Shade prowled in slow, deliberate circles around Qiwee, his footsteps echoing against the cold stone floor.
"So," Shade began, his voice a low taunt, "you can paralyze people."
Qiwee's gaze flicked toward him, tight with equal parts irritation and curiosity. "How'd you figure that out?"
Shade's lips curled in a knowing smile. "Next time you want to kill someone, try aiming for the head."
Qiwee's eyes snapped wide. A tremor of genuine shock rippled through him. "You mean… Akarui Nintai survived?!"
"See?" Shade replied, amused. "You're smart."
A flash of anger crossed Qiwee's features. "Fine. I'll make sure—with you—I carve your brain out."
Shade cocked his head. "Why are you even doing this? What's your motive for murdering innocent people?"
Qiwee's jaw clenched. "I bombed the draft testing. Fewer people means a better chance I'll get drafted."
"There's a much saner way to handle that," Shade murmured.
"You don't understand," Qiwee shot back. His voice grew impassioned. "There's only one shot at the draft per person. Fail, and you fail forever. The rich treat life like a game—trapping people in hell to earn heaven. Shade Shaid, have you ever considered those who'll never see a better life? Generations dying without reaching the Faulty Tilt—bloodlines wasted, dreams shattered, hopes discarded."
Shade's eyes narrowed. "You sound like a self‑righteous savior. But you're just selfish—killing people for your own benefit. You rant about wasted bloodlines, yet you end them by slicing throats."
Qiwee's shoulders squared defiantly. "I do this for my people—my kingdom, my family. Teams that win the Faulty Tilt experience… The Promise. Their loved ones come with them. Many strong souls are born into the Hadean Tier, yet most remain trapped there. I'm doing them a favor—if they can't even defend themselves against low-level fighters, their dreams weren't meant to be."
"It's better to live a full life than die for someone else's dream," Shade countered softly.
"I disagree."
A charged silence hung between them before Shade cracked a grin. "Then I guess I should kick your ass."
"You'll be nothing but another stepping stone," Qiwee growled.
Shade laughed. "Hehe. First, I want to test your gimmick!" With barely restrained power, he vaulted skyward, soaring to the height of the rusted chains suspending wrecking balls overhead.
"False Weapon Style: Hatchet!" Shade shouted. He snapped his foot through the air, sending an invisible blade of force slicing clean through every chain. The wrecking balls plummeted like meteorites. Qiwee staggered back in alarm as dust and debris billowed around him. Yet, three mighty spheres froze mid‑descent above his head, suspended like ominous pendants.
"Just three?!" Shade taunted, descending toward the frozen globes.
"False Weapon Style: Axe!" he roared, bringing a swift heel‑kick down upon them. Each sphere split effortlessly, their fragments spinning dangerously—until Qiwee dove aside, landing atop a fallen wrecking ball. Shade touched down on the shattered halves, balancing amid the wreckage.
"So you can only freeze three objects at once," Shade observed coolly.
Qiwee's blade flicked toward him. "How did you deduce that?"
"By turning three balls into six," Shade explained, "you couldn't freeze them all."
Qiwee hesitated, then smirked. "That was a very lucky guess." He trained his knife on Shade. "You got it right—happy?"
"Easier to kick your ass," Shade replied with a playful sneer.
Qiwee's thoughts raced: He's already figured me out… this fight's over before it began— But before he could finish, Shade blurred forward, his fist shooting out like a bullet. The impact exploded through the chamber—a gunshot‑sharp crack—and sent Qiwee hurtling into the far wall. He crumpled to the floor, teeth shattered, unconscious.
Shade blinked at the limp form. "Why did he just… stand there?"
A voice echoed from the shadows. "Shade!" He whirled as Rockie emerged, Shi Ji trailing behind, clutching the limp Akarui.
"Shade! What the hell happened down here?!" Rockie demanded.
Shade gestured to Qiwee's prone body. "He's down already."
Rockie's eyebrows shot up. "That fast?"
"After the chaos he unleashed in the hotel, I thought he'd be tougher."
Shi Ji held out a crumpled stat sheet. "He's one of the lowest-ranking prospects. Overall score: forty."
Rockie whistled. "No kidding. He was sending goons after people like some mob boss."
Shade frowned. "He could've at least had strong minions. Where are they?"
Rockie shrugged. "I think I killed them all."
From behind Rockie, a pistol clicked. "I'll kill you all!" A figure charged—but Rockie pivoted, his fist smashing into the man's skull with such force that his eyes bulged.
"Okay," Rockie said, turning back, "I killed them all."
Shade joined them, surveying the carnage. "What a pointless detour. What did we accomplish?"
Rockie glanced at Qiwee's still form. "We stopped a psychopath from entering the Faulty Tilt."
Shade shrugged. "Still… I'd hate for his dream to go to waste."
Rockie barked a laugh. "Are you kidding? He murdered a third of the draft class!"
"Well," Shade replied with a shrug, "he's only knocked out. His plan still worked."
"Your no‑kill rule is stupid," Rockie grumbled, hefting Akarui's limp body. "I'm heading back to wait for the real draft." He strode up the stairs, leaving Shade and Shi Ji amid the dust and fallen wrecking balls.
