The gentle knock echoed through the medical ward's sterile hallway. Even through the thick wooden door, I could hear the exhaustion in Mashù's voice.
"Come in," Mari called from inside.
My friend pushed open the door, his usual energetic demeanor subdued by the day's events. "Hey Doc, how's Yoku?"
The concern in Mashù's voice was genuine. We'd all seen Yoku take that brutal hit during his match, and the uncertainty had been eating at us since they carried him off the arena floor.
Dr. Mari looked up from her paperwork, adjusting her wire-rimmed glasses. "He's fine. He'll be back for tomorrow's match." She gestured toward the recovery room where soft breathing could be heard through the partially open door. "He's sleeping right now—the healing process takes a lot out of them."
Relief washed over Mashù's features. "Nice. Alright, we'll get going then."
"Have a good night," Mari said, already turning back to her charts.
The dormitory halls felt different at night. During the day, they buzzed with the energy of dozens of students practicing their spirit abilities, voices echoing off the stone walls as friends gathered in common areas. Now, with most students either asleep or quietly studying, our footsteps seemed unnaturally loud against the polished floors.
"Goodnight, Mashù. See you tomorrow, man," I said as we reached the corridor where our paths diverged.
"Yeah, same. Night." Mashù's voice carried that particular weariness that comes after a day filled with both triumph and worry.
I turned the key in my door, muscles aching from the day's events. *Man, today was a lot,* I thought as I reached for the light switch. The familiar click filled the room with warm yellow light—and revealed a figure sitting calmly in my desk chair.
"Woah! What are you doing here, Jeremi?"
My heart hammered against my ribs as I stared at my unexpected visitor. Jeremi sat with an almost unnatural stillness, his dark hair casting shadows across his angular features. There was something different about him—an intensity that hadn't been there during our previous encounters.
"Shhh..." Jeremi raised a finger to his lips, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just wanted to give you this."
He extended his hand, revealing a small glass vial filled with an ominous purple liquid that seemed to swirl with its own inner light. The sight of it made my stomach clench with an inexplicable dread.
"What is this?" I asked, accepting the vial with trembling fingers. The glass was surprisingly warm against my palm.
"It's the antidote to the poison that hit you."
*Poison?* The word hit me like a physical blow. I'd felt off since my last match, attributed the lingering weakness to exhaustion, but poison? "Thanks, but how did you know about the poison and what type it was to get the correct antidote?"
Jeremi's expression remained neutral, almost clinical. "Oh... your friends told me a little earlier, and I asked that Ruisu guy for an all-healing antidote since he has the spirit of poison."
"Poison, huh?" The pieces clicked into place. "Oh yeah, he's the one who forfeited against you."
"Correct." Jeremi stood with fluid grace, his movements reminiscent of a predator preparing to leave its territory. "Well, I'll see you around. I hope to fight you soon."
The words carried an undercurrent that made my skin crawl. This wasn't the casual challenge between competitors—there was something deeper, more personal in his tone.
As Jeremi slipped through my door without another word, he left behind an aura that seemed to suck the warmth from the room. The temperature felt like it had dropped ten degrees, and I found myself shivering despite the academy's usually perfect climate control.
*Jeremi seems kind of different now...* I stared at the closed door for several long moments, the purple vial growing heavier in my hand. *Anyways, I'm not gonna worry about it right now. It's time for some sleep.*
But sleep didn't come easily. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that strange intensity in Jeremi's gaze, felt the unnatural cold he'd left behind. When I finally drifted off, my dreams were filled with swirling purple mist.
Consciousness returned slowly, accompanied by the familiar ache of muscles pushed beyond their limits. I blinked against the morning sunlight streaming through my window, automatically scanning my room for unexpected visitors. For once, everything appeared normal—no mysterious figures in chairs, no strange gifts on my desk.
I glanced toward my door, half-expecting to find someone waiting in the hallway. The silence was almost suspicious in its completeness.
"Oh hey, Anjero."
I nearly jumped out of my skin. Shinkei stood in my doorway, somehow having entered without making a sound. My brother had always been light on his feet, but this was getting ridiculous.
"I'm kind of pumped today, seeing as I'm the last to go in the first round," he continued, apparently oblivious to the fact that he'd just given me a minor heart attack.
