Celeste Marie Salcedo paced, her boots clicking in a sharp, relentless rhythm against the steel floor like a countdown only she could hear. Her grimoire CAD hung at her thigh, silver sigils cycling faintly—anxious, almost sentient in its holster. Her violet eyes flicked from the digital clock to the sealed door, her jaw tight, lips pressed into a blade-thin line. The blue-and-red of her uniform clung to her like armor, singed at the shoulder from the Seventh High Duel, crisp despite the sweat threading down her spine.
She crossed her arms. Uncrossed. Then crossed them again. Fingers twitched toward the grimoire.
The arena's distant cheers pulsed like a war drum just beneath her skin.
Where is he?
Her pacing quickened. Each strike of her heel against the floor a sharpened punctuation. Eight minutes now. Her HUD visor flickered through Third High's last match—Trixie's golden lance splitting Sixth High's illusions like light through glass, Mateo's indigo pulses unraveling fields with surgical elegance. Her breath hitched—not from fear, but from pressure. From expectation. From absence.
The door hissed open.
Sallie Mae Salcedo sauntered in, all lazy arrogance and ragged edges. His briefcase CAD hung off one shoulder, green runes flickering like embers waiting for kindling. His uniform bore a tear at the sleeve, a smear of dried mana across the chest, but his grin? Untouched. Sharp as ever. Defiant.
He twirled his calibrator, the whistle slicing through the locker room's cold hum.
"Onii-sama, you're late."
Celeste's voice cut through the air like drawn steel—quiet, but taut with restrained fury. Her arms folded across her chest again, tighter this time. The sigils on her grimoire flared, echoing her ire.
"The semifinals start in minutes. The announcer doesn't wait, and neither should you."
Sallie leaned back against a locker, the clang soft, almost lazy, but his eyes flicked to the clock. A flicker of guilt. Maybe.
"Chill, sis. Had a little pow-wow with the USNA Stars—Angelina and her crew. Real intense types." His calibrator spun faster, the whistle now a slicing hush, like a blade drawn just enough to threaten.
"They had… thoughts. Kept me a bit."
Celeste's pacing halted. She stepped toward him, boots echoing once, twice. Then silence.
"The Stars?" Her visor flickered, sigils dimming as her eyes locked on his. Her tone shifted—worry overtaking reprimand.
"You were talking to Angelina Kudou Shields? What did they want?" Her fingers twitched again. Part of her wanted to reach out and drag him out of whatever political mire he'd wandered into.
"Why now?"
Sallie shrugged, the motion too casual to be real.
"Something about Mendez, Shiba, and a rat in the ranks. Same old cloak-and-dagger drama." His tone was breezy, but his gaze didn't match—darker now, shadowed by something he hadn't said.
He pushed off the locker, standing straighter than before.
"Didn't say much. Just let them talk."
Celeste's eyes flicked down to his abdomen, searching for bruises or burns, then snapped back up.
"You didn't detour for adobo sliders, did you? If you're bloated in the pit, she will carve you open like the Seventh's Fighting Maroons."
Her tone was softer now, quieter—concern wearing the mask of discipline. She stepped in close enough for her grimoire's glow to brush his chest, silver light chasing away the flicker of dread in his eyes.
Sallie's laugh came low, almost grounding, as the calibrator stilled in his palm.
"Didn't eat. Haven't since breakfast. All clear for chaos." He tucked the calibrator away, a flicker of seriousness breaking through his grin.
His voice dropped a fraction.
"I'll be sharp against green and yellow, sis.''
Celeste exhaled. A slow, measured breath that seemed to push the weight off her chest, if only slightly.
Her fingers eased from the grimoire's hilt, though the sigils still cycled, restless.
"You'd better be."
Her voice held steel again, but this time forged with trust.
"Third High isn't Seventh. They don't flinch. And she pierced UE that haven't even been catalogued yet." She turned toward the door, footsteps measured now—an officer leading, not pacing.
