And so the Faulty Tilt began. Its rules were deceptively simple: anything goes, so long as the battles adhere to the established formats—1‑on‑1, 2‑on‑2, 3‑on‑3, and occasionally 4‑on‑4 clashes. As the competition evolved, the league introduced the Star Rule. Each team boasted its own "stars," the warriors who led off every confrontation.
All‑Stars served as the public face of their squads—celebrity fighters whose renown eclipsed their raw power.
Super‑Stars commanded the battlefield, the undisputed engines of victory for their teams.
Mega‑Stars, rarer still, were living legends, those few athletes whose relentless excellence carried their squads to the finals year after year.
Under the Star Rule, an All‑Star counted as two combatants, a Super‑Star as three, and a Mega‑Star as four—forcing coaches to weave intricate strategies around these multiplied presences.
For the uninitiated, the Faulty Tilt wasn't merely a tournament—it was a tower alive with its own ecology and perils, a world unto itself. Its vast interior split into four hemispheres—North, East, South, and West—each sealed off so that only teams from the same quadrant could face one another in conference showdowns. Though most seasons wrapped in a single year, some Tilt campaigns stretched across multiple years. When a Tilt finally concluded, a one‑year off‑season commenced, allowing the fallen to recover and the league's custodians time to rebuild villages and clear the battlefield debris.
The competition unfolded floor by floor:
Bronze Tier – Teams fought elimination matches; a squad bowed out only when every member was incapacitated or defeated. Five surviving teams per conference advanced.
Silver Tier – Identical in format, but only three teams from each quadrant progressed.
Gold Tier – The North and South united into one bracket; the East and West fused into another. From each merged conference, two teams moved on.
Diamond Tier – The last two conferences merged. Rather than structured matches, fighters engaged in a free‑for‑all elimination battle royal. Individuals fell one by one, and the last duo of intact teams advanced.
Champion Tier – The final tournament, where two teams faced off for ultimate supremacy.
Now, at the close of the off‑season, we focus on one newly minted prospect—Shade Shaid—and the world he'd only just begun to grasp.
A week had passed since draft day. Under the jungle canopy's emerald gloom, Shade Shaid strode beside Shi Ji and Akarui, both fully recovered from their recent trials. Sunlight slanted through twisted vines, illuminating the path ahead, while distant calls of unseen creatures echoed through the humid air. Ahead lay the next trial of the Faulty Tilt—uncharted and unforgiving, yet already alive in their imaginations.
And so their journey resumed.
Akarui's voice cut through the hush. "The off‑season ends in ten days, Shade, and we still haven't located that damned train station!" He crossed his arms, brow furrowed.
Shi Ji glanced at the dense foliage, unease flickering in his eyes. "Yeah, Shade, are you sure we're not lost?"
Shade slipped a hand into his pack and withdrew the mysterious envelope Craw had given him at the draft. With a flourish, the paper shivered open and expanded into a sprawling map. He smoothed the surface with anticipation.
"Yes!" Shade exclaimed. "We're only a couple of miles away." He tapped a red dot labeled "You", which crept along a winding path through the jungle toward a tiny icon of a station. Akarui and Shi Ji leaned in, their faces illuminated by the map's faint glow.
Shi Ji frowned. "That is… an awfully vague map."
Shade flashed a confident grin. "Vague or not, it tracks us and guides us straight to the station."
Akarui nodded. "And that station is our ticket to the team HQ."
A sudden rustling overhead froze them. Leaves quivered in the canopy.
Shi Ji swallowed. "Please, not another Ton Beetle…"
From the shadows emerged a colossal grey raccoon—its muzzle bristling with razor‑sharp teeth, eyes glowing a savage red. It stood half as tall as the surrounding trees.
Shi Ji bolted behind Shade and Akarui. "Shade… what is that?"
Shade's grin hardened into a battle‑ready smirk. "That, my friend, is a Radcoon." He cracked his knuckles with relish.
Akarui uncrossed his arms. "So—fight it or stare at it?"
