[17th June]
A taxi rolled to a stop in front of Rey's house.
He stepped out after paying the fare, the door closing with a soft thud behind him.
The coat draped over his shoulders looked identical at a glance—same colour, same cut—but the stitching was newer, the fabric slightly darker under the streetlights.
Not long after leaving the stadium, he had diverted to the nearest mall.
The decision had been immediate, almost instinctive.
He had told the driver to wait, then rushed inside without wasting a second.
The store hadn't taken long to find.
He had taken off his damaged overcoat and placed it on the counter.
The sales attendant's expression had shifted the moment he saw it—surprise, confusion, and a trace of disbelief at its condition.
Rey had kept it simple. "Same one."
The attendant hesitated, then searched. Eventually, he returned with a near match.
The design was identical. Only the shade differed slightly, darker by a margin most wouldn't notice.
Rey bought it without bargaining.
When he stepped back outside, the taxi was still there.
That alone had been enough to ease a small tension in his chest. He had already paid the fare up to that point, yet the driver had stayed.
Rey didn't comment on it. He simply got in and gave his address.
The ride resumed.
Inside, Rey examined the new coat, adjusting it over his frame.
The material settled naturally, light yet firm. The driver glanced at it through the mirror, curiosity getting the better of him.
"How much was it?"
"Four thousand five hundred Dragon Points."
The driver nearly missed a turn.
There had been a brief silence before he asked why something like that would cost so much. Rey gave a short answer. Made from Stage 1 beast materials.
That was enough.
Even someone outside the martial world understood what that meant. The conversation shifted after that, moving into lighter territory as the car cut through the quiet streets.
The driver talked more than Rey.
A young man, hopeful, carrying ambition that hadn't found its place yet.
When he realised Rey was a tournament contestant, his tone changed—respect mixed with excitement.
He admitted he had tried once.
Made it into the first round.
Lost quickly.
Still, he spoke without bitterness. Only a quiet frustration, buried under determination.
He talked about training in secret, about getting caught, about the lectures that followed.
Rey listened.
There was a faint smirk on his face, one that didn't fully show.
He understood more than he let on.
The lies. The excuses. The invisible effort behind visible change.
Even now, the image of the "master" he had constructed lingered—a convenient truth to hide everything that couldn't be explained from his mother.
The taxi came to a halt.
Rey stepped out, giving a short nod before heading inside.
—
The house was quiet.
Two familiar servants were present, moving about their routines. Rey instructed them to prepare a meal before heading upstairs.
His steps slowed as he reached his floor.
Instinct led him to his room. He pushed the door open, already expecting the aftermath of the earlier damage—the shattered wall, broken glass, displaced furniture.
Instead, he stopped.
Everything was intact.
The room stood clean, orderly, untouched. No cracks. No signs of repair. It was as if nothing had ever happened.
Rey stepped inside, scanning every corner.
Same layout. Same arrangement. His clothes rested neatly inside the wardrobe. Nothing felt out of place.
For a moment, he stepped back out and checked the corridor.
Same.
He returned inside, gaze sharpening slightly, but no answers were waiting. Only silence.
After a pause, he moved on.
—
A quick shower washed away the exhaustion clinging to his body. By the time he changed into casual clothes and came downstairs, the meal was already being prepared.
He made two calls while waiting.
The first, with his uncle, was brief. A simple confirmation of his arrival.
The second lasted longer.
His mother didn't hold back.
The moment she heard his voice, the words came—sharp, worried, layered with fear she didn't bother hiding. She had seen the fight. Seen him covered in blood, pushed to the edge.
Rey let her speak.
Then he responded the only way he could. Calmly. Reassuringly. Promises he knew he would have to repeat again.
It took time before her tone softened.
After that, the call shifted.
His sister took over, her energy completely different. Bright. Excited.
She told him how her friends reacted when they found out he had reached the finals. Autographs, questions, disbelief—it all came pouring out at once.
Rey leaned back slightly, a small smile forming without effort.
She tried to hide how proud she was.
It didn't work.
A few minutes later, the call ended.
—
Dinner was ready.
Rey didn't wait.
Hunger had been building silently, and once he started eating, it showed. Plate after plate emptied, the pace steady and efficient. Within ten minutes, the table was clear.
Nothing remained.
He leaned back slightly, the tension in his body easing for the first time that day.
Without another word, he headed upstairs.
Behind him, the servants began clearing the table, their movements quiet and practised. Soon after, the house settled into stillness.
—
Night had already fallen.
Rey lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The tournament matches were likely over by now.
He reached for his phone.
The results confirmed it.
The Top 50 list had been published. IDs displayed in order.
Rey scanned through it once.
Then again.
His ID was there.
A small uncertainty he hadn't acknowledged until now faded. After what had happened during his match, there had been a possibility—however small—that complications might arise.