"We enter in six. No more… extracurricular diplomacy."
Sallie's grin curved, not wide, but sure. He shifted the briefcase CAD on his shoulder, green runes flaring like a slow inhale before battle.
"Got it, sis. Let's go wreck their doctrine."
They stepped through the door. Neon sliced shadows behind them as the roar of the crowd crescendoed, hungry for war.
---
The bleachers of the Mall of Asia Arena buzzed with frenetic energy, a sea of crimson-and-maroon Seventh High scarves clashing against the blue-and-red tide of Fourth High banners. The air crackled with mana sparks, thick with the citrus tang of spilled Mountain Dew and the distant hum of megascreens replaying Sallie Salcedo's double-barreled shotgun blasting through concrete. The crowd's roar pulsed like a living thing—each cheer a blade on edge as the semifinals loomed.
Andrea Cervantes Fernandez stepped into the stands, wrapped in her maroon-and-dark gray uniform, the Fernandez crest stitched in understated gold at her cuff. Her amber eyes, still keen despite the medical wing's sterile haze, scanned the crowd with wary precision.
Beneath her jacket, her right shoulder throbbed—a dull, pulsing reminder of Sallie's water-and-smoke slug that had hurled her through a wall. She moved with quiet control, her Tome of Embers CAD clipped at her hip, crimson runes dim but restless, as if itching for a second round.
Javier Castillo flanked her, lean and steady despite the slouch, a fresh bandage wrapping his forearm where Sallie's chain whip had found him.
Behind them trailed their crew—Lila, short-haired and jittery, her hands clenched around a crushed can of Mountain Dew; Marco, silent, lenses glowing as his HUD glasses mirrored the battlefield below; and Sofia, braid swaying with every step, whispering fiercely into Lila's ear like she might bite if pushed.
The Seventh High section rippled as they passed. Heads turned. Scarves shifted.
"That's Andrea," someone whispered. "Thought she was out for the season."
"Heard Sallie played dirty," another hissed. "Smoke grenade trick. Classic ManaTech scam."
The rumors curled through the air—ragged, unverified, hungry. Sallie cheated. Fernandez disgraced. ManaTech meddling again.
Andrea's jaw locked. Her amber eyes narrowed, catching flickers of her name, her fight, her loss. She said nothing as she slid into her seat, the metal bleacher cold even through her jacket.
Javier dropped beside her, his eyes on the pit, where the megascreen looped the moment that still echoed in their bones—Sallie's frag grenade bursting into smoke, masking Celeste's tether, snapping down like judgment.
Lila leaned forward, her grip crinkling the soda can.
"Andrea, they're full of it," she said, voice low but fierce.
"You and Javier were fire. Fourth High just moved like... sorcery. That grenade? Fluke. Nobody with a brain blames you."
Javier's lips twitched—close to a smile, but not quite. His sapphire eyes didn't leave the screen.
"Fluke or not, we got baited." His voice was gravel, quiet.
"Sallie's morphs were too fast. Celeste's grimoire locked down every lane. We held, but..." He flexed his hand, bandage creaking.
"That smoke screen? Covered a teleport node. They planned the whole thing."
Andrea's hands curled, nails biting into her palms.
The megascreen looped her downfall again—briefcase to shotgun, green-smoke slug, her Ember Aegis shattered, her body flying. Her breath hitched—not from pain, but from how right it had gone wrong.
"I didn't see it. I was too focused on incinerating him to spot the setup." Her voice was low. Bitter.
"I walked straight into it."
Marco adjusted his HUD, lenses flickering with playback data. "You pushed them," he said, soft but certain.
"You landed hits. Sallie dodged. Nobody makes him do that." He nodded toward the frame where Andrea's Blazing Tempest had scorched the pit black.
"You nearly caught him mid-phase. That's not nothing."
Sofia stepped closer, her voice cool steel. "The school's with you. Those rumors? Just Tondo bettors scrambling to twist a narrative."
