Most of the prospects lingered in the cavernous waiting hall, their shoulders rigid with anticipation as they awaited their names. The chamber's high ceiling and polished floor gave it an almost ceremonial hush—broken only by the occasional murmur… and one restless voice.
Shade shifted his weight, impatience flickering in his gaze. "When will it be my turn?" he asked, voice echoing faintly.
Shi Ji glanced sideways, offering a half‑smile. "You could be the next fight."
Shade let out a wry laugh. "Watching the bouts as a kid was thrilling—being in one, not so much. It's painfully dull to just sit here."
A calm, almost amused voice drifted from somewhere overhead. "You signed up for the experience, so you'll get the experience."
Shade frowned, scanning the clustered faces. "What… who said that?"
A soft chuckle answered him. "Down here." He looked down to see a slender young man, shorter than most, standing beside him. One arm was stark white, the other pitch black; his silver hair spiked rebelliously, framing hazel eyes that gleamed with mischief. His nametag read Akarui Nintai.
"Oh." Shade's shoulders relaxed. "It's you."
Akarui inclined his head. "Yes, it's me. You're Shade Shaid, right? Heard plenty about you during tryouts."
Shade arched an eyebrow. "All good things, I hope?"
Akarui smirked. "Well… you did turn the locker room upside down—and didn't bother cleaning."
Shade's cheeks flushed. "That was an accident!"
Akarui waved a hand dismissively. "Apart from that, your performance's been solid." He turned to Shi Ji. "And you're Shi Ji—the talk of the exhibition."
Shi Ji blinked. "R‑Really?"
Akarui's grin widened. "More like the butt of the exhibition. Your performance was—how shall I put it—abysmal."
Shi Ji's shoulders slumped. "I guess I should've expected that."
Shade bristled. "Don't sell Shi Ji short."
Akarui shrugged. "Why not? He's proven nothing here. If anything, I'd expect nothing. He'd be lucky just to survive the combat test."
"That's not fair—" Shade began.
Shi Ji shook his head, voice soft. "No, Shade… he's right."
Shade's jaw tightened. "You can't let him talk to you like this!"
"Yes, he can," Akarui replied coolly.
Shade's glare threatened combustion. "Shut up!"
Shi Ji's gaze dropped. "I knew I wouldn't do well… I just don't belong here."
Akarui's tone grew almost paternal. "I'm only cushioning the blow—before the number‑one prospect exits that test room and makes history."
Shade frowned. "What are you talking about?"
Akarui gestured toward the sealed door. "Nalcolm Signa. He's in there now, and he's already on record pace for the highest overall score in Faulty Tilt history. Two perfect 12‑out‑of‑11s, and the rest 11‑out‑of‑11s."
Shi Ji's eyes widened. "Woah… really?"
"Yeah," Akarui replied, pride in his voice. "And he'll only improve in the fighting round. We're in the same draft class as possibly the strongest fighter ever. Someone like you, Shi Ji, might as well be a footnote—or a joke. I'm doing you a favor, really."
Shade's brows knit. Strongest fighter in history, he says…
Inside the arena, a compact octagon waited. One corner held Nalcolm Signa: lean, composed, confidence radiating from his calm stance. Opposite him stood Wes Bowler, a mountain of a man—bald, shirt torn off to reveal rippling muscles. His nametag read Wes Bowler.
Wes flexed his knuckles, eyes narrowing. "You're too small to be the best prospect. I oughta knock you down a peg."
Nalcolm cracked his neck in response. "Good luck. Give it your best." Then he rolled his shoulders as Wes stalked forward.
Wes sneered. "Don't get cocky—" But before he could finish, Nalcolm vanished. Wes blinked, bewildered, scanning the ring. Another blink—and Nalcolm materialized inches from him. A thunderous punch to Wes's gut stole his breath, nearly popping his eyes free, and he flew backward into the wall, carving a jagged crater.
