Human Representative Rest Chamber — The Shinobi's Resting Quarters
The sliding door of cypress wood stood half-open, casting a warm glow from paper lanterns marked with the kamon symbols of an ancient family.
Inside, the scent of green tea mixed with sandalwood incense created a calming atmosphere.
Tatami mats were neatly arranged across the floor. On the wall hung an ink painting scroll depicting a dragon coiling around a full moon, its brushstrokes both sharp and elegant.
And in the corner of the room, a katana rested atop a black wooden stand—proof that its owner no longer drew it carelessly.
Johan bowed respectfully as he entered the room.
Even though he was the President's right hand, before the figure sitting cross-legged at the center of the chamber, he understood well that even the smallest arrogance would be a grave mistake.
The shinobi—a mature man with black hair tied neatly behind his head—looked at him with eyes both sharp and calm. Like the eyes of an eagle that had witnessed far too many wars.
"Forgive my arrival without notice," Johan said while kneeling, placing both hands on the floor. "I come bearing a message from the President of the World. The President of humanity."
The shinobi slowly opened his eyes. His gaze seemed to pierce through Johan's chest—reading the entirety of his heart without a single word.
"The President of the World?" he murmured softly. "So that is the title he carries now?"
"Yes."
Johan drew a long breath, then began speaking in a steady voice despite the faint trace of desperation beneath it.
"He wishes for you to become humanity's representative in the next battle at the Sky Colosseum. Your opponent will be an Elf prince. Therefore, we plan to request an arena of endless night. No moon, no stars, so that you may use your finest skills."
The shinobi closed his eyes once more, inhaling deeply as though weighing the world itself.
Several seconds passed in a silence so heavy it almost hurt. Then he finally spoke in a deep voice, like a stone falling into the bottom of a well:
"I refuse."
Johan lifted his face immediately. His eyes widened in disbelief.
Before Johan could protest, the shinobi continued in a calm yet razor-sharp tone.
"Shadows and night are indeed our allies. But if victory can only be achieved in darkness, then it is not honor. I am no rat of the night dancing for entertainment."
Johan fell silent, trying to restrain the emotions threatening to erupt.
He lowered his gaze to the floor, then spoke softly yet sincerely.
"But we have already lost twice, Sir. Humanity is beginning to lose hope. Look at the President upon his throne. Every second he sits there is filled with anxiety. Because he now bears the burden of the entire world."
His voice began to tremble, though respect still remained within it.
"Defeat after defeat has made his eyes grow darker. And I... I have run out of ideas after the second loss."
A long silence once again filled the room.
Only the sound of a fuurin—the delicate glass wind chime—rang softly, as if it were the only sound connecting two worlds. The world of light, and the world of shadows.
Johan finally stood, bowed deeply, and walked toward the door. But before he could step outside, the shinobi's heavy voice rang out once more.
"Very well."
Johan stopped.
"I will accept your offer."
Johan turned around quickly, his eyes widening with hope. But the shinobi added in a firm, cold, yet commanding tone:
"However, there is one condition you must deliver to that bird."
Johan stared at him seriously, trying to understand what he meant.
Sky Colosseum — The Beginning of the Third Match
The sound of silver bells echoed throughout the Sky Colosseum, signaling the beginning of the third battle.
The air above the arena trembled softly, as if the heavens themselves were holding their breath to welcome the two figures about to descend into the battleground.
From the mythology faction's stands, a staircase of white marble stretched high toward the peak of the Elf tribunes. From there descended a figure that caused every gaze to freeze in place.
The Prince of Light from the Great Elf Kingdom.
Every step upon the staircase seemed to produce sparks of light, causing the shadows along the walls to shimmer gently with his movements.
His posture was flawless, his stride elegant, and his face nearly perfect—as though sculpted directly by the goddesses themselves.
Cheers from the mythology faction exploded into the sky.
Arrows of light, spells, and songs of victory were chanted by the elf mages in their tribunes.
Among the crowd, a young elf shouted while pointing in admiration,
"Look! That's big brother!"
The adult elf beside him gently patted his shoulder.
"Watch carefully and learn every movement, Young Master. Because this is where the history of our race will be remembered."
The young elf merely nodded. His eyes sparkled with admiration he could not conceal.
At last, the Prince of Light arrived at the center of the arena. He bowed gracefully, placing a hand upon his chest in respect toward The Ancient One and Libra, the judge of heaven seated between the two thrones.
With a calm and crystal-clear voice, he spoke,
"It is an immeasurable honor to answer your call in choosing me as the next representative of the mythology race, Great Ancient One."
The Ancient One merely lowered his head slightly—a gesture of blessing from a being far too ancient to consider anyone his equal.
Then the elf turned toward the President and the human faction on the western side.
He offered a greeting there as well. Yet behind his polite smile lay a subtle mockery so sharp that even those seated in the highest rows of the arena could feel it.
That smile was not one of respect.
It was a challenge.
He also lowered himself briefly while sweeping his hand across his chest toward the eastern tribunes, where humanity watched him with anxious eyes—yet also admiration for the perfection of his form.
Then suddenly, the wind blew from the opposite side.
From beneath the eastern tribunes, a massive steel gate slowly opened. The grinding sound of iron echoed across the entire arena.
From the darkness within emerged a figure dressed entirely in black, walking with calm yet unwavering steps.
The red scarf around his neck fluttered wildly in the wind like a small flame daring to challenge the night itself. A long sword rested sheathed upon his back. Two large shuriken hung at his waist.
He did not speak. He offered no greeting. He simply walked straight toward the center of the arena with footsteps so quiet they were nearly inaudible. As though the entire world around him were nothing more than a mirage unworthy of his attention.
One of the Elf Prince's brows lifted slightly. His gaze slowly swept from Hayama's head down to his feet.
"So this is him? Humanity's third representative?"
Among the human spectators, a middle-aged man dressed in a black kimono smiled emotionally.
"Long ago, you represented the Empire of the Rising Sun, Hayama," he said softly. "But now? You will represent all of us. All of humanity."
That name immediately spread through the audience in hushed whispers.
Shirakumo Hayama. The legendary shadow.
As the two drew closer, beautiful light reflected from the body of the Prince of Light, causing many spectators to lose focus without realizing the two had already come face to face at the center of the arena.
"You... did not bow to your President? I even lowered my head to your race, you know? Were you never taught proper manners?"
His tone was gentle, but its edge was like a thorn.
Hayama merely stared at him. His black eyes were flat, nearly devoid of emotion.
Cheers from the mythology tribunes rose once more, praising the elf's elegance and etiquette.
Meanwhile, anxious whispers began spreading through the human side.
"What a contrast. Light against shadow."
"Indeed. But does humanity still stand a chance? An elf over a hundred years old would still be considered young."
"I pray that man doesn't die too. I can't bear to watch humans fall again."
"And that shinobi... he looks like an ordinary man compared to him."
The President seated upon his throne simply watched in silence. His aged eyes shimmered with an inexplicable certainty.
Beside him, Johan clenched a fist against his chest, praying in his heart that the shadow they had entrusted this time would truly be capable of extinguishing the light.