Shi Ji hovered at the foot of the shattered wrecking balls, his expression a mixture of awe and disbelief. "Shade," he ventured quietly, "I can't believe you didn't kill him."
Shade brushed dust from his sleeve, his eyes thoughtful. "Killing is pointless," he replied softly. "Why snuff out a life when death will claim you in time? Mortals love to play God."
Shi Ji folded his arms, nodding slowly. "You're right… But does Qiwee really deserve a dream?"
Shade paused, surprised by the earnest question. "What—"
Shi Ji held up a hand. "I heard you from the stairwell. Someone who steals others' dreams—do they deserve one of their own?"
Shade considered the question, then lifted his fist and pounded it into his palm. "They deserve at least a shot." His voice hardened. "So I can break it myself."
Nearly two hours slipped by unnoticed until finally the drafting bell rang through the corridors. One by one, prospects in crisply tailored suits took their seats in the auditorium's designated sections. Akarui Nintai hobbled in, soaked in his own blood yet determined, while Rockie's attire bore fresh stains from his recent battles. As they entered, the audience rose in enthusiastic applause.
At the center of the stage, Commissioner Craw Wine surveyed the rows of sealed envelopes in his hand.
"Without further ado," he announced, "the first overall pick—highest ever in Faulty Tilt history, with a score of 101—the Southern Conference's Golden Peacocks select Nalcolm Signa!" Cheers erupted as Nalcolm strode confidently to the stage, shook Craw's hand, received his envelope, and returned to his seat.
Moments later:"Ranked fourteenth overall, score eighty-three—the Northern Conference's Bold Bears select Shade Shaid!" The crowd roared again. Shade stood, nodded, took his envelope, and sat down amid applause.
A beat. Then:"Seventeenth pick, eighty-one overall—the Eastern Conference's Red Tigers select Cobre Zalas!" Cobre's walk to the stage drew wild cheers before he rejoined the audience.
Next:"Eighteenth pick, eighty-one overall—the Western Conference's Quick Dubs select Rockie Crepollo!" Exhausted but triumphant, Rockie charged up the steps, exchanged a thunderous dap with Craw that echoed through the hall, and accepted his envelope to even louder praise.
Further down the list:"Twenty-fifth pick, seventy-six overall—the Northern Conference's Bold Bears, using a traded second pick, select Akarui Nintai!" The applause was polite but muted. Akarui, pale and limping, managed a weak handshake before retreating.
Time stretched on until the forty-seventh pick:"Forty-seventh overall, score forty—the Northern Conference's Savage Giants—" Booing filled the auditorium. Shi Ji leaned toward Shade. "Why is everyone booing?"
Craw chuckled. "The Savage Giants select Qiwee Sousa!"
The crowd's chant rose in unison: "R.I.P! R.I.P! R.I.P!"
Rockie shook his head. "That poor bastard still got drafted…"
Shi Ji looked puzzled. "Why R.I.P?"
Rockie smirked. "The Savage Giants are where talent goes to die. He's retired before his career even started."
At that moment, Qiwee stumbled into view—bruised but upright. He cast Shade a brief, defiant glare, strode to the stage, shook Craw's hand, seized his envelope, and then exited the auditorium entirely.
Rockie crossed his arms. "He's plotting something."
Shi Ji swallowed hard. There are only three picks left… I'm not going to get drafted… will I?
The next two names were called without his. The tension was unbearable by the fiftieth and final pick:
"And to close the draft—ranked 355th, overall nine, with their fourth pick—the Northern Conference's Bold Bears select… Shi Ji!"
Akarui scoffed softly, "Second surprise pick of the day." But the audience erupted once more. Shade clapped wildly, and Shi Ji felt tears stinging his eyes.
I did it, Mom and Dad… he thought, voice trembling. He rose and approached the stage, hand extended.
I don't know how… but I did it… Craw pressed the final envelope into Shi Ji's hand, and he returned to his seat, heart pounding.
Soon after the draft concluded, the prospects drifted into a spacious party room brimming with platters of food and tables of colorful drinks. A few undrafted hopefuls slumped against the walls, tears glistening on their cheeks as teammates offered comforting pats and tissues. In contrast, the freshly drafted contenders reveled in their success, laughing and trading newly earned jerseys.
Akarui leaned back against a high-top table, arms crossed, surveying the scene with a quiet smile. Beside him, Shade balanced an entire pizza box on one forearm, steam curling from the uncut pie inside, while Shi Ji nursed a cup of vibrant orange soda.
Shi Ji wrinkled his nose and took a tentative sip. "Ugh… why does this drink feel like it's burning my throat?"
Shade shot him a teasing grin. "Have you never tried soda before, Shi Ji?"
Shi Ji shrugged sheepishly. "I've only ever drunk water."
"Not even milk?" Shade teased, voice laced with mock horror. "Man, you must have bones like glass!"
Akarui chuckled, glancing between them. "It still amazes me that we all ended up on the same team."
Shade crammed a colossal bite of pizza into his mouth, eyes widening at the overload of cheese and sauce. He began coughing uncontrollably.