Her gaze swept the surrounding cadets, several of whom suddenly found their shoes fascinating.
"You and Javier fought like legends. That frag was a cheap trick. Doesn't erase the blaze you left behind."
Andrea exhaled, slow and quiet. The weight on her chest didn't lift, but it shifted.
"Thanks," she murmured, voice like coals still burning under ash.
"But Sallie's more than a trickster. That briefcase… it's like he's toying with us. Morphs faster than I can cast." She brushed her Tome, its runes flaring dimly in response.
Javier shifted beside her, his lance CAD humming with sapphire light.
"He's cocky. But not untouchable." His voice hardened.
"Celeste's tethers locked us down. But if we'd seen that smoke coming—just once—we wouldn't have taken the bait."
Lila blinked, almost spilling her drink.
"You're already planning a rematch?"
She glanced at the megascreen—Sallie's post-duel yawn on loop, calibrator spinning like a coin.
"Saavedra's up next. And you're thinking ahead of her?"
Andrea's lips curved—not a smile, but a spark.
"If I get another shot, I'll burn that briefcase before he even thinks of morphing."
Her amber eyes locked on the pit below, where golden light now signaled Trixie Saavedra's arrival.
"That grenade won't save him twice."
A hush fell over the Seventh High section. The tide of whispers slowed, softened. Cadets leaned in, murmurs shifting tone—from doubt to quiet faith.
Javier rested his hand on his lance CAD, sapphire glow steady.
"We didn't lose because we were weak," he said, voice low and certain.
"We lost because Sallie pulled a cheat."
He glanced at Andrea, a rare flicker of warmth in his eyes.
"We'll get 'em, partner."
Andrea met his look, her amber eyes smoldering. She nodded once—sharp, sure. Her Tome's runes flared like a heartbeat catching flame.
"Do you really think Fourth High can get through Third?"
Andrea's voice carried a bitter edge, the words sharp with the sting of her own fall.
"Sallie's chaos is one thing, but Trixie's lance and Mateo's pulses? That's a whole different beast."
Javier Castillo slouched beside her, bandaged forearm resting on one knee, his lance CAD's sapphire runes flickering like a dying ember. His bruised jaw tensed under the arena's neon wash. His sapphire eyes narrowed, locked on the megascreen where Mateo's indigo pulses cracked a mana field in cascading sparks.
"They're not invincible," he said, voice gravel-rough, low but firm.
"Sallie's CAD morphs fast, yeah. But Trixie's precision? That lance doesn't miss. And Mateo's disruption fields—if he hits first, Celeste's tethers won't hold."
Lila, perched behind them, clutched her Mountain Dew like it might steady her nerves. Her short hair shimmered with the flickering light.
"No way, Andrea," she said, voice bright but tight.
"Fourth High's coordination was next-level. That smoke grenade baited you—but Trixie's not falling for that. She's a sniper, not a brawler."
Her eyes darted to the screen, where Sallie's grin ghosted through steam.
"Still... I watched her shred UST's illusions in ten seconds. That's nightmare fuel."
Marco adjusted his HUD glasses, match data flashing across the lenses—Trixie's lance at 1.2 gigajoules, Mateo's pulse frequency at 300 Hz.
"It's not just about teamwork," he said, voice flat but precise.
"Fourth High is unpredictable. Sallie morphs his CAD every three seconds on average. Trixie's lethal, but she's linear—predictable. If Celeste pins her early, Sallie's chaos could overwhelm them." He paused, HUD flaring.
"But if Mateo disrupts their tempo first? FEU takes it."
Sofia, standing at the row's edge, arms crossed, scarf loose around her neck, watched the pit with cool detachment. Her braid swayed slightly as she spoke.
"Third High doesn't waste movement," she said, voice calm, surgical.
"Trixie and Mateo are clean, disciplined. Sallie's too flashy—he yawns, he spins that calibrator like he's showing off."
Her eyes flicked to Andrea, her tone softening.
