In the stands, excitement was buzzing at Quincy's announcement, the roar of the crowd carrying through the arena like rolling thunder. Jefferey leaned toward his friend, eyes alight with curiosity. "So, Drift," he began, tilting his head with a smirk, "are you finally gonna tell me who you're betting on this time?"
Drift smirked, humming thoughtfully before answering. "Well, remember how I told you one of my picks would surprise you?" His grin widened. "I'm putting my coin on the youngest fighter—Xain."
Jefferey's eyes went wide, his head snapping toward Drift. "You're betting on…him?" He looked half shocked, half amused. "I mean, I'll be glad to take your coin if that's how you want it, but are you sure about this? Last time you bet against the Mathers, you lost. You really want to put yourself through that again?"
Drift nodded without hesitation, his grin forming into a knowing smile. "I just have a feeling he's going to win, you know?"
Jefferey blinked at him, deadpan. "I swear you said those exact words last time. And you lost. But alright…your coin, your mistake."
Elsewhere in the stands, tension simmered. "I don't know about Xain's chances of winnin' this one," Larkin muttered, arms folded tight across his chest, his face drawn with concern.
"We need to believe in him, cheer him on—not just sit here worrying," Zee replied, though her voice wavered, betraying her own unease.
Next to them, Nori scribbled quickly in his notebook. "I hope he doesn't get too hurt… and become Annie again." His writing was small and tense, betraying his own anxiety, the weight of it settling over the three of them like a quiet shadow.
In another part of the crowd, Amara sat with her hands clasped tightly, her gaze locked on the arena floor. "What are you going to show today?" she muttered under her breath. Her lips pressed into a thin line as her thoughts raced. "Last time was… unnerving. Can you do more, I wonder?" Restlessness ran through her, her leg bouncing with impatience. She wanted the match to start already, to see what else Xain was capable of.
Somewhere else in the stands, X sat still, eyes fixed on the arena below. "What do you think of Xain after watching him so closely these past days?" he asked quietly.
The goddess gave a faint shrug, the gesture so subtle it was almost missed, her tone was even as she spoke. "There is something significant about him. Beyond Ercale being within him, there is more… but because of that very presence, I cannot see the rest. He blinds me to what he is meant to be."
X gave a slow nod, his gaze narrowing behind the mask, as though trying to pierce the uncertainty himself.
Elsewhere, Clara sat quieter than usual, her enthusiasm dampened by yesterday's events. "I really hope he doesn't do the same thing as last time," she muttered under her breath.
Beside her, Elsa turned her head, watching Clara with a contemplative gaze. *The price of that lie is beginning to show. Just why did you have to be that way, Xain?* She let out a soft sigh, heavy with things left unsaid. There was little she could do now but hope he could keep himself under control.
Elsewhere in the stands, Lia sat tapping her chin in exaggerated thought, humming dramatically as though she were putting on a performance for herself as much as anyone else. "I wonder, I wonder, oh how I wonder," she mused aloud, her grin playful.
Dirk sat beside her, his eye twitching as if on the verge of snapping. He'd clearly endured this for some time already. "Why do you keep saying that?" he asked, his tone flat and worn with irritation.
Lia only shrugged, flashing him a mischievous grin. "I wonder why?"
Dirk clenched his jaw, looking as though he were only an inch away from tossing her into the arena himself just to silence her.
Finally, Lia relented, her grin softening into something more thoughtful—though the glint of mischief never fully left her eyes. "Alright, alright. Serious answer? I just don't know who's going to win, and that's what I've been trying to figure out."
Dirk exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. "It's going to be Even. There—you have your answer."
But Lia only hummed again, leaning back with that same smug expression. "I wonder if I do," she replied with a shit-eating grin, fully aware she was driving him mad and enjoying every second of it.
In a VIP stand, Samwell tapped his finger against the armrest of his seat, that same feeling from watching his son's first match creeping back into him. He still didn't know what to make of it, and so he kept silent, sitting there with his thoughts and waiting. Matthew, however, was interested in a way he hadn't been before—partly because he would get to see his older brother fight again, but also because of Xain. Every time Xain entered the arena, it felt like something unknown was about to happen, and Matthew couldn't ignore the pull of that mystery.
In another VIP stand, Zara drew in a slow, measured breath to steady herself. "Nervous, I assume?" Price Mark asked, his tone quiet but pointed. Zara nodded, her eyes never leaving the arena below. "For Clara's sake, yes," she answered plainly. Nothing more needed to be said.
In yet another VIP stand, the Emperor of Aeruna and his attendant remained quiet. Whatever needed to be said had already been said. Now it was just a matter of waiting for the fight to begin.
"Alright everyone! I think we've all waited long enough!" Quincy's voice rang out, carrying clear and sharp above the roar of the crowd. "All the fighters here today have drawn countless fans, and I'm sure you're all restless for what's about to come!" She descended from the stands, wings keeping her suspended as she hovered at the center of the arena. With a sweeping flourish, she thrust her arms outward toward the east and west walls. Her fingers curled, then rose slowly, deliberately, and the massive slabs of stone responded—grinding upward as the walls opened.
"On one side!" she called, voice rising with energy. "We have the youngest fighter of the tournament, who has already triumphed over both the Hardened Criminal and the Elf! Could he be the one to carve his way into the finals? Let us all welcome—Xain!"
From the east wall, Xain stepped out. The rush of the crowd's cheering hit him harder than before, louder than he had ever heard it, but he didn't feel as overwhelmed this time. He'd been here twice already, and the weight of the arena wasn't quite as heavy on his shoulders. He breathed deep and muttered under his breath, "I never thought in my life that this would ever happen."
"On the other side!" Quincy continued, her voice never losing its edge, "We have the victor of both the most magical and the swiftest battles! The man who bested The Sorceress and made The Werewolf surrender! Could he be the one to claim a place in the finals? Everyone—welcome Even Mathers!"
From the west wall, Even strode into the light. His rifle was still absent, broken and under repair. Even so, he wouldn't have brought it for this fight—he owed Xain more than that. Xain had helped him in ways he'd rather not admit aloud, and to bring a gun into this match would have been wrong. A grin spread across his face as he glanced upward at Quincy. "Let's see how the old bastard reacts to the surprise," he muttered under his breath.
Quincy clapped her hands, and the arena began to shift. In moments, the wide-open battlefield transformed into the grand first floor of a colossal mansion—roofless, but otherwise whole. Deep reds, blues, and blacks dominated the space, walls of polished mahogany gleaming like mirrors of wealth. It was rich, excessively so, the kind of wealth that did not simply speak of money but of power—of lineage—of magic. At its heart stretched an ornate dining hall, a long table flanked by more than a dozen finely carved chairs. And at the head of the table, instead of a chair, loomed a throne—a symbol not of comfort, but of dominance.
In the stands, Samwell and Matthew stiffened, their eyes widening in recognition. The realization hit instantly: this was no ordinary creation. Quincy had reconstructed the Mathers family mansion in painstaking detail. Samwell's jaw tightened, anger flashing across his face. He did not need to guess whose idea it was. Even had requested Quincy the night before to do this, and she had delivered it flawlessly.
Above the battlefield, Quincy giggled softly to herself, savoring the tension that hung like static in the air. With one hand raised high above her head, she held the silence, letting anticipation boil over.
"Alright!"
Her arm cut downward in a sharp, commanding arc—
"BEGIN!"