapping to his sides like he’d been caught stealing.

  Annette, who came skipping down the stadium steps with a half-torn paper bag of snacks clutched in one hand a triumphant grin plastered on her face, halted beside him, who was still dragging his palms down his face like he was trying to erase his soul.

  Squinting, the young noblewoman sighed, “It’s already a week since the announcement, you know. Are you still tense?”

  “Sorry.”

  “…Honestly, you can’t focus on your match at this state, let alone win.”

  Kaios opened his mouth to blurt that everyone around him seemed so confident, but before he could get the words out, footsteps echoed down the steps.

  “That should be right!” came a cheerful, sing-song voice.

  Kaios blinked as two more figures emerged behind Annette.

  Alain and his cousin, Esiocles “Ezio” Legendorga. The former was a beaming boy with ruby-red eyes and golden hair that flared out in soft waves, styled in a slightly chaotic middle part with asymmetrical bangs. He gave off the vibe of someone who never didn’t find a reason to smile. Trailing just behind him was the latter, a quieter boy with shorter hair. He walked with his hands in his pockets and a permanent air of detached curiosity, as if he were perpetually observing everything from a distance.

  The cheerful Alain and his poker-faced relative bounded the rest of the way down the steps and plopped down next to Kaios, while Annette casually dropped herself onto the seat to the Parpaldian boy’s right and rustling the half-torn snack bag.

  “But honestly, it’s good to see you here, Kaios. It must be fate!”

  “Eh… tell me about it,” Kaios let out a breath and scratched the back of his head.

  Annette crunched on a cookie, then jabbed a thumb toward Kaios without even glancing at him.

  “So… your team’s not coming today, right?”

  Kaios nodded. “They’ll be here tomorrow, though.”

  “Good. You might need the emotional backup,” the silverette smirked.

  “Right…”

  Kaios trailed off as he glanced around. Then, with a slight frown, he asked. “Hey, speaking off—where are the others? Shouldn’t they be here by now?”

  Annette groaned softly and pinched the bridge of her nose.

  “Kaios… Meto’s match is the third one today. Nadia and Walman are obviously with him. You really are still tense, huh?”

  “Oh,” Kaios blinked. “Why are you here?”

  “Hey! I can go wherever I want!” the silver-haired girl puffed her cheeks as she replied.

  Alain leaned over and poked him in the arm. “That’s it, Kaios. We need to de-tense you.”

  “That’s not a word,” Ezio muttered from his seat on the far side.

  He wanted to say “Stop inventing,” but Meteos Roguerider the Inventor’s influence is far and large in this circle.

  Annette pointed at Alain. “Can you do something about this? Before he spirals and forgets his own name?”

  “Very well. Kaios, what can I do for you, hm?”

  “No, no, I’m good!”

  Kaios sat up straighter, palms raised like he was surrendering.

  Coming to his rescue, Ezio lifted his chin and spoke up. “How about a change of subject? Kaios, what do you think of the arena?”

  Kaios blinked, grateful for the save.

  He rose slightly in his seat, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees to get a better look. The stadium spread out before them in a wide, symmetrical circle, with the fighting arena right in the center. It was stark, a solid platform of concrete framed by a lighter ring of smooth stone. Around the ring stretched a wide buffer zone, perhaps to ensure no stray blasts or aggressive maneuvers accidentally hit spectators. Wide magical screens facing all directions hung above the match arena.

  The stands rose in a careful bowl around it all, like a massive amphitheater tailored for modern-age gladiators.

  “…It’s bigger than I imagined,” he murmured. Then, narrowing his eyes, he added. “And… is it just me, or are there way more cameras than I expected?”

  He motioned toward the various orbs and domes mounted along the stadium’s rim—some floating (probably Roguerider or Legendorga-manufactured ‘drones’—wait, already!?), some fixed, all with blinking lights and tiny lens flickers.

  “I thought the Exam is a formal event.”

  “Technically, you’re not wrong,” Alain shrugged. “It is formal.”

  “But it’s still documented,” Annette cut in. “The footage gets archived and aired on domestic channels.”

  Ezio added, “Academies love it.”

  “Yeah. That makes sense.”

  Kaios let out a breath, processing that.

