Meanwhile as Elijah was failing to get control of his team before ultimately letting Mira take the reins, certain others were not having nearly as difficult of a time with their teams…
Kat's Team Room
Kat Gravelle's group materialized inside their own preparation chamber, the faint shimmer of teleportation still clinging to their skin. Before anyone could shake off the dizziness, Kat had already scanned their profiles on the floating roster display, her expression calm and calculating.
"Alright, everyone," she said without hesitation. Her voice cut through the room like a clean blade. "We don't have much time, and we don't know each other well, so let's be efficient. You've probably heard of me. Unless there are objections, I'll take command and handle the shot-calling during combat. That way we stay coordinated."
For a heartbeat, silence. Then recognition lit in the eyes of the lowest-ranked girl, standing awkwardly in the back.
"Wait… oh wow. That's Katherine Gravelle!" she blurted. "She's really on our team?!"
The others followed her gaze, jaws slackening as reality sank in. Kat Gravelle, number one ranked in the academy, prodigy of prodigies, a cultivator whose ability wasn't some minor fragment built from an offshoot of a law but the entirety of gravity's law itself.
Their ranks flashed on the roster board: 301, 250, 151, and 102. Compared to Kat's towering presence, they were ants gathered around a mountain. There wasn't a single doubt who the leader would be.
Kat didn't waste their awe. "Good. Then let's move."
Her mind was already working several layers deep. She asked them to describe their abilities in quick bursts, no long speeches, just function and limits. An armored skin-shifter, ranked 151, admitted he could tank but lacked mobility. A bow specialist, ranked 102, explained she was lethal at range but fragile. Their healer, ranked 250, spoke softly about her regeneration aura. And the lowest-ranked girl, at 301, revealed a speed-based blink skill that lacked offense but could scout or stall.
Kat absorbed every word, filing them like pieces in a puzzle.
"Here's the strategy," she said after less than a minute of thought. "I'll take mid-lane. I need central positioning so I can pivot anywhere on the map. Top lane goes to our tank. You'll hold as long as possible and don't overextend. Bottom lane will be our bow specialist with the healer as support. Farm safely, keep vision. Our scout plays jungle. Focus on harassing, disrupting, and grabbing objectives. If pressure builds too much, call me. I'll collapse on the enemy before they realize what happened."
Her tone was matter-of-fact, but her presence made it sound inevitable.
The healer raised a timid hand. "So… we just turtle?"
"Correct," Kat said, unblinking. "Your job isn't to win your lanes. It's to buy me time to win the match. The longer you survive, the more freedom I have to break their formation. Simple as that."
They nodded, some nervously, but the plan clicked into place. It wasn't flashy or complex. It was efficient.
What Kat didn't realize was how she had naturally recreated a "Circle of Champions" meta formation despite never having touched the game herself. Logic alone had led her there. The strongest anchor at mid. The tank up top. The ranged carry bottom with support. A mobile disruptor in the jungle. The most proven system, derived purely from her analysis in ten minutes flat.
It was almost unfair. Kat herself was so absurdly powerful,gravity at her fingertips, cultivation far beyond her peers, that she could have walked into the arena and dismantled five opponents singlehandedly. Yet she still forged a plan that maximized her teammates' usefulness, turning even rank 301 into a functional cog in the machine.
By the time their countdown timer reached zero, the group had rehearsed contingencies, escape routes, and kill windows. They spoke with confidence, not hesitation. They no longer looked like strangers.
When the teleportation sequence activated again, pulling them into the arena proper, there was no shock or excitement on their faces. No disarray, no uncertainty.
Only focus.
Only confidence.
Kat had turned four scattered, nervous students into a disciplined unit in under ten minutes. That was what true leadership looked like.
Tim's Team Room
While Kat forged her squad into a machine of precision, Tim was… Tim.
As soon as the teleportation finished, he didn't wait for orientation, didn't even bother checking the roster board. He was already grinning ear to ear, practically bouncing on his heels.
"Hey guys! You ready for the best time of your lives?"
The others blinked, still dazed from the jump. Their ranks flashed above their heads: 168, 142, 190, and 205. Average strength, middle-of-the-pack, solid but not spectacular.
And now they were staring at a red-haired blur of a boy who looked like he'd just chugged six cups of coffee.
Tim threw his arms wide. "Come on, what are you all looking so serious for? Don't you get it?! This isn't just some trial! It's Circle of Champions! The school straight up copied it one-for-one. Oh, this is going to be amazing!"
A tall boy with cropped black hair, rank 168, frowned and crossed his arms. "Uh… Tim, right? What are you even talking about? You're practically vibrating."
And he wasn't wrong. Tim glanced down at himself and realized his ability had activated on instinct, his body humming at a low-frequency blur. He took a breath, forced himself still, then clapped his hands.
"Whew. Sorry. I just get hyped when I see a perfect setup. Thanks for calling me out, Frank,love the laser ability, by the way. Perfectly flashy. Now, let me explain."
