The second round wasn't announced with fanfare.
No countdown. No spotlight.
Just names appearing on the screen like verdicts.
Team Arata advanced.
So did we.
I felt the shift immediately. Conversations stopped when we passed. Eyes followed longer than before. Not admiration—curiosity mixed with something closer to unease.
People hated what they couldn't categorize.
In the preparation corridor, we crossed paths with another team exiting a match. Their leader brushed my shoulder on purpose.
"Watch where you're going," he said.
I stopped.
Sora's hand touched my sleeve lightly. A warning. A request.
I turned anyway.
The man looked confident. Tall. Loud. The kind that fed on reactions.
"You don't want this," he added.
"I don't want anything," I replied.
That confused him.
He scoffed. "Then why are you here?"
I met his eyes. "Because leaving wasn't an option."
For a second, something flickered behind his bravado. He stepped back, muttering under his breath, and his team followed.
Sora exhaled once we were alone. "You scare people."
"I'm quiet."
"That's worse."
Our next staging area overlooked the main floor. From here, I could see Team Arata clearly. Perfect formation. Controlled breathing. Senpai Takumi giving instructions, calm and reassuring.
They looked like heroes.
That was the problem.
I'd seen that look before. On billboards. On broken promises. On people who smiled for cameras and disappeared when things went wrong.
My fingers curled slowly.
Somewhere below, Ren leaned against the barrier again. When he noticed me watching, he raised two fingers—casual, almost friendly.
I looked away.
Cracks were forming.
Not in the competition.
In the lie everyone agreed to believe.