The emcee stepped forward, voice raised with theatrical excitement.
She asked the crowd: "is he the winner or not?"
A beat of silence.
Then — a roar erupted across the stadium.
"YES!"
Cheers exploded from every corner. The noise was thunderous — not only agreement, but celebration.
Moments later, a woman in a sleek silver coat approached Jimmy with a glowing smile. She held out a shimmering trophy shaped like an open hand catching starlight. Along with it came a golden A-grade Potion Card, a check of 10 million T-Coins, and a 30-day Elite Meal Supply Voucher, engraved with the Arcana crest.
The cheers turned into stomping feet and echoing chants of his name. Camera shutter open and close sound.
Then, another presenter came forward and gently approached Eola. She received a smaller but elegant trophy, a 7 million T-Coins check, three C-grade Potion Cards, and a 20-day Food Supply card. The applause for her was warm, supportive — a different kind of respect.
Eola nodded quietly, still processing the outcome.
Suddenly, a slightly rotund man with a sharp moustache and a jewelled pin on his blazer walked onto the stage, flanked by three guards.
He raised a hand with authority.
"Why not take a photo with all winners?" he announced, grinning.
Eola bowed politely. "Of course, Chairman."
Jimmy stood calmly with a small smile as Swablum fluttered down from above and perched—adorably—on top of the championship trophy. Another four Swablums descended and posed beside him dramatically, wings half-spread like a victory fan.
"Get that shot!" the Chairman barked at the nearest cameraman.
The cameraman gave a brisk nod, then captured the perfect moment:
Jimmy in the center, Luna noble and poised behind him, trophy in hand, and Swablum perched atop — like a crown of feathers.
Then the Chairman tried again. "Why not take another photo?"
Jimmy nodded once in agreement.
But the Swablums? They had other ideas. With a collective chirp, they fluttered off the stage in a flurry of sparkles and mischief, vanishing into the upper sky.
A reporter nearby chuckled.
"Chairman, you ruined the moment — look, they've flown off."
The Chairman just waved a hand. "It's fine."
Jimmy, understanding who he was now, nodded again — more firmly this time.
Everyone on stage — the Chairman, the presenters, Eola, Jimmy — gathered for a formal group shot. Jimmy stood tall in the middle, still calm, still quiet. Luna behind him like a guardian. The smallest Swablum returned for one last moment and landed softly on his head, looking directly at the camera.
The flash went off.
A perfect frame of victory, humility, and mystery — sealed in the click of a shutter.
............................................
Before the reporters could flood the stage—before the staff could even raise a hand to halt them—Jimmy had already begun to step back towards back stage.
He turned toward the little cluster of Swablum, huddled near his feet, still chirping faintly.
He didn't say a word but raised one hand—palm open, steady.
The Swablum blinked. The smallest one tilted its head. Then, as if understanding something unspoken, then they spread their wings in unison.
No whistles.
No hesitant spins.
Only wind blows.
The crowd noticed.
A few gasps.
Then applause — hesitant at first, then rising with emotion. People stood up. Some children waved. A chorus of joy mixed with a quiet sadness bloomed in the arena.
Reporters turned their cameras, their lenses zooming in on the fluttering ascent — flashes stuttering like lightning.
"They're leaving...?"
"Wait, are they really...?"
"Is he releasing them, daddy?"
One reporter whispered, eyes wide behind her glasses:
"They just... went away."
...........................
Above the stadium dome, the Swablum vanished into the sunlight — like silver dust returning to the sky.
Jimmy simply watched them disappear with a smile.
Then — quietly — he turned his back to the crowd.
Just as the first wave of reporters rushed forward shouting:
"Sir! One moment—just one photo!"
"How did you train her?"
"Is it true you—wait, where is he going?"
Flashbulbs fired in bursts. Microphones jutted forward.
A few staff members quickly stepped in, blocking the reporters.
"Give space, please!"
"This part is closed off—back up!"
"We'll issue a statement later!"
Jimmy slipped behind them in between chaos, expression calm, coat trailing gently as he passed through a quiet side door.
Before going, he made two signs towards one people.
................................................
Just Outside
Bright daylight.
Hot, dry wind curled down the stadium corridor as Jimmy emerged behind the structure. The distant cheers inside seemed like echoes now, faded and far.
Two men in dark coats stood ahead — guards, by posture if not uniform — flanking a woman beneath a white umbrella.
She stood poised, elegant, a thin wine glass in one hand — sipping casually.
Her face was partially hidden beneath the tilt of the umbrella. Pearlescent hair caught the sun. One foot rested casually atop the step behind her, like she'd been waiting for him.
Jimmy did not slow down but turned slightly, as if to pass by—
But one of the guards raised a hand with a grin.
"Come with us."
Jimmy didn't even look at him. He just shifted direction slightly and kept walking, steps light, almost playful.
The second guard stepped in.
"Don't make this harder—"
But then the woman spoke.
"Enough."
The guards froze.
She stepped forward slowly, lowering the umbrella enough for her lips to be seen — painted red like a cut across snow. Her voice was soft, but filled with eerie authority
...................................................................
The sun cast long shadows over the stone path as Jimmy stepped closer.
She was already seated — legs crossed, glass in hand, a white umbrella resting beside her chair. Her face was tilted slightly down, a dark strand of hair falling past her cheek, shielding her expression.
An empty chair stood across from her.
Jimmy pulled it back without a word.
The metal legs scraped softly against the ground.
He sat.
A brief moment passed.
Then, she looked up.
Her lips parted.
"Any drink?" she asked, her voice feather-light..
Jimmy's head turned slightly.
And then — silence.
From that point forward, no sound escaped her lips. Not even the clink of her glass.
But she spoke.
Her lips moved with quiet precision. Smooth. Calculated. As though every word was scripted.
Jimmy watched.
His own lips remained still for a time, then moved in response — one sentence, then another. Still no sound.
They nodded once.
Paused.
Another line, unreadable from the distance.
Birds flew overhead. The wind rustled dry leaves along the stadium wall.
But at that table, it was as if sound had been drained from the world.
Two figures. Two unknowns. And a conversation that no one would ever hear.
.................................................
Beside him, the teacher from Nexus adjusted his blazer.
"I swear he came out this way," he muttered. "he gestured me to met outside. Let's find him."
They started to see here and there.
Just ahead, through a gap in the hedge, they saw him.
Jimmy. Seated on a chair.
Next to a woman in white.
She looked composed. Too composed. Glass in hand. Pale hair catching the breeze.
Mr. Goat narrowed his eyes.
"Who—"
Suddenly, two silhouettes stepped out from behind the trees nearby — tall men in black, posture unmistakably not friendly.
"Stop there," one said, calm but firm.
"He's a student," the teacher argued, stepping forward instinctively.
"He's in conversation." The man's hand hovered near his coat. "Do not interrupt."
For a tense moment, it seemed like a confrontation might brew.
Then, behind the guards, Jimmy stood up.
He didn't look surprised.
Instead, he simply turned to the woman. She rose beside him. She gave a small nod.
And with nothing more than a glance back — Jimmy walked with them.
.........................
Mr. Goat stared at her ass of remembering something.
The teacher didn't respond. His hands were clenched into fists.
"Who the hell was she?"
No answer Came from any one.
Just the lingering echo of a glass gently placed down on stone — and the soft click of a door closing somewhere out of sight.
To be Continued...