Blood flecked his palm as he coughed; when he blinked again, Wes was once more before Nalcolm. Wes staggered as Nalcolm, grasping only raw skin, yanked him forward and flung him across the cage. In mid‑air, Wes's bald head served as a makeshift step—Nalcolm stomped down, crushing him into the ground with ear‑splitting force.
Wes gasped, defiant even as he struggled to rise. "You think you're better than me?"
Nalcolm's lips curled into a confident smile. "I don't think—I know."
Furious, Wes charged with a bestial roar, his fist swinging like a wrecking ball. But each strike passed through empty air; Nalcolm reappeared beside every jab, his movements too swift to follow.
"Stand still!" Wes bellowed, unleashing a flurry of jackhammer‑fast punches that shook the arena floor. Yet each blow met nothing but air. Finally, with almost casual precision, Nalcolm caught Wes's fist mid‑assault.
"Is this truly your best?" Nalcolm's fingers constricted the punch like iron, driving Wes to his knees.
Wes choked, voice raw. "What… are you?"
Nalcolm shrugged. "Just a fighter." Then, with a powerful tug, he wrenched Wes's arm free in a single grisly motion. A geyser of blood erupted as Wes jerked, a strangled scream ripping from his lungs before he collapsed, fainting from agony.
Outside the opaque arena door, a collective gasp rose from the onlookers at the howl of pain that reverberated through the hall.
Shade's eyes went wide. "What the hell—?!"
Shi Ji covered his mouth, voice trembling. "Wh‑What was that?"
Akarui offered a small nod. "Told you. We're in the presence of a legend."
Moments later, the door swung open. Nalcolm stepped out unscathed, a courteous smile on his face, and gave the crowd a wave before settling into a waiting chair.
Good luck, everyone! Nalcolm called, voice surprisingly gentle.
While the arena is readied, next fighters prepare: Shi Ji and Cobre Zalas!
Shade leaned forward, encouragement lighting his features. "You've got this, Shi Ji!"
Shi Ji's breath caught. "This soon?!"
Akarui exhaled. "Rest in peace, man."
Shi Ji's brow furrowed. "What—?"
Akarui pointed at the entrance. There, framed in the doorway, stood Cobre Zalas: towering and muscular, gold hair pulled into a tight ponytail, sunglasses glinting. Sharp, predatory teeth peeked from his grin, and a sinuous, golden‑scaled dragon tail curled behind him. His tag read Cobre Zalas.
"In a draft like this," Akarui murmured, "he's the only one who might outshine Nalcolm."
Shade frowned at Akarui's certainty. "You really underestimate everyone else, huh?"
Akarui shrugged. "Stats don't lie. Cobre's just a level above us. I've accepted it."
Shade shook his head. "That's a losing mindset. Why even show up if you're so negative?"
Akarui's lips twitched. "Because there's always a chance I get carried to greatness."
Shade frowned. "That's not a good way to think."
Shi Ji and Cobre Zalas, enter the arena! The doors swung open, and Cobre strode in.
Shade offered a final smile. "Give it your all, Shi Ji."
Shi Ji squared his shoulders, voice firm. "I… will."
Hand in hand with destiny, Shi Ji stepped across the threshold into the arena, each fighter taking their place on opposite sides.
Cobre's lips curled into a mocking grin as he stepped forward.
"Oh god, are you a fish?" he drawled, amusement dripping from each word.
Shi Ji's eyes narrowed. "I'm Shi—"
"I know your name, shut up," Cobre interrupted. "I just didn't expect to have fish for dinner today."
"What—" Shi Ji stammered, taken aback.
"You're the weakest person in this draft class without a doubt," Cobre continued, voice low and sneering. "Nobody would ever draft you. You might as well die here."
Shi Ji clenched his fists. "I… refuse… I won't die here…"
"That right there," Cobre said, shaking his head, "is what I call ignorance."
"Maybe you're the ignorant one…" Shi Ji's defiance flared, and before Cobre could react, a shimmering sphere of water materialized in Shi Ji's palms.
Cobre sneered, stepping back. "An inherited gimmick. Water…"
A spark of determination lit Shi Ji's eyes. "I'll make you… regret mocking me!" he shouted, hurling the watery orb. It struck Cobre in the face like a drenched balloon—more embarrassing than injurious—and soaked his hair and forehead.
