The arena buzzed with anticipation as the next match was announced. But in the VIP section, a different kind of tension simmered beneath the surface.
Valerik watched Grace Barlow make her way toward the arena floor, his expression one of genuine admiration. "You know," he said, his voice carrying a note of appreciation, "she's the most approachable of all the trainees in Jerkin base. The others are just... soulless. Almost bootlickers. They smile even when insulted."
Brenna's lips curved into a knowing smile. "What do you expect? Most of them are from civilian upbringing. Apart from—" she paused, her eyes glinting with amusement, "—I believe you're aware of Crestfall City, aren't you?"
Valerik's eyes widened, his posture shifting with sudden interest. "Of course I know it. Who doesn't? The Veyrennni family—they're practically legends. Largest pizza distributors in the country. Nearly a hundred years of history."
He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "They were aristocrats back in the old country—Eredia, before the revolution. When they came to America, they became one of the most feared mafias of the twentieth century. But one of them never wanted to be part of the criminal underworld. He started a restaurant instead. And eventually, that restaurant became the country's leading pizza chain."
Brenna nodded slowly. "And now you're probably wondering why I'm bringing this up."
Valerik's gaze drifted to Grace, his eyes narrowing. "No way. You're not saying—"
"I didn't know until recently," Brenna said, her voice carrying a note of dry amusement. "But Grace's maternal grandmother was a Veyrennni. She was raised by them. And when they decided she needed protection, they brought her to Crestwood Jerkin base. It was the safest place they could think of."
Valerik's jaw dropped. "Why would they—"
"They made a lot of enemies," Brenna interrupted. "And they decided Jerkin base was a good hiding spot for their little precious girl."
Valerik's eyes sparkled with an almost childlike wonder. "I always wanted to meet the guys behind the famous brand itself," he said, his voice carrying a note of genuine excitement. "Never imagined one of them was always around me."
He stared at Grace with the wide-eyed expression of a fan who had just discovered their idol was nearby.
---
The match began.
Yelena Volkov faced Grace Barlow, her aethernova flaring with chaotic energy. Waves of conflux radiated from her in jagged arcs, the air around her crackling with barely contained power. Gale-force winds swirled around her body, her presence growing more intense with each passing moment.
"I need not lose," Yelena declared, her voice carrying a note of fierce determination. "I must bring honor to my sisters, who have been made a mockery by hooligans like you. This is personal."
Grace's expression remained calm, her posture relaxed. Her aethernova pulsed with a steady, grounded rhythm, waves of energy radiating from her in controlled arcs. The ground beneath her feet seemed to resonate with her presence, dust rising in gentle spirals.
The signal flashed.
Yelena attacked first, her movements fast and unpredictable. She moved like a black cat—agile, deceptive, each strike aimed at overwhelming her opponent. The air around her crackled with power, her presence growing more intense as the fight progressed.
Grace responded with calm precision. She raised her palm, a golden sigil flashing into existence before her. The seal formed—a flat palm push that stopped kinetic force instantly. The golden light pulsed with each block, pressure stabilizing around her like an unbreakable shield.
Yelena's attacks grew more desperate, each strike more powerful than the last. But Grace's defenses held firm, her movements economical and efficient.
---
In the VIP section, Valerik's expression shifted from admiration to complete shock. His eyes widened, his mouth falling open.
"She's of the Erynder clan!" he stammered, his voice carrying a note of disbelief. "How is this possible? How could I not have noticed? She's been right here, in front of us, this entire time!"
Brenna's lips curled into a sneer. "What do you expect? A group with hundreds of years of history still existing today—isn't it more obvious? Only a few in Jerkin base are of Sutran bloodline. My siblings, the Zhangs, and I. The rest are just ignorant fodders."
Eugene Torrent watched the match with a mixture of admiration and jealousy. "She has good control of her art," he said, his voice carrying a note of grudging respect. "Each art form of the clans is hardest to use—even trying to execute them is a challenge. Most of the bottom ranks only have barely a fraction of success. Maybe two to sixteen percent manage it. And she's doing it like it's nothing."