  “So, Kaios, how does it feel to be part of history?” Alain asked as he leaned forward, clasping his hands with a glint in his eyes.

  “History… hmm. Oh…”

  “Yes. The first incorporation of a device so revolutionary is indeed worthy of being written in the annals of history!” the nobleman declared, startling Kaios a bit.

  Considering Meteos was the one who developed the latest generation, it’d be weird if Kaios hadn’t heard of them by now.

  Indeed. This year, there was quite a revolution masked in the pageantry of tradition. For the first time in the event’s long, storied timeline, the organizers had officially greenlit the use of chanting assist devices known as Manadrivers.

  The concept of reducing the time required for magical casting was first proposed by Professor Robin Arkland (née Calvello), the mentor of Meteos’ team. But the theory remained just that—a theory—until the Rogueriders have gotten involved. Meant to accelerate the casting process, using this device means that in theory combat becomes less about laying out a plan while waiting for someone to finish a half-a-minute windup and more about reacting on the fly, throwing spells as easy as firing machine guns. After half a decade limited to military and experimental research facilities, these devices were now being introduced to a public platform.

  Sometimes called a ‘computer,’ or that Manadriver is a form of a ‘computer,’ Kaios had heard that the two concepts used to be separate things before the lines blurred over time with technological advances. Now, the people of the Holy Milishial Empire seem to call a computer a “Manadriver” to refer to a particularly advanced one. In any case, this technology contributed to the grimoire Kaios now casually used to communicate with his friends.

  “Being the first… does it mean we’re the experimental generation?”

  Annette rolled her eyes. “Please. Mrs. Robin and Meteos wouldn’t let anything sloppy pass inspection. Their pride would never allow it. You know what he would say? ‘I find your lack of faith disturbing,’ that’s what he would say.”

  Kaios chuckled a bit. The tone made it look like he was jesting. But… Faith, huh…?

  It was a curious thing. He’d often heard people talk about it as if it were a simple matter of belief. People had faith in the Goddess, in their comrades, in the success of whatever they were doing.

  It was strange how easily people placed their trust in things—or in someone. But Meteos, who never failed in his inventions, made people want to believe in him. That kind of track record bred absolute confidence. People didn’t just believe in his work; they expected them to work, as if failure wasn’t even a possibility. Naturally, people also want to believe the person who orchestrated such pinnacles of workmanship.

  He wanted to be realistic. But his words…

  …The words of reassurance that made Kaios want to believe in his own success for this Exam too.

  To keep pushing.

  But was that dangerous? It does feel a bit risky.

  “But you know Kaios, I can see where you’re coming from,” Annette sighed and popped another cookie between her teeth before muttering, “Hmf… Meto… saying such things like he’s talking about the weather…”

  “It’s good to be cautious,” Alain said after a beat, “but I guess the world would be a pretty boring place if no one ever took a leap. Can you imagine if the first man who discovered fire magic hesitated and never tried it again? Maybe we’re stuck with rubbing objects together to create a spark!”

  Ezio raised an eyebrow. “That might be overstating it a little.”

  “Is it?” Alain chortled.

  While the boys were talking, Annette looked around, noticing the place was getting packed. Soon, the noises of the stadium swelled like a rising tide as the seats rapidly filled. Spectators filled the arena, causing the temperature to seemingly rise not just from the bodies gathering but also from the collective excitement building. And then, a low chime sounded from the overhead speakers, prompting most of the heads to turn.

  A calm, authoritative voice rang out from the speakers:

  “All attendees, we thank you for your presence. The Elimination Phase of the Year 1617 Imperial Board of Magical Arts Supervision Examination will now commence.”

  Kaios stiffened slightly. His companion straightened too.

  From the edge of the arena, a man in black and yellow protective gear—the same one used for sparring matches—stepped onto the central platform. The cameras instantly zoomed in, his image filling the magical screens above. His expression was unreadable, but every movement radiated poise. A very composed proctor.

  After his entrance, the screens shimmered and shifted.

  BOUT 1

  GEORGIE ULSLAND VS FATMA WORZEL

  The camera panned dramatically to one side of the arena, where a figure wearing orange gear emerged from a wide archway in the stadium hall.

