One week later;
The city of Graena pulsed with excitent.
Hovercams zipped across the sky, reporters broadcast updates every minute, and thousands filled the seats of the colossal Grand Arena.
Orion and Fiona stepped into the vast, marble-floored waiting hall, its ceiling high enough to fit a battleship. The room buzzed with energy. 64 fighters, who can be considered the cream of youth from across the world, stood in silence or making hushed conversations, all trying to size each other up without revealing their cards.
Orion exhaled slowly. His eyes wandered, stopping at a pair that made his chest twist. It's Selene and Zion
As radiant and confident as always, they spoke in low tones. Selene wore a calm smile. Zion, the favorite to win the tournant, exuded the grace of nobility and dominance, drawing curious glances from nearby participants. A sharp spike of jealousy stabbed through Orion's gut.
Fiona, standing beside him, noticed the look and frowned. Her thoughts tangled. "Hmpf, look at that bit*ch," she cussed silently, then shook her head. "Ugh… snap out of it. Zion is your nephew."
As if summoned by their gaze, Zion turned and walked over.
"Orion," he said with a courteous nod, his tone unreadable.
Orion nodded back stiffly.
Then Zion turned to Fiona. His smile widened, and his voice softened just slightly. "I'm looking forward to our battle, Fiona."
Fiona's throat tightened. "Dammit…" she cursed inwardly. "Don't smile like that, you bast*rd. You are fuc*ing nephew. My half-nephew!" She clenched her fists behind her back, further cursing her brother. "This is all Azrael's fault!"
Before the mont could grow more awkward, a pair of voices broke in with mocking tones.
"Well, well," said a sneering boy, one of the infamous twins from the Dragar family. "So this is the plainfolk boy who got a lucky punch on a training dummy."
Her brother leaned on her shoulder with a smirk, eyes drifting from Orion to Fiona. "Is this your boyfriend, Fiona? You two look cute."
Fiona's jaw tightened. "Leave," she growled, her voice like a blade drawn halfway.
The twin boy grinned, clearly enjoying her irritation. "Don't worry. I'll be seeing you again. Hopefully, this ti, you don't get expelled before we settle our score."
He tapped his temple mockingly, then turned and walked away with his sister, laughing quietly.
Orion's fists clenched at his sides. "Who were they?" he asked.
Fiona's eyes darkened.
"One of them," she muttered, "was the ex-boyfriend of my closest friend back when I was at Maple Academy. She dated the older twin, but those bastards took turns pretending to be each other. They gaslit her, made her feel insane, and when she found out, they called it a prank."
Orion blinked. "What the hell?"
"She beca a laughing stock," Fiona continued, her jaw tight. "Left the academy. When I found out, I broke their damn jaws and got expelled for it."
"That's why you enrolled in Arvandor Academy?" Orion asked, finally understanding why a Nine-star Arcana Master like her is in an academy that isn't even in the top 10.
Fiona gave a small nod, eyes still burning with old anger.
Orion let out a low whistle. "That's insane… I thought I was crazy for making out with five girls at once, but they're on a whole different… level… Aah…"
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
There was a sudden hush. Updates are released by novel-fire
Selene, who had quietly joined the group behind him, froze. Her expression shifted to one of blank disbelief, followed quickly by thinly veiled disgust.
Even Zion, standing close enough to hear, raised a single brow and turned his head.
Fiona blinked once. Then, in a flat voice, said, "Five?"
Orion winced. "Ah…"
Fiona playfully punched his shoulder, narrowing her eyes. "I didn't know you were such a player, Orion."
"I-It's not what it sounds like," Orion scrambled, scratching the back of his neck while looking at Selene instead of Fiona. "It was a weird ti. I was under a lot of stress and disappointnt that my mother is too busy to give so ti on my birthday, and look, they kind of threw themselves at , alright? I didn't even enjoy it that much!"
Selene crossed her arms with a sigh, looking away.
Fiona leaned in, amused. "When did this happen?"
He hesitated. "A couple of months ago?"
The air around the group seed to still for a mont.
Before anyone could say more, Orion raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright, let's not talk about this. We're here to fight, not dissect my ssed-up past. I just want to say that I'm no longer the sa as before."
