Jayr POV - Nasuverse, Moon, SE.RA.PH, Tsukumihara Academy - 2030 AD
Nero lingers for a moment on the rooftop after Aletha left, her golden hair moving with the artificial breeze that ripples across the academy sky.
The silence that follows isn't uncomfortable; it is just reflective, a breath of calm following a conversation that had carried more weight than either of us had expected.
The rooftop feels larger with Aletha gone, as if the space she occupied left a faint echo behind, not a presence exactly, but a pressure, like a hand that had been resting on my shoulder and was only just lifted.
The digital wind stirs again, carrying no temperature, no scent, just movement for the sake of realism, and I let it wash over me anyway.
There are too many things left unsaid, not unresolved, just deferred, making me realise, 'That seems to be the theme of this Selection, everything important is pushed one step further down the line, waiting for a battle to decide whether it still matters.'
Nero shifts beside me, her expression softer than she usually allows herself, and for once, there is no flourish, no dramatic pose, just a quiet presence.
She doesn't comment on Aletha; she doesn't need to.
At the same time, I glance up at the digital sky, looking at the faint but ever-present 0s and 1s shimmering faintly overhead and mutter, "… Still way too early to head back."
The words come out lighter than I feel, but Nero doesn't call me on it; she rarely does when I'm like this.
Instead, she hums thoughtfully, the sound carrying a note of approval.
Her Spirit Form flickers more brightly for a moment, golden motes drifting like embers before settling again. It's subtle, but I've learned to read her tells; she's restless too.
Not bored, not impatient, just restless.
Nero, while still half-materialised beside me in a haze of golden Spirit Form motes, tilts her head and agrees, "Umu. It would be unbefitting of us to retreat to our chambers so soon."
Then she crosses her arms proudly and adds, "Besides, I am still energised from my morning performance."
She says it like a victorious general recounting a flawless campaign, chin lifted, pride practically radiating off her.
I glance at her sidelong and repeat flatly, "Energised, huh..."
She replies, entirely unapologetic, "Yes. Exalted. Admired. Applauded."
She smiles wider at that, clearly taking it as praise.
I barely resist the urge to facepalm and groan while commenting as casually as possible, "Yeah. I noticed."
She smiles like a cat who has successfully clawed up a tapestry and expected praise for it.
With a sigh, I straighten and change the subject by suggesting, "Well, since we have time, I'd like to take a walk around the campus. Maybe we'll get lucky."
As the last of her physical form dissolves back in her Spirit Form, Nero asks, "Lucky? In what sense?"
In response to her question, I start to walk toward the door and explain, "We already know everything we need to about our opponents, Julius and Li Shuwen. But there are still other Champions lurking around. The Champion of Life, the Champion of Destruction, the Champion of Darkness again... And if my calculations are right, and they likely are, yet another unknown Champion who uses the Omnitrix. Remember the one Aletha told us about? Maybe we'll catch another lucky glimpse and learn something useful."
Nero hums thoughtfully and comments, "A hunt, then. A subtle one."
I open the door and, with a smirk, I say, "Pretty much."
And with that, we leave the rooftop and reenter the main building of the academy.
The doors slide shut behind us with a soft hiss, sealing away the open sky.
The moment we step inside, the atmosphere shifts, like crossing an invisible threshold.
The lighting feels harsher in here, too bright without warmth, the corridors stretch on in neat, repeating segments, every detail precise down to the smallest scuff on the floor, way too precise.
Tsukumihara Academy is very good at pretending to be alive.
The atmosphere inside the Tsukumihara Academy has shifted yet again as each Selection always nudges the environment a step closer to that thin line between uneasy and oppressive.
NPC students wander mechanically, identical patterns in their footsteps and expressions often betraying their artificial nature.
A pair of students passes us, laughing at something neither of them seems particularly amused by.
Their steps sync perfectly, cadence just a fraction too uniform, and when one of them turns, their eyes slide past me without recognition.
No curiosity, no awareness, just background motion.
Then there is the real Master, who stands at the far end of the hall, pretending to read a notice board.
His shoulders are stiff, jaw clenched, fingers twitching as if he's counting down something only he can hear, and when he notices us, he looks away immediately.
Smart.
Soon, I realise that only a handful of real Masters remain, identifiable by the tension in their shoulders and the wary glances they cast down empty halls.
As we walk through the hallways, Nero whispers in my mind, [Humans truly are amusing. They puff themselves up with fear and anxiety even when nothing prowls the halls.]
She sounds entertained, but there's an edge to it this time, not mockery, but plain observation.
I glance at a classroom door as we pass, inside, an NPC teacher drones on to rows of empty desks, lesson looping endlessly for students that will never attend.
I shot back, [Amusing, until you're the one trapped inside the script.]
Nero is quiet for a few steps after that, and so, I quickly add, [Give them some credit, they can't see what we can.]
This makes Nero pause for a moment before she says, changing the subject, [Hmm… Fair enough. Still, this is getting tedious.]
She isn't wrong. We walked through classrooms, the library, the empty cafeteria, and even the courtyard so many times since the start of the Holy Grail War, yet most of the time we find nothing.
The repetition starts to sink in, hallway after hallway, doors that lead to the same rooms wearing different skins, even the tension has become familiar, like a low-grade ache you stop noticing until it flares again.
If there's danger nearby, it's hiding well, too well.
I can feel Nero's patience thinning through our bond, her energy coiling with nowhere to go.
She thrives on motion, on conflict, on an audience, and this place offers none of that, just the suggestion of it.
No powerful signatures, no Champions skulking around, not even a Servant suppressing their presence too poorly, just the lingering tension of a battlefield disguised as a school.
Nero finally complains through our bond after what feels like an hour of uneventful searching. [This is way too dull. Praetor, I demand entertainment.]
I calmly remind her, [You just watched a whole movie last night.] Making Nero quickly shot back, [And it enriched my spirit! But this... This wandering is a barren field drying up every hint of passion.]
At this point, I remind her, [Champions don't exactly parade themselves around campus.]
Nero snorts and comments in a haughty tone, [Hmph. They should. It would make the war much more dramatic... And entertaining.]
I pinch the bridge of my nose and say, [Yes. Because choreography and stage presence are clearly the priorities in a death tournament.]
In the end, Nero declares with all the confidence and certainty of a ruler, [They should be.]
Before I can argue with her logic, or lack thereof, my portable terminal buzzes sharply from my pocket, and I casually pull it out and look at the display.
[The second cypher key has been generated on the second floor.]
The message hangs on the screen for a second longer than necessary.
Simple, clinical, another checkpoint in a war dressed up as a game.
I stare at it, then let out a slow breath through my nose while thinking, 'Third day already. Time moves strangely here. Stretches and compresses, bending around moments of violence. Everything else becomes filler by comparison.'
With Nero's exciting and reality-threatening performance in the morning and the heavy discussion with Aletha shortly after, this little detail actually slipped out of my mind.
Nero, of course, reacts the opposite way; she leans closer, close enough that I can almost feel her presence over my shoulder, curiosity practically vibrating through the bond.
I blink for a moment before I lightly exhale and comment, "Oh. Right. Today's the third day."
Saying it out loud makes it feel more real, less like a background process I've been ignoring.
The second floor of the Arena opening means escalation; it means that the upcoming Elimination Battle is getting closer. The war is quickly done with waiting for everyone to be ready.
Soon, I feel Nero focus her gaze on the portable terminal in my hand while asking with hopeful surprise in her tone, [Is this what I think it is…?]
I put the portable terminal back in my pocket and answer her question, [Yup. The second floor of the Arena is open now. And the Secondary Trigger just appeared.]
Hearing my confirmation, Nero's whole aura brightens as she exclaims, [Finally! A worthy and exciting endeavour!]
I sigh with relief while thinking, 'At least this stopped Nero from requesting an encore performance of "Let It Go." And for sure she is going to demand to see the sequel tonight... Luckily, the songs in Frozen 2 are less iconic and catchy, lacking the pop punch and sheer momentum of Let It Go. But still, I think that Nero is going to enjoy them anyway. And it isn't like they are actually bad...'
While thinking that, I say. "Let's head to the Arena. The sooner we get the Secondary Trigger, the better."
Nero excidetily agrees through our bond, and so we hastily make our way to the first floor, where the hallway is, where the door leading to the Arena is located.
The Arena door slides open to reveal the familiar digital abyss beyond it, and as we step through it, we are prompted to choose our destination.
