The arena floor smelled faintly of scorched paint and sweat. Dust still hung in the air from the last clash—shattered tiles, cracked walls, and the lingering glow of residual Idol energy. Team I and Team J had left their mark, and though the match had ended, the atmosphere was far from relaxed.
Solarius stood with arms crossed, his golden eyes surveying the wreckage, then turning on the trainees like a hawk sighting prey.
"Lesson's not over," he said, his voice booming across the hall. "When two teams clash, it's not just about who wins. It's about how they win. And the rest of you—don't think you're spectators. You're witnesses. Observers. Analysts. So tell me—what did they do right, and what did they screw up?"
The cadets shifted uncomfortably. Some avoided his gaze. Others muttered half-formed thoughts but didn't dare speak aloud. The silence stretched too long.
Then a voice rang out.
"They both relied too much on their Idols," said Emi, her tone sharp, confident, almost cutting.
All eyes turned to her. The small girl with ink-black hair adjusted her glasses, stepping forward like she owned the space.
"If you strip away the flashy abilities," she continued, "Team I actually showed better fundamentals—positioning, communication, and covering each other's blind spots. But they lacked finishing efficiency, which cost them the match. Team J won only because their brute offense overwhelmed the defense in the final exchange. If Team I had adjusted their angles instead of stubbornly holding their ground, they could've flipped it."
The room froze. Even Solarius blinked, his gaze narrowing in amused surprise.
"…Noted," he finally said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Remind me never to let you dissect me in front of a class."
The room cracked into laughter, the tension broken, Emi sitting down with her face neutral—but a flicker of pride in her eyes.
A ripple of laughter passed through the cadets, nervous but genuine. Even Solarius allowed a half-smile before shaking his head.
"Sharp tongue. But you're not wrong." He turned to the injured fighters, his tone returning to command.
"Enough," Solarius commanded, lifting a hand for silence. His tone hardened again. "Wounded, report to the infirmary. Nurse Hoshino will patch you up. You'll find her methods… efficient."
Daichi groaned. "Efficient? She nearly drowned me in glowing soup last time."
Yumi elbowed him. "Shut up and walk."
The cadets chuckled, but when Nurse Hoshino appeared at the doorway, her white coat trailing like a cape and a faint healing aura radiating from her hands, even Daichi fell silent. Her Idol, Vital Spring, allowed her to accelerate recovery at the cost of temporarily exhausting the body.
"Line up. Now." Her voice was deceptively sweet. Within minutes, bruises closed, cuts sealed, and Daichi looked like he'd never slammed into a wall. Though the moment she was done, he slumped forward, yawning loudly.
"Side effect: fatigue," Hoshino explained primly, brushing her hair back. "Do not complain. Or I'll put you back in worse condition than before."
Nobody dared test her.
Solarius clapped his hands once, and the sound echoed like thunder. "Enough gawking. Reset the arena. Next match!"
The walls shimmered as the support staff activated the simulation's resets. Cracks sealed. Dummy furniture reappeared. The building returned to pristine condition—as if it hadn't just been torn apart.
"Police," Solarius barked. "Team G—Kengo and Aoi."
Two figures stepped forward. Kengo, wiry but sharp-eyed, stretched his legs, his calves coiling with nervous energy. His Idol, Force Step, allowed explosive bursts of speed and momentum—when he didn't misjudge his landings. Beside him, Aoi exhaled slowly, a faint mist curling from her fingers. Her Idol, Mist Veil, could blind and obscure, but her control was patchy; sometimes she smothered friend and foe alike.
"And for the robbers—Team H. Ryo and Mika."
Ryo cracked his knuckles, sparks of metallic energy clinging to his hands. His Magnet Core Idol made him a walking polarity field, though he had trouble directing it. Mika tossed her hair back, flames blooming lazily along her arms. Bloomfire was powerful, but she burned hot and wild, often scorching the battlefield as much as the opponent.
The two sides squared up, tension thick in the air.
Solarius raised one hand. "This isn't a game. Police—you capture, you restrain. Robbers—you evade, you escape. The building is your world. I want to see instinct. I want to see control. I want to see something that convinces me you're not wasting my time."
His hand dropped. "Begin."
And the second match ignited.