The neon-lit hallway of the Mall of Asia Arena buzzed with the distant roar of the Imperial SEA Games, the Imperial Duel 2v2 brackets in full swing. The air hummed with mana residue, the walls lined with holographic posters of First High's crimson phoenix and Fourth High's navy storm.
Sallie Mae and Celeste Marie Salcedo, fresh from dismantling Second High, weaved through cadets and staff, their CADs still warm from the fight. They reached the bleachers' entrance, spotting Angela Castillo's fourth high uniform glowing under the lights. The trio settled into seats overlooking the arena, where Seventh High's fire spells lit the urban maze below, the crowd's chants a relentless pulse.
Sallie slouched deep into his seat, his briefcase CAD propped beside him, its green runes pulsing lazily, like a cat napping after a hunt. He spun his calibrator between his fingers, a toy in his restless hands, and grinned, his voice dripping with mock swagger.
"Yo, Second High's still crying out there. Marco's face when I copied his barrier? Priceless. Called me a cheat, but I'm just *that* good." His eyes glinted, darting to Celeste and Angela, fishing for a reaction, his playful bravado amplified by the corridor's stark neon glow.
Celeste leaned against the bleacher railing, her grimoire CAD holstered at her thigh, its silver sigils dim but sharp as her gaze. She rolled her eyes, arms folded, her voice clipped but betraying a smirk. "Onii-sama, you're insufferable. You didn't just beat Marco—you rubbed his face in it. That 'six-year-olds' jab? Unnecessary."
Her mind lingered on her tether snap that had slammed Rika Santos, her tempo control the spine of their 98.65% sync. "Focus on the next match, not your ego." Her tone was stern, but her glance softened, their locker room rift fading in the victory's afterglow.
Angela bounced into the seat next to Celeste, her red eyes sparkling as she waved off the tension. "Oh, come on, Celeste, let Sallie have his moment!" she chirped, her grin infectious.
"You two were *fire*! That shotgun-to-sword switch? Rika's tether slam? The crowd lost it! I'm still hoarse from screaming"
She mimed Sallie's revolver shot, her enthusiasm lifting the trio like a rally cry.
"Second High never saw it—Green Archers got *gored*! My throat's toast, but the sibling duo is unstoppable!"
Sallie chuckled, patting his briefcase CAD, its runes flaring briefly, as if preening. "My baby here stole the show," he said, voice warm with pride.
"Copying Marco's barrier? That's next-level flex. Bet Tondo's betting dives are calling it 'Shiba's ghost' now." His gaze flicked to the arena feed, where Seventh High's flames roared across the maze, and his grin tightened slightly.
"Gotta stay sharp, though. Whoever's next won't be as predictable as Marco's brick-wall tactics." His slouch straightened, a flicker of focus piercing his nonchalance.
Celeste's eyes narrowed at the feed, her strategist's mind dissecting their performance. "We played it tight," she said, voice low, fingers brushing her grimoire's holster.
"My tethers locked Rika, your chaos broke Marco's rhythm. But we burned too much mana early. If I hadn't layered those predictive buffs, Rika might've * landed a shot." She met Sallie's gaze, a silent nod to their sync. "Second High underestimated us. The next team won't. Seventh or Eighth High—they're hungrier." Her voice trailed off, her mind already shifting to counters for the fire below.
Angela leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, her pom-poms rustling. "Speaking of watching, the stands were *buzzing*," she said, eyes wide.
"Third High's lance girl was *glued* to your copy move, Sallie. And some First High mages whispered about your briefcase—called it 'unregulated tech.' Oh, and betting odds? Fourth High's the favorite now, but Fourth High's climbing fast."
She glanced at the feed, where a fireball shattered a barrier, and shivered. "Whoever's throwing those flames is no joke."
Sallie's calibrator stopped spinning, his eyes narrowing at the screen, where Seventh High's fire mage dominated.
"That's Andrea Cervantes Fernandez," he said, voice shedding its playful edge. "Diliman's Tamaraw Magicians. Rich kid, big name, bigger fire. Heard she's got a Grimoire CAD—Tome of Embers—and Mana Gauntlets that make her spells hit like a nuke."
He leaned forward, his briefcase CAD humming faintly, sensing the challenge.
"She's not Marco. She'll aim to burn us out fast."
Celeste's jaw tightened, her grimoire's holster clicking as she shifted. "Andrea's destruction magic is the problem," she said, her voice analytical, eyes on the feed's replay of a fireball obliterating Eighth High's shield.
"Her Tome of Embers speeds casting, and those gauntlets cut lag to nothing. My tethers can slow her, but fire's hard to counter without heavy mana drain. We'll need to disrupt her rhythm early—force her to overcast."
Her fingers tapped her thigh, plotting buffs to counter Andrea's tempo.