  Kaios perked up, leaning slightly forward. “I’ve seen her before.”

  Annette turned slightly. “You have?”

  “Mm. I think I passed by her during the technical meeting.”

  Sure enough, the girl named Georgie Ulsland stepping into the sunlight matched his memory. Her neck-length red hair was slightly unkempt, similar to her grinning portrait on the screens where she posed dynamically. As she walked, Georgie adjusted the orange bracer on her forearm, rolling her shoulders as if already itching for a fight.

  The blue gear-wearing Fatma Worzel, in contrast, walked onto the arena with more measured steps. Her expression was unreadable, her dark blue eyes scanning the surroundings quietly. Slightly taller than Georgie, Fatma was a tan-skinned young woman with long wavy brown hair tied into a high ponytail underneath her headgear. Stopping opposite her opponent, she squared her shoulders for a moment.

  The two girls faced each other, motionless. No bows nor handshake.

  “Oh, wow, I never thought that it would be this tense,” Kaios commented. Alain and Annette who heard him chuckled.

  “Greetings are optional,” Ezio stated, nodding sagely.

  In the middle, the proctor raised both arms and spoke, his voice amplified by the microphone attached to his headgear.

  “New standard engagement rules apply!” he declared. “You may use any technique or spell at your disposal, as long as it does not intentionally cause lethal harm. The match ends when one party is incapacitated, yields, or is removed from the arena bounds. External interference will result in disqualification.”

  The proctor’s eyes swept across them.

  “Combatants, ready yourselves!”

  Georgie and Fatma lowered into fighting stances, the tension now filled the air like static before a lightning strike.

  Annette shifted beside Kaios. “Here we go…”

  Kaios swallowed. His first real glimpse of what awaited him.

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  And as the proctor’s hand sliced downward, the four braced themselves.

  The first match of the day began.

  ?????

  In one of the ready rooms below the spectator stands, Meteos and Nadia were watching the match between Georgie Ulsland and Fatma Worzel through a monitor, accompanied by Walman and their team’s mentor, Robin Arkland. Although the lack of commentators made the match feel somewhat dull—being still considered a formal event and all—Robin in particular was leaning in so close to the screen she was practically trembling with excitement.

  “Ooh, look at that footwork! Fatma’s barely dodging, but Georgie’s not letting up at all! Incredible pace! Incredible instinct!”

  Robin clapped her hands together, startling Walman, who shifted a little to push the bespectacled brunette from blocking the screen.

  “Come on, Teach, why are you even acting like it’s something new!?”

  Robin waved him off with exaggerated flair. “Why not?”

  Meteos chuckled lowly, exchanging an amused look with Nadia, who was barely containing a smile.

  “Anyway!” Robin mused loudly, “Even though these kids have tested fighting with Manadrivers before, I wonder… have they really gotten the hang of it?”

  She tapped her chin thoughtfully.

  On the monitor, Georgie Ulsland was pressing hard, the arena’s air swirling in whirling gusts as she peppered her opponent with relentless bursts of wind magic. Each blast was fast and sharp, slicing at angles designed to catch an opponent off balance. Fatma Worzel, in her steadier earth-tuned stance, parried with quick walls and sudden, jutting spikes of stone, trying to hold ground without expending too much mana. However, the cracks were beginning to show.

  The camera zoomed in slightly, capturing the tension in Fatma’s narrowed eyes.

  In a proctored magic duel, those who carelessly exhausted their mana reserves—or let fatigue wear them down—would inevitably find themselves on the backfoot at the last legs of the fight. No matter how flashy the opening moves, it was those who lasted that often found a way to turn the tables and even came out victorious.

  “With Manadrivers, it is now easier to see the tendencies of these fighters.”

  Still leaning in his seat, Meteos spoke up, earning nods and hums of confirmation from the others.

  Fighting styles tend to fall into three broad categories when one accounts for stamina and mana management. There are those who prioritize overwhelming speed and aggression. They hit fast and hard, aiming to end the match quickly before their resources run dry. Then there are the balanced types, fighters who aim for flexibility. They switch gears between offense and defense, maintaining a steady rhythm to adapt as needed. And lastly, those who prefer an endurance battle, combatants who invest heavily in defense and efficiency. They slow the pace, forcing opponents to spend energy while conserving their own until the right opportunity appears.