Once I select the second floor of the Third Chimeric Lunar Sea, we are immediately transferred to our destination.
The transfer isn't instant so much as abrupt. Space folds inward, vision blurs, and for half a heartbeat, I feel weightless, like stepping off a stair that wasn't there.
Then the world snaps back into place.
The sensation always leaves a faint pressure behind my eyes, a reminder that this environment is layered over reality, not bound by it.
Nero materialises fully at my side, boots touching down without a sound, already scanning our surroundings with interest.
Her smile returns, sharp and eager, before she says, her voice carrying lightly in the enclosed space, "Ah. Now this is a proper stage."
The next moment, I fully focus on our surroundings as we find ourselves surrounded by translucent walls that glow in faint teal colours, forming a labyrinth suspended in a vast underwater-scape.
The illusion of depth is convincing enough that my stomach tightens for a moment, even if I have already experienced such a sight many times.
The floor beneath us is solid, but the endless blue below gives the impression that one misstep would send us falling into open water.
Light filters down from nowhere and everywhere at once, refracting through the translucent walls.
The effect is paradoxically serene at a glance, but the longer I look, the more artificial it feels, too clean, too controlled.
Schools of data-rendered fish drift lazily beyond the walls, disappearing into the distance like mirages.
Even the fish move in looping patterns if you watch them long enough.
The Arena doesn't create beauty for its own sake; it does it to distract the less focused minds.
Then I step further into the initial hall with the now materialised Nero by my side, the sound of my foot landing echoing faintly across the space.
I take a quick look at our surroundings before saying, "Alright. Let's move."
With a flick of my wrist, I open a portal to my Soulbound Territory and summon the digital motorcycle Behemoth.
The portal tears open with a familiar crackle, almost like pixels burning outward like embers caught in a sudden gust.
Behemoth emerges half a second later, heavy frame slamming into existence as if it resents being called only to idle.
The machine's engine growls like a beast shaking its mane, ready to be unleashed, low and deep, making the vibrations thrum through the floor.
It leans slightly toward Nero, sensors flaring, recognising her presence before I even take a step closer.
In response, Nero instantly moves beside it with a flourish while she laughs softly and runs a hand along the handlebars, indulgent while saying, "Yes, yes. You may stretch your legs."
The machine revs in response.
Then she takes the driver's seat like she owns the thing, which, to be fair, she kind of does at this point, as Behemoth itself is quite fond of her because she lets it run loose as much as it wants.
I shake my head and climb on behind her, while muttering, "One of these days. I'm going to regret letting you two meet each other..." Before I focus on the present and say, "You know the drill."
This makes Nero smile and say with her usual imperial pride, "Of course, let everyone in the Arena believe I am a Rider. A cunning tactic worthy of Rome's glory."
Then, with a roar, Behemoth shoots forward.
The labyrinth blurs around us as we speed through the corridors, taking sharp turns at impossible angles, at times even running on the walls and the ceiling.
As usual, Enemy Programs materialise along our route; this time, they take the form of a humanoid figure wielding weapons or charging barehanded.
It is immediately apparent that their fighting styles are vaguely familiar.
The resemblance isn't superficial; it's structural.
The way one enemy shifts their weight before striking, the exact timing of a step, and the angle of a guard.
These aren't random imitations; they're distilled patterns, stripped down to the faintest versions of what we've shown before.
The Arena isn't copying us for intimidation; it's observing us and, at the same time, giving us the chance to study our opponents.
A spear-wielding unit rushes in, stance low, centre of gravity perfectly aligned.
Nero cleaves through it in a single motion, but I can see the calculation behind the construct's movements even as it dissolves.
Meanwhile, Nero remarks, spinning her blade once before settling back into her seat, "Persistent little things. They lack soul, but their nerve is admirable."
I nod, "They're getting better at pretending with each iteration."
One lunges with a thrust reminiscent of Li Shuwen's Bajiquan, another holds a sword in a stance that is very similar to one I recognised from Nero's own combat repertoire.
Their movements mix flowing bladework with sudden, explosive strikes.
Like usual, the Arena has adapted to both of our team profiles and uploaded them into the Enemy Programs.
That adaptation is what bothers me a bit.