Within minutes, Tim had launched into a whirlwind explanation of Circle of Champions. He described lanes, jungle routes, turret mechanics, and the rhythm of the game with the energy of a showman on stage. He cracked jokes about champions, mimicked announcer voices, even did little finger-gun impressions of kills and recalls.
At first, his teammates were bewildered. But then the questions started.
"So wait, we're supposed to fight thralls too? I thought they would just run straight to the obelisks" asked the girl ranked 190, her ability to sprout thorny vines twitching at her wrists.
"Yup! Free gold, baby," Tim said. "Think of them as little walking piggy banks. Hit 'em, cash out, get shiny new toys."
"And these… roles you mentioned?" Frank asked. "Top, mid, jungle, bottom?"
"Exactly!" Tim grinned. "It's like casting for a play. Everyone has a part. No one hogs the spotlight, not unless they're Kat Gravelle, but hey, she's in a different play entirely."
The group laughed. Even the nervous vine girl cracked a smile.
And just like that, Tim became the leader. No vote, no debate, no hesitation. His excitement was infectious, his confidence disarming. Where Kat commanded respect with her reputation, Tim won it by making everyone feel like they belonged.
He sketched a quick, by-the-book strategy: their tankiest fighter top lane, their most accurate ranged fighter mid, two others bottom as a carry-support pair, with himself taking jungle. "That's my playground," he said with a wink. "I get to run around, gank everyone, and steal all the glory. It's perfect."
They laughed again, but they followed his plan without a second thought. He was right, most of the other teams probably had no clue what Circle of Champions even was. Just playing it by the book gave them an edge.
"Look, guys," Tim finished, leaning on the table with an earnest grin, "we don't have to be geniuses or prodigies. We just gotta have fun and play like a team. And hey, if we win, drinks are on me. Non-alcoholic, of course. Hope you're cool with the cafeteria juice boxes. I'm partial to the grape."
By the time the countdown hit zero, the atmosphere in their room had transformed. No longer a random gathering of middle-ranked strangers, they were grinning like old friends about to dive into a weekend game night.
When the teleportation field wrapped around them, they entered the arena laughing, loose but focused, with Tim at their center like the sparkplug he'd always been.
And for the first time since stepping into the trial, his team felt like they weren't just competing. They were playing.
Claro's Team Room
When Claro's squad arrived, they staggered from the teleport's disorientation like everyone else. But unlike the others, Claro didn't waste a second.
His eyes flicked across their ranks: 115, 140, 177, and 220. Average enough. Respectable enough. But all beneath him.
He snorted, loud and sharp. "Figures. I get stuck with weaklings. Trash. Listen up. Since I'm the highest rank, I'm your leader. You'll do what I say, when I say it. No questions."
He folded his arms, crystalline shards already forming along his skin in a reflexive display of dominance. His teammates stared at him, blinking in disbelief.
The boy ranked 115 bristled, stepping forward with clenched fists. "Who do you think you are? Just because you're the top rank here doesn't mean you can steamroll us!"
The others nodded, voices rising in agreement. "Yeah, we're not your lackeys!" "We fight together, not under some dictator."
Claro shut his eyes for half a second, exhaling slowly. When he opened them, the whites had gone faintly red, and black-streaked crystals jutted from his arm.
He moved.
The strike was vicious, jagged edges raking across the chest of the boy who had spoken first. A spray of blood splattered the wall. The boy collapsed, choking, crimson soaking his shirt.
The room froze.
Claro leaned over him, his voice calm, almost cold. "You'll heal before the first fight. They patched people up fast enough earlier. And if you don't…then you weren't worth keeping around anyway."
A drop of blood rolled off his crystals, pattering against the floor.
He looked up at the others, his gaze as sharp as the blades sprouting from his hand. "Now… do you understand who's in charge?"
Silence. Then, trembling nods.
"Y-yes. We understand."
Claro smiled faintly, though there was no warmth in it. "Good."
Unlike Kat, he would never lead through respect. Unlike Tim, he had no interest in camaraderie. To Claro, leadership was about domination. Fear. Breaking down resistance until all that remained was obedience.
He barked out orders, his plan revolving around funneling every advantage to himself. His teammates were given one task only: survive long enough not to drag him down. Kill opportunities? They belonged to Claro. Resources? Claro. Glory? Claro.
And though they hated it, none dared object again. Not with the faint sound of blood dripping still echoing in the room.
As the ten minutes ticked away, their postures shifted. Shoulders slumped. Eyes averted. They became little more than shadows orbiting Claro's will. Not partners. Not allies. Extensions. Tools.
When the teleport field activated, Kat's team strode into battle like a unit. Tim's laughed like friends heading to a game night.
Claro's team entered hunched, eyes down, already broken to heel, while he stood straight, crystalline spikes gleaming, a twisted grin tugging at his lips.
For them, there would be no spark of trust or respect. Only fear. They would operate with maximum efficiency if it meant avoiding Claro's wrath.
And as the arena walls solidified around them, Claro was more than satisfied. Fear, after all, was the sharpest weapon of all.