  Nadia glanced thoughtfully at Fatma’s earth walls, which were starting to crack under Georgie’s relentless assault. “Fatma’s trying to be an endurance type… but Georgie’s speed is disrupting her.”

  “She can’t hold out like this forever,” Walman chimed in.

  Georgie Ulsland didn’t let up for a second.

  Every gust she threw out came from a different angle as he kept repositioning, never allowing Fatma the luxury of falling into a defensive rhythm. Each attack was a staccato burst of wind that forced Fatma to constantly shift her footing and recalibrate her defenses. She raised walls and counterattacked, but the relentless pressure wore her down like an ocean against a rocky shore.

  Probably Georgie thought that if she couldn’t be read, she couldn’t be countered, the group agreed.

  And then it happened. In a flash, Georgie feinted—a snap of her arm like she was about to fire another horizontal gust from her left side. Fatma, instinctively, threw up a thick earth barrier to block it. But it was a bait.

  The real attack came from a low arc on the opposite side. A compressed blast of wind struck Fatma’s exposed ribs, knocking her slightly off balance.

  ?????

  Alain, watching from the stands, hollered. “She got her!”

  Ezio nodded once, sharply. “Misdirection.”

  Not wasting a heartbeat, Georgie surged forward, kicking off the ground with a burst of air-assisted momentum. She closed the distance in a blink, abandoning the long-range peppering for brutal, close-quarters assault. Wind swirled fiercely around her fists and boots, turning each movement into a potential strike.

  “Wait, what is Georgie doing?” Kaios raised his voice.

  “Kaios is right…” Annette commented. “Does she think her opponent is dazed already? She’s an earthbender with a rather solid defensive strat so far, you know…?”

  Fatma, to her credit, reacted quickly.

  The moment Georgie’s wind-charged fist shot toward her, Fatma pivoted her stance, slipping just out of range and countering with a heavy, downward side of her forearm, aiming to use Georgie’s momentum against her.

  The crowd collectively chorused.

  Now at point-blank, Georgie couldn’t rely on wide blasts as doing so risked hitting herself with the backlash. Instead, she condensed the magic, using tight, sharp bursts to augment her strikes—little explosions of force at the end of her punches and kicks. Fatma defended fiercely, matching Georgie’s pace now that the chaotic, long-range assault was gone. She stood ground, absorbing hits and countering with short jabs on her own.

  As they watched the bout unfold into hand-to-hand combat and the crowd’s roar lessened, Ezio turned his head slightly toward Kaios and Annette.

  “You two. How do you think Georgie Ulsland stacks up compared to Meteos?”

  Kaios gulped almost immediately.

  He didn’t even have to think long—his body remembered before his mind caught up: the image of Meteos during their sparring matches, unleashing narrow, drilling air bullets that whistled like banshees and gouged shallow trenches into the floor. Spars that often ended with Kaios flattened against the dirt, gasping and wondering how a simple spar turned into simulated bombardment.

  The Parpaldian boy then pulled a face. “Honestly? Meteos’ spells are scarier.”

  Annette let out a low chuckle and spoke in a tone of easy confidence that came from a long, sometimes painful experience.

  “That should be right. Meto doesn’t exactly prioritize self-preservation when he fights,” she said, shaking her head in exasperation. “You see, compared to that redheaded girl, he uses sharper and denser wind spells. If he miscalculates, sure, he risks getting clipped himself… but usually, the other guy eats it way worse.”

  Alain, who also experienced being “the other guy” frequently, cheerfully opened his mouth.

  “Really? I never thought it was that bad!”

  Kaios and Annette exchanged a look and sweatdropped.

  Meanwhile, in the arena, Georgie and Fatma were still exchanging blows, neither side willing to give an inch. The magical screens showed their clashes, highlighting the sharp bursts of magic at their fists and feet. Creative use of offensive spells other than being thrown at an opponent was yet to be seen.

  But then, Fatma, sensing that the match was dragging into dangerous territory where pure physical prowess wouldn’t cut it, seemed to change tactics.