Angela's eyes lit up, eager to spill. "Oh, I've got tea on Andrea!" she said, leaning closer, her voice a mix of awe and caution. "Born into *the* Fernandez clan—Metro Manila's mage royalty. Trained since she could walk, all destruction spells, super high mana affinity. She's Seventh High's star, their 'Tamaraw Inferno.' Word is, her family's got IFRP brass in their pocket, so she's got pressure to win big—Pinnacle or bust. She's not just fighting for glory; it's her legacy."
She glanced at the feed, where Andrea's silhouette flickered through flames, and gulped. "She's intense."
Sallie grinned, his slouch returning, but his eyes burned with defiance, his briefcase CAD's runes flaring green. "Rich girl with a fire fetish? Sounds like a party," he said, voice cocky but focused.
Celeste, leaning against the bleacher railing, her grimoire CAD holstered at her thigh, snapped her head toward him, silver sigils glinting in the light.
"Sounds like a party your ass," she shot back, pointing a finger inches from his face, her voice a mix of exasperation and warning.
"You just made Andrea angry because of that stunt you pulled at the mall before the game. You don't even realize she's rich straight out of Diliman, Onii-sama. The Fernandez clan's not some Tondo street crew—they're Metro Manila mage royalty. She's not just a rich girl; she's got IFRP brass backing her. You poked a dragon."
Sallie's grin faltered, his calibrator pausing mid-spin as he straightened slightly, eyes narrowing.
"Oh, you're blaming me now? Andrea should've kept her mouth shut if she didn't want overheard," he retorted, his voice low but intense, the playful edge gone.
"Craziest thing is, she's out there yapping about Tatsuya Shiba in the open. I wanted to keep that quiet, but since she brought it all up, now it's my turn to spill the beans on her little secret. You know, the scandal stuff that got her panties in a twist."
He leaned forward, his briefcase CAD humming faintly, runes pulsing as if echoing his defiance.
Sallie continued "She's about to bring her A-game? Good. So am I. She stuck her nose where it don't belong, and I ain't lazy for round two. I'm gonna show her what happens when you mess with where you don't fit in."
Angela's amber eyes widened, her pom-poms frozen in her lap as she leaned in, voice a hushed whisper.
"Wait, what stunt at the mall? And what scandal?" She glanced between the siblings, her cheerleader grin replaced by a mix of awe and alarm. "Sallie, you didn't… did you actually call out Andrea in public? And what's this about Shiba? Spill, now!"
Her gaze darted to the arena feed, where Seventh High's flames roared, Andrea's silhouette a blazing specter, and she gulped.
Angela continued "She's gonna come for you hard."
Celeste sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, her grimoire CAD's holster clicking as she shifted.
"Onii-sama, you're reckless," she said, voice calmer but laced with frustration. "That mall stunt—taunting Andrea about her family's 'shady deals' in front of cadets—was stupid. She overheard you joking about Shiba, and now she's got a vendetta. Her Tome of Embers is bad enough, but if she's angry, she'll burn through mana to crush us."
Her eyes met Sallie's, her strategist's mind racing.
Celeste continued "And this 'scandal' you're hinting at? If it's real, you better have proof, because the Fernandez clan doesn't play. They'll bury us if you're bluffing."
Sallie's grin returned, but it was sharper, his eyes glinting with a dangerous edge as he patted his briefcase CAD.
"Oh, it's real, sis. Andrea's family's been skimming IFRP contracts—mana tech deals, off-the-books. I got whispers from Tondo's dives, and a data leak from a buddy in Fourth High's tech crew. She thought she could throw Shiba's name around to spook me, but I'm flipping the script."
He leaned back, calibrator spinning again, his voice low but fierce.
Sallie continued "Her A-game's fire? Mine's chaos. I'll going to make her chase ghosts until her C.A.D burned dry."
Angela's jaw dropped, as she whispered.
"You're playing with nukes, Sallie. The Fernandez clan's untouchable—IFRP brass eat from their table!" She glanced at the feed, where Andrea's fire vortex consumed an Eighth High barrier, the crowd's gasps echoing. "But… if you've got dirt on her, that's leverage. Just don't get us DQ'd."
Her cheerleader spark flickered back, a nervous grin breaking through.
Angela continued "I'll keep the crowd hyped, but you two better not choke against her flames!"
Celeste's gaze hardened, her fingers tapping her grimoire, plotting counters.
"We won't choke," she said, voice steady, eyes locking on the feed.
She glanced at him, a rare flicker of trust softening her words.
Celeste continued "And keep that scandal under wraps unless it's a last resort. We're here for Pinnacle, not politics."
Sallie nodded, his slouch gone, his briefcase CAD's runes pulsing brighter, as if eager for the fight.
