Chapter 17: Spectators of Shadows
The roar of the crowd was thunderous, a rising storm of anticipation and awe as the arena displayed the clash between Misugaraki and Aisha in devastating spectacle. Explosions of light, shockwaves of power, and fractured sub-realities painted the sky above the Tournament World.
At the highest tier of the coliseum, in a secluded box untouched by the chaos below, a man sat motionless.
He was carved from stone — or so it seemed. Broad-shouldered, arms folded tightly across a military-toned chest, his uniform still bore the insignia of a rank that echoed power even in retirement: General of the Supreme Order, once the Commander of countless campaigns across the outer layers of fractured reality.
Now, clad in a black inner tactical shirt and weathered shoulder trousers, he looked less like a relic and more like a sleeping warship — silent, but never disarmed.
The murmurs started immediately.
"That's him..."
"Misugaraki's father..."
"The General. Retired, they say. But some say he was forced to step down..."
Retired? Or forced out? I heard it was because of some incident, never disclosed to the public…"
"No one knows what really happened. Just that it wasn't pretty."
But the General paid no mind. His focus remained on the chaos below — not in awe, not in excitement — but with a quiet, unsaid disappointment. A man who had seen real war, real sacrifice, real power. To him, this was theater. Brutal, yes. But still theater.
Most, however, simply continued to watch the match, some passing bets for other candidates, others tense, while laughter occasionally erupted from those witnessing a candidate's swift defeat.
And then, something caught the edge of his vision.
A shift in the air.
Then, his eyes paused. Not on the combatants, but on a figure emerging into his peripheral vision. A strange boy, impeccably dressed in a suit, stood a short distance away, holding a staff with a golden handle. His hair was an unusual, almost pearl-white, and his face was obscured by shadow or angle. Yet, despite the distance and the lack of a clear view, the General could tell who he was. A flicker, not of shock but of mild surprise, crossed his otherwise unreadable features.
He recognized him instantly.
Not shock. Just acknowledgment.
"He came?"
"For him to be here…" the General thought, his mind already calculating. "Must be for business. Or perhaps, from the Elders."
The General's gaze returned to the arena — an old soldier's way of signaling: I saw you. I accept your presence. But I will not initiate. a strategic movement designed to indicate dismissal. But the moment his eyes redirected, a subtle shift in the air, a faint displacement. He felt, rather than saw, the presence.
Then, quietly—
"Don't ignore me like that, geezer."
The voice was calm, almost melodious, yet carried an undercurrent of something ancient and powerful, yet layered with something far older than the boy it came from.
Without alarm, the General turned slightly.
The boy was now seated beside him. Not seen walking. Not noticed crossing. Just there — as if he'd always been.
Identical — jarringly so — to Misuki, His appearance was striking the same peach-colored hair, the same violet eyes, and his face was completely emotionless, a perfect, unblemished mask as of Misuki but for his only use. His face was perfectly calm. Too calm. Like a painting.
"It has been a long time," the General stated, his voice a low, gravelly rumble, completely unfazed by the boy's sudden materialization, though the faint surprise of recognition still held in his depths. "Since I last heard that name spoken."
The boy tilted his head slightly, offering the faintest of smiles — something between warmth and formality, finally allowed himself a soft, almost imperceptible smile. It was a brief, enigmatic curve of his lips, followed by a quiet, breathy laugh that barely disturbed the ambient noise.
"Indeed," he replied smoothly. "So... how are your children, General?" he began, his violet eyes, despite their lack of emotion, seeming to pierce through the General's composure.
There was no mocking in his tone. Just... observation. An unshaken calm, like a being watching stars collapse for leisure.
"I heard one of them would be participating in this… tournament match" he continued, gazing out at the battlefield. "Though, to me, these spectacles are merely for entertainment. Nothing more."
The General didn't flinch.
""Yes. My child, Misugaraki, is participating." he said, his voice steady. "But is that truly why you have come here to ask?" The General's gaze remained steady, cold and direct.
The boy's staff tapped gently against the floor, not in impatience, but like a thought punctuated.
"You're not wrong"
"My other half," he stated, the words carrying a strange weight, a hidden meaning. "I've come for him. Though, I don't see him anywhere, even though I can sense his… presence." He gestured vaguely towards the arena with his staff.
He gestured lazily toward the arena. "No matter. For now... let's just watch."
There was silence. The kind that stretched beyond time, between two figures who had seen far more than they ever said aloud.
Then, the General nodded once. Not as a soldier, but as a father. As a witness. As someone who understood that whatever the boy truly was, he existed outside the bounds of simple questions.
"Indeed," the General said softly. "Let's."
Below, Misugaraki roared with fury, unleashing flame that cracked sub-dimensional frameworks. And far above, his father and the boy — two ancient ghosts of a world that no longer existed — simply watched in stillness.
As if they were waiting for something much bigger to begin.
(FROM THE LOWER WORLD FIRST LAYER OF REALITY)
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To be continued
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