"You two pushed Fourth High harder than anyone. If they slip? Third will gut them."
Andrea's lips thinned. Her amber gaze locked on the megascreen just as Sallie's briefcase twisted mid-air—spear to shotgun. Her hand tightened on the metal bench, the steel groaning faintly under her grip.
"Sallie's not just flash," she muttered, the words rough with reluctant admiration.
"That briefcase... it's like he's rewriting the fight every second. We burned hot. But he played smart. Trixie's lance? It's a monster. But if he baits her like he baited me..."
Her voice trailed, her Tome's runes flickering like a held breath.
Javier leaned back, arms crossing, bandage stretching at his elbow.
"Mateo's the linchpin," he said, steady and cold.
"His pulses don't just interrupt—they rewrite mana flow. Celeste's tethers are sharp, but if he jams her sigils? Sallie's on his own. And Trixie doesn't need a second shot."
His eyes cut to Andrea, a flicker of respect beneath the calm.
"We almost broke them. Third High might finish it."
Lila's voice jumped, brittle with adrenaline.
"But Sallie's teleport! That shotgun combo!" She gestured toward the screen, where Celeste's silver tethers lashed through vapor.
"He's like a street brawler with a supercomputer in his brain!" Her eyes pleaded.
"Can Trixie even move through that? Her footwork's perfect, but that's—insane."
Marco's HUD glowed brighter, graphs shifting in real time.
"Trixie's lance cast time is 0.8 seconds," he said, matter-of-fact.
"Celeste's tethers bind in 1.2. If Trixie moves first, she'll tear through it. But Sallie's morph window is chaos. They won't predict it unless they lock him immediately."
He adjusted his glasses, eyes sharp behind the data.
"It's sync versus entropy. A perfect match-up."
Sofia leaned forward, her voice cutting through the noise like a scalpel.
"Third High's sharp. Focused. Sallie's always pushing the edge—too far sometimes. If Mateo keeps pressure on, and Trixie doesn't flinch? They'll carve him up."
She looked to Andrea again, her voice low. "But you made him bleed. That matters. You proved he can be hit."
Andrea's gaze held the pit, now cast in a warlit glow. The megascreen shifted—Trixie's green-and-gold armor blazing under the lights, her lance CAD humming with coiled power. Andrea's fingers brushed her Tome, the runes pulsing faintly like a heartbeat.
"If Fourth High wins," she said, her voice quiet but iron-wrapped, "they'll be one step from the Pinnacle. But Trixie's not me. She doesn't fall for smoke and flash. If she lands clean?" She exhaled. "Sallie's done."
The Seventh High section fell into a hush. Scarves stilled. Eyes locked on the pit.
The rumors—of cheap tricks and Clan politics—dimmed, drowned by the weight in Andrea's voice. A truth spoken not with hope, but knowledge.
The crowd's roar swelled—louder than before—as the announcer's voice cracked through the arena, summoning Fourth and Third High to the pit.
Andrea didn't move. Her focus tunneled, locked on the screen—on Sallie's grin, Celeste's glinting grimoire, the smoke that swallowed her last duel.
___
The bleachers vibrated, a sea of dark green and yellow Third High banners clashing against a tide of Fourth High blue-and-red scarves, the crowd's roar a living beast clawing at the steel rafters. The pit below lay scarred—scorched rebar, cracked concrete—a silent stage awaiting the semifinals' storm.
High above, the announcer strode onto the central platform, his IFRP-branded suit glinting under the blaze of arena lights. His holo-mic pulsed orange, mana-infused speakers amping his voice to a thunderous boom that cleaved through the frenzy like a blade. His grin was wide—almost feral—as he soaked in the storm around him and raised a hand. The crowd only half obeyed.
The megascreen clock ticked: 5 minutes to the semifinals.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the Imperial Federal Republic—hold onto your damn seats!"
His voice hit like a battering ram, a street preacher's fire sharpened by adrenaline.
