Kimura appeared almost at once, cutting through the aftermath before it could tip into something far more dangerous.
His hand moved, swift, precise, slicing cleanly through the air in a gesture that carried finality. The match was over.
Jurgen's gaze shifted toward him, narrowed still, a faint edge of something unspent lingering beneath the surface.
"…?"
"That's enough."
The words fell with quiet authority, yet the pressure behind them was unmistakable.
For a moment, Jurgen remained as he was, coiled, unrelenting.
Then the tension broke.
A heavy breath escaped him, deeper than he expected, as though he had been holding it far longer than he realized. His grip slackened in the same instant. He let go.
His body followed, dropping flat against the ground, arms falling open at his sides. His chest rose sharply, then again, dragging in air with desperate relief before releasing it in long, uneven exhales.
Blackwood remained where he fell, motionless, weight draped over him, utterly limp.
Kimura stepped in without haste, crouching slightly as he assessed the situation. His gaze passed over Blackwood first, measured and clinical, before shifting to Jiro.
Both down.
Both unconscious.
There was no ambiguity left.
He straightened.
"The winners of this round…"
A brief pause settled over the arena, as though even the air itself held still.
"…Jurgen Einzelberht and Bubbles Wilkes Booth."
No eruption followed.
No cheers. No applause.
Only a dense, oppressive silence lingered, heavy with the residue of what had just unfolded.
Jurgen remained on the ground, his breathing the only steady motion left in him. Each rise and fall of his chest came slower now, the violence of the moment giving way to exhaustion.
With visible effort, he forced his head up. Muscles protested immediately, pain rippling through him in sharp reminders of every strike endured. His vision wavered, one eye narrowing slightly under the strain.
Still, he looked.
His gaze dragged across the arena until it found Bubbles.
The supposed hero of the match.
Sprawled out cold.
For a second, Jurgen simply stared.
Then his eyes widened, just a fraction, disbelief cutting through the haze.
"…seriously?"
A weak breath slipped from him as his head fell back against the ground with a dull thud.
A faint laugh followed, dry and uneven.
"That fat ass…"
"…didn't even do anything…"
"…what's he passing out for…"
The words trailed off into quiet, fractured breaths.
A low, tired chuckle lingered beneath it.
And then,
nothing but breathing.
The weight of it all settled in, pressing down from every side, leaving him there in the aftermath, suspended between victory and collapse.
Jurgen forced himself upright at last, breath dragging harshly through his chest. His body wavered, threatening collapse, yet he held his ground through sheer refusal.
His gaze lifted instinctively, finding Nemesio.
For a moment, they simply looked at one another.
No warmth. No approval. Only a quiet, unreadable exchange that lingered just long enough to matter.
"Tch…"
The sound slipped from him as he broke the stare, dismissing it before it could settle into anything more. His eyes shifted briefly toward Kimura, then away again, something unsettled still coiling beneath the surface — an irritation he could neither name nor shake.
He spat to the side.
Then turned.
Bubbles lay where he had fallen, utterly unconscious. Jurgen approached slowly, each step heavier than the last, fatigue pressing down with increasing weight. He stopped over him, exhaling through clenched teeth, one hand instinctively gripping his injured arm.
"…Hey."
Nothing.
A faint crease touched his brow.
He nudged him with his foot, light, but insistent.
"Get up. We won."
A stir.
"…huh…?"
Bubbles' head shifted slightly, eyes unfocused, blinking as though the world had yet to return to him.
Once.
Twice.
Jurgen let out a long, tired breath and turned away without waiting. The arena no longer held his interest. He began to walk, each movement measured, each step a quiet struggle against the damage he carried.
Pain tugged at his arm with every motion, sharp enough to draw a brief wince, though he refused to slow.
WHOOOSH
A sudden rush of air.
Nemesio appeared before him, effortless, a bright, almost playful smile stretching across his face.
"Hmm… I didn't expect someone like you to be this skilled in combat."
The praise was open. Unhidden.
Jurgen didn't stop.
His eyes remained forward, though something faint—barely perceptible—shifted beneath the surface. Not quite pride. Not quite acceptance. Something quieter.
"Spare me the glaze."
The reply came calm, steady, stripped of heat yet firm enough to draw a line.
A second presence stirred nearby.
Leonidas leaned out from behind Nemesio, peering with open curiosity.
A familiar attitude.
Blink.
Blink.
"Yo…"
A casual wave followed.
Jurgen's steps slowed, then stopped.
He turned.
His gaze narrowed at once, irritation flickering back to life, sharp and immediate.
"You…"
The word lingered as his expression shifted, the edge softening into something more contemplative. His brow lowered slightly, frustration giving way to a quiet pull of recognition.
"…I feel like I know you from somewhere."
The annoyance faded, replaced now by a measured curiosity, his eyes settling more intently on Leonidas as though searching for something just out of reach.
Leonidas let out a quiet sigh as he stepped out from behind Nemesio, adjusting his glasses with a measured motion. "You really are hopeless," he said, shaking his head lightly, more in disbelief than frustration. "You seriously don't remember me?"
Jurgen gave no response. His expression remained unchanged, his gaze steady and unbothered, as though the question had never been asked.
"If you're going to introduce yourself, do it," he replied at last, his tone even, almost indifferent. A brief pause followed before he added, "If not, get lost."
Leonidas froze, the words catching him off guard. For a moment, he simply stared, trying to process what he had just heard. Then his composure broke.
"Hey! What is with that attitude?!" His arms shot upward as he flailed in frustration, his voice rising sharply. "Do you even realize who you're talking to?!"
Jurgen tilted his head slightly, his lips pressing faintly to the side as he regarded him with a quiet, unimpressed look. "…Mhm."
The response was flat, dismissive to the core.
A twitch flickered in Leonidas' eye.
"I'm an Emperor of Mercedes!" he declared, pointing at himself with dramatic emphasis. "Show some respect, you fool!"
He continued without restraint, words spilling over each other as he ranted, gestures growing broader, more exaggerated with each passing second. Yet none of it seemed to reach its target. Jurgen had already turned away in everything but body, his attention elsewhere, as though the outburst carried no weight at all.
A laugh broke through the moment, low at first, then fuller.
Nemesio.
Amusement lingered clearly across his face, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched the exchange unfold. "You really are interesting, Jurgen," he remarked, the hint of intrigue in his voice unmistakable.
Behind them, the arena remained in constant motion. Another clash rang out, a heavy impact echoing sharply as one of the ongoing matches reached its conclusion.
The fights continued without pause, one after another, each ending as swiftly as it began, the rhythm of combat carrying on regardless of the small spectacle unfolding at the edge of it.