*I stand corrected. I guess everyone was just running late.*
Despite his words, I could see the telltale signs of nerves—the slight tremor in his hands, the way his weight shifted from foot to foot. Shinkei had always been confident in training, but real matches were different. The pressure, the crowd, the knowledge that one mistake could end everything.
"I bet you are. I'll be cheering you on," I said, hoping my voice conveyed more confidence than I felt.
"You wanna catch breakfast before we go?"
"Yeah, sure."
As we walked toward the cafeteria, Shinkei's nervous energy became more apparent. "Oh yeah, Mom's going to watch today. Apparently she had some school business to deal with yesterday."
"Oh, okay. Cool." The mention of our mother watching added another layer of pressure to an already tense situation. "Let's get breakfast before everyone eats it all."
The cafeteria buzzed with an energy unlike any I'd experienced since arriving at the academy. Instead of the usual mixed seating arrangements where students from different schools mingled freely, clear territorial lines had been drawn. Each school had claimed their own section, creating invisible barriers that seemed to hum with tension.
Shinkei and I gathered our breakfast—him loading his tray with enough food for three people, me settling for something light that wouldn't sit like lead in my stomach—and spotted our usual group at a table near the center of the room.
"Hey! The Sutanrì bros!" Yoku's voice boomed across the cafeteria, causing heads to turn from neighboring tables. "We left a seat for you!"
I winced at the volume. "Thanks. Why are you so loud?"
"Because of this atmosphere here right now. Everyone is here—you haven't noticed?"
Now that he mentioned it, I could see what he meant. The cafeteria was packed beyond capacity, with students I didn't recognize filling every available seat. The air thrummed with anticipation and barely contained competitive energy.
"I did, but I didn't really think too much into it."
Mashù leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Everybody is sitting at their own school's table. It's so quiet."
He was right. Despite the crowd, the usual morning chatter had been replaced by hushed conversations and meaningful glances between tables. It felt like the calm before a storm.
Romaji, ever the tactless one, shrugged. "Probably because we're beating everyone and they're just surprised how strong we are..." He caught sight of Mashù's expression and quickly added, "Oof, sorry Mashù."
Mashù's shoulders sagged slightly, but he managed a weak smile. "No worries, I'm okay. I just need to train more."
Looking at my friend's loaded tray, I couldn't resist lightening the mood. "I'm not going to lie, Mashù—how do you not get fat?"
"What do you mean?"
"Bro, there's a mountain of food on your tray."
Kamira laughed, shaking her head. "You get used to it after a while."
"Well, I work out a lot, so I need a lot of food to have enough energy to train," Mashù explained between bites. "Plus, who doesn't love food?"
The laughter that followed felt genuine for the first time that morning, cutting through some of the tension that had settled over our group like fog.
"Excuse me, Mr. Anjero, Shinkei?"
We turned to see Nanshi standing behind us, her tray balanced carefully in her hands. Her usual confidence seemed shaken, replaced by an uncertainty that made her appear younger than her years.
"Can I sit here? I don't feel comfortable sitting over there." She gestured toward the Spirit East table, where her schoolmates sat in rigid formation, their expressions uniformly hostile.
Shinkei's response was immediate and warm. "Sure, it's a cafeteria, not a battlefield. Anyone is welcome."
"Thank you!" The relief in Nanshi's voice was palpable as she slid into the seat beside Kamira.
"I guess I'll join you guys over here also," Diane announced, appearing with her own tray. The morning was turning into an impromptu refugee gathering for students who didn't fit their schools' increasingly militant attitudes.
"My, how I love a beautiful group laughing together," came a smooth voice from behind us.
Suna materialized as if from nowhere, settling into a chair with fluid grace. The way he moved reminded me of water flowing around obstacles—natural, effortless, and somehow mesmerizing.
The table was getting crowded, but somehow there was still room when Devanga's massive frame appeared beside us.
"I see you finally join us, big guy," I said, grinning up at him.
"Shut up. I just don't feel comfortable in silent places," Devanga grumbled, but there was no real annoyance in his voice. For someone so intimidating in the arena, he had a surprisingly gentle demeanor when relaxed.
"Well, I don't see anything wrong with that," Shinkei said diplomatically.
A new voice joined the conversation. "I never got to talk to you guys, but I'm Aoi, and I'm a big fan of your mom, especially since I have lightning also."
I looked over at the girl with striking blue hair and electric eyes that seemed to spark with inner energy. Her lightning had been impressive during her match—faster and more precise than anything I'd seen from someone our age.