"Got it, sis. No politics—just pain. Andrea wants to play dirty? I'll show her Tondo rules." He glanced at Angela, winking. "Angie, get the bleachers shaking. We're turning Diliman's princess into a campfire story."
---
Seventh High's Andrea Cervantes Fernandez, the "Tamaraw Inferno," stood at the maze's edge, her Tome of Embers Grimoire CAD open, its crimson runes pulsing like a heartbeat. Her Mana Gauntlets crackled, amplifying her fire affinity. Amber eyes burned beneath her visor—not just with mana, but vendetta.
Beside her, partner Javier Castillo gripped his lance CAD, its sapphire runes humming with kinetic force. His lean frame was taut but steady, the calm edge to Andrea's fury. Hailing from Diliman's mage elite, Andrea carried more than mana into the arena—she bore the weight of the Fernandez clan, Metro Manila royalty with IFRP brass in their pocket.
And now, vengeance.
Sallie Mae Salcedo's mall stunt—airing out her family's "shady mana tech deals" before a crowd—had not been forgotten. Nor forgiven.
"No mercy, Javi," she hissed, voice low and tight. "Eighth High's dust."
Across the maze, Clara Mendoza and Diego Santos faced them with grit in their eyes. National University cadets—scrappy, underfunded, but fast.
Clara, wiry and sharp-eyed, twirled her staff CAD, its emerald runes glowing. She specialized in wind barriers, her feet already shifting, testing angles. Diego, stockier, grounded, wielded a gauntlet CAD lined with bronze pulses, tuned for earth-based disruption.
Their sync—87.3%. Not bad. Not enough.
"We've got this," she muttered, eyes darting. "Hit fast, Diego."
The klaxon blared.
Andrea moved like a detonation. Her Tome of Embers slashed the air—fwssh—a fire vortex screamed across the maze, heat warping steel. Clara yelped, raising her staff—wind spiraling up, shield forming.
But Andrea's Mana Gauntlets flared.
Casting lag: zero.
The flames punched through Clara's barrier like wet paper. She stumbled, staff sparking. Javier didn't wait. He lunged, his lance CAD thrusting—a kinetic wave erupted, slamming Diego into a concrete slab. The crack echoed through the arena.
Seventh High's side erupted in chants "Andrea! Andrea!"
Diego grunted, rolling to his feet. His gauntlet CAD pulsed—boom—an earth spike erupted toward Javier.
Too slow.
Andrea's fire whip lashed out—crack!—vaporizing it mid-air.
"Royalty doesn't lose," she growled, voice rising above the din. The words dripped venom, a direct echo of Sallie's insult—"pampered princess," he'd called her.
Clara dashed right, trying to flank—wind gust brewing—but Javier pivoted, lance glowing. A kinetic pulse nailed her mid-dash, slamming her into a wall. Her staff flickered, mana thread weakening.
Andrea's Tome flashed again—runic script burning—a second firestorm layered over the first, rippling heat across the maze.
Diego roared, shielding Clara, his gauntlet glowing red-hot. But his stance wavered. Mana levels dropping.
Seventh High's sync: 93.4%—flawless. Andrea, destruction incarnate. Javier, a blade in motion.
Eighth High's energy faltered. Clara's wind weakened. Diego's earth crumbled.
Andrea raised her gauntlets. "This ends now."
The final fireball erupted—WHAM—engulfing Clara and Diego in a blinding inferno. The referee drone buzzed, sirens flaring.
Both Eighth High CADs went dark.
Clara and Diego slumped to the floor—spent, scorched, defeated.
Announcer booming "Seventh High advances! Andrea Cervantes Fernandez and Javier Castillo dominate!"
The crowd roared. Tondo's betting dens lit up—odds shifting. Diliman's duo had arrived.
Andrea snapped her Tome shut with a metallic click, her gaze slicing through the haze.
She found him. Sallie, up in the bleachers.
Andrea muttered under her breath "You're next, Salcedo."
Her fire wasn't just for show—it was a promise. A reckoning.
---
Trixie Andalucia Saavedra stood at the maze's edge, her obsidian lance CAD gripped tight, golden runes humming with restrained power. Crimson eyes gleamed under her visor, her lithe frame coiled like a predator. Her title—"Tamaraw Spear"—wasn't just earned; it was forged in Morayta's brutal mana spars.
Beside her, Mateo Vargas adjusted his gauntlet CAD. Violet runes pulsed along its frame, charged with disruption spells. His broad shoulders were relaxed, but his dark eyes were razor-sharp—focused.
Their sync: 91.2%. Not perfect. But honed. A weapon built on trust and sweat.
Trixie low, focused "First High's all precision." Her gaze swept the maze. "We break their rhythm, Mateo. Hit hard, no gaps."