Fiona rolled her eyes with a smirk, but her gaze was less judgntal than teasing.
Selene remained silent, her facial expression still looked like she was disgusted.
Fortunately, not long after, as the arena called for the opening ceremony to begin, the tension in the room shifted once more, and everyone's attention shifted.
A sharp bell chid overhead. A few seconds later, a holographic projection shimred into view above the waiting hall. Nas scrolled past rapidly as the Match Fixtures were displayed in brilliant violet against the arena's white-marble ceiling.
Fiona craned her neck upward. Selene stepped closer. Even Orion held his breath as he searched for his na.
"There!" Selene pointed.
Match 23 – Orion vs. Mike Dawson.
Fiona and Selene hissed at the exact sa ti.
"Bad luck," Selene muttered, glancing at Orion with a contrasting gaze as if she was saying that you deserved it.
"That's brutal," Fiona agreed, her tone tense. "Mike Dawson of the Dawson family. He's one of the twenty seeds."
"Seeds?" Orion blinked.
"Top contenders selected based on accomplishnts," Selene explained quickly. "He was in third place in the World Youth Championship last year."
Orion's throat tightened. "Oh…"
"I fought him once," Fiona added. "I won, but it was close. Real close. But it was years ago, though. Right now, I can defeat him with eyes closed."
"Who is he?" Orion asked, suddenly feeling the weight of the number 23 pressing on him like an on.
"The tallest guy in the room," Fiona answered dryly.
A shiver ran down Orion's spine as he slowly turned his head.
From the far end of the hall, by the pillars shrouded in shade, a figure lood.
He had seen him earlier but hadn't paid attention. Now, the presence was unmistakable.
The man had to be at least nine feet tall, broad and hulking with layered muscles that pushed the seams of his combat vest.
His skin was pale, eyes a chilling steel-gray. A thin scar ran down the bridge of his nose, and he was staring right at Orion with a look devoid of emotion.
"Yup," Fiona said. "That's Mike."
Orion felt the sweat prickling at the back of his neck.
Before he could respond, Selene squinted at the bracket again. "Wait… if you go past him and two more wins, you and Zion could et in the quarterfinals."
Orion blinked, montarily distracted from the giant.
Zion, standing behind them with arms crossed, let out a dry chuckle. "That's a big 'if'."
Orion turned toward him. "You don't think I'll make it?"
Zion shook his head, not in dismissal, but in thought. "You're strong. But before you even reach , you'll face Skylar Blood."
Selene's expression shifted. Even Fiona flinched.
Zion continued, his voice quieter now. "He's another seeded fighter, ranked 8th. From the Blood Clan."
Orion's face turned grim. "What's with the reaction? Are they that dangerous?"
"They're a troubleso piece of work," Zion muttered. "Most importantly, if he knows that you are from the Garcia family, he will destroy you. After all, the Blood Clan was exiled from the Death Clan village by Lord Azrael."
Fiona folded her arms. "Let's not think of the future opponents, Orion. Just concentrate on your upcoming opponent first."
Orion gazed at the bracket and said, "Don't worry, I will make it to the top 8 for sure."
Zion smirked, "Then, I'll wait for you."
The sun glead high above the colossal do-shaped stadium in Graena City, reflecting off the translucent barrier that encased the battle platform at its center.
Tens of thousands of spectators filled the arena seats, the energy electric with anticipation.
Giant monitors floated midair, projecting every inch of the battlefield and the faces of the competitors waiting in the wings.
From the judge's podium, a woman clad in a violet robe stepped forward—graceful, commanding, and cold-eyed.
It was Affea Garcia, the official proctor of the tournant.
The crowd silenced almost instinctively as her voice, clear and precise, echoed through the arena via the floating amplifiers.
"I am Affea Garcia, the proctor of this year's Tournant of Power. I will now explain the rules. Pay close attention, whether you are a participant or a spectator."
The monitors lit up behind her, displaying the first rule in glowing gold text as she continued.
"This is a simple knockout tournant. There are no second chances. Win to advance. Lose, and you're out."
Another screen shifted.
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