Kamira nodded appreciatively. "Oh yeah, you're that girl with the blue lightning. Girl, you beat that guy so quickly. Hats off to all the females in here..." She paused dramatically, "...ahem, except the twins."
"What did you say, pig?" The twins' voices harmonized in perfect outrage from across the table.
"Meet me outside now!" Kamira shot back, half-rising from her seat.
"Kam, save it for the tournament," Mashù said, placing a restraining hand on her arm.
Romaji, ever practical, glanced at his watch. "Speaking of which, Shinkei, shouldn't you be getting ready?"
Shinkei's face went pale. "I forgot—what time is it?"
"It's, um... that time."
"Crap! I'll catch y'all later." Shinkei bolted from his chair, grabbing a piece of toast as he headed for the exit.
"See ya," I called after him, though I wasn't sure he heard me over the sudden scraping of chairs as other students began filing out toward the arena.
"I better go also," said a quiet voice.
I turned to see the mysterious kid who'd been sitting alone at the Spirit East table. He was slight, almost fragile-looking, with dark hair that fell across his eyes and an aura of complete calm that seemed at odds with the morning's tensions.
*That must be Shinkei's opponent. I wish I knew what spirit he has.*
"Aye yo, Kam, you got anything on that guy?" I asked as we gathered our things.
"He might be Suru Kyushu since he's the only one who hasn't fought yet."
"His spirit?"
"Not sure. We just have to wait and see."
*Hm, okay.*
As we made our way toward the arena, I couldn't shake the feeling that this match was going to be different. There was something about Suru's quiet confidence that reminded me uncomfortably of Jeremi's strange visit the night before. In a tournament where every competitor had shown their cards except for one, the unknown was becoming increasingly dangerous.
The arena roared to life around us as we took our seats. The morning's tensions had followed us here, magnified by the amphitheater's acoustics and the press of hundreds of bodies. Today would mark the end of the first round, and after this, only the strongest would remain.
I just hoped Shinkei was ready for whatever secrets his mysterious opponent was about to reveal.
The arena buzzed with anticipation as the morning's scattered tensions crystallized into focused energy. I found myself gripping the edge of my seat as the announcer's voice boomed across the amphitheater.
"Well everyone, welcome to the last match in the first round! It'll be Shinkei Sutanrì from Spirit South versus Suru Kyushu from Spirit East!"
Below us, the two figures emerged onto the arena floor. Shinkei looked confident, his usual pre-match nerves hidden behind a mask of determination. Across from him, Suru moved with that same unsettling calm I'd noticed at breakfast—like someone who knew a secret the rest of us didn't.
Referee Migan stepped between them, his weathered face serious. "You two ready?"
"Yeah," Shinkei replied, rolling his shoulders to loosen up.
"Waiting on you," Suru said quietly, his voice carrying an edge that made my skin crawl.
"Not needed, but... Ready... Set... Fight!"
"Let's go, Shinkei!" I shouted, my voice joining the chorus of support from our section.
"Shinkei!" came another voice—our mother, Sharin, her teacher's composure cracking to reveal maternal pride and worry.
"ShinShin!" Aria's high-pitched cheer cut through the crowd noise.
I could see Shinkei's posture straighten at the sound of his family's support. "My family is here, so I can't lose here," he declared, flames beginning to dance around his hands.
"Well?" Suru's response was flat, almost bored.
Shinkei waited for a moment, clearly expecting his opponent to make the first move. When nothing happened, he took the initiative. "Scorch Laser!"
A brilliant beam of concentrated fire erupted from Shinkei's outstretched palm, racing toward Suru with lethal precision. I'd seen this technique dozens of times in training, knew its power and accuracy.
"Ha! Absorb Wall!"
A shimmering barrier materialized in front of Suru, and the impossible happened—Shinkei's attack simply vanished, swallowed by the translucent surface as if it had never existed.
"Huh? Where did my laser go?" Shinkei's confusion was evident even from our seats.
"Shinkei, he absorbed it!" I called out, though I wasn't sure he could hear me over the crowd's gasps of amazement.
"That's okay—hand-to-hand combat it is!"
My brother rushed forward, abandoning his usual ranged fighting style for close quarters. His fists moved in precise combinations, each strike backed by years of training under our mother's instruction. But Suru met him blow for blow, their movements creating a deadly dance across the arena floor.