Across the field, First High's duo stood poised in matching blue-and-white uniforms. Their bearing was sharp—elegant. Pure Ateneo.
Isabela Cruz, tall and refined, gripped a staff CAD. Sapphire runes glowed with layered barrier spells. Every step, every breath, flowed like a fencer's. Gabriel Lim stood beside her, lean, intense. His grimoire CAD shimmered, silver runes alive with elemental spells—fire, ice, lightning.
Their sync: 94.1%. Smooth. Almost flawless.
Gabriel quiet, precise "Stick to the plan. Shield and strike." His eyes flicked to Trixie and Mateo. "They're scrappy, but we're sharper."
The klaxon blared.
The maze came alive.
Isabela raised her staff—whoom—a sapphire dome barrier snapped into place, runes spiraling in motion. Gabriel's grimoire flared—crack!—a lightning bolt screamed toward Trixie.
She dodged low, fast. Her lance CAD thrust—golden mana erupted, slicing into the dome, fracturing its edge.
"Trix-ie! Trix-ie!"
Third High cadets leapt to their feet, scarves waving like wildfire.
Mateo moved—disruption pulse rippling from his gauntlet—vrrrm! Gabriel's second cast stuttered mid-air, lightning fizzling.
Trixie barking "Keep them split!"
She vaulted over a crumbled wall, golden runes on her lance blazing. Her spear struck again—BOOM!—mana shockwaves rippled. The dome spiderwebbed under pressure.
Isabela gritted her teeth, staff raised high. She channeled mana, reinforcing the shield—but Mateo struck again. A second disruption wave slammed Gabriel. His grimoire's runes flickered, scrambled.
Gabriel gritting his teeth "They're too fast!"
He switched tactics—ice now—sharp shards forming midair. They sliced through the air, aimed at Mateo.
Mateo rolled, gauntlet flaring—thoom!—a defensive pulse knocked the shards off-course. Concrete cracked and shattered around him.
Trixie didn't miss the gap.
Her lance CAD morphed—tip elongating, runes shifting—piercing form. She lunged.
Trixie shouted a battle cry "Haaah!"
Golden mana lanced forward—KA-BLAM!—Isabela's barrier crumbled. She flew back, her staff dimming.
The arena erupted. Drones zoomed in. On Divisoria's betting screens, odds flipped in real time.
Random bettor cheering "Trixie's shredding 'em!"
Gabriel countered, launching a fire wave. Heat rolled across the maze—rebar warped, concrete scorched.
Trixie spun her lance—runes flared—shhhring! A compact mana shield flared up, redirecting the flames into a wall. Molten slag dripped down.
Mateo flanked.
Disruption wave—BWAM!—Gabriel's cast lagged. Runic delay.
Trixie commanding "Now!"
Her golden spear shot forward, piercing Gabriel's defense—zzrak!—grazing his arm. His grimoire hit the floor.
Isabela scrambled, staff raised, casting a desperate barrier. Trixie pressed the attack—each thrust a mana shockwave—whump, whump, whump! The dome cracked under relentless pressure.
Mateo hit his final pulse—KRCHH! Isabela's barrier disintegrated, runes collapsing like glass shards.
Trixie lunged.
Her lance halted inches from Isabela's chest.
Mateo's gauntlet locked on Gabriel, who—panting, cut, spent—raised his hands in surrender.
The referee drone shrieked.
Announcer roaring "Third High advances to the second round! Trixie Andalucia Saavedra and Mateo Vargas triumph over First High!"
The stands erupted. A wave of green-and-yellow drowned out Ateneo's stunned blue banners.
In Quezon's neon bars, screens flashed.
Bettor in Divisoria shouting "Trixie's lance is unreal!"
Tondo's odds spiked—Third High, the dark horse, now a rising threat.
Trixie exhaled, lowering her lance. Her crimson eyes scanned the bleachers—landing on Sallie and Celeste Salcedo.
Fourth High had just taken down Second High.
"Good work, Mateo."
She wiped sweat from her brow, calm returning.
Mateo grinning "You too, boss."
His gauntlet dimmed. But the spark in his eyes didn't.
---
The entrance buzzed with life: cadets wrapped in school colors—First High's crimson clashing with Fourth High's navy—families clutching holo-tickets, vendors hawking SparkVita cans that glowed faintly in the dark. IFRP guards moved with practiced vigilance, gauntlet CADs gleaming under floodlights. Drones swept overhead, red sensors active, scanning every face, every motion.
Emperor Aurelio Mendez III's grip was more than symbolic here.
From a side street, a sleek taxi door clicked open.
USNA Stars operatives Angelina Kudou Shields, Cassandra Kwon, and Amon Reyes stepped out, blending seamlessly into the throng. No mission talk—only the illusion of casual tourists, eyes wide with manufactured awe.