Each iteration feels a little tighter, a little faster, less wasted motion.
If this keeps up, the Enemy Programs won't just be training dummies anymore; they'll be rehearsals for very real deaths, and weaker Masters and Servants may find themselves overwhelmed.
Nero doesn't seem concerned; if anything, the challenge only sharpens her excitement.
She leans into turns with reckless confidence, Behemoth responding instantly, tyres skimming walls that should have sent us crashing into nothing.
For her, danger is part of the performance.
But Nero doesn't slow down to fully experience them; she swings her sword, slicing through an Enemy Program as Behemoth drifts around a corner while she laughs, clear, bright, and thrilled all at the same time while commenting, "Hahaha! How annoying it is that they dare mimic my style every time? Bold! Foolish, but bold!"
Meanwhile, a flying unit launches a spear of light downward; however, Nero deflects it without even looking, twisting her blade behind her shoulder.
I occasionally fire off a burst of Sagitta Magica or flick an enemy away when they get too close, but Nero handles most of the work amd Behemoth's absurd speed does the rest.
Within minutes, we have already covered more than half the labyrinth.
As Nero steers us down a narrow corridor leading into one of the more remote halls, I comment, "Feels like we're close to our target."
The corridors narrow subtly as we advance, angles tightening, walls pressing closer, even the ambient hum changes pitch, rising just enough to register at the edge of awareness.
The Arena always does this near objectives, a quiet announcement for those who know how to listen.
Behemoth's engine drops to a low purr as Nero eases off the throttle.
Her posture shifts, playful energy giving way to alert focus; she's noticed it too.
Behemoth slows to a steady crawl as we enter the chamber.
There, resting on the ground as if waiting for us, lies the Secondary Trigger, a pulsating, softly glowing core of digital energy wrapped in shifting static, making me mutter, "Found it."
It doesn't look dangerous, and that's the problem.
The Trigger pulses steadily, light swelling and receding like a heartbeat.
Static crawls across its surface, threads of data unravelling and reweaving themselves in endless cycles.
A prize was placed deliberately in the open, and I've learned to distrust gifts in this place.
Nero cuts the engine as the glow of the nearby Trigger reflects off her golden hair.
I get off Behemoth and calmly approach the Secondary Trigger on the floor, but just as I step toward it, I suddenly feel a ripple, a faint disturbance, followed by a tense silence, which makes me quickly tell Nero not to interfere using our bond, as I know what is about to happen.
The warning leaves my mind a fraction of a second before the sensation spikes.
Killing intent, pure and focused.
Not explosive, not wild, just a clean, honed edge sliding into place.
My body reacts before conscious thought catches up.
Then a pressure in the air, sharp and intent, like a blade being drawn behind my spine.
The hall is silent except for the low digital hum beneath the transparent floor, light flowing under my feet like trapped water.
I turn my shoulder a fraction of a second before the deadly strike lands.
Li Shuwen comes out of nothing.
There's no dramatic entrance, no ripple in space, one moment the air is empty, the next he's there, as if reality itself decided to make room for him, making me smirk while thinking, 'As expected from an Assassin class Servant.'
His presence is compact, contained, every inch of him aligned toward a single purpose: to end me.
His fist slams toward the base of my skull, compact and direct, no wasted motion, a masterful show of Bajiquan.
Straight line, kill range. If this blow had landed clean on any other individual, it would have shut the body off like a switch.
However, I raise my forearm and step in instead of away and block the attack.
The impact rattles through my bones, not because it hurt, but because of how clean it was.
Short power, rooted through his stance, everything behind that one inch of movement.
The floor cracks under his heel as he drives forward before instantly repairing while he is already chaining the next strike.
Elbow. Shoulder. Another fist.
The sequence flows like a sentence written in violence, no hesitation, no wasted syllables.
Each strike feeds into the next, building pressure, compressing space.
I shift, block, absorb, my feet carving shallow arcs across the floor as I give ground inch by inch.
The transparent surface fractures beneath us, repairing itself just as quickly, as if the Arena refuses to acknowledge the damage.
And I meet him head-on.
I let my weight drop and catch his elbow with both hands, rolling my body the way my Grandfather drilled into me years ago, while remembering his words, 'Pankration does not flinch from force, it eats it.'