"Sorry, man, but my ability is so lame that I focused all my training on combat alone," Suru said conversationally, even as he blocked a vicious uppercut. "So you won't win this one."
Shinkei grinned, sweat beading on his forehead. "I don't know—absorption seems kind of convenient to me."
"True. Oh yes, you can have this back—Scorch Laser!"
Horror flooded through me as Suru's hand erupted with Shinkei's own technique, the stolen fire racing toward my brother at point-blank range. Shinkei barely managed to dodge, the heat singing his uniform as he rolled away.
"Woah, so he can use my ability when he absorbs it also... what do I do?" Shinkei's voice carried across the arena, his usual confidence cracking.
"You can't win. Just give up," Suru said, advancing with methodical precision.
That was the wrong thing to say. I knew my brother well enough to recognize the danger signs—the way his shoulders tensed, how his flames shifted from orange to deep red.
"He's pissing me off! Scorch Laser!" Shinkei's attack came out harder this time, fueled by frustration and anger.
"Oh no, he's losing it," I muttered. "Shinkei, calm down!"
But my warning was lost in the crowd noise. Suru absorbed the attack as easily as before, his expression never changing.
"This doesn't work on me. You're wasting your time."
"Shut up! Scorch Launcher!"
Multiple beams erupted from Shinkei's hands now, a barrage of fire that would have overwhelmed most opponents. But Suru's absorb wall expanded, drinking in every drop of energy.
"Yes, give me more!" Suru's calm facade cracked slightly, revealing something hungry underneath.
"Freaking die already! Pyrus Scorch Laser!"
The temperature in the arena spiked as Shinkei unleashed his most powerful technique. The air itself seemed to ignite, a column of white-hot energy that made the previous attacks look like candle flames. This was dangerous—the kind of technique that could seriously injure or kill.
For the first time, Suru's confidence wavered. "What is this? I can't take in anymore of this heat!"
He dove aside, but not quickly enough. The edge of the beam caught his arm, and the smell of burning flesh filled the air. Suru landed hard, clutching his injured limb, his face twisted in pain and rage.
"Why you little! I'll blast you away with all your spirit energy that you gave me!"
The dangerous shift in tone sent ice through my veins. This had gone beyond competition—Suru's eyes held murder.
"Stop the fight, Migan!" I screamed, but the referee seemed frozen by the sudden escalation.
"Maximum Output!"
Every attack Suru had absorbed came roaring back at once, a concentrated beam of stolen power that could level a building. Shinkei stood directly in its path, too exhausted from his last attack to dodge.
Time slowed to a crawl. I watched helplessly as certain death raced toward my brother, knowing I was too far away to intervene.
"Holy Shield!"
The voice came from above. Headmaster Aado descended from the viewing box like an avenging angel, a barrier of pure light materializing between Suru and Shinkei just as the devastating attack reached its target. The collision sent shockwaves through the arena, but the shield held.
Aado landed with controlled fury, his usual grandfatherly demeanor replaced by something terrible and absolute. "What do you think you're doing? Do I have to disqualify you for trying to kill another guardian?"
Suru seemed to deflate under that withering gaze, the rage leaving him as quickly as it had come. "I'm... I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I was just so angry."
"Go back to your seat. Now!" Aado's voice brooked no argument. "There's no winner here—they're both done. Please continue to round two."
As medics rushed onto the field to tend to both fighters, I felt our mother's hand on my shoulder. "Oh, I hope Shinkei is okay," Sharin said, her teacher's composure finally cracking completely. "You all know how he gets when he's upset. I'll have to calm him down."
"Don't worry about it, Mom," I said, though my own voice shook. "Yoku is taking him to the nurse now. He'll be okay."
The arena fell into an uncomfortable silence as the implications of what we'd just witnessed sank in. This wasn't just a tournament anymore—there were students here willing to kill to advance.
Migan cleared his throat, his voice unnaturally loud in the quiet. "Everyone ready for the quarterfinals?"
The crowd's response was subdued, the previous excitement tempered by what we'd just seen.
"S.E.I.D., if you'd please."
As the tournament officials began preparing for the next phase, I couldn't shake the feeling that everything had changed. The mysterious antidote from Jeremi, Suru's willingness to kill, the strange tensions between schools—it all felt connected somehow.
The quarterfinals would be different. Deadlier. And I was beginning to suspect that the real tournament was just beginning.