Students and masters filled the great arena long before the signal was given, their voices rising and falling in uneven waves that carried anticipation more than excitement, as though everyone sensed this was not just another match but something sharper, something that might end too quickly to satisfy the hunger in their eyes.
The stone ground of the arena had been worn smooth by years of combat, marked faintly with lines and scars that never quite disappeared, and above it all, the high walls held the noise in, letting it circle and build.
Gregory arrived with his boys like he owned the place, his steps relaxed, almost lazy, but there was nothing soft about the way his presence cut through the crowd. Confidence sat on him naturally, like armor he had worn too long to notice.
His gaze swept across the arena once, slow and unimpressed, before settling on the three masters standing at a distance.
He tilted his head slightly. "Hey. What is all this fuss about?" His tone carried easily, light, almost amused. "I am only fighting a newbie. Not a talented ninja."
A ripple of laughter spread through the students, quick and eager, the kind that followed strength without question. Tom leaned forward slightly, folding his arms with a smirk that refused to leave his face. "I do not know why the system placed five CPD points on his head," he said loudly enough for others to hear. "He is just a newbie. He won't last two minutes against Gregory."
More laughter followed, louder this time, feeding off itself.
The masters did not react.
They stood as they were, still, watching, their silence stretching just enough to feel deliberate, as if they were waiting for something the others could not yet see.
Then Newton walked in.
He did not command the same attention, not at first. There was no shift in the air, no sudden hush, only a few glances that lingered a moment longer than necessary. His steps were slower, careful, like each one required a decision. Up close, the tremor in his hands was hard to miss, subtle but persistent, betraying what his face tried to hold together.
Samuel moved beside him without hesitation, placing a firm hand on his shoulder before Newton could step too far ahead. He turned him slightly, forcing him to meet his gaze.
"Do not doubt yourself now," Samuel said quietly, his voice low enough that it did not carry beyond them, but steady enough to cut through the noise in Newton's head. "Believe in yourself. We will eat dinner together tonight."
Newton tried to smile.
It came out strained, something that almost worked if you did not look too closely, but his hands did not listen. They continued to shake, fingers tightening and loosening around nothing as if searching for something solid to hold on to.
He stepped forward anyway.
The space before the arena seemed wider than it should have been, stretching just enough to make the distance feel longer. When he reached the line, he stopped, standing still for a brief moment as if grounding himself.
A master's voice echoed, deep and clear, cutting through the murmur without effort. "Pick any weapon of your choice."
Newton turned.
Laid out beside him was an array of weapons, each one carefully placed, each one carrying its own weight and purpose. Blades of different lengths, throwing stars, chains, powders, tools designed for speed, for silence, for death. For a moment, he simply looked at them, his gaze moving slowly, not with the sharp certainty of someone who knew exactly what he needed, but with the hesitation of someone still searching.
Then he moved.
He passed over the obvious choices, his hand hovering briefly over a sword before pulling away. He stepped further down, eyes narrowing slightly, until he stopped. Slowly, he bent and picked up a torch, its rough handle fitting awkwardly in his grip. In his other hand, he took a ninja bomb, small but heavy with potential.
The reaction was immediate.
Confusion flickered across the faces of the students, quickly followed by amusement. Maxwell let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "What is he going to use a torch for?"
Tom did not miss a beat. "Maybe to see in the darkness," he replied, his tone dripping with mockery.
The laughter returned, softer this time but sharper, more pointed.
Newton did not respond.
Across from him, Gregory stepped forward, his movements unhurried. He glanced briefly at the weapons, then reached down and picked multiple knives, testing their weight with quick, practiced flicks of his wrist.
"This should do," he muttered, almost to himself. "I am not fighting a serious fight."
He turned as if ready to leave, then paused.
Something caught his eye.
A small container of powder sat slightly apart from the rest, unremarkable at first glance, but enough to draw his curiosity. He picked it up, turning it between his fingers, a faint smile forming.
"I have never used this before," he said lightly. "Maybe I should test it on him."
He slid it into place without another thought, then reached up and drew his ninja mask over his face, leaving only his eyes visible. Those eyes, sharp and focused now, held none of the earlier laziness.
The master's voice rang out again. "Now proceed to the dark arena. Only one of you will return alive."
The words settled heavily, pressing into the space between them.
Newton's heart hammered against his chest, each beat loud enough that it almost drowned everything else. For a second, it felt like the ground beneath him had shifted, like the air had grown thinner, harder to breathe.
Gregory, on the other hand, let out a short, sharp smile, the kind that did not reach his eyes. "This is an execution," he said, his voice low but clear. "Not a fight. I will be very fast with him."
He did not wait for a response.
He turned and stepped into the dark arena, his figure disappearing almost immediately as the shadows swallowed him whole.
Newton stood where he was.
For a moment, he did nothing.
Then he exhaled, slow and controlled, as if trying to force his body into calm. It did not fully work, but it was enough. Enough to move.
He stepped forward.
The darkness met him at the entrance, thick and immediate, cutting off the light behind him in a way that felt almost physical. As soon as he crossed the threshold, the world changed. The noise of the crowd dulled, the light vanished, and the space around him shrank into something uncertain and shifting.