Musaka, the Master of Water, steps onto the platform with a glint of amusement in his eye. He meets Mukai's gaze with a knowing smirk.
Musaka: "Don't expect me to go easy on you just because you're my nephew."
Mukai: "Are you trying to make me angry?"
Musaka: grinning "Is it working?"
Mukai raises his hand and points four fingers at his uncle. Four water bullets fire instantly, striking Musaka's chest. But his form dissolves into water and reconstitutes midair—untouched.
Musaka: "You know this already. Nothing you throw at me works."
Mukai forms a water spear and hurls it, but it too dissolves harmlessly into Musaka's body. His figure grows denser, more muscular.
From the sidelines, Sukai mutters, "Our uncle can liquefy himself completely. The more water he absorbs, the stronger he gets."
Mukai creates three floating water cylinders that begin firing rapid streams of water bullets. Musaka stands still, absorbing each one and growing by the second. Some bullets miss and burrow into the ground, but most are swallowed into his frame.
Musaka frowns. Something feels off. He knows Mukai is a tactician—there's no way this is just brute force.
He watches Mukai's face. Calm. Focused. Unreadable.
Then it clicks.
Musaka leaps back just as the cylinders adjust and continue firing, tracking him like heat-seeking jets. He disperses some of his own mass to dilute the absorption.
Musaka: "You clever little— You're trying to overload me. Push me over ten percent so you win by default!"
Before the words finish, Mukai appears before him and lands a punch straight to his face—his watery skull bursts and reforms moments later.
Musaka: "Not bad... but still not enough."
Mukai doesn't flinch. He keeps pressing, striking, vanishing, reappearing. Again and again, Mukai bursts and disrupts his uncle's form, keeping the pressure constant.
Finally, Musaka steps back.
Musaka: "Alright. Two minutes left. Let's end this."
He expands again—nine percent power now.
Then he moves.
Smoother than ever, as if his body is part of the air. Mukai strikes, but his blows are redirected. Three quick punches catch Mukai in the ribs, sending him stumbling. A blur—Musaka appears behind and drives a heavy punch into his spine.
Mukai creates a Nox Pool to repel him. Musaka twists away, slips around the defense, and hits again. His watery fist flows around Mukai's block and knocks him across the platform.
Mukai steadies himself, breathing hard.
Musaka: "I'm done playing."
Mukai: panting "Good. So am I."
He forms his largest water spear yet.
From the stands, Moto shouts, "You've got this, Mukai!"
Musaka closes the gap. "I told you, it won't work."
Mukai fires.
The spear sails forward—straight through Musaka's liquid body. It disappears behind him. Musaka's smirk widens. He rushes forward.
Ten percent reached.
His fist cocks back for the final hit—just as Mukai clenches both fists.
Musaka's punch halts midair.
Frozen.
Musaka: "...What is this?"
Mukai grins. "A technique I picked up from a certain assassin."
He remembers Kangetsu—how the assassin turned Mukai's Nox Pool into a trap by saturating it with blood. Mukai learned from that moment.
Mukai: "Your body is now made of water I conjured. Which means—I control you."
Musaka stares at him, stunned.
Musaka: "You… swapped out my natural water, bit by bit… That's what all those hits were for."
Mukai simply nods, pride in his eyes.
Musaka: "I'd expect no less from my sister's son. You've learned well."
He sighs. "Of course, this wouldn't work if I wasn't holding back…"
Mukai: "I know. I still have a long way to go."
The timer ends.
Mr. Jumbo: "Mukai Emir: Victory."
Musaka shrinks down and smiles. "Looking forward to training you, nephew."
Mukai: "Don't call me that. Makes it sound like I didn't earn this."
Musaka laughs. "Oh, get over yourself. Everyone who matters saw the work you put in."
They walk off the platform together. Moto stands waiting, face beaming.
Musaka: "Is this the kid facing Gwen?"
Mukai: "Yeah."
Musaka raises a brow. "Yikes. I feel bad for you, kid."
Moto looks down, then up—eyes blazing with resolve. "I can do this."
He points to the arena.
Across the battlefield, a burst of flame erupts. One of the terraces explodes as Gwen steps into view, flames licking at his shoulders. He walks slowly onto the platform, power already flaring at ten percent.
Mukai places a hand on Moto's shoulder.
No words.
Moto turns to Sheu. She's watching, concern written all over her face.
He nods to her and walks onto the field.
Gwen narrows his eyes.
King Douglas: "Begin."
The Flames Awaken
Moto charges forward.
Gwen's muscles tense, flames rising from his arms. His body heat intensifies, daring Moto to get close. Moto ignores the warning.
He darts in, launching a jab. Gwen swings—miss. Moto barely evades and backs off, arms bruised from heat.
Gwen conjures two blazing tennis balls and smirks.
Moto plants his feet.
The first ball comes screaming at his face. He ducks. The second flies just over his shoulder. Both hit the wall—then rebound.
Flame racket in hand, Gwen bats them back—faster this time.
Moto: "They're too fast. I need to blind him—maybe a smoke screen."
He exhales smoke... but a stray fireball zips past, igniting it midair. A fiery burst engulfs him. Moto staggers, dazed.
Then—impact.
The second ball crashes into his forehead.
He hits the ground hard.
Gwen: "This is a joke! A warm-up at best. Why are you even here?"
He dashes forward for a finishing blow.
Moto rolls, flips away.
Three new tennis balls form in Gwen's grip.
Gwen: "At least this sport scales down well. Small power—but still more than enough for someone like you."
He fires all three. Moto weaves, remembering Mukai's drills. But they come faster—bouncing, rebounding.
And Moto can't use smoke.
Not safely.
He charges straight in.
Gwen jabs. The rebounded fireballs close in from behind.
Moto ducks.
The fireballs hit Gwen's face directly.
No effect.
Moto stares—then spots the incoming punch.
A punch that could obliterate him.
Sukai covers his mouth in horror. Sheu's eyes brim with tears.
At the last second, Moto kicks his shoe into the air and crosses his arms to block.
The shoe chars instantly, but it blunts the punch just enough.
Moto grabs the hand. Pulls himself in—heel kick to Gwen's jaw.
Gwen staggers.
Zed: "He actually landed a hit!?"
But the joy is short-lived.
Gwen plants his foot.
Catches Moto.
And slams him into the ground.
He starts kicking.
Gwen: "You filthy brat! You think this is a game? You all came here to waste our time?! You think any of you matter?!"
Each kick lands harder than the last.
Moto flinches—memories flooding in.
Nawick. Mukai. The same feeling. Powerless. Broken.
He remembers Amber.
His promise.
Through bloodied lips, he grabs Gwen's leg.
Smoke bursts from his body.
Gwen: "This again?!"
He tosses a flame marble—it explodes on impact, scorching Moto's arms.
Still, Moto holds on.
The smoke grows darker. Denser.
Mukai watches, recognizing the transformation.
Sheu grips the rails, fear in her chest. She's seen this twice before. And both times, Moto refused to talk about it afterward.
Sukai: "Father, stop this!"
But Gwen doesn't listen. He keeps kicking.
Moto's vision blurs.
He sees Gwen's boot soaked in red.
And suddenly—he's somewhere else.
A doorway. Screaming outside. Blood on the floor.
His brother's voice calling to him.
Gwen feels the grip on his heel trighten.
Then—
From Moto's arm errupts a maroon flame.