Shi Ji leapt forward, concern etched on his face. "Shade!"
Between hacks, Shade managed to wave him off. "Ah! Sorry—sorry. Next up is the Gimmick Awakening Room!"
Shi Ji blinked. "What's that?"
On a large screen mounted to one wall, the live broadcast cut to a sleek studio roundtable. Three commentators—Willis Plum, Devin Fergo, and Ducky Morris—sat beneath studio lights, ready to dissect the latest developments.
Willis cleared his throat. "Good evening. I'm Willis Plum."
Devin nodded. "I'm Devin Fergo."
Ducky waved casually. "Ducky Morris here."
Willis turned to the camera. "Tonight's topic: Gimmicks."
Devin leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "Gimmicks are by far the most fascinating aspect of the Faulty Tilt and its fighters."
Ducky grinned. "Oh, absolutely."
Willis tapped a notecard. "They can completely upend the competition. A mediocre fighter with the right gimmick can overshadow even the top prospect. That's why the draft process is a gamble."
Devin raised an eyebrow. "But isn't that part of the excitement?"
Willis shook his head. "I don't want to pick the number-one prospect only to see him outshone by the thirty-third pick's world-ending gimmick."
Ducky shrugged. "So, what's your solution?"
Willis leaned back. "Before the final fighting test, we should trigger each prospect's gimmick and have them use it during the fight. Then we'd assign a 'draft-gimmick overall'—just like we assign overalls to in-league fighters gimmicks. It'd add real depth to the draft."
Devin scoffed. "You're talking about a complexity the league doesn't need. The reason we don't reveal gimmicks early is that if a failed prospect walks out with an unstoppable power, who knows what chaos would ensue?"
Willis smirked. "We've got retired fighters who can handle them. Bring them out of retirement and deal with the problem."
The screen cut back to the rookies. "That wraps our FAULTY CHAT. Back to our new rookies!"
The door to the Gimmick Awakening Room whooshed open, revealing a long corridor. At its far end stood a tall, gaunt figure with elongated fingers, its hooded face half-shrouded in shadow. Its eyes glowed, shifting between molten red and violet like a living lava lamp.
Shi Ji's voice trembled. "What… is that thing?"
Akarui stepped forward confidently. "That's a D.E.V."
Shi Ji blinked. "And that stands for?"
"Divine Extraterrestrial Vendor," Akarui explained, voice soft with awe. "The last of its kind. Rumor says it's existed since the dawn of time."
Shi Ji's jaw dropped. "That's… ancient."
Akarui nodded. "It has the power to awaken gimmicks in people."
The line advanced swiftly until it was Shade's turn. He rolled his shoulders and approached the D.E.V. with a grin. "Make it cool."
The D.E.V. tilted its head, then rested its massive hand atop Shade's skull. A swirl of red and blue mist rose from its palm, enveloping Shade in a humming aura.
"Its gimmick name… Super Meter," the D.E.V. intoned in a resonant voice.
Shade's brow furrowed. "That's… huh—"
Before he could finish, Cobre barreled forward, shoving Shade lightly aside. "My turn."
The mist repeated the ritual, and the D.E.V.'s voice echoed: "The Jam."
Cobre cracked a smile. "Not much of a clue, but it sounds awesome." He stepped aside, and Shi Ji shuffled forward.
"Uh… hi?" Shi Ji offered uncertainly.
In moments, the mist circled him. "Abyss Piercer."
"Man," Shade said from the sidelines, "that sounds epic!"
Shi Ji stepped back, rubbing his temples. "What did that even mean?"
Shade waved off his confusion. "It just names your power. We'll find out what it actually does soon enough."
Akarui moved into position. The mist spiraled around him. "Ling Dang."
Akarui's eyes widened. "Excuse me?"
He backed away to let Rockie take his turn. "Deaths Advocate," the D.E.V. declared.
"Badass!" Rockie punched the air and strode back to join the group.
Together—Rockie, Akarui, Shade, and Shi Ji—they exited the room and reemerged in the bright hallway.
Shi Ji glanced around. "So… what now?"
Shade shrugged, stuffing a slice of pizza into his jacket pocket. "That's it. Draft's over."
Shi Ji's voice rose. "That—was—fast!"
"Yeah," Shade said with a lazy stretch. "It's supposed to be quick."
Rockie clapped Shade on the shoulder. "Lucky bunch, being on the same team."
"See you in the arena!" Shade called as Rockie strode away.
Shi Ji turned to his friends. "So what do we do now?"
Shade's grin was infectious. "We enter the Faulty Tilt."
Shi Ji frowned. "But aren't we already in it?"
Akarui offered a patient smile. "This," he gestured to the glowing corridor behind them, "is the one and only safe zone. The real Faulty Tilt is a universe-sized continent built to contain massive battles. It's teeming with wildlife, creatures, even entire kingdoms."
Shade's eyes sparkled. "I can't wait!"
Akarui placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't get too excited. The hard part starts now."
And with that, the Faulty Tilt draft concluded—and the off‑season gave way to a realm far more chaotic and unforgiving than any of these young men could have imagined.