The next opponents stepped into the arena.
A tall figure rolled his broad shoulders, his braided hair shifting with the movement, Reira crackling faintly around him like restrained lightning.
Another stood silent, hands buried in his pockets, his gaze sharp, unreadable, an unyielding calm that unnerved all who met it.
Another from the opposite laughed, too loudly, too freely, an unsettling note that cut through the air.
The moment Kimura's arm sliced through space, they moved.
Blurs of motion, monstrous in speed, tore across the stage.
Dust erupted in jagged clouds, swallowing the arena in chaos, visibility reduced to shadows and motion alone.
A single figure surged forward, a shadow among shadows, targeting the other two.
SWOOOSH!
Jurgen's eyes strained, pupils darting, trying to track the impossible.
He could not.
Silence fell.
Slowly, the dust began to settle.
And there he stood. Alone.
The two opponents lay motionless behind him, blood pooling steadily into the cracks of the stone floor. The arena was eerily silent, the violence already etched into memory.
Kimura's gaze lingered, a flicker of surprise passing over his features, quickly replaced by concern. The fight had ended before it had even begun, blitzed, overwhelmed, no resistance.
Healers rushed onto the stage, kneeling beside the fallen fighters, hands glowing as they worked swiftly, before lifting their battered bodies and carrying them away.
Jurgen remained frozen, a cold weight settling in his chest.
Impossible…
I have to fight these monsters…?
What will my next opponents be like… ?
Can I even defeat them… ?
What if I end up like that…?
A sharp exhale: "Tch—"
Then the call rang out, sudden and commanding:
"…JURGEN EINZELBERHT! AND BUBBLES WILKES BOOTH!"
Jurgen flinched.
Reality snapped back into place.
His pupils quivered.
Fists clenched at his sides, his breath came in uneven pulls.
Focus eluded him.
His gaze darted frantically from left to right, seeking.
Seeking his teammate.
A heavyset boy stepped onto the stage, hands trembling.
His eyes swept across the arena with the same anxious urgency as Jurgen's.
Jurgen's expression darkened, shadows gathering beneath his brow.
A breath caught in his throat.
He advanced slowly, almost soundlessly.
Like a man already resigned to defeat.
"U-um… hi… I'm Bubbles…" the boy stammered, voice unsteady.
"L-let's… do our best."
"I don't care," Jurgen muttered, voice low and icily detached.
A pause.
"…fatty."
The word cut sharply through the stagnant air, leaving Bubbles momentarily paralyzed.
He lowered his center of gravity, stance tightening as if bracing against an unseen force.
Kimura's gaze flicked briefly toward Jurgen, calculating, appraising.
The arena fell silent, the stillness almost tangible.
High above, Nemesio shifted in his seat, leaning forward, eyes unwaveringly fixed on the stage.
"I see you've taken interest in that one as well," Leonidas remarked, adjusting his glasses with deliberate precision.
Nemesio did not waver.
"I suspect there's more to him."
A pause, his voice softening slightly.
"I met him a few days ago… he was… remarkable."
Kimura's arm hovered midair, motionless, eyes locked on Jurgen,
like a man poised, anticipating a moment yet to arrive.
A gentle breeze brushed against Jurgen's temple, mingling with the sweat slicking his skin.
The air carried a chill, biting yet subtle.
His gaze fixed on the opponent ahead, then flicked sideways, briefly resting on his teammate.
Of all the teammates to get… it had to be him… this guy…
So its a two-on-one…
"I won't be held back," Jurgen muttered, voice low and unyielding.
A pause.
"…not by you, fatty."
Kimura's arm descended with deliberate slowness.
And the match began.
Jurgen remained motionless.
He stood firm, eyes locked on his adversaries.
Waiting.
His body betrayed no hint of anticipation.
No trace of that peculiar Reira he had sensed back at the ridge.
All I have are my combat skills.
Against fighters who can manipulate Reira… do I even stand a chance.
His gaze sharpened, sweeping for the slightest shift.
Any movement.
Any opening.
His fists clenched.
His eyes flicked between both opponents, calculating, ready.
No one dared to make the first move.
Silence stretched like a taut wire across the arena, almost tangible.
Then,
A flicker.
A memory surged into Jurgen's vision.
A face… partially obscured by a black hat.
Blurred… yet unmistakably familiar.
"Are you going to give up?!"
The voice rang sharply in his mind, slicing through hesitation.
His eyes widened, then narrowed.
The shadow of doubt twisted across his features, and then shattered completely.
In its place, something far fiercer took root.
Resolve.
His grip tightened, fingers digging into his palms.
His breath fell into a steady rhythm, measured, deliberate.
Jurgen stepped forward, deliberate and calm, before the motion built into sudden, unrestrained momentum.
He surged ahead.
The opponents reacted almost instantly, charging with equal ferocity, dust and grit swirling in their wake.
The arena seemed to tremble with the energy of collision.
Dust whipped into the air, blurring vision, coating every surface with a fine haze.
Time itself seemed to hesitate, the world narrowing to a single point, the breath before the storm.
Jurgen's eyes burned with unwavering intent.
And just before impact—
[END OF CHAPTER.]