His gaze drifted toward Cassia Ulfric's direction, his expression shifting to one of barely concealed trauma. His hands clenched at his sides, his breathing growing shallow.
Dhivya Rana noticed. She leaned forward, her voice carrying a note of sharp curiosity. "Eugene, are you still not over your—"
Before she could finish, Eugene's hand shot out, covering her mouth with frantic urgency. His face flushed crimson, his eyes darting nervously toward Valerik, Brenna, and Jericho. They stared back with knowing looks, their expressions a mixture of amusement and understanding.
"Why hide it?" Nikolai Morozov said, his voice carrying a note of dark amusement. "The girl is a demon or something. She not only beat Eugene's ass but made him start yelling for help like a child."
Eugene's face burned redder. He looked around desperately, as if searching for a hole to crawl into. His body language was that of a man who wanted to disappear—shoulders hunched, eyes darting, hands fidgeting.
Jericho's expression was one of complete shock and slight fear. "How is that possible?" he asked, his voice carrying a note of genuine bewilderment. "You're one of the strongest among us. How could some trainee achieve that?"
Eugene sighed, his shoulders slumping. "You guys always give me too much credit for my ability. The truth is, even my little brother can match me on a level playing field. I'm not as special as you think."
Isha Patel shook her head in disbelief. "No way. At most, you could give me a hard time, but—"
"It's the truth," Eugene interrupted, his voice flat. "It appears that since we graduated as trainees, the higher-ups have been bothered enough to invest more in our training. We're not the golden boys we thought we were."
The group exchanged glances, their expressions a mixture of shock and unease. Brenna alone maintained an expressionless look, her lips curling into a sneer.
"If you all think you're the type of golden boys," she said, her voice dripping with contempt, "then you're mistaken. A puny corner like Fenwick of Crestwood can't compare to the real humongous playing field of hidden hands that are building the real players. Why would they expose their secrets in us? That doesn't make any sense."
She paused, her eyes sweeping over the group.
"Lucky for me, I'm not of any of your Shinkai. For us, we all treat each other like real family. Unlike yours—full of hidden blades and all smiles."
The group fell silent, the weight of her words pressing down like a physical force.
---
The fight continued.
Yelena's attacks were relentless, her presence growing more intense with each passing moment. The air around her crackled with chaotic energy, her strikes coming faster and more powerful. She had the advantage at first, her speed and unpredictability overwhelming Grace's defenses.
But Grace remained calm. Her golden seals flashed with each block, her movements measured and precise. She absorbed the onslaught, waiting for the right moment.
And then she saw her opening.
Her counter-attack was devastating. She moved with the grace of the earth itself—slow, powerful, unstoppable. Her palm struck forward, golden light flaring around her hand. The impact sent shockwaves through Yelena's body, her chaotic energy flickering wildly.
Yelena staggered, her advantage gone. The fight was now evenly matched.
And then Grace pressed forward.
Her strikes came faster, more powerful. The golden sigils around her flared with each attack, her presence growing more intense. Yelena tried to recover, but it was too late. Grace's final blow caught her in the chest, sending her crashing to the ground.
Yelena lay on the ground, her expression one of sadness and defeat. Her aethernova flickered weakly, the fight clearly over.
Grace extended her hand.
"Don't be too hard on yourself," she said, her voice gentle and warm.
Yelena looked up, her eyes glistening. She hesitated, then took Grace's hand, pulling herself to her feet.
"You know," Yelena said, her voice carrying a note of surprise, "for someone I hated, you're really too nice. I don't understand."
Grace smiled. "Why shouldn't I be? You're only human. Just like me."
Yelena's expression shifted to one of sudden realization. Her eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat.
"I've been so heavily invested in trying to be someone I can't be," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "That I forgot what it was to be normal." She looked at Grace, her eyes shining with gratitude. "Thank you."
They embraced.
---
In the VIP section, Jericho watched the scene with a mixture of confusion and unease. His eyes were fixed on the embrace, his mind racing with questions he couldn't answer.
What have I been missing? he thought, his internal voice heavy with doubt. What have I been doing wrong?
The match was over.
But something had changed.
And no one knew what it meant.