Gregory's body jerked once, then stilled.
Silence swallowed the arena. Cold, and heavy.
Outside, no one spoke. No one moved. They couldn't believe what had just happened.
Newton stood there for a moment, his chest rising and falling, his grip still firm on the sword. Then he pulled it out slowly, and turned. His eyes were still tied. Pain still explodes through them.
Newton walked slowly out of the dark arena, each step careful, almost uncertain.
The noise around him felt distant. Shapes moved, but they were blurred, scattered shadows that refused to form into anything clear. He blinked repeatedly, trying to force his sight back into place, but the burning in his eyes remained.
The cloth was gone now, but the darkness still lingered. He tilted his head slightly, trying to follow the direction of the open space, but even that felt unreliable. His steps slowed.
Outside, the students exchanged glances. Tom shifted uneasily and leaned toward Maxwell. "Do not tell me Gregory is dead."
Maxwell didn't take his eyes off Newton. His jaw tightened slightly before he gave a small nod. "He is dead," he said quietly. "He underestimated the boy."
There was no admiration in his tone, only irritation.
Samuel stood a few steps away, his chest still rising from everything he had just witnessed. A faint smile formed on his lips as he watched Newton emerge from the darkness.
But the smile didn't last long. Something was off. Newton's steps were uneven. Not from exhaustion. Something else. His head turned slightly as if searching for direction.
Samuel's expression changed immediately. "Newton," he called. The voice cut through the noise.
Newton paused, his head turning toward the sound. He followed it, step by step, carefully tracing the direction of Samuel's voice.
Then, the arena erupted. Applause broke out suddenly, loud and overwhelming. Some students rose to their feet, clapping, shouting, releasing the tension that had been holding them hostage.
A newcomer had just killed the most talented student of level two. It didn't feel real. But not everyone was celebrating.
Maxwell's face darkened. Tom clenched his fists. The rest of Gregory's boys looked ready to tear something apart.
Maxwell's hand moved to his sword. He drew it slowly. "The boy dies tonight," he said, his voice low but sharp enough to cut through the noise.
Jerry followed without hesitation, drawing his own blade. They began to move forward. Straight toward Newton. Samuel saw it instantly. His body reacted before his mind could catch up. He stepped forward, placing himself directly between Newton and the approaching group. His hand went to his sword, pulling it free in one smooth motion.
"You fools," Samuel said, his voice steady despite the pounding in his chest. "If you think you can fight him, then wait till he recovers his sight."
Maxwell didn't slow down. "Get off my path," he said, his eyes locked on Samuel, "or I will cut you down."
Samuel felt it. That flicker of fear. Sharp, and cold. But he didn't move. He tightened his grip on the hilt. "You will stay right there," he replied, his voice lower now, firmer. "Or I will kill you."
A pause.
Then his jaw clenched harder. "I have not forgotten how you killed Stella. I will have my revenge when the time comes."
The words landed heavily. The crowd shifted uneasily. Murmurs spread, low and restless, as students watched the tension rise again, just moments after Gregory's death.
Maxwell's eyes flickered, just for a second. Then, a voice cut through everything. "You will all take back your sword."
It wasn't loud. But it carried. The master stood at the edge of the arena, his gaze sweeping across them. "You only fight when the system demands you to fight."
The authority in his tone left no room for argument. Maxwell's grip tightened on his sword, but he didn't move.
Samuel remained still. For a moment, it felt like everything had paused.
Then, the blue screen flickered to life before both of them.
SYSTEM NOTIFICATION.
DEFEAT MAXWELL SAGE.
REWARD: 5 CPD POINT.
FAILURE: DEATHS.
Samuel's eyes widened slightly. Maxwell smiled. Slow, abd cold. "You want a chance for revenge?" he said, stepping closer to Samuel, his voice dropping just enough to feel personal.
"Here it is." He tilted his head slightly, studying him. "Enjoy today," Maxwell continued, a faint grin spreading across his face, "because I will kill you, just as I have killed Stella."
Samuel's grip on his sword tightened until his knuckles turned pale. His heart pounded, but his voice didn't shake. "I will stand over your corpse tomorrow," he said. "That is a promise."
The crowd stirred again. Some whispered. Some watched in silence. Others simply waited. "Tomorrow we will see," someone muttered.
Samuel didn't stay. He turned immediately and ran toward Newton. Newton was still trying to find his way, his steps slow, uncertain.
Samuel reached him quickly. "You are fine now," he said, his voice softer, almost grounding.
He pulled him into a brief hug, steadying him before guiding him forward.
Newton didn't resist. They moved together, leaving the arena behind. The noise faded. The tension didn't. Inside their room, Newton lay down without a word.
The fight with Gregory was over. He had won. But the victory felt distant.
Heavy.
His chest rose slowly as he stared upward, his vision still blurred. Samuel moved around the room, restless, but didn't say much.
Both of them knew. Tomorrow wasn't just another fight. Newton turned his head slightly, his eyes struggling to focus on Samuel's silhouette.
He didn't say it. But the thought was there. Clear, and sharp. He might lose him.
That night, sleep came, but not easily. It came in fragments. Broken, and restless. And when morning finally arrived, it didn't feel like relief.
It felt like a countdown reaching zero. The bell rang sharp, and commanding.
Students stirred immediately. Doors opened. Footsteps echoed through the corridors. Samuel rose from his bed without hesitation.
He didn't stretch. He didn't linger. He reached for his Ninja attire and began to dress, his movements precise, almost mechanical.
Newton sat up slowly. His vision had improved slightly, but not enough. The world still looked off. "You should rest," Samuel said, glancing at him briefly. "Recover."
Newton shook his head. "No," he replied quietly. "I am fine." He stood, steadying himself. "I need to be there," he added. "Supporting you."
Samuel looked at him for a moment. Then nodded. Neither of them argued further. They dressed in silence. Then stepped out.
The arena was already filling up. Rows of students took their seats, their voices low, expectant. The air felt heavier than usual, like everyone knew this wasn't just another match.
This was personal. Maxwell arrived early. His sword was already drawn. He didn't acknowledge anyone as he walked past the rows, his steps calm, deliberate, as if he had already decided how everything would end.
He stepped into the arena, and waited. Samuel and Newton arrived shortly after. Samuel guided Newton toward a seat near the front. "You should sit here," Samuel said, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Newton hesitated for a second, then sat. Samuel straightened. "I will win the fight," he said, forcing a small smile. "I promise."
But even as the words left his mouth, something inside him tightened. Maxwell stood in the arena, unmoving, his presence steady, controlled.
Samuel's heartbeat quickened. He knew. This wasn't going to be easy. Not even close.
Still, he turned, and stepped forward.