Chapter 54: HE’S A PERVERT TOO?!

The smoke and dust began to settle. And from within that gray cloud, a figure slowly emerged.

The entire arena froze—eyes wide, mouths slightly open. But the shock wasn’t because of who the person was.

It was because of what he was—or rather, what he wasn’t—wearing.

There were… no clothes. Literally none. The last remains of fabric had been scorched away in the explosion. Only a few stray strands clung to his body, barely covering his lower half.

And the figure?

Who else could it be?

Of course—it was Logan.

Somehow, he had survived the devastating blast. But he wasn’t standing proud. He was down on one knee, his body swaying from exhaustion. Blood dripped from his forehead like sweat, and thin trails of smoke curled off from his skin like a steak fresh off a fire.

His body was battered.

His pride? Maybe more.

His clothes? Gone.

Lilith Starwind immediately turned away, slapping both hands over her eyes. “Jeez! He’s a pervert too?!”

At first, the arena was silent, even after the smoke had cleared. No one dared say a word.

Then—one person clapped.

Then another.

Then the sound grew, echoing like a wave crashing through the stadium.

A flood of applause.

The cheers weren’t just loud—they were thunderous. Not just for excitement, but for respect.

The referee, not wanting to prolong the awkward situation, raised his hand and shouted the result.

“The winner… Logan Smith!!”

The roar that followed shook the arena.

Rovan had lost.

The arrogance he’d once been known for was forgotten. His performance today had earned back the audience’s respect. But Logan—Logan had done more than win.

He had etched his name into their hearts.

A Tier One mage. Only twelve years old. Three affinities. Strategy, composure, and power—he’d shown it all.

But what truly won them over wasn’t just his magic or talent.

It was his humility.

If any other twelve-year-old had that kind of strength, the air of arrogance around them would suffocate everyone in a ten-foot radius.

Lilith was a perfect example.

So was Rovan.

But Logan? He acted like any other boy.

Until he stepped into the arena, no one would even dream he could win. And when he did—he didn’t gloat, didn’t boast.

He simply fought.

Alice had already rushed to the stage. She reached her son and immediately covered him with a cloak.

Healers were on standby. A few were already carrying Rovan off on a stretcher. Others rushed toward Logan—but paused when they saw Alice holding him close.

“Sweetheart,” she said, voice cracking, “you were amazing. But can you please stop scaring your own mother like that?”

Logan chuckled weakly. “I’m totally fine, Mom. Just some scratches.”

“Who are you trying to fool? You’re twelve! So act like it!” she scolded, even as her hands trembled and her eyes brimmed with tears.

She helped the healers carefully lift him onto the stretcher.

The crowd was still buzzing with excitement. People were still talking, still clapping, still repeating the highlights of the fight. This was a duel that would be remembered.

The thrill. The suspense. The heart-pounding exchanges—it was more than entertainment.

It was legendary.

Far above, in the noble balcony, Prince Rowan was deep in thought.

“I didn’t expect to meet someone this interesting in a tournament,” he mused. “It wasn’t a mistake joining after all. That boy… he’s hiding more, isn’t he?”

And for the first time since the tournament began—maybe for the first time in his life, or at least after a very long time—Rowan smiled. A real, genuine smile.

Not far from him, Lilith turned to her father.

“Can’t I fight him now?” she pleaded. “I don’t want to wait for the finals!”

Noah blinked. “Did I hear that right? You want to fight someone? Not crush or humiliate them?”

He grinned. “Are my ears broken? Or am I hallucinating?”

“Dad! You’re no fun!” Lilith pouted, crossing her arms.

Meanwhile, Marquess Yale looked like a statue carved from ice.

His face had lost all color.

His mouth hung slightly open.

He was barely staying upright.

The loss had hit him harder than he expected.

But he wasn’t alone.

Lady Mirena, Darius, and Kael Thorne sat in heavy silence.

What we feared the most has come true, Mirena thought. Even the elders will side with him now…

Darius said nothing, jaw clenched and fists trembling.

It wasn’t just these three.

In the far back, hidden in a shadowed corner of the coliseum, stood another man with a stunned expression.

Elder Edward.

Beside him, a familiar figure grinned with glee.

Zereth.

Not because Logan had won—Logan was his worst nightmare.

But because now, he had proof.

“Well, Elder Edward,” Zereth said softly, “did you see that last move? Only his clothes burned. He was injured, sure. But do you really think even you could survive a direct hit like that without any defense?”

Edward didn’t answer right away.

His eyes narrowed.

Then, finally, he said, “Let’s go. We’ve seen enough.”

Back at the betting corner, Albert was over the moon. Most people had bet on Rovan. Logan’s win had just made him a fortune.

“This one’s almost as good as the first round,” he laughed, stuffing coins into a bag. “Second biggest win of the tournament!”

Then, above the cheering crowd, the announcer’s voice echoed through the arena again.

“Respected guests! Your patience has been rewarded. Now—prepare yourselves…”

“For the Semifinals!”

The crowd erupted in cheers again.

The panels hovering in mid-air flashed:

1st Semifinal

Lilith Starwind vs Zephyr Albrecht vs Morgan Benedict

2nd Semifinal

Logan Smith vs Prince Rowan Hale

The crowd gasped.

Five prodigies. Two battles. One title.

The announcer continued, “We’ll now take a short break. Stretch your legs, grab your snacks—but don’t go too far!”

“Because what comes next… will be spectacular!”

The arena buzzed with energy. Names whispered like spells—Logan, Rowan, Lilith, Zephyr, Morgan.

And somewhere deep in that crowd, someone murmured—

“Only two will make it to the finals… but only one will wear the title of Best Young Elite.”

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