Angelina's Brionac CAD, disguised as a bracelet, hummed faintly. Her sky-blue eyes scanned beneath twin-tails, every movement calculated beneath her soft smile.
Cassandra walked beside her, gauntlet CAD tucked under a loose jacket, its indigo runes dormant. Her sniper's gaze swept the crowd like crosshairs.
Amon lagged just half a pace behind, his collapsed lance CAD at his hip, dreadlocks swaying. He grinned easily—more street kid than soldier—but his eyes watched everything.
As they moved through the crowd, Cassandra leaned closer, dodging a Third High cadet waving a dark green-and-yellow scarf.
"Welcome to Mall of Asia Arena, Angelina Kudou Shields." She raised her voice just enough to blend into the noise. "Where the Imperial SEA Games are in full swing, and every school from Luzon to Mindanao's throwing down for glory. First High just got smoked by Third. Seventh High's flame girl cooked Eighth like barbecue."
Angelina sidestepped a vendor thrusting a glowing SparkVita toward her.
"Thanks for the tour guide act, Cass."
Her voice was light, but her eyes tracked an IFRP guard nearby—his gauntlet CAD still glowing faintly.
Angelina continued, quieter "This place is a circus. Schools turning into warzones. Betting crowds. Feels like the whole Republic's playing bloodsport for Mendez's approval."
She glanced at the arena's megascreen, where Andrea Fernandez's fire vortex lit up a replay. Her smile faded, haunted briefly by memories of Reina Saegusa's execution.
Amon caught up beside them, expression casual.
Amon low and amused "Circus is right."
He jerked his chin toward the crowd—Fourth High cadets chanting in unison, a First High mage sulking near a vendor.
"You know what's wilder? Volleyball's gone. Like, vanished. Back in the day, the Philippines packed arenas for UAAP, PVL… but they couldn't keep up globally. No money for imports. Lost the Volleyball Nations League spot over and over. Even before WW3, it was crumbling."
Cassandra raised a brow, glancing over at him as they passed a holo-screen flashing with match stats.
"Volleyball? Seriously, Amon? You're reminiscing about spikes and serves in the middle of a mage war zone?"
Her smirk returned, but her eyes tracked a nearby IFRP soldier adjusting a drone sync on his wrist.
"What—lost too many games and just rage-quit the sport?"
Amon's grin stayed, but his voice darkened. His hand grazed his lance CAD, thumb brushing the metal.
"Yeah. Pretty much. They tried to save it—funded new programs, trained homegrown talent—but teams like Vietnam, Thailand, Iran just crushed 'em. Mendez saw the writing on the wall. No money, no wins. Then came the war."
He nodded at a distant banner bearing the imperial crest.
"That's when Aurelio stepped in. Cut funding. Declared war. Said screw sports—build armies instead. Volleyball? Gone. Swallowed up into the machine."
Angelina's Brionac bracelet pulsed faintly against her skin. Her voice was quiet, tight.
"Mendez turned a dying sport into war doctrine."
She looked up at the dome, at the crowd cheering like gladiators were about to enter.
"No wonder the Republic's obsessed with Pinnacle. It's not about trophies. It's about replacing dreams with soldiers. Volleyball, sports,—it's all gone. All fuel for conquest."
Her gaze caught a holo-poster of a First High cadet chugging SparkVita, the tagline "Ignite Your Edge" pulsing in orange light.
"Even their soda's propaganda."
Cassandra snorted softly. "Soda, sports, schools—it's all Mendez's brand now. Volleyball's dead, but these duels? They've got the same hype. Just higher stakes."
She smirked, elbowing Amon. "Bet you'd suck at volleyball anyway, lance boy. You'd spend half the match posing with your stick."
Amon laughed, swaying his hips like a beach player, exaggerated. "Posing? I'd spike you into next week, sniper queen."
But the grin faded as a nearby drone buzzed closer, red light flashing over them.
"Andrea's not just strong—she's dangerous. Third High's lance girl too. Trixie, right? These cadets aren't athletes. They're prototypes."
He shifted slightly, placing himself between the others and a patrolling soldier.
Her voice was casual, but her eyes didn't stop moving—tracking an IFRP soldier to their left, his gauntlet CAD glowing faintly. Probably tuned for mana spikes.
Angelina continued, quieter "We're here for the 'show'—2v2 Duels, school pride, flashy uniforms. But keep your CADs low-key. These guards? Itching for an excuse to crack down."
Her gaze flicked to a nearby megascreen: a replay of Third High's Trixie Saavedra lunging, her lance CAD piercing a barrier in a golden shockwave.
Angelina's expression darkened slightly, Reina Saegusa's final moment flashing behind her eyes.
Beside her, Cassandra smirked, shifting to let a Seventh High cadet waving a crimson-and-maroon flag bounce past her shoulder. Her gauntlet CAD remained tucked under her jacket, indigo runes faint beneath the fabric.
"Low-key's my middle name."
Her sniper's eyes swept a drone's arc above them, watching as it pinged against the crowd with rhythmic red pulses.
"But yeah… this place? It's not sports anymore. Volleyball's gone like Amon said. And the rest of the old Philippines programs? Dying fast. Only tennis and boxing are still clinging on."
Her smirk faded, voice turning sharp.
"Even boxing's not what it used to be. Now it's 'Nationwide Punch Out.' Compulsory. Every student, every school—mage or mathlete, doesn't matter. You get picked, you fight. Fists, CADs, kicks—no rules, just pain."
"It's like Japan's thesis defenses. Except you bleed."
Amon kept pace easily, his lance CAD collapsed and clipped at his hip. The golden glow dimmed. His dreadlocks swayed slightly, his body loose, but his tone lowered beneath the cheering crowd.
"That's just the tip."
The chant of "Andrea! Andrea!" echoed around them—Seventh High's fans in full force.
"They didn't just kill off the old games. They twisted 'em. Basketball, soccer, even track? Gone. All warped into bloodsports. This isn't school pride—it's boot camp for conquest."
He glanced at a holo-poster showing the arena maze from above—urban walls, plasma zones, mana fog.
"You've got Battle Royale—drop zone, last team standing. Extraction—grab the target, escape or get wrecked. Death Race—CADs and vehicles, no rules. Urban Warfare Trials, like tonight's duel bracket. Command Simulations—tactical war games, straight up military. And the big one?"
He nodded toward the arena's glowing entrance, where the IFRP crest pulsed like a heartbeat.
"Imperial Warfare. It's the crown jewel. Attackers get 300 respawn tickets. Defenders? Infinite. It's designed to drain morale. To teach cadets what real war feels like. And the scary part?"
He looked between them, voice clipped. "They're good at it."
Angelina's steps slowed slightly, her gaze catching on a row of fluttering school banners. She blinked, absorbing the implications—and the quiet horror in what she'd just heard.
"I can't believe this…"
Everything—the duels, the chanting crowds, the slick branding—it was all a mask.
But Amon didn't stop there. His voice stayed low, even as he moved casually past a vendor pushing a glowing SparkVita can into her path.
"Mendez didn't just kill sports—he weaponized them."
Angelina sidestepped the vendor without looking, her thoughts racing.
"Volleyball, boxing—all of it, twisted into tools for his empire. That 'Nationwide Punch Out' thing? That's not a game. It's training kids to fight on instinct. No hesitation. Just reaction."
He glanced toward the arena's archway, where a drone buzzed by overhead.
"And Imperial Warfare? That's not some flashy bracket match. It's a blueprint for Japan. A test run for full-on invasion."
He turned to her, voice clipped but urgent.
"This is why the tech leak matters. If someone's siphoning CADs, they're not just smuggling weapons. They're fueling the machine—or worse, selling to the Clans. You think Japan's strategists wouldn't love to reverse-engineer Mendez's toys and turn them on him?"
Cassandra, walking a half-step ahead, hadn't stopped scanning. Her gauntlet CAD stayed steady beneath her coat, her gaze slicing toward a soldier standing too stiffly near the side gates.
"And Punch Out's just the start."
She nudged past a teen waving a holographic foam sword, her voice lowering again.
"Imagine getting yanked into a ring—no prep, no gear, no strategy. Just gloves, guts, and the crowd screaming for you to bleed. That's Mendez's way of thinning the herd. No weak links in his empire."
She nodded toward a holo-poster—First High's cadet blazing with a staff CAD mid-spin, triumph frozen in burnished light.
"Reina's execution wasn't justice. It was a message. These kids? They're fighting for a throne built on blood."
Amon's grin had long since vanished. His lance CAD shifted subtly at his hip, and his gaze flicked upward as a surveillance drone passed overhead.
"Blood's the currency here."
He didn't sugarcoat it. His voice had the cold edge of someone who'd seen war and recognized its shape—long before it arrived.
"Every duel, every match, every forced ring fight—it's Mendez running live drills with future soldiers."
Angelina's voice was barely a whisper. Her usual wit, her lightness—it was buried under the weight of what Amon and Cassandra had just told her.
"The IFRP used to be good at sports—boxing, volleyball, basketball. They had spirit, fans, pride…"
She glanced around, at the crowds, the banners, the screens replaying Third High's victory.
"But because they couldn't win outside Southeast Asia… they just gave up? Replaced it all with conquest? Beat down whole countries instead of facing another loss?"