Cobre yanked off his sunglasses, revealing bright, draconic gold eyes. He wiped the beads of water from his face. "Is that all? You really call that a strong move?"
Shi Ji staggered. "Impossible…"
Cobre's grin grew wider. "What did you expect? You threw that with the force of a dying baby. I'll show you a real man's attack." He opened his mouth, and Shi Ji's blood ran cold as a fiery glow pulsed from within. Eyes widening, Shi Ji darted to the side—and a blasting jet of flame shot out, missing him by inches but exploding against the arena wall. The shockwave slammed into Shi Ji, hurling him forward.
When he looked up, flames licked across the arena floor, and through the haze, Cobre's glowing eyes advanced steadily.
This is dehydrating me… Shi Ji gasped, struggling to rise, legs trembling. But I've been through worse!
Cobre loomed over him. "Look at you, standing. You're really good at entertainment—acting like you can fight me."
Shi Ji summoned a drop of water in his palm, only to watch it hiss into steam. It's… too… hot…
"You can keep believing you're strong and righteous," Cobre taunted as he closed the distance, "but let's get one thing straight." He grabbed Shi Ji's face and slammed him headfirst into the scorched ground. The impact shook the arena, carving a deep crater beneath Shi Ji's limp body. From outside, the prospects felt the ground tremble.
Shade's face went pale. "Shi Ji…"
Akarui shook his head. "Told you again."
Shade pressed a hand over his mouth. "Shut it."
Cobre strode from the arena, arms raised in triumph.
"Your friend is probably dead now," Akarui muttered to Shade.
"Dead?" Cobre laughed. "I didn't kill him. I like easy competition. Wouldn't want all the strong people still standing in Faulty Tilt." He approached them. "Even so, he won't be drafted. They carried him out on a stretcher. I probably shattered his entire skeletal system."
"That's not something to gloat about…" Shade said, appalled.
Akarui shrugged. "Things like this happen all the time. Only the best get a shot. Only the best of the best get another shot. You have to be the absolute best to earn a third."
Shade shook his head. "That's a lot of shots…"
"I've watched you two the entire exam," Cobre said, voice low. "Let's hope we never meet inside Faulty Tilt. I'd hate to have real competition." With that, he turned and walked away.
"What was that all about?" Shade asked Akarui once the door had closed.
"Maybe we're talking too loud," Akarui replied, glancing toward the exit.
The arena has been cleared! Next fighters called up: Shade Shaid and Akarui Nintai! the announcer's voice rang out.
"Oh, what a coincidence," Akarui said, stepping toward the door.
"That had to be on purpose," Shade muttered, following him.
"If fate calls for it, we should answer," Akarui said as they crossed the threshold.
"No holding back, small guy," Shade warned quietly.
"I never do," Akarui replied with a grin.
The door swung open, and they entered the arena together, each striding to opposite sides as Shade tore off his tank top and the two began to circle each other.
Shade narrowed his eyes as he stalked around Akarui. "Do you have any gimmicks you want to show me?"
Akarui matched his circling with a calm grin. "Unfortunately, I never inherited a gimmick. But I've studied a few fighting styles."
"So you're also a fighting‑style user," Shade observed, stepping lightly.
"Nepotism is the most uninspired path to fame in this world," Akarui replied, and with each word he accelerated. First his footfalls left faint echoes, then blurry after‑images, until every stride felt like teleportation. He wove around Shade in a ribbon of phantom selves.
Shade's brow lifted. "You're speed."
Akarui's form blurred further, then he suddenly lunged. His fist sliced through the air—Shade ducked, then kicked out in reply. Akarui pirouetted back, folding his arms behind him as Shade rushed in with a storm of punches that all met empty air. With a single feint, Shade tricked Akarui into dodging left, then swung his free fist into Akarui's jaw. Blood spurted as Akarui reeled but stayed upright.
"Good one," Akarui conceded, then flickered—gone.