  Instead of standing her ground and exchanging blows, she suddenly retreated two steps, ducking under Georgie’s sweeping kick before slamming her palms against the floor. A deep rumble vibrated through the arena, drawing a collective gasp from the spectators.

  Thin cracks spiderwebbed outward from beneath Fatma, racing across the platform. From these fractures, slabs of stone abruptly jutted upward, creating uneven terrain. The battlefield was no longer a flat open space, now littered with jagged walls and barriers, perfect for ambushes.

  “Interesting,” Alain mused.

  Georgie faltered for just a second as her footing shifted under her. Her air bursts misfired widely as she lost balance, and Fatma seized the opportunity. With a flick of her fingers, stone pillars shot from the ground in rapid succession, trying to fence Georgie in—cutting her mobility, her greatest advantage.

  “She’s trying to trap Georgie and grind her down slowly!”

  Forced into a tighter space, Georgie’s swift, sweeping air spells would be less effective, and her chances of dodging incoming attacks would drop dramatically. Sure enough, a stone wall exploded up right behind her, cutting off her escape route. Fatma pressed in, sending shards of earth hurtling toward Georgie with a thrust of her hand.

  Georgie skidded backward, using a gust to shield herself. She cursed under her breath.

  Another stone wall snapped up to her left. Then another to her right.

  Pinned, pressured, and with the walls literally closing in, Georgie Ulsland seemed to make a snap decision.

  With a sharp exhale, she jammed her foot into the ground, anchoring herself as Fatma launched another barrage of stone shards at her. Instead of dodging—impossible now—Georgie pushed forward, straight into the attack.

  The moment the stones were about to hit, Georgie unleashed a concentrated blast of wind magic directly downward. The explosion of compressed air kicked up a massive dust cloud and propelled herself upward, and when the fragments of stone cut through, they sliced harmlessly through empty air.

  Out of the settling dust, Georgie somersaulted, using the recoil of her self-made explosion to rocket out of the trap. When she landed, she did so at Fatma’s blind spot.

  “Behind you!” Kaios muttered under his breath, even though it was obviously useless.

  By the time Fatma realized Georgie wasn’t pinned anymore, it was too late. A strike to the head disoriented her, followed by Georgie’s boot propelled by another burst of wind that squarely connected with Fatma’s side.

  The earth-mage gasped, staggering backward. Georgie didn’t waste a second. She pounced, knocking Fatma off balance completely and threw her out of bounds, sending her sprawling out of the arena.

  The arena judges immediately raised their flags. A loud chime rang out, and the magical screens flashed as the proctor announced.

  “Ring out! The winner is Georgie Ulsland!”

  The crowd erupted into cheers and applause.

  Georgie pumped a fist into the air, grinning like she’d just won a marathon and a free meal voucher at the same time.

  Watching her, Kaios sat back, exhaling heavily.

  “That… was intense.”

  “No kidding,” Annette agreed.

  Meanwhile, Ezio crossed his arms thoughtfully. “Still… I noticed something.”

  Kaios glanced over. “What?”

  “Both of them,” Ezio said, tilting his chin at the arena where Georgie was celebrating and Fatma was being helped to her feet, “was already starting to run out of steam toward the end.”

  “Mm-hmm!” Alain nodded enthusiastically. “Georgie Ulsland’s final burst was a rather desperate-looking gambit. And Fatma’s last counterattack was sloppy.”

  “So, stamina is the two’s weakness, huh?” Annette chimed in.

  Kaios frowned, thinking.

  “…Georgie’s fighting style burns through her stamina fast. And Fatma’s defensive earth magic is sturdy, but maintaining all those barriers and terrain shifts must be exhausting too. If Fatma had managed to keep Georgie pinned just a little longer…”

  Alain mused aloud. “Then Georgie would’ve been the one tired. That last move was risky. If she misjudged the angle or the force, she could’ve blown herself straight into another attack… or straight out of bounds.”

  “But the fight opens with those two spamming spells. I guess they’re a bit too eager with their Manadrivers, huh?” Annette commented dryly.

  “It seems adapting to the new style of magic duel is more difficult than anticipated,” Ezio said.