Before they could decide, Shade lunged forward and delivered a crushing punch to the creature's snout. The Radcoon let out a high‑pitched squeal, careened backward, and collapsed onto its back.
"That should teach it something!" Shade crowed.
The Radcoon blinked up at them, tears glistening on its whiskers—almost… cute.
Awestruck, Shi Ji softened. "Aw… poor thing."
A thunderous flapping sounded behind them. They spun to see a gigantic red stage‑beetle, three times the Radcoon's size, wings beating like twin war drums. The Radcoon whimpered and fled.
Shi Ji shrieked, "No! It's the Ton Beetle!" and bolted through the undergrowth.
Shade squared his shoulders. "I can handle this!"
Akarui retreated hastily. "Last time I tangled with one, it buried me alive. Stay sharp." He vanished into the greenery.
Shade clapped once. "Bring it on, Ton Beetle!"
The beetle lunged, mandibles snapping. Shade shoved against it, stalling its charge for precious seconds—until with a ruthless flip, it slammed him into the ground and buried him in a mound of earth. A triumphant roar echoed as the beetle ascended into the sky.
Moments later, Akarui reappeared. Only Shade's head poked from the dirt. "Need a hand down there?"
Shade groaned. "I'm fine." He heaved himself free, mud plastered from neck to toe. "Ugh—this is disgusting."
Shi Ji returned, wiping sweat from his brow. "It's gone… thank goodness."
Akarui squared his stance. "You've never even been attacked by one. Why are you so shaken?"
Shi Ji shrugged. "Well, it's just a huge, fast, flying, ferocious bug that can hit you with a hundred tons of force. Doesn't that seem terrifying?"
Akarui smirked. "Reasonable enough."
Later that evening, under a velvet sky, Akarui and Shi Ji waded through a moonlit lake. Shi Ji's movements were quick, almost fish‑like.
Akarui chuckled. "Shi Ji, you're some kind of fish man, right?"
Shi Ji splashed nervously. "I‑I guess…"
Akarui arched an eyebrow. "What do you mean 'I guess'? You either are or you aren't."
Shi Ji gazed at ripples dancing on the surface. "Before I met other species, I thought only people like my mom and dad existed."
Akarui studied him. "You don't look like typical fish men. They usually resemble humans with fishy traits—gills, fins. You look like a fish with a few human quirks."
Shi Ji shrugged again. "Honestly, I have no clue what I am."
A voice called from the shore. "Guys!" Shade stomped out of the trees, tank top and trunks stained with mud.
Akarui's eyes widened. "You packed trunks?"
Shade grinned cheekily. "Of course. If I'm stuck here, I might as well have fun." With a swift rip, he tore off his tank top, revealing a bold, pixel‑style scar emblazoned across his chest: START.
Shi Ji tilted his head. "That's… an odd scar."
Akarui frowned. "Scars don't usually spell words. Are you branded, Shade?"
Shade peeked down. "What are you two talking about?"
Akarui pointed. "Your chest."
Shade's hand hovered over the letters. "Whoah—what is this? I haven't seen my chest since the draft!"
Akarui chuckled. "Shade, do you not bathe?"
Shade shrugged, carefree. "I shower when I get stinky."
Shi Ji mused. "Could that be your gimmick?"
Shade waded deeper into the water. "My gimmick's called Super Meter. No clue how it ties to 'Start.'"
Akarui crossed his arms, watching the ripples fade. "Gimmicks are tough to deduce from a name. Never bank on your guesses."
Shi Ji called after him. "Did you figure out your ability yet?"
Akarui's grin was sly. "Of course I did."
Shi Ji and Shade gasped in unison. "How'd you manage that?!"
Akarui rolled up his sleeves, revealing his birthmarks—an arm of pure white and one of solid black. "The D.E.V had a laugh at my expense when I was born." With that, he slipped beneath the surface, vanishing.
Shade shook his head, soap in hand, scrubbing his muddy skin with a dramatic sigh. "Aww, lame."
