On the benches for participants and spectators, there was near-universal certainty: Elaira had lost. With both of her wrists weighed down, she had lost her agility—meaning her entire strategy, built on prediction and split-second reactions, could no longer function as before. In the eyes of most onlookers, the outcome was clear.
"She's done. That's it," one participant said confidently, watching Elaira stand there, breathing heavily, her arms hanging limply by her sides.
"She got too cocky. Should've gone big earlier," another added.
"Now it's too late. Selene's just gonna finish her off."
Most believed the fight was over. All except for four.
Katsu, seated separately from the noisy crowd, watched the arena with narrowed eyes. He barely moved. Something inside him resisted the idea of Elaira's defeat. He didn't even know what exactly was causing this—intuition or stubbornness—but he felt that things could still take an unexpected turn.
"I don't know…" he muttered under his breath. "It's not over yet. There's something about her... otherwise, all this would've been pointless."
Elsewhere on the bench, the three previously mentioned young men—Dayron, Nyrek, and their leader—were also quietly observing the fight.
"Well... looks pretty obvious to me," Dayron said, scratching his neck. "Both arms useless. What can she even do now?"
Nyrek didn't respond right away. He was studying Elaira's movements closely as she slowly retreated from Selene, clearly trying to figure something out.
"I wouldn't be so sure," he finally said. "If it were that simple, she'd have already given up."
Their leader had been silent all this time, watching intently. His voice was calm and cold:
"We're not here to judge—we're here to learn. And right now, we have a rare opportunity. Even if she loses, what matters is how she acts when cornered. This is a key moment."
Dayron smirked but nodded in agreement. He respected their leader, even if he didn't always get what he meant.
At the far end of the bench, Blitz stared lazily at the ceiling, clearly bored. He hadn't said a word since the fight began. He didn't care. Neither Selene nor Elaira interested him enough to warrant any real attention. To him, it was just another dull match—no lightning, no dramatic blasts, no shouting.
"Waste of time," he muttered with a yawn, as if the entire fight wasn't worth watching.
Zigrane, on the other hand, had watched the fight from the start with open irritation. He had loudly called everyone around him weaklings more than once and didn't consider what was happening worthy of note. Mages throwing punches and relying on tricks? Pathetic.
"Useless fight. One's a sneak, the other's blind. What's the point?" he scoffed, leaning back.
But in the arena—despite all the comments and predictions—the fight was far from over.
Even though Selene had taken the initiative and Elayra looked cornered, something in her gaze said otherwise: she wasn't giving up.
The battle was entering its final stage. Elaira stood a few meters away from Selene, breathing hard. Her arms still looked bound by invisible chains, and the crowd had already decided she was done. But Elaira felt—things could still change.
Focusing inward, she activated her magic again. A glimpse into the near future. She saw the card in Selene's hand—hidden, ready. Any moment now, Selene would attempt the same trick again.
"Good thing I did it…"
"This is risky, but if I go through with it—victory will be mine."
Selene stepped forward with a playful smirk. Her voice was light, mocking, almost teasing:
"Well, should we wrap this up? Or are you just waiting for me to come to you?"
Elaira didn't respond. She simply lifted her chin slightly and met Selene's eyes with a cool smirk. It threw Selene off for just a split second.
Now was the time.
Elaira dashed forward. Selene reacted instantly—this was what she'd been waiting for. In a flash, she drew a card from her deck and lunged toward her opponent, intending to slap on the third card and end the fight.
But at the critical moment, Elaira made a sharp maneuver. She closed the distance so fast it seemed like a mistake. A miscalculation.
Then, in one swift motion, her right arm—until now seemingly paralyzed—snapped forward. With precise, practiced motion, she seized Selene's wrist and affixed the very same card. Quick. Subtle. Flawless.
Selene barely had time to register what happened when her left arm was suddenly pulled down by a crushing weight. She stumbled backward, breathing hard. The card had activated. Her own technique, turned against her.
Elaira jumped back too, maintaining distance. Her chest heaved, but her eyes were sharp once more—cold and clear.
Selene was left with questions but didn't ask them. She stared at Elaira, trying to understand when it had all gone so wrong.
They stood still. Though the match wasn't over—the balance of power had shifted.
Selene's eyes stayed fixed on her left arm. It moved with difficulty, and though it didn't look catastrophic, she could feel it. The same oppressive weight she had once imposed on Elaira was now her burden. The body that had obeyed her so easily minutes ago was rebelling. Or at least one part of it.
Silence fell over the spectators and participants. Some were confused. Others suspected. Many simply watched, breath held.
Selene squinted, straightening slowly. Her smile vanished. Her voice held no more teasing—only disbelief and sharp seriousness:
"How…? When did you do it? I know I placed that card on your right hand. I felt it!"
Elayra straightened too, though her arms still didn't move freely. She met Selene's eyes, a faint, almost smug smile playing on her lips.
"You really think I'd let a card like that stay on my hand for long while using predictive magic?" she said calmly. "I removed it… long before you placed the second one. During one of your confident charges."
Selene furrowed her brow, trying to recall.
"You… removed the card?"
"Yes. During one of our exchanges. I moved my arm slightly aside as if dodging and tore it off. Your attack hid the motion. Even you didn't see it. And when you were busy preparing your second card… I already had the first one in my other hand."
For a moment, Selene's face froze.
"But… even with predictive magic… that takes focus. Were you seriously calculating both your moves and mine that precisely the whole time?"
"You see the result," Elaira replied. "I don't just predict your actions. I see what will happen if I do this… or that. I already knew you'd get too close. And I used that. You thought you controlled the fight. I just let you think that."
Selene was breathing heavily. Her body now experienced the same discomfort Elaira had endured minutes ago. But more importantly, she felt she had lost control.
To the untrained eye, it may have looked like two tired fighters facing off. But those who understood could tell—a major strategic shift had occurred.
Elaira hadn't just removed a magical trap—she had turned it against its user.
"That was… subtle," Selene admitted, slowly nodding. "I underestimated your magic. I thought it only helped you defend. But you can attack with it… before the fight even starts."
Elaira stepped forward. Now she looked composed. Confident. Even a little intimidating. Her voice was firm:
"My predictions aren't passive observation. They're choice. Every move I make is calculated. And you… were part of those calculations."
The crowd erupted. Some shouted in shock, others in awe. No one was calling the match boring anymore. Everyone understood—they were witnessing not just a battle, but a mental war, where one decision could turn the tide.
Selene exhaled slowly, regaining some composure.
"You're good. Really good…"
Elayra didn't answer. She simply stood her ground—ready for the next phase.
And she knew—the next move would be the deciding one.