"This ain't just a match—it's a goddamn war! Welcome to the SEA Games semifinals—Fourth High versus Third High! Where spells fly, blood spills, and legends either rise—or crash in flames!"
The arena detonated. Screams, stomps, and the clash of banners became thunder. Softdrink cans clattered underfoot, mana sparks igniting in the haze like fireworks caught mid-battle.
The announcer leaned in, voice dropping to a gritty snarl as his holo-mic pulsed brighter.
"You ready for this shit? 'Cause the pit don't care about your feelings—it's hungry, and these cadets are gonna feed it!"
He spun sharply, arm cutting toward the tunnel as Third High's team emerged. The megascreen zoomed in, live and unforgiving.
Trixie Andalucía Saavedra—her dark green and yellow uniform gleamed like forged jade, her golden lance CAD thrumming with caged violence. Its runes shimmered like heat mirages, casting jagged shadows across the walls.
Beside her, Mateo Vargas moved with quiet dread, his gauntlet CAD's indigo runes flickering like a storm on the verge—contained, but only barely.
"And here they come—tearing outta the gate like a fuckin' typhoon!"
The announcer's voice ripped through the arena.
"Third High's lancer princess from former FEU—Trixie Saavedra, illusion-killer, steel-melter, battlefield surgeon with a weapon that doesn't miss! And the mana-breaker himself—Mateo Vargas, the pulse king, ready to tear magical defenses apart like wet paper!"
The Third High section erupted—scarves tossed in the air, fists raised, feet stomping like drums of war.
The megascreen blazed: Trixie's lance piercing a Sixth High mirage into molten fragments; Mateo's pulses collapsing a barrier in a haze of shattered sigils.
The announcer raised both arms like a prophet mid-rage, his boots stomping the platform. His mic cracked with mana, a pulse of raw magic.
"Get loud, Manila! These warriors are here to carve their names into history—or burn trying!"
His grin was wild, feeding off the crowd's frenzy like fire devouring oxygen. His voice exploded through the arena—a booming, unfiltered thunder that slashed through the roar like a warhorn. The megaclock pulsed: 4 minutes to the semifinals.
He raised a fist, and the crowd responded like a spell had been cast—cheers erupting into a deafening wave.
"You thought Third High brought the heat?" he roared, voice raw and jagged, the bark of a street brawler riding mana-charged reverb.
"Manila, brace yourselves, 'cause Fourth High's about to blow the roof off! These ain't just cadets—they're a goddamn bickering bloodline, and they'll tear through anything in their way!"
The crowd detonated.
Blue-and-red scarves surged like a tsunami.
Softdrink cans clattered beneath stomping boots.
Mana sparks flared, casting warpaint shadows across screaming faces.
The announcer leaned forward, boots pounding the platform, holo-mic crackling with power as his voice dropped to a vicious growl.
"You ready for this chaos? 'Cause Sallie and Celeste Salcedo don't give a shit about your bets or your banners—they're here to wreck and roll!"
He spun and thrust an arm toward the opposite tunnel—
—where Fourth High's team emerged.
The megascreen zoomed in, crisp and brutal:
Sallie Mae Salcedo, tattered blue-and-red uniform whipping in the crossdraft, briefcase CAD slung over one shoulder like it was just another school bag. His grin was a blade's edge—lazy, lethal—as his calibrator spun slow and taunting between his fingers, glinting under the arena lights.
Beside him, Celeste Marie Salcedo moved like a war hymn—precise, composed, her grimoire CAD resting against her thigh, silver sigils cycling in tight formation like stormclouds waiting to break. Her eyes were calm, cold, focused—a tactician's storm wrapped in discipline.
They hung at the tunnel's edge like a prophecy just written.
"Here they come, Manila—the Salcedo Siblings of Fourth High!" the announcer bellowed, his voice a blade flung straight into the heart of the arena.