They hadn't.
He set the phone aside.
Then opened his status.
The interface appeared instantly. Most values remained unchanged. A few notifications waited.
He opened them.
───◈◈◈◈◈───
[Ding! Repeated behavioural patterns recognised.
Skill acquisition condition fulfilled.]
[Skill acquired: Rapid Shot (E-).]
[Foreign energy signature detected within host.
Attribute classification: Ice.]
[Adaptation process partially successful.]
[Core
[Interaction between core and foreign energy established.
Refinement efficiency increased.]
[Regenerative functions amplified.]
[Host energy undergoing structural alteration.]
[Mutation detected within mana source.]
[Analysis in progress.]
[Entity
[Time remaining for full identification: ?? Days: ?? Hours: ?? Minutes.]
[Adaptation threshold reached.]
[Stat acquired: Ice Resistance (F+).]
[Minor freezing aura detected within core.]
[Trace ice attribute integrated into host mana.]
[Data accumulation in progress.]
───◈◈◈◈◈───
Rey's eyes lingered on the screen.
The information was… extensive.
He understood fragments of it. Enough to grasp the direction, not the depth.
The core had done something during the battle—something beyond his current understanding.
Something that had kept him alive.
He accessed the core's status next.
The refinement progress had increased. Not significantly, but enough to confirm the system's report.
That part didn't surprise him.
The ice resistance, however, was expected.
After enduring that environment—the cold, the mist, the constant exposure—it would have been stranger if nothing had changed.
Even with his ability sealed, the partial effects had still influenced his body.
He checked once more.
Nothing else stood out.
No additional changes. No hidden alerts.
After a moment, he closed the interface.
The room returned to silence.
Rey rested his head back against the pillow, eyes drifting shut as the weight of the day finally caught up to him.
Within minutes, sleep took over.
Elsewhere in the capital, the medical wing remained brightly lit.
The matches had ended over an hour ago, yet the place was far from empty.
Rows of beds were occupied by contestants in various states—some conscious, quietly enduring treatment, others completely still, lost to exhaustion or drained beyond their limits.
Medics moved between them with practised efficiency.
The air carried the faint scent of antiseptic, mixed with the low hum of equipment and muted conversations.
On one of the beds, Marin lay with her eyes closed.
Her injuries had already been treated. Bandages were wrapped cleanly across her arms and torso, and her breathing was steady.
By all visible measures, she was fine—nothing beyond energy depletion and surface wounds.
Yet she hadn't woken.
A mild sedative had been administered earlier, meant to stabilise her condition and allow her body to recover. It had done its job.
But her expression told a different story.
Her brows were slightly furrowed, her lips tight, as if something weighed heavily even in sleep.
Now and then, her body shifted—subtle, restless movements that hinted at something uneasy beneath the surface.
A dream.
Or something close to it.
Minutes passed like that.
Then, suddenly—
Her eyes snapped open.
"I must win!"
The words tore out of her throat, sharp and urgent, cutting through the quiet of the hall.
Several heads turned.
Marin pushed herself up slightly, breath uneven, eyes darting around as she tried to anchor herself. For a moment, nothing made sense—the lights, the unfamiliar ceiling, the faint sounds around her.
Then it clicked.
The medic hall.
Her hands moved instinctively, checking her body. The bandages were there. The pain followed a second later, dull but present.
"Argh…"
She gripped the edge of the bed, trying to sit up, but her arms trembled under the strain.
And then the memory came back.
The fight.
The final exchange.
Her attack—everything she had poured into that one strike. She remembered aiming straight for his chest, forcing through with everything she had left.
After that…
Nothing.
Her vision had gone dark.
"Doctor… doctor!"
Her voice rose again, drawing a medic over almost immediately.
"Yes, Miss Marin. What's wrong? Do you need anything?" he asked, concern evident in his tone.
Marin didn't hesitate.
"Tell me one thing… did I win?"
Her gaze locked onto him, searching for the answer she had already begun to expect.
The medic paused.
There was a brief flicker of hesitation before he spoke.
"Miss Marin… It's a bit difficult to say this, but… You were eliminated from the match."
Her fingers tightened against the bedsheet.
"The winner is contestant 19,082. He was the only one conscious and in a stable condition at the end. The host declared him the winner."
He continued, a bit more quickly now, as if trying to soften the blow.
"Some people did argue in your favour. There was backlash, criticism toward the decision… but without a clear basis, the result couldn't be changed. In the end, the outcome remained the same."
Silence followed.
The medic watched her carefully.
Then he saw it.
A single drop fell, followed by another.
Marin raised her hand, covering her eyes, trying to hide it—but it was already too late.
The medic shifted awkwardly.
"Ah… I'll go call the person who's been waiting for you," he said quickly, almost retreating. "They'll… handle things better."
