“Now, that will be all for today.”

Olmo’s voice carried across the arena, firm and clear.

“The four representatives should remain behind.”

The moment he finished speaking, movement began.

Students left quickly — conversations trailing off mid-sentence, footsteps overlapping as they exited in groups. Some glanced back one last time before the doorway took them. Others whispered quietly to whoever was beside them, processing the morning as they moved. But no one lingered. No one pushed against the instruction. The selection was over and everyone in that arena understood that the space now belonged to four people and not them.

Within moments the arena had emptied almost completely.

All except four.

⸻

Jelo.

Tessa.

Zarek.

Ken.

They stood apart from each other — not distant, not cold, but not close either. Four people who had fought through the same morning by different paths and arrived at the same outcome. There was no particular bond between them yet. Just the shared fact of being chosen and the shared understanding of what that meant going forward.

Olmo stepped forward.

His gaze moved across each of them in turn — unhurried, deliberate, reading. The same gaze he’d used throughout every fight. The one that missed nothing and showed nothing in return.

“I hope you understand what you’ve gotten yourselves into,” he said.

No one spoke.

They didn’t need to. The seriousness was already present in the room — had been building all morning — and Olmo’s tone confirmed rather than introduced it. This wasn’t the moment for questions or comments. It was the moment to listen and absorb.

Jelo stood calm, his expression steady. Tessa’s face carried quiet determination — the same focused set she’d had walking into her fight, still present now that it was over. Zarek remained composed and unreadable, holding the news of his selection with the same stillness he’d shown when it was announced. Ken stood upright, attention forward, the shadow coat long dissolved but the focused economy of his posture unchanged.

Olmo continued.

“You are going to represent your class,” he said. “And this school.”

A slight sharpening in his tone.

“And I don’t want any excuses.”

The pause that followed had weight.

“You must come out victorious. No matter what.”

The words settled across all four of them differently — but they settled. Jelo felt them land not as pressure exactly but as confirmation. Something that aligned with what he already understood about what this was and what it demanded.

“This tournament determines more than just individual strength,” Olmo went on. “It shows which school stands above the rest. Whose system produces the strongest fighters. Whose students hold up when the stakes are real.”

His gaze hardened slightly.

“We will not come last.”

A brief silence followed.

Then —

“Yes, sir.”

All four. At once. No hesitation between them — no staggered response, no individual delay. Clean and unified in a way that came not from rehearsal but from a shared understanding that this was not the moment for anything less.

⸻

Olmo nodded.

“Good.”

He turned slightly, took a single measured step, then looked back at them.

“We are not entirely sure when the tournament will begin,” he said. “But it will be soon. Very soon.” He let that land before continuing. “I will inform you when the date is confirmed. Until then — use the time well. Work on your weaknesses. Refine what already works. Don’t waste what you’ve been given.”

He looked across all four of them one final time.

“If you need guidance — clarification, direction, anything — you can come to me.”

Another pause. Shorter this time.

“You’re dismissed.”

He turned and walked away without looking back. His footsteps were even and unhurried across the arena floor until the corridor took him and the sound faded with him.

⸻

For a moment none of them moved.

The arena held them in its quiet — four people standing in the space where the morning had happened, where the outcomes had been decided, where everything had shifted.

Then Jelo turned.

Without a word he began walking toward the exit. No ceremony in it. No lingering. The morning was done and what came next hadn’t started yet and the space between those two things didn’t need to be filled with anything.

⸻

Outside felt calmer.

The air was different — open, unheld, without the compressed attention of a crowd watching something unfold. The sounds of the academy drifted in from different directions. Distant. Normal.

And just ahead —

Atlas and Mira were already waiting.

They had positioned themselves where they would see him the moment he came through — close enough to reach quickly, far enough to stay out of what hadn’t been their space. They moved toward him the moment he stepped out fully.

⸻

“That’s good news, isn’t it?” Atlas said.

The grin was already there — easy, genuine, the particular version of it that meant he was actually pleased rather than just performing it.

“You made it.”

Jelo gave a small nod.

Mira’s arms were crossed loosely, her expression calm and approving in the quiet way that carried more certainty than most people’s louder versions of the same thing.

“We’ll be there to support you,” she said.

No elaboration. No exaggeration.

Just the fact of it, stated simply, because that was how Mira stated things she meant.

⸻

Jelo exhaled lightly.

Then said —

“I’m hungry.”

Atlas blinked.

Stared at him for a full second.

“…That’s what you have to say right now?”

Jelo didn’t change his expression.

“Yeah.”

Mira shook her head slightly. The faintest trace of something that wasn’t quite amusement but was close to it moved through her eyes.

“Let’s go then.”

⸻

The cafeteria was full.

Voices overlapping, trays moving, chairs scraping lightly across the floor in the ordinary rhythm of the academy at rest between demands. The sound of it was familiar and uncomplicated and after the weight of the morning it landed differently than it usually would — like stepping out of something into something else entirely.

They grabbed food and moved to a corner table. Away from the main noise. Enough space for three people to sit without being crowded on all sides.

They sat.

⸻

For a moment they just ate.

No rush. No pressure. The silence settled naturally between them the way it did with people who didn’t need to fill every gap.

Then Atlas looked up.

“So,” he said, glancing at Jelo. “You got a new ability.”

“Yeah.”

Atlas leaned forward slightly. “What do you still need to work on before the tournament?”

Jelo paused briefly before answering.

“Control.”

He looked at his hand for a moment — just a moment — then back up.

“It’s strong. But not stable enough yet.”

Mira nodded.

“That’s expected,” she said. “New abilities are always unstable at first. The strength comes before the control does.”

Atlas picked up his food, took a bite, chewed once.

“Honestly,” he said, “I don’t even know what I need to work on yet.”

Jelo looked at him.

“You’re serious?”

Atlas shrugged, swallowing. “I’ll find someone to spar with. That’s the fastest way to figure it out.” He paused. “Ken would be a good match.”

Jelo nodded slightly.

“Yeah. He would.”

Ken wasn’t someone you took lightly. A fight with him would surface problems fast — the kind of problems that training alone didn’t always reveal because training alone didn’t push the same way a real opponent did.

⸻

Atlas leaned back.

“We could spar too,” he added. “No point just waiting.”

Mira agreed.

“That’s true.”

Jelo leaned back as well.

“I could take both of you at once.”

A brief pause.

Mira didn’t respond with words.

A small flame formed in her palm — compact, controlled — and she flicked it toward him without changing her expression.

Jelo tilted his head slightly. It passed harmlessly.

“…Noted.”

“Don’t mock us,” Mira said calmly.

Atlas laughed — genuine, easy, the kind that didn’t need a reason beyond the moment being worth it.

“Yeah. You’re asking for it.”

⸻

The mood stayed light after that.

They kept eating. Talked about training, about the fights from the morning, about nothing that required any particular weight behind it. Just conversation. Just the three of them at a corner table in a full cafeteria letting the morning become something that had already happened.

⸻

For now —

That was enough.

Because soon everything would shift again — the next demand would arrive, the next thing the tournament required would make itself known, and the quiet of this moment would belong to the past.

But not yet.

⸻

Jelo glanced at his hand briefly.

The warmth was still there.

Steady.

Patient.

Waiting for the moment it would be asked for again.

⸻

The tournament was coming.

And this time —

He would be ready.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep