"That guy… who is he?" Viktor asked softly, his gaze lingering on Jurgen as he turned slightly toward Moshi.
"Oh, him?" Moshi replied without enthusiasm, sarcasm seeping effortlessly into his tone. "That's the emperor's junior… younger brother's bodyguard's friend."
Viktor paused. "Are you messing with me?" His voice carried a clear edge of irritation.
"Maybe. Maybe not."
"You bastard," Viktor muttered under his breath, a faint sneer forming.
Anton threw his hands up in exasperation, suddenly raising his voice. "How the hell am I supposed to know who he is?! Hell, I don't even know who you are!!"
Their argument faded into the background noise of the arena, swallowed by the lingering chaos of distant fights.
Jurgen, meanwhile, winced as a sharp pulse of pain flared through his injured arm. His jaw tightened slightly, the discomfort briefly breaking through his composure.
Leonidas, now calmer, finally noticed the injury. His gaze lingered for a moment before he spoke. "That's… nasty."
"Why… thank you," Jurgen shot back immediately, voice strained yet sharp with mock outrage. "As if I purposely put it there myself!"
"Gohon."
Leonidas adjusted his glasses, his expression shifting into something more focused. He extended a hand toward Jurgen.
"Grace upon you… heal."
A faint light stirred at his palm, soft and controlled, before spilling outward in a quiet shimmer. It wrapped gently around Jurgen's arm, seeping into the injury with an almost weightless warmth.
The bruising darkened moments before beginning to fade, the damage gradually unraveling until the arm was restored to its natural state.
Jurgen flexed his hand once, then again, opening and closing his fist as he tested the restored strength. The tension in his expression shifted slightly as he assessed the result.
"That's… one useful ability," he muttered at last, his eyes narrowing faintly, not in admiration, but in quiet evaluation as he rolled his shoulder and confirmed the recovery held steady.
"It seems you have a dull memory. I'm Pierre… Pierre Findler."
"Who?" Jurgen's brow creased, confusion settling in without restraint.
The reaction was immediate. Veins surfaced along Leonidas' forehead, his shoulders tightening as irritation rose sharply through him. Jurgen, however, only stared back, utterly unmoved.
Blink.
Blink.
Leonidas drew in a slow breath, holding it for a moment before releasing it with visible restraint.
"Pierre. The one who led you here. The one who saved you from getting beaten over an apple you took without paying."
A pause followed, just long enough.
Recognition dawned.
"Ohhh." Jurgen snapped his fingers, expression shifting with sudden clarity. "That's why you looked familiar. You're that nerdy-looking guy."
"I am not a nerd!"
Whatever composure Leonidas had rebuilt shattered instantly. His arms flew upward, voice rising into full, unfiltered frustration.
Jurgen leaned back slightly, blinking as he turned his gaze aside, already disengaging.
"Alright, alright… calm down. No need to swallow me whole."
His eyes flicked back briefly, then away again, as though even looking directly at him felt like effort.
"I thought your hair was black back then."
Leonidas adjusted his glasses with a sharp motion, his voice leveling out, calm, though edged with lingering annoyance.
"Ever heard of a wig?"
Jurgen paused.
A small, awkward laugh slipped out despite himself.
"Heh… heh…"
"Enough from both of you."
Nemesio's voice cut through cleanly, steady and controlled. His gaze had already shifted toward the arena, where the final match was drawing to a close.
"Leo, let's go. Jurgen, join the queue and listen closely to the announcement…" His eyes moved slightly past him. "…and who's that behind you?"
Leonidas spared a brief glance over Jurgen's shoulder, half curious, half amused, before disappearing without another word.
A small, hesitant voice followed in his wake.
"Hi… Jurgen-san."
Jurgen froze.
Turning to face Bubbles.
Slowly, his arm dropped to his side, his posture slackening just enough to betray the sudden disruption. His eyes widened, a rare crack in his composure as realization failed to catch up with reality.
Wait… what the hell?
Why didn't I notice him at all
He turned.
"…Who… the hell are you?"
"It's me," Bubbles replied, offering a small, nervous wave. "Your teammate… during the match."
A brief silence lingered.
"Oh." Jurgen's expression flattened almost immediately. "That fat guy."
He turned away again, already moving toward the group of participants gathering after their fights, his tone carrying casual dismissal.
"So what do you want? Why are you following me?"
What am I supposed to do with this guy?
"N-Nothing… really," Bubbles stammered, fidgeting as he trailed behind him. "I just wanted to check if you're okay."
Jurgen exhaled quietly, irritation settling back into place.
What a drag.