He didn't wait for a reply.
Within seconds, he was gone.
Marin lowered her hand slowly, wiping at her face. Her thoughts felt scattered, pulled in too many directions at once.
Someone waiting?
That didn't make sense.
'Who would…'
Her family wouldn't stay. Win or lose, they would've already left.
Gravion?
No.
The last look she remembered from him during the match—there had been disappointment there. Or maybe she had imagined it. Either way, she couldn't see him waiting.
'Then who…?'
She straightened slightly, forcing her expression back under control. Whoever it was, she didn't want them to see her like this.
Footsteps approached.
A moment later, someone stepped into the hall.
Marin looked up.
And froze.
Standing beside the medic was Gravion.
He wore his usual relaxed smile, as if nothing had changed. In one hand, he carried a small food box, a wooden fork tucked neatly on top.
He walked over without hesitation and pulled a chair close to her bed.
The box was placed beside her.
"So you're finally awake, princess," he said lightly. "I thought you'd sleep till tomorrow. Was getting ready to spend the whole night here."
Marin blinked, still processing.
"Shut up… why are you here?" she asked, her voice quieter than before.
Gravion leaned back slightly, stretching his arms.
"Huh? Aren't we friends? Or did I get that wrong?" he said casually. "Feels normal to show up when a friend's lying in a medic bed."
She hesitated.
"But… I thought you were disappointed in me. Both of you," she added, voice dropping further. "I didn't follow what you said. I lost control."
Gravion frowned slightly, genuinely confused.
"And? You're human, right?" he said. "Since when does one mistake mean everything's over?"
Marin looked at him, uncertain.
"I saw your expression during the match," she insisted. "I thought… You and Davin wouldn't even talk to me after that."
For a second, Gravion just stared at her.
Then he let out a short breath, amused.
"So you were still aware of what was happening," he said. "We thought the Ice Queen just turned into a berserk tyrant and bulldozed her way through."
Her face flushed instantly.
"That's not—"
"But you lost, right?" he cut in, more seriously now.
The words hit differently.
Marin's expression dimmed again.
"I had it," she said quietly. "The win… it was right there. But I couldn't control it. I couldn't think. All I wanted was to break through him, to end it."
She clenched her hands.
"It felt like… no matter what I did, it didn't work. Like…"
She struggled to find the right words.
Gravion filled the gap.
"Like hitting a wall that absorbs or deflects everything you throw at it."
Marin's eyes widened slightly.
"Yes. Exactly that," she said. "But how do you know?"
Gravion shrugged.
"Because I've been watching," he replied. "That guy's not ordinary. I told you before—if you fight him, your focus has to stay sharp the entire time. The moment it slips, he takes over."
He leaned forward slightly.
"He didn't get this far by luck. He's beaten strong opponents. You remember Aric, right? He took him down."
Marin went quiet.
"And honestly," Gravion continued, tone thoughtful now, "I don't even think that bow is his real weapon. The way he handled that dagger back then… and his raw strength? Doesn't match a typical archer."
A faint smirk touched his lips.
"He's hiding things. A lot of them."
Marin listened, but her thoughts drifted.
'Of course…
Why would someone like that come for me?
I lost.
He'd go for someone stronger.'
Her gaze lowered.
"Well… I hope you can recruit him," she said softly. "I'll focus on improving myself. I can't rely on anyone else."
Gravion blinked.
"Huh?"
She looked up.
"Aren't you going to build your team?" she asked. "You don't need me for that."
There was a pause.
Then—
"What are you talking about?" Gravion said, genuinely puzzled. "Didn't you already join?"
Marin froze.
"…What?"
"You ate with us. We talked. I gave you pointers," he said, counting it off like it was obvious. "You think I'd do that for just anyone?"
She stared at him.
"You never asked."
"I thought it was understood," he replied without hesitation. Then, after a brief pause, he added, "Or what… you're rejecting me now?"
He leaned back, expression shifting into exaggerated disappointment.
"Man… that hurts. Guess I'll have to find someone else. Davin was already talking about forming a team for hunts and training…"
He stood up, turning slightly.
"I even had plans to train my team's elementalist properly," he muttered. "Shame."
Marin snapped out of it.
"Wait!"
He paused.
"I didn't reject you," she said quickly. "I was just… surprised."
Gravion looked over his shoulder.
"Really?"
"Yes."
A small silence followed.
Then he turned back, his usual grin returning.
"Good. Then stop overthinking and recover first," he said. "After that, come join us properly. I'll make sure you don't regret it."
He picked up the food box and pushed it into her hands.
"Eat. You'll recover faster."
Marin looked at it, then back at him.
He was already turning to leave.
For a moment, she just watched him go.
Something in her chest felt lighter than before.
A faint smile appeared—small, but real.
'Thank you, Gravion…'