  “Which makes things more interesting,” Alain beamed. “Still, this match was a good lesson. Energy management might be the deciding factor in a lot of fights here.”

  When the young Legendorga nobleman turned to Kaios, there was a mischievous gleam in his ruby-red eyes.

  “Well, it was a good opener. The next matches have a lot to live up to. Say… I wonder how Meteos would’ve handled that.”

  “Hm?”

  Annette groaned, already knowing where this was going. “Oh no. Here we go again.”

  Still buzzing a little from the rush of watching, Kaios quickly snapped away and turned in another direction. “So… if that’s the level of the other examinees, I’m basically doomed, right?” he said, half-joking, half-dreading.

  “Eh, I don’t know, but…” Annette smirked, nudging Kaios with her elbow. “Look at you, actually analyzing the match. Progress!”

  Kaios blinked, then chuckled sheepishly. Maybe he wasn’t as tense as before now.

  “Nothing like seeing someone else get thrown around to put your own problems in perspective. Though, if you do want to spiral again, we can always remind you that Meteos’ match is coming up—”

  Kaios groaned, slumping back in his seat. “Thanks, I hate it.”

  Ezio cut in. “Focus on your own match tomorrow. Meteos can handle himself.”

  Annette nodded sagely. “Yeah, Kaios. You’ve got your team rooting for you tomorrow. And hey, if Georgie Ulsland can pull off a win with that reckless style, you’ve got a shot too.”

  Kaios sighed, but there was a small, involuntary smile on his face now.

  “…I guess I just needed a reminder that everyone else is figuring it out as they go, too,” he said. Though he inwardly screamed, ‘Stop giving me hope, I’m freaking out right now!’

  Alain clapped him on the back. “That’s the spirit! Now, who’s ready for the next match? I hear the next one’s got a firebender who—”

  The young noblewoman groaned. “Oh no. Not another pyromaniac.”

  ?????

  The cheers of the crowd still echoed faintly through the halls as Georgie Ulsland stumbled into the corridor beyond the entrance, her breathing ragged but victorious. She immediately peeled off her headgear, revealing her messy, sweat-dampened red hair that stuck stubbornly to her forehead.

  “—Phew! What a rush!” she huffed to herself, half-laughing, half-groaning as she dragged a hand through her hair. Her orange bracers clinked lightly as she flexed her arms. “Man, that chick’s walls nearly got me there… but who’s still standing, huh!? This girl, that’s who!”

  She grinned wide, walking forward and basking in the afterglow of her win, punching the air a couple more times for good measure. Her cheeks were flushed—not just from exertion, but from pure exhilaration.

  “I mean, a little close call, sure, but nailed it! Maybe I’ll even get some bonus points for style—”

  Lost in her thoughts, she turned left at an intersection—

  —and nearly collided headfirst into someone standing right there.

  “WAHH—! AH, HOH, HUH, GAH!”

  Georgie jumped and flailed, practically doing a comical skid backward. After barely managing to stop herself from faceplanting into a head that literally popped out of nowhere, she stumbled back, arms pinwheeling for balance before finally steadying herself. Her heart nearly leaped out of her chest as she stared at the figure now calmly occupying her entire field of view.

  Tall—about her height—with silver hair and blue eyes that regarded her with quiet amusement. He wasn’t smirking, wasn’t gloating, wasn’t even reacting much to her near-collision. He just… stood there, hands in his pockets, as if he’d been casually strolling back from the bathroom and she’d been the one who’d materialized out of thin air.

  Georgie blinked.

  Then blinked again.

  Then—

  “Oh, it’s you—wait! YOU!”

  Her voice cracked spectacularly.

  Because standing right in front of her, looking like he hadn’t a care in the world, was him.

  The one she’d heard about—the one whose name had been plastered at the top of the first phase rankings.

  Meteos tilted his head slightly, as if mildly curious about her sudden mental breakdown. Then, in a voice so calm it was almost criminal, he said: “Oh, hello there, Miss Ulsland. That was a good match. Congratulations.”

  “W-wha—You—Me—HUH!?”

  Georgie’s face burned. Her hands flapped uselessly at her sides. She looked like a malfunctioning wind-up toy.

  “You adapted well when Miss Worzel changed the terrain. Most people panic when their footing’s taken away.”

