Fifteen minutes after the match, Auxiliary Squad 4 stood in the secure hallway beneath the main arena dome, waiting for their official victory verification tokens.
Jax was practically bouncing off the reinforced concrete walls, throwing wild practice punches into the air. "Did you see his face, Lyra?! He thought he was going to execute you, and then BAM! Caine turned his fancy sword into confetti!"
Lyra stood leaning against the wall, her focus rod tucked neatly into her holster. She looked at Caine, her hazel eyes filled with deep, probing scrutiny.
"The Conductive Weave gloves Silas made," Lyra said softly, keeping her voice low enough that nearby security wardens couldn't hear. "They absorbed almost the entire kinetic leak, didn't they? That's why the high-sensitivity sensors only picked up a tiny two-point flicker to CHPower 12."
Caine adjusted the leather wrist straps of his gloves, meeting her gaze evenly. "They did their job. If the gloves hadn't contained ninety-nine percent of the friction, the arena's sensors would have read an impossible surge—and Thorne would have dragged me straight into a containment lab mid-match."
"He's still suspicious, Caine," Lyra warned, her voice laced with genuine concern. "A baseline 10 isn't supposed to nudge the meters to 12 while shattering Level 25 alloy. You didn't just win a match—you humiliated Section 2 on live broadcast. Thorne and the upper factions won't let a baseline squad walk away with the primary merit allowances."
Before Caine could answer, heavy, rhythmic footsteps echoed down the corridor.
A squad of four fully armed Directorate Enforcers approached, their black riot armor gleaming under the fluorescent strip lights. Standing at the front was Proctor Vance, holding a sealed digital slate.
"Cadet Caine, Cadet Jax, Cadet Lyra," Vance said, halting his squad five feet away. "Congratulations on your opening victory. However, your match schedule has been officially altered by order of Director Thorne."
Jax stopped celebrating, his expression darkening. "Altered? We earned a three-hour rest window before Round 2!"
"The tournament committee has invoked the High-Risk Vanguard Clause," Vance read directly from the slate, his tone professional yet tight. "Due to the unusual kinetic density registered in Match 1, Auxiliary Squad 4 will not proceed through the standard beginner bracket."
Vance looked up from the slate, meeting Caine's calm eyes.
"You have been bumped directly into the Primary Bracket," Vance declared. "Your next match is scheduled for tomorrow morning in the Main Colosseum. And your opponents have already been locked in."
Vance tapped the screen, projecting a small hologram between them. The golden emblem of Section 1's main strike team flickered to life, showing four profiles—headed by Darius and Marcus.
"Section 1's Vanguard," Lyra whispered, her face going pale. "They skipped the entire intermediate bracket just to force us into a direct clash."
"Director Thorne approved it personally," Vance added quietly, giving Caine a subtle, significant look. "Proctoring standard checks didn't deceive him. As a former Master-tier combat commander, Thorne knows energy doesn't simply vanish without trace. He looked directly at the live wave-pattern telemetry and realized your gloves trapped the shockwave inside the impact point, muffling a massive load down to a tiny 2-point blip on the meters. Now he wants to see if your compressed force can breach Darius's Level 28 radiant light density."