The crowd buzzed with anticipation as I stepped onto the raised duel arena, my duel disk flickering to life with its familiar mechanical hum. Spotlights scanned across the field, stopping to highlight the two duelists preparing to face off. Across from me, standing tall and oddly composed, was a man who looked completely out of place in a tournament designed mostly for teenagers.
He was tall—towering, really—with a lean frame that defied his age. His face bore the weight of time, creased with deep lines of wisdom or burden—or maybe both. His sharp brown eyes locked onto mine as he adjusted his pristine white lab coat with a slow, practiced motion.
I felt a chill ripple down my spine.
He was sixty, easily the oldest participant I had seen in this whole competition, and there was something about him that screamed menace beneath civility.
"I'll let you go first," he said, voice deep and calm, almost grandfatherly. "Let's see what you can do."
I frowned slightly. Be careful what you ask for, I thought.
I reached for my deck, drawing my opening hand. "I'll start by playing my spell card—Pot of Greed," I announced. I drew two cards quickly, not bothering to elaborate.
Jason raised an eyebrow but made no move to interrupt. "I know what Pot of Greed does. No need to explain it."
For a brief moment, a genuine smile tugged at the corner of my lips.
Finally, I thought, exhaling. Someone who doesn't ask for a lecture every time I use this card.
I held back a chuckle. "I'm surprised you didn't ask. I swear I'm going to get tired of explaining it to every duelist I meet."
The smile vanished as I focused on my next play. "Now I'll activate Graceful Charity. I draw three cards… and then discard two."
I eyed my hand. "I'll send Hunter Dragon and Mad Lobster to the graveyard."
Let's play a strong defense, I thought. No clue what this guy's strategy is, but something about him makes me nervous.
"I activate Enchanting Fitting Room, paying 800 life points to reveal the top four cards of my deck. Any Level 3 or lower Normal Monsters I find will be summoned to the field."
My life point counter dropped to 3200. I glanced at the flipped cards and smiled. "Looks like my luck's holding. I summon Bunilla, Charcoal Inpachi, and my ace—Jerry Beans Man—all in defense mode."
Three monsters materialized in front of me in flashes of vibrant light. The fuzzy white rabbit twitched its nose. The smoldering log-being stood silently with glowing red eyes. And Jerry Beans Man… stood proud and unreasonably smug for a green humanoid bean.
"I'll place three cards face-down and end my turn there," I declared. I stared across the arena.
Jason still hadn't moved.
He was grinning.
And that grin wasn't friendly. It curled unnaturally at the edges, like he was amused by a private joke only he understood. The wrinkles around his mouth deepened as he tilted his head ever so slightly, eyeing me like a chessmaster assessing a beginner.
"You're cautious," he said. "Good. But you're not cautious enough."
A sudden glint appeared at his side—an ancient, metallic shimmer that caught the lights above. My heart skipped a beat.
The Millennium Ring.
Jason held it up, the dangling spikes swaying hypnotically as the central eye blinked open with eerie golden light.
"I use my Millennium Ring to bring the field spell Mountain onto the field," he declared calmly.
The spell card appeared—literally shimmered into place on his field slot like it had been conjured from nothing.
My eyes widened in disbelief.
"What the—?! You just pulled a field spell out of thin air? That's not legal!" I protested, pointing at the glowing hologram.
Jason's grin only widened. "It's one of the effects granted by my item. Field manipulation. Consider it... a feature of my skill."
"Hey, judge!" I called out. "He can't do that! There's no way that's allowed!"
The loudspeaker buzzed before the announcer's voice answered. "According to global official rulings, Millennium Item effects are allowed in tournament duels—as long as they don't involve shadow games or lethal consequences."
My jaw dropped.
"That's some bullshit," I muttered, voice low and bitter. "Millennium items not cheating my ass."
Still, the arena shimmered as Mountain's landscape overtook the background—towering cliffs and swirling winds replacing the default plain arena.
Jason's smile didn't waver. "Now… let's move on."
He casually tossed a card into his graveyard slot. "I discard Thunder Dragon to activate its effect—adding two more copies from my deck to my hand."
His fingers moved like clockwork. "Now, using my second Millennium Item…"
Second?!
He lifted a silver object that gleamed with a sunburst insignia—The Millennium Key.
"...I fuse two Thunder Dragons from my hand and summon Twin-Headed Thunder Dragon!"
The massive two-headed beast exploded onto the field in a torrent of electricity, its heads snarling and eyes glowing. Lightning crackled from its claws as its 2800 ATK glared at my defensive wall.
"Wait," I muttered. "There must be a limit to how many of those damn items you can use, right? What's stopping you from pulling Mystic Mine or something worse out of your trench coat?"
Jason chuckled darkly. "I assure you, there are limitations. But don't concern yourself with what I could do. Focus on surviving what I will do."
His gaze intensified, and I felt something shift. Not in the duel—but in the air around us.
This isn't just a card game anymore, I thought, swallowing.
He raised one hand. "Twin-Headed Thunder Dragon—attack Charcoal Inpachi!"
A violent thunderbolt streaked across the field, engulfing my wooden monster in white-hot electricity. The hologram exploded in a burst of sparks, shaking my platform. My LP remained untouched, but it was clear—Jason wasn't just trying to win.
He was sending a message.
"Your turn," he said calmly.
I drew my next card, staring at it for a second longer than necessary.
My lips pressed into a tight line. I'm going to have to out-think this guy. Not out-muscle him.
I narrowed my eyes. "Let's see how you handle some creative chaos, old man."