  Georgie’s brain finally rebooted, and she straightened up with a sharp inhale. Crossing her arms, she forced a confident smirk.

  “Oh… Hah! Yeah, well, thanks for the compliment! A little uneven ground wouldn’t throw me off so easily!”

  “I see. That’s good to hear.”

  Then, Meteos shifted slightly, his hands still in his pockets, and spoke again—this time with a hint of something sheepish in his tone. “Well, keep up the good work. If we both win our next matches, we’ll meet in the Round of 32.”

  “You got it! I’ll do my best for the whole tourney, just you wait!”

  Meteos gave a small nod. “Good luck, then,” he said simply, before stepping past her and disappearing in the opposite direction.

  Georgie stood for a second, watching him go. Then, as the realization of his words finally clicked, she blurted out an “Oh.”

  If we both win our next matches, we’ll meet in the Round of 32.

  “Don’t tell me… he’s here scouting potential rivals?”

  There are some rather serious ones in this year’s examination.

  ?????

  09:35

  The second bout began with a roar from the combatants themselves. Two firebenders stepped onto the arena with sparks already emitting from their fingertips. From the first chime, they unleashed torrents of flame, turning the arena into a swirling inferno. Highly aggressive, neither fighter bothered with defense, where each blast was met with an even fiercer counter. Predictably, exhaustion set in by the halfway mark.

  In the end, the victor was decided when one mage collapsed first. The proctor called the match, and the crowd erupted. It was a spectacle, yes, but their sloppy display greatly disappointed Alain.

  ?????

  10:10

  As the break time was over and the arena was cleared and repaired, the group, now joined by Walman and Nadia, readied themselves knowing it was time for the third match of the day.

  “So… this is it, Meto’s up,” Annette muttered.

  While Alain leaned forward, rubbing his hands together, Ezio remained silent, but his eyes were fixed on the arena.

  The screens flickered to life.

  The group erupted into cheers as Meteos, clad in orange gear, stepped onto the arena. His silver hair caught the sunlight, and his impassive demeanor contrasted with the growing excitement in the stands.

  For some reason, the cheers that came swelling after them were overwhelmingly dominated by high-pitched, enthusiastic voices. Kaios blinked, glancing around at the sea of excited spectators before finally pinpointing the source to be a certain group of teenagers wearing the RMA uniform.

  Seeing them, Annette’s eyes twitched.

  However, before they could dwell on those fangirls further, the opposing combatant emerged from the other side of the arena.

  “So that’s Balthus Albrecht…”

  “Are you sure he’s still around our age? He’s huge,” Walman exclaimed with raised eyebrows.

  Alain chuckled a bit.

  “Now… how would you win this one, cousin-in-law…?”

  The blue gear-wearing Balthus Albrecht strode forward with an air of confidence. He was at least one head taller than Meteos, with a muscular frame and short black hair.

  ?????

  As the two combatants stepped into their positions, the proctor—now a green-haired elven woman—stepped forward, her voice crisp and clear as she repeated the rules.

  “To reiterate the rules, combatants may use any technique or spell at their disposal, provided no lethal force is intended. The match concludes upon incapacitation, yield, or ring-out. External interference will result in disqualification,” her sharp eyes flicked between the two. “Is that understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am!” Balthus exclaimed, while Meteos simply gave her a quiet nod.

  “Ready yourselves…! Begin!”

  Balthus Albrecht grinned, raising a fist in front of his chest in a chivalrous salute. “Meteos Roguerider, right!? May this match be a glo—”

  The moment he blinked, the next thing he saw was Meteos’ barreling heels, having launched himself airborne and drove a heavy dropkick straight toward Balthus’ face mid-sentence.

  WHAM!

  The crowd gasped as the larger boy barely managed to cross his arms in time, the impact sending him back one step backward across the arena floor.

  ?????

  “Bwahahah! What the hell was that!?” Annette cackled, much to the dismay of Walman sitting beside her when the young noblewoman brought her hand to smack his shoulder.

  “Oh, shit,” Kaios blurted amidst the erupting crowd.

  The third match was off with a dynamic start, but Meteos wasn’t done with his opening gambit yet.