The Next Day
The fighters' waiting room buzzed with a thick, restless tension—some charged with quiet focus, others practically vibrating with anticipation. Today marked the busiest day of the tournament so far, featuring the most matches of the year. The eight fighters competing today—the victors of the previous matches—were Xain, Mae, Bryanard, Calvinel, Gurion, Zeva, Even, and Callum. They were scattered throughout the waiting room, each preparing in their own way.
Metal clinked and leather creaked as armor was tightened and adjusted. Xain fumbled with the straps of his armor pieces for the third time, double- and triple-checking each one. His hands trembled just slightly.
"Goddess, I'm nervous about today…" he muttered under his breath.
Mae, who had been watching him from across the room with barely concealed excitement, suddenly approached—too quickly for comfort. She stopped just short of him, leaning in until her lips were near his ear.
"What's there to be nervous about?" she asked sweetly, her voice low and teasing. Then, barely above a whisper, "I'll be gentle, don't worry~"
The words sent a cold wave down Xain's spine. Goosebumps flared across his arms. He instinctively took a full step back, eyes wide.
"Uh, um… thanks, I guess…" he mumbled, more out of reflex than anything else, gaze darting away from her piercing grin.
*I just don't understand why she wants to hurt me so much…* he thought, shoulders tight.
*She just views everyone as beneath her,* Ercale's voice echoed flatly inside his head. *And because you're close to her sister.*
Then silence.
Xain exhaled slowly, barely audible over the clatter of blades being checked and armor being strapped. *I just hope it'll be over after the match…*
A short distance away, Bryanard and Calvinel stood in silence, locked in each other's gaze. Both were already suited in their full knight armor—Bryanard's posture straight and measured, Calvinel standing with casual confidence. The tension between them had been building since the start of the tournament and long before it.
"Looks like we can finally put this to rest," Calvinel said, a charming grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.
Bryanard's expression didn't change. "I suppose we will."
Calvinel exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh, and shrugged. "I still don't get why you're so stuck on this. It's just… overblown. You're making it more than it is."
"If that's how you still see it," Bryanard said, voice low, "then it's even more obvious to me why I have to do this. You need to learn."
He clenched his fists slowly.
"You'll have to win first if you want to teach me anything, old man," Calvinel shot back, turning toward the viewing window and staring out at the arena beyond.
Bryanard followed his gaze. "One doesn't have to lose," he murmured, "to learn a lesson."
Elsewhere in the room, Callum slumped into a bench, head in his hands. "I am so dead," he muttered, already mourning his chances. His opponent, of all people, was—
"Stop being such a coward," Even said flatly, stepping up in front of him with arms crossed. "You're a werewolf. I'm sure you'll do… something."
It was meant to be encouragement, maybe, but the hesitation at the end didn't help.
Callum's head snapped up. "You don't sound confident in what you said! And you're the one I'm fighting!"
Even winced slightly as Callum stood, gesturing wildly. "I saw your fight, goddess damn it! I know I don't stand a chance!"
Then, like a balloon punctured mid-rant, Callum's shoulders sagged. He sank back down with a groan.
"Just my luck… having to go against the guy most people think is gonna win the whole tournament."
Even gave a noncommittal shrug, unbothered by the flattery or the fear. After what happened in his last match, he was more than happy to take an easy victory this time.
Across the room, Zeva approached Gurion, her boots clicking softly against the stone floor. She stopped beside him, arms folded, eyeing him curiously.
"Say," she began, "why are you in this tournament?"
Gurion rubbed the back of his neck, eyes lowering. His fox ears flattened slightly. "I have people I need to save," he said quietly. "People who are relying on me to win this."
Zeva tilted her head, watching him. "Your village, I imagine?"
He gave a slow nod, not saying anything more.
"I sympathize," she said, glancing down at the floor, her voice softer now. "I understand that reason. It's a good one. Selfless. Much more than mine."
Then she looked back up at him, her tone shifting as her arms tightened across her chest.
"But… sorry. You're not winning today's match."
She turned away from him, gaze drifting toward the wide viewing window at the far side of the room. Gurion didn't answer right away. Then he stepped up beside her, voice steady.
"I don't believe I can either," he admitted. "But I'll try. For my people. For my friends."
They both looked up just as a shadow passed across the arena.
Quincy soared high into the air, her wings spread wide, her voice ringing out clearly over the crowd.
"Welcome everyone to the fifth day of The. Tournament. Of. Greatness!!!"