That philosophy is burned into my bones through relentless training and countless battles. 'Close. Smother. End it.'
I twist, trying to pull him off balance and bring him down into a clinch where my strength would end this battle fast.
For a brief instant, I think I've got him, his balance falters, structure bending under raw strength, and I start to pull him into a clinch that would have crushed most opponents.
But Li Shuwen isn't most opponents.
He dissolves out of my grip with terrifying efficiency, redirecting force instead of resisting it, and my fingers close on empty air.
The counter comes immediately.
Li Shuwen pivots inside my grip, shoulder brushing my chest, and drives a palm strike toward my ribs.
It is Bajiquan at its purest. Explode, crash, retreat. No grappling, no lingering.
I tighten my core and take it, feet skidding back across the transparent floor.
I smile despite myself and say, "You're faster than before. But it is still not enough."
He does not answer; he never wastes his breath. He rushes in again, feet barely touching the floor, every step aligned to kill distance.
His fist snaps toward my throat, but I catch it with my left hand and answer with my right, a straight punch meant to break bone.
He twists just enough that it clips his shoulder instead, the impact echoing through the hall.
This time, he does not retreat.
He leans in, forehead almost touching mine, and drives his shoulder into my chest.
Power surges through him in a brutal wave, and I feel my feet lift.
For a brief instant, the transparent floor vanishes beneath me.
But the next moment, I wrap an arm around his neck and drop my weight, dragging him down with me.
We hit the ground hard, and I roll, trying to mount, trying to end it the way Pankration was meant to end fights. Control. Finish. No elegance.
However, Li Shuwen's knee comes up like a spear and slams into my side.
I let go and roll away, landing in a crouch. My ribs ache a bit, more from surprise than actual damage.
He stands across from me, posture tight, eyes sharp, no hatred in his gaze, just focus.
This is different from last time, before, he had underestimated me way too much, and I easily repelled him while I matched his speed and pulled my strikes, playful more than threatened.
There's no arrogance in him now, no testing strikes, just commitment.
The realisation settles heavily in my chest, not as fear, but as acknowledgement.
He's grown, sharpened himself and chosen this moment carefully.
And I can't help it, I grin.
Now there is no restraint in him at all; every movement carries intent and focus. He respects me enough to try to kill me properly.
At this point, I decide to get a bit more serious, I straighten, shoulders loose, hands open and say in a calm tone, "Good. Now let's dance properly."
The words aren't a taunt, they're an invitation.
Something in Li Shuwen's expression shifts, almost imperceptibly, approval, maybe, or simply excitement for having the chance to fight another master of the same art he dedicated his whole life to.
He steps in again, and this time, I do not wait and do the same.
I close the distance first, smash my forearm into his guard, and seize his wrist.
I feel the difference immediately; my strength overwhelms his structure.
His arm buckles as I drive a knee toward his abdomen, feel it sink in, and follow with a headbutt that snaps his head back.
He staggers but does not fall; instead, he laughs, a short sound, almost pleased.
Then the Arena starts to scream.
The sound isn't auditory alone; it presses against the mind, a harsh feedback loop of warning signals and system overrides.
Red light floods the hall, symbols burn across the transparent walls and floor, cascading like digital rain.
A barrier snaps into place between us, so hard and absolute in its authority that it gives no chance of discussion, and seeing that I casually relax my stance.
The fight isn't finished; it's been paused.
Li Shuwen stands on the other side, breathing hard, blood at the corner of his mouth, his eyes never leave mine before he simply says, "Another time."
I smile, and in a confident tone, I say, "Yeah. Another time. I've missed this feeling."
The next moment, Li Shuwen vanishes, and the Arena returns to its calm state.
At this point, I exhale and bend down to pick up the Secondary Trigger whose glow now pulses softly in my hand.
Nero comes to my side while sheathing her sword and says, "We have it. By the way, that was a magnificent display of skill, my Praetor."
I let out a long breath and say, "Thanks. Now the rest of the preparation period gets… Predictable and boring."
She smirks and says, "Predictable is merely calm before glory."
I chuckle quietly and tell her, "Sure. Let's get out of here."
Finally, we mount Behemoth again, ready to return to the Arena entrance.
And with the Secondary Trigger secure, the path to the next Elimination Battle is now fully open.