"Sallie Mae—the wildcard! With a CAD that morphs from shotgun to longsword to gods-know-what faster than you can breathe! He's chaos incarnate—and he's hungry for the pit!"
"And Celeste Marie—the spell queen! Her grimoire locks foes down with elemental magic so clean it's surgical—fire, water, air, light, dark—if it exists, she's already mastered it! She's the reason Seventh High's inferno fell flat, and now they're gunning for Third High's spear!"
"Give it up for Fourth High, you maniacs!"
The crowd exploded.
Fourth High's section leapt to its feet, blue-and-red scarves flaring like war banners in a storm. The megascreen flashed past triumphs—
Sallie's mid-air teleport, his briefcase snapping into a shotgun just before impact.
Celeste's silver magic slicing through smoke, pinning Javier Castillo mid-movement like a moth caught in mercury.
The pit vibrated with anticipation.
The banners whipped like flags before a storm.
And high above, the announcer grinned, knowing the arena was seconds away from detonating.
In the pit, the cadets stood poised, separated by a shimmering mana barrier, its translucent arc humming softly, etched with glowing IFRP runes that pulsed like a heartbeat on the edge of eruption.
---
Sallie Mae Salcedo, slouched like a delinquent god, his tattered blue-and-red uniform rippling faintly in the arena's draft. His briefcase CAD hung from one shoulder, its green runes flickering like a restless signal. His grin was sharp, all teeth and defiance, calibrator spinning slow and deliberate between his fingers. But his eyes—locked on his opponents—were all predator.
Beside him stood Celeste Marie Salcedo, her posture rigid, military-precise. Her grimoire CAD rested against her thigh, silver sigils cycling with metronomic calm across her HUD visor, a tactical storm encoded in light. She didn't flinch. She didn't blink.
Across the barrier
Trixie Andalucía Saavedra stood like a drawn blade, every inch of her framed in lethal intent. Her dark green-and-yellow uniform gleamed like polished armor, her golden lance CAD gripped tight, runes pulsing molten-bright. Her jaw set. Her gaze, unwavering. Her stance, coiled and ready to pierce.
Flanking her, Mateo Vargas exuded controlled volatility. His gauntlet CAD's indigo runes sparked like lightning trapped in glass. His posture was loose, even casual—until you saw the precision behind it. One breath, one flick, and he'd fracture whatever stood in his way.
High above, on a suspended platform, two IFRP officials stepped forward. Their suits shimmered with the subtle glow of imperial techweave, mana gauntlets lit faintly at their wrists.
The lead official—a battle-worn woman with iron-gray hair and a scar running from ear to jaw—raised her holo-mic, its orange pulse slicing through the air.
Her voice hit like a command rune.
"Cadets. Spectators. Warriors of the Imperial Federal Republic."
It rang across the bleachers, through the steel beams, straight into the marrow of every watching soul.
"You stand on the edge of history."
Her gaze swept the pit like a judge preparing the gallows.
"The SEA Games semifinals are no mere contest. They are a crucible—one that forges the future of our Empire. Fourth High's siblings—Sallie and Celeste Salcedo—stand against Third High's unbreakable spear, Trixie Saavedra and Mateo Vargas. Their sync, their will, their fury will set this pit ablaze!"
The crowd erupted, shaking the very steel beneath them.
Mountain Dew cans flew, mana sparks danced, and scarves whipped like banners caught in a storm.
The second official, wiry and sharp-eyed with a shaved head, stepped forward. His gauntlet CAD let out a low hum as he raised a single hand. His voice didn't need volume. It carried like a spell.
"This is not a game for the faint."
Every word landed with the weight of command.
"You wield magic capable of shaping wars. Fight with honor—but fight without mercy. The Empire watches. The Emperor watches. Prove your worth."
The mana barrier between the teams shimmered—then began to thin.
The pit was seconds from fire.
The crowd's roar was a living beast, Fourth High's blue-and-red scarves clashing with Third High's crimson-and-gold banners, the megascreens flashing Sallie Salcedo's shotgun and Trixie Saavedra's lance on a loop like dueling war drums.
