Chapter 268: Entertaining

The arena floor transformed.

Panels in the stone slid back with a deep mechanical groan, revealing compartments beneath the surface. From those compartments, structures rose—slowly at first, then faster, locking into place with heavy clicks that echoed across the stadium. Rails. Ramps. A central elevated platform ringed by lower sections connected by narrow bridges. The whole arrangement assembled itself in under a minute, and by the time it finished the floor looked nothing like it had before.

The crowd watched it happen with the particular silence of people witnessing something they hadn’t expected.

Then the silence broke into noise.

The announcer let it build for a moment before raising the microphone.

“What you are looking at,” he said, “is the Exhibition Ground.” He paused. “And what you are about to watch—is not a tournament fight.”

He let that sit.

“Tournament fights are for later. Tournament fights are where things get decided. What happens right now is something different entirely.” He smiled out at the stands. “Right now—we have fun.”

Six figures walked out from opposite ends of the arena floor.

Three from each side.

They weren’t dressed in academy uniforms. They wore sleek fitted gear—dark, lightweight, designed for speed rather than identity. No insignia. No names on their backs. The crowd didn’t know who they were and that was clearly intentional—the anonymity making them something between athletes and performers, figures defined entirely by what they were about to do.

They spread across the Exhibition Ground and took their positions without instruction, each one finding a different section of the structure—a ramp, a bridge, the elevated central platform, the lower rings.

The announcer spoke.

“The rules are simple. You fall off the structure—you’re out. Last one standing takes it.” He paused. “Abilities are permitted. That is all.”

The crowd buzzed.

A horn sounded.

And the Exhibition Ground became chaos.

The first exchange happened almost before the crowd could track it—two figures on the narrow central bridge colliding in a burst of motion, abilities firing immediately, no warmup, no circling. One of them produced a shockwave from flat palms that cracked against the bridge surface and sent the other skidding toward the edge. The second figure caught the rail with one hand, swung under it, came back up on the other side and drove forward with a shoulder strike that pushed the first figure three steps back toward the center platform.

The crowd reacted to every beat of it—gasping, laughing, shouting, surging in volume when something spectacular happened and dropping just slightly in the half-seconds between exchanges, breathing together like a single organism.

On the ramp at the far end, one of the figures was using something that looked like wind manipulation—short controlled bursts that altered trajectory mid-movement, making their path across the structure unpredictable. They came down the ramp at speed, cut sideways using a burst, landed on the lower ring, immediately launched upward toward the elevated platform. The figure already on the platform turned to meet them and the collision was visible from every section of the stands—a full midair exchange that sent both of them in different directions, one landing cleanly, one barely catching the edge of the platform and hanging there for a moment while the crowd screamed.

They pulled themselves back up.

The crowd screamed louder.

The announcer watched it with the rest of them—or performed watching it, which amounted to the same thing.

“Look at that!” he called out. “That is what ability-enhanced reflexes look like when the stakes are real—even in entertainment!” He laughed. “These six volunteered for this, by the way. I want to be very clear about that.”

More laughter from the stands.

He kept talking through the action—not over it, but beneath it, giving context and color, pointing out moments the crowd might have missed, building stakes around figures nobody had arrived with any attachment to. By the time the first elimination happened—one of the figures finally knocked cleanly off the lower ring by a controlled force burst, landing on the arena floor below and raising both hands to signal they were fine—the crowd reacted like they had been watching someone they cared about.

That was the announcer’s skill. That was what he was actually doing.

Five remaining.

Then four.

Between eliminations, the structure itself changed.

This was the part nobody had been told about. At irregular intervals, without warning, sections of the Exhibition Ground shifted—a bridge narrowed, a ramp steepened, a section of the lower ring retracted completely and left nothing but a gap between two platforms. The figures on the structure had to adapt in real time, and the crowd got to watch that adaptation happen under pressure, got to see the moment someone realized the ground beneath them was no longer where they thought it was.

The figure using wind bursts nearly went out when a bridge narrowed mid-crossing. They corrected in real time—a burst downward to arrest their sideways fall, a sharp redirect that sent them onto a different section entirely, landing on their knees and immediately rising again. The crowd came completely off their seats.

Three remaining.

The central platform held two of them now—the only stable section of the structure that hadn’t been altered. They were locked in close, fast exchanges, neither one able to create enough distance to use ranged abilities effectively, both of them working in a tight radius, reading each other’s movements and countering in real time. It was less spectacular than the earlier moments but more compelling—technical, reactive, the kind of exchange that rewarded attention.

The third figure watched from the lower ring.

Waited.

Then ran straight up the connecting bridge toward the platform while the other two were occupied.

The crowd saw it before the people on the platform did.

The noise jumped to something enormous—not directed at any particular outcome, just the pure reactive sound of people watching something about to happen, knowing it before the participants knew it themselves.

The running figure hit the platform and the whole dynamic changed—three people, one small surface, nobody with room to maneuver. For five seconds all three were still standing. Then one went over the edge. Then another. The third stood alone on the central platform with both arms raised, and the crowd gave them something that shook the stands.

The Exhibition Ground retracted.

Slower this time—like it was taking a bow. The structures descended back into their compartments, panels sliding back across the floor until the arena floor was flat and open again, and the single remaining figure walked off toward the exit tunnel with the crowd still going.

The announcer let it finish before he raised the microphone.

“There it is,” he said simply.

He smiled.

“Consider that your warmup.”

Laughter. Cheers. Someone in the upper tiers started a chant that caught and spread through three sections before dissolving back into general noise.

“We have more entertainment coming between fights—music, demonstrations, a few surprises I am personally very excited about.” He paused. “But those come later. Because first—”

He turned toward the main arena floor.

His voice dropped into something deliberate.

“The first match of the tournament is about to begin.”

The crowd found another gear.

And beneath the stands, in the corridors where the fighters waited, Jelo heard it—felt it in the walls, in the floor under his feet.

He exhaled slowly.

It was starting.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep