The sharp crack of the announcer’s voice sliced through the courtyard, cutting off Gon’s musings with all the subtlety of a thunderclap.
"LADIES and GENTLEN!" the man bellowed, his words amplified by a minor enchantnt that carried them over the roar of the crowd, echoing off the stone pillars and reverberating through the open space.
The spectators erupted in response, their cheers a tidal wave of sound that rolled across the arena, shaking the wooden stands and sending a fresh gust of wind swirling through the courtyard.
"THE TOURNANT IS ABOUT TO BEGIN! TAKE YOUR SEATS NOW!"
Gon’s head snapped toward the center of the arena, his pulse kicking up a notch as he caught sight of Dina stepping into the sandy expanse.
Her hair was packed back in a lose ponytail, the strands glinting in the muted sunlight, and her mage’s robes hugged her fra, the deep erald fabric rippling slightly in the breeze.
She moved with an easy confidence as she took her place.
Their eyes t for a brief mont, and Gon felt a familiar warmth tug at the corner of his mouth, the kind of easy affection that ca after a night of shared laughs and tangled sheets.
Yesterday had been fun, her quick wit, her sly smiles, the way they had wrestled before things had turned heated.
But it wasn’t anything heavy, just a good ti with a friend who happened to look damn good in the morning light.
He tipped his head slightly in acknowledgnt, a playful glint in his eyes, and she returned it with a small, knowing smirk of her own before turning to face the crowd.
The announcer’s voice bood again, pulling Gon’s attention back to the mont with jarring force. "AS YOU KNOW, ONLY FOUR MAGES REMAIN!" The man’s tone was rich with theatrical flair, each word drawn out to stoke the crowd’s fervor, his voice carrying over the wind like a war drum. "MILO, GON, SERA, and DINA!"
He paused for dramatic effect, letting the nas hang in the air like a spell, and Gon could feel the crowd’s excitent swell, their cheers vibrating through the sand beneath his boots.
The announcer knew how to work them, knew how to stretch the mont until it was taut with expectation, and Gon couldn’t help but feel the weight of it settle over him, a mix of adrenaline and unease.
"NOW WE ARE GOING TO HAVE THE TWO FINAL MATCHES," the announcer continued, his voice rising to a crescendo that sent a fresh wave of murmurs rippling through the stands.
"THE FIRSt MATCH IS GOING TO BE BETWEEN..." Another pause, deliberate and maddening, as if the man relished the way the tension coiled tighter with every heartbeat.
Gon’s fists clenched at his sides, his nails biting into his palms as he braced himself for the inevitable.
He was ready, had to be ready, to face Milo.
He’d been certain of it, had spent sleepless nights mapping out every possible angle of their fight, every move, every taunt that might throw Milo off his ga.
It was the matchup he’d prepared for, the one he’d been itching to settle once and for all.
"...GON and DINA!" the announcer finally declared, his voice a thunderous proclamation that seed to shake the very air, carried on the wind like a battle cry.
The words hit Gon like a bucket of cold water, his mouth falling open as a look of dismay etched itself across his face.
He blinked, stunned, as if the na might shift if he waited long enough, as if this were so trick of the wind playing with his ears. He had expected Milo, had been so sure of it that even when he’d considered other possibilities, he’d dismissed them as unlikely.
But now, the reality landed with a thud in his gut: he would have to fight Dina.
Dina, who he’d been with last night, who’d matched his banter with her own sharp tongue before they’d stumbled into sothing more physical.
Not that it ant anything deep, just a good ti, a bit of fun to blow off steam before the tournant, but facing her in the arena now? That threw a wrench into things.
He wasn’t worried about feelings getting in the way; it was more the hassle of it, the unexpected shift in plans.
He’d mapped out Milo’s every move, not hers.
The crowd’s reaction was a chaotic mix, their voices swelling into a discordant chorus that swept across the courtyard.
So cheered wildly, their excitent palpable at the prospect of the match, a clash between two skilled mages with a dynamic that had the stands buzzing with whispers.
Others, those who had hoped for a grudge match between Gon and Milo, let out groans of disappointnt, their voices a low rumble beneath the more enthusiastic shouts.
Gon barely registered the noise, his ears ringing with the weight of the announcent, his eyes still locked on Dina as she stood in the center of the arena, her stance poised but her expression a mix of determination and sothing else, maybe amusent, maybe challenge.
He searched her face for so hint of what she was thinking, but where his own features were a storm of surprise and mild frustration, hers were more guarded, a complex blend of the surprise he felt and a flicker of sothing different.
He realized with so surprise that it was determination.
The sandy expanse of the arena stretched out between them, the wind kicking up small eddies of dust as their gazes held, a silent understanding passing between them.
Gon’s jaw tightened, a knot of irritation and adrenaline twisting in his chest.
He didn’t want to fight her, not because of so grand emotion, but because it ssed with his head, threw off his ga.
But the weight of the tournant, of the crowd’s expectations, pressed down on him like the heavy air before a storm, leaving him no choice but to step forward into the center of the courtyard, his boots crunching against the sand as he prepared to face her.
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