Shade spun, blades of dust kicking up. "Running away won't save you!"
Akarui's disembodied voice whispered, "Lethal Dragon Style…" Before Shade could pinpoint him, Akarui materialized and slammed his palm into Shade's chest.
"Jaw Palm!" The force rocked Shade back, but he recovered with a backward flip and charged again, kicking at Akarui. Akarui sidestepped, then jabbed twice. Shade blocked the first with an iron forearm, slipped beneath the second, and countered with an uppercut. Akarui bent away at the last moment, then snapped his leg forward. Shade caught it, hoisted Akarui aloft, and hurled him against the wall. Akarui landed on his feet, sprang back, and closed in with a flurry of jabs Shade parried before striking a crushing hook to Akarui's cheek that staggered him.
Akarui's voice rumbled once more. "Lethal Dragon Style: Dragon Dive Impact!" He launched himself, body twisting in mid‑air into a two‑footed dropkick. Shade raised his arms to block, but the sheer weight of the blow cracked his guard. Akarui followed with a barrage of rapid‑fire punches to Shade's chest before Shade caught one wrist—and Akarui's free arm whipped upward, delivering an Uppercut that snapped Shade's head back. Shade blinked, then steadied himself.
Akarui's silhouette split—two after‑images fell away, leaving three identical fighters advancing. Shade whirled, catching the real Akarui's punch and sending him sprawling. The other two rippled out of existence.
"How'd you spot those were illusions?"
Shade shrugged. "Just a guess."
Akarui grinned, wiping blood from his lip. He leapt in with a flying kick—Shade blocked and drove a punch into Akarui's stomach, forcing him to stagger back.
"All that speed is tiring you out," Shade taunted.
Akarui pressed his hands together above his head. "It won't matter soon." With a downward motion, he unleashed Lethal Dragon Style: Tail Crash! A spiraling gust, shaped like a dragon's tail, smashed into Shade, carving a crater. Shade sprang up, but Akarui was already upon him—two lightning‑fast punches clipped Shade's cheeks. Akarui threw a third, only for Shade to catch his wrist and smash a counterpunch into Akarui's face, sending him sliding across the floor.
"False Weapon Style…" Shade murmured.
Akarui's eyes widened. "False Weapon Style!?"
"Spear!" Shade darted forward in a straight, lethal line and jabbed with the force of a blade. Akarui barely twisted aside—his cheek tore, and the impact drove Shade's arm deep into the wall.
"Oops," Shade said, wincing as he withdrew his arm. "Might've overdone that. Don't want to kill you." He retreated to the opposite side of the arena.
"False Weapon Style… that's Bryn Foldin's technique!"
"Of course," Shade replied, voice steady. "He's my master."
"You study under Bryn Foldin?" Akarui's shock was palpable.
"He taught me everything."
Akarui's smirk faltered, replaced by respect. "I thought you were just a skilled fool. Show me what you've learned, understudy."
He planted his feet. "Lethal Dragon Style: Mock Breath!" A roaring gust of wind tore toward Shade.
"False Weapon Style: Shield!" Shade crossed his arms, summoning a faint spectral barrier that halted the gale.
"I thought you said no holding back!" Akarui leaped high. "You've held back all along!"
"If I'd shown you everything from the start, this wouldn't be a fight, would it?" Shade called up.
Akarui soared above him, claws flexing. "I was a fool not to go all out!"
Shade grinned up at him. "Admitting you held back now?"
"Yes—and I might regret it!" Akarui roared and formed air into a coiling, serpent‑dragon. "Lethal Dragon Style: Draconic Impact!!!"
The dragon dove in a blur.
"Sword!!!" Shade launched himself upward, cleaving the air‑dragon in half with a single, precise chop. The storm of air dispersed like mist.
He vaulted higher, looming over Akarui, whose eyes widened in alarm. Shade clenched his fist. "False Weapon Style: Hammer!" He crashed down, palm first, unleashing a shockwave that sent Akarui screaming into the ground. Dust billowed as Shade landed beside him, victorious.