As dusk's last ember faded, Shade scrubbed his back with slow, methodical strokes, water droplets cascading to the surface in tiny ripples.
"Is 'Start' some kind of button?" he mused aloud, voice muffled by lather. "Like a literal start button?"
Shi Ji glanced over his shoulder, eyebrows knitting. "What? You want me to press it?"
Shade nodded, brimming with half-amused curiosity. "Go for it."
Hesitantly, Shi Ji pressed his palm against Shade's chest. Nothing.
"It's not a button," he sighed.
Shade peeled away, contemplative. "Maybe I have to… mental-press it? Like envision pushing a start button in my mind."
Shi Ji's lips quivered. "That sounds confusing."
Shade shrugged, undeterred. "But it's a solid guess, right?"
"If you say so."
Shade shut his eyes and concentrated so fiercely the world grew silent. Moments ticked by until bubbles erupted from the water behind him. Akarui's head surfaced, dripping.
"Gross…" Akarui muttered.
Shi Ji laughed. "You were under a long time, Akarui."
"Good practice," Akarui replied calmly. "In the Faulty Tilt, you never know what gimmicks you'll face."
Shade turned to climb ashore—and Shi Ji froze, spotting fresh markings on Shade's torso. "Shade! You've got something on your back."
Akarui peered. "It reads OVERDRIVE…"
Shade ran a hand over the letters. "What? Seriously? What could any of this mean?"
Akarui shrugged. "Better figure it out before real combat."
Shade shook the water from his hair and yawned. "It's late. I'm beat. We'll crack it tomorrow." He strode off to claim a patch of grass for camp.
Akarui called after him. "Your loss." He slipped beneath the mirror-black water, Shi Ji following.
From the shadows, a hooded figure watched in silence.
At first light, the trio threaded through the jungle's emerald corridors. Shade's map unfolded before him like a living thing.
"We're only two miles from the station," he announced, pointing to the pinprick icon.
Shi Ji exhaled. "Thank goodness."
Akarui glanced his way. "Figured out your gimmick yet, Shade?"
Shade shook his head. "No clue. Nothing I try does anything."
"It'll be handy once battle hits," Akarui predicted.
Suddenly, the familiar whump-whump of wings stirred the vines. Shade and Akarui whirled around—Shi Ji remained frozen, sweat beading on his brow.
"I-Is that…" Shi Ji stammered.
A massive Ton Beetle charged into view, mandibles agape.
"Ton Beetle incoming!" Shade barked.
Shi Ji bolted backward. "No!!!"
Shade squared his stance. "I'm sick of this thing!"
Akarui smirked. "Planning another wrestling match?"
Shade's gaze sharpened. "Not this time." He settled into a martial posture.
"False Weapon Style…" He waited until the beetle loomed inches from his face.
"Hammer!"
Shade's fist struck like a piston, driving the beetle's carapace into the soft earth. The creature collapsed, unconscious.
Akarui whistled. "You could've done that all along."
Shade flexed his fingers. "I like a challenge."
Akarui rolled his eyes. "That's one way to get yourself killed."
They spun to see Shi Ji splayed face-down in a shallow pit beside a gnarled root. He groaned, then pushed himself upright.
"Well, he didn't wander far," Shade observed.
An hour later, they emerged from the jungle into a sunlit plaza. In the distance, a train—gleaming steel leviathan—towered like a skyscraper.
Shi Ji's eyes shone. "At last, we're here!"
To their right, a broad, well-trodden path curved from the forest—strewn with other rookies.
"Where did they come from?" Shi Ji wondered aloud.
Shade chuckled. "The quick path. I thought our own route would be more fun."
Akarui and Shi Ji exchanged scowls.
Shi Ji huffed. "It wasn't funner!"
Akarui folded his arms. "I'll never trust your maps again." With that, he marched off.
Shade called after him, shrugging. "You had envelopes and maps too!"
Shi Ji simply muttered, "Whatever…" and followed Akarui into the heart of the station.