Her gaze drifted to a holo-poster. A Seventh High cadet mid-lunge, fire CAD blazing, her eyes wild with triumph. It was all spectacle. No joy. Just dominance.
Angelina's jaw tightened. "And Mendez approved all of it? Turned sports into a war machine just to win something no one else even wants to fight for?"
Cassandra's smirk was bitter this time. No humor, just a sniper's edge dulled by disgust.
"Yeah. Twisted, right?" She ducked around a Third High cadet waving a scarf, barely sparing him a glance.
"They got smoked. Vietnam, Iran, Thailand—they dominated. Even Lebanon once. That was the real trigger."
She met Angelina's gaze.
"You wanna know the truth? It was a basketball match. Lebanon crushed 'em—wiped the floor. It broke something in the country. The media tore into the players, the old government tried to cover it up, infighting started... and everything just… crumbled."
Her voice dropped lower.
"Then Mendez stepped in. Said enough was enough. No more humiliation. Dismantled the whole system. Rebuilt it into an empire. That loss? It's not just history—it's the birth of the IFRP. This entire nation—these games, these blood duels—they're all founded on the ruins of one failure."
Angelina didn't respond at first.
Her hands trembled slightly, fingers tightening around her Brionac bracelet as it pulsed again, responding to her roiling emotions.
"It's… painful."
She swallowed, the words thick in her throat.
"They had something real. Even if they weren't global champs, those sports brought people together. They cheered, they hoped, they played. And now…"
Her eyes drifted to the arena's entrance, the imperial crest glowing, omnipresent.
"Now they turn kids into weapons. They make duels like Imperial Warfare—300 tickets to simulate killing, grinding opponents down. This isn't pride. It's propaganda. It's genocide disguised as a school program."
She turned back to Amon and Cassandra, her expression no longer cracked—but forged.
"Mendez didn't just erase their past. He replaced it with a myth that ends in blood."
Angelina's sky-blue eyes narrowed. Her twin-tails were still, the din of the arena fading as a chill settled over her.
Her Brionac bracelet pulsed faintly—reacting to her rising unease.
The shock of the IFRP's bloodsports—volleyball and boxing twisted into Nationwide Punch Out and Imperial Warfare—still lingered. But now, something else took over. Instinct.
Angelina low, voice tight "I've got a bad feeling."
Her words were barely audible over the roar of the crowd chanting Andrea Fernandez's name.
"Japan's Ten Master Clans… they're making a move here. Soon. I can feel it."
Her quarter-Japanese blood ran cold. Reina Saegusa's execution burned at the back of her mind—a Saegusa elite cut down in cold blood by the IFRP. That wasn't just punishment.
It was provocation.
Cassandra's smirk faltered. Her gauntlet CAD stayed hidden, indigo runes dim beneath her jacket, but her eyes sharpened.
"You and your gut again, Lina."
She slid past a Fourth High cadet waving a navy scarf, her voice dipping lower.
"Reina's death was a slap to the Clans' face. The Saegusa won't sit quiet. You think they're already embedded? Watching the duels, scoping CADs like we are?"
Her gaze flicked to a nearby IFRP guard—stance too stiff, gauntlet CAD glowing actively.
"If they're here, they're not spectating. They're shopping—for blood or tech."
Amon, walking in lockstep, didn't smile. His lance CAD rested steady at his hip, its golden glow muted. His dreadlocks shifted as he scanned the crowd—sharp, soldier-focused.
"Lina's gut's usually right."
His voice was calm, but carried weight. "The Clans don't forgive execution broadcasts. Reina was mapping IFRP mana grids—strategic recon. Her death wasn't personal. It was Mendez telling Japan: 'We're not scared of your bloodlines.'"
He nodded at a drone sweeping past overhead, red sensors glowing.
"If Katsuto Juumonji or the Yotsuba sent operatives, they're here. Intel, sabotage—maybe both."
He leaned in slightly, voice low enough to drown in the ambient noise.
"Could be ASEAN delegates, tech sponsors… hell, even cadets. And if they clock us sniffing around for the same leak…"
Angelina's jaw tightened.
Her Brionac bracelet thrummed harder, reacting to her narrowed focus. "They're here."
She didn't flinch now. The shock had burned away. Only purpose remained.
"These 2v2 Duels? Perfect cover. High-profile, messy, unpredictable. CADs exposed, crowd distracted. Ideal stage for the Clans to scan spell structures, mimic loadouts—or worse, inject malware into mana cores."
Her eyes caught a megascreen replay of Trixie Saavedra's golden lance strike, then cut to a massive holo-poster of the IFRP crest. Mendez's symbol glowed like a brand.
"Reina's death was a spark. The Clans won't ignore it. If our smuggler's dealing to them, this gets ugly fast."
Cassandra's eyes narrowed. Her gauntlet CAD gave a quiet hum—syncing, but staying dark.
"So we're dodging IFRP goons, chasing smugglers, and now maybe playing tag with Yotsuba shadow casters or Juumonji juggernauts?"
She sidestepped a SparkVita vendor without breaking stride.
"Awesome. Really loving this mission. You sure your gut's not just reacting to Mendez's dystopia circus?"
Amon gave a dry chuckle, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Nah, Lina's on target. Clans move cold. Surgical. They won't draw attention—they'll position. VIP sections. Sponsor booths. Watching Third High's lancer, Seventh High's fire girl…"
He scanned the crowd again, pausing briefly on a group of suited figures with ASEAN badges—too still, too focused.
"If they're after the same CAD leak, they'll want every detail. Every rune. Every twitch of a spellcast. And if they spot us?"
He trailed off.
The weight of Reina's death hung between them.
Angelina took a breath. Let it go slowly. Her Stars training flowed back in, centering her as she adjusted her posture to blend deeper into the crowd.
"We assume they're here. And we stick to plan."
Her tone was steady. Command had returned to her voice.
"We're fans. Tourists. Here for the Duels."
She glanced at each of them—Cassandra first, then Amon.
Amon grimly, as they move past another flag-waving cadet
"It's not just here anymore. I just got a ping—IFRP soldiers cracked down on volleyball programs in Vietnam last week. Courts dismantled. Coaches arrested. Whole youth teams disbanded."
Cassandra scowling "They're exporting it now. Erasing every country that once beat them at their own game."
Angelina voice low, stunned "Vietnam and Thailand… they were powerhouses. They crushed the Philippines in volleyball, over and over. And now they're being swallowed by the same machine that rose from that defeat."
Amon nodding "Thailand too. Their national youth program? Absorbed. Rebranded under IFRP's Southeast Alliance development wing. Kids forced into CAD trials. No nets, no matches—just gauntlets and target dummies."
Angelina quiet, furious "He's wiping the scoreboard. One country at a time?"
___
Location: A private study room in Chiba, Japan.
Tatsuya Shiba sat in the dim glow of a high-security laptop screen, fingers steepled as the live stream of the Imperial SEA Games loaded.
The arena's footage was a storm of color and noise—urban maze duels, crowd roars, bursts of flame and illusion. Runic overlays danced across the screen as Fourth High's cadets clashed with Seventh High's, their CADs flaring in tandem.
Tatsuya's eyes narrowed.
"This isn't the Nine Schools Competition."
He watched as a cadet—Andrea Fernandez, according to the banner—unleashed a vortex of fire that melted a reinforced steel wall. Another, with a lance, launched an opponent through two concrete barriers.
No referee stepped in.
The camera cut to crowds screaming in frenzy, waving banners. School colors. Gambling odds.
"It's spectacle. Combat theater disguised as scholastic pride. But the structure's gone. No judged scoring. No regulated barriers. No interruption protocols."
His gaze flicked to a side-feed showing the game's bracket: Imperial Duel 2v2 | Imperial Warfare Trials | Nationwide Punch Out | Death Race | Extraction Ops.
"They've turned military training into national sport."
He clicked a few tabs—found archived commentary. Keywords flashed: 'Mana Efficiency through Chaos,' 'Youth Battle Doctrine,' 'Mendez's Doctrine of Conquest Readiness.'
"So this is how the Imperial Federal Republic motivates its mages. Not through discipline or intellect—but adrenaline and aggression. Emotional imprinting during combat… Mendez is conditioning youth to equate bloodshed with national pride."
Footage cut again. A slowed replay showed a cadet's grimoire CAD exploding, knocking out her opponent in a blaze of raw, unrefined energy.
No disqualification.
Tatsuya's fingers tapped the desk once.
"Reina's death was just the beginning."
A soft beep chimed—news snippets populating the sidebar. Reports of volleyball programs being forcibly shut down in Vietnam. Youth teams detained. Thailand's national training camps being "restructured" under IFRP oversight.
"He's rewriting Southeast Asia's identity. First through sport, then through subjugation."
He leaned back, expression unreadable, the glow of the screen casting a thin shadow across his eyes.
"If the Ten Master Clans underestimate this, they'll walk into a war already half-lost. This isn't just another school competition. It's a live-fire test bed. A recruitment funnel. And a declaration of intent."
His hand hovered briefly over his CAD holster, then stilled.
"I'll need to speak with Juumonji. And Yotsuba. If Mendez intends to export this 'doctrine,' Japan may be next on his list."
He closed the lid of the laptop with a soft click.
"The Nine Schools Competition was built to test talent. The Imperial SEA Games? It's built to consume it."
"They're playing with deadly web...."