The mana barrier dissolved, its runes vanishing into the pit's thick haze.
The megascreen clock burned red: 3… 2… 1…
The klaxon screamed—a piercing wail that tore through the arena, igniting the mana grids with a pulse that rattled the steel bones of the stadium.
The crowd detonated, their cheers crashing like a wave against the rafters.
Mountain dew cans clattered, mana sparks flared, streaking through the air like fireflies caught in a storm.
Sallie Mae Salcedo surged forward—his tattered uniform flaring behind him, briefcase CAD snapping open mid-stride, green runes blazing like emerald fire. The case morphed with a screech of steel, unfolding into a sleek wind-scythe, its curved blade humming with elemental fury.
His grin was feral. His eyes? All kill.
"Let's dance, Saavedra!" he shouted, voice slicing through the klaxon's echo. His calibrator hummed quietly from his pocket—a silent promise of chaos still to come.
Celeste Marie Salcedo held her ground, unmoving. Her grimoire CAD floated just above her palm, steel plates unfolding with cold, mechanical precision.
Silver sigils stormed across her HUD, painting her violet eyes with tactical ice.
"Hexbind Vector: Anchor Field."
Tethers lashed out, silver threads weaving a hexagonal glyph across the pit, anchoring the terrain and slowing Third High's first push. Her eyes locked on Mateo's gauntlet, calculating angles, counters, vulnerabilities.
Trixie Andalucía Saavedra launched like a comet, golden runes lighting her lance as she drove forward, uniform gleaming under the arena lights. Her weapon screamed with mana—a molten arc aimed at Sallie's chest.
The tip sliced air, trailing molten sparks, the concrete blistering where it passed. Her form was surgical—every strike calculated to kill before he could morph again.
Mateo Vargas mirrored her momentum, his gauntlet CAD crackling, indigo runes pulsing like a thunderstorm compressed into flesh.
"Disruption Pulse!"
He cast clean and fast—an indigo shockwave tore through Celeste's tether field, cracking the glyphs with the sound of shattering glass. The mana surge lunged toward her grimoire, aimed to scramble her sigils, break her rhythm.
Sallie reacted mid-spin. His scythe blurred in a wide arc, wind mana trailing like a blade's afterimage, the briefcase clicking as it morphed into a curved shield mid-swing.
Trixie's lance slammed into it—sparks exploded, shockwaves rippling up his arms. He rolled left, narrowly avoiding a trail of flame, boots skidding on the fractured floor.
"Nice try, Trix!" he grinned. The shield snapped back into a scythe as he lunged, weaving through jagged rebar with a madman's grace.
Celeste slid back, boots scraping, her grimoire shuddering as Mateo's pulse grazed it. Her HUD flickered once. She recalibrated instantly.
"Ice Elemental—Mirror Frame: Reflect Spike!"
A silver barrier flared, catching the tail of the pulse and hurling it sideways—it slammed into a rebar wall with a sound like thunder, erupting into sparks.
Her tethers lashed out again, this time zeroing in on Trixie's lance arm, the silver threads coiling like vipers to restrict her next strike.
"Onii-sama, flank right!" she called, her grimoire flaring, sigils spinning faster as she rebuilt the Anchor Field beneath their feet.
The pit became a maelstrom
Sallie's scythe clashing with Trixie's lance, green and gold exploding in a storm of steel and heat.
Celeste's tethers dancing through the chaos, intercepting Mateo's next pulse with surgical timing.
Shockwaves cracked the floor, concrete rupturing, glyphs warping in the heat.
Megascreens flashed in rapid cuts—Sallie's CAD morphing mid-swing, Trixie's lance cutting close, Celeste's silver threads blinding, Mateo's pulses fracturing light.
The air warped with raw mana. The arena shook as Fourth High's entropy collided with Third High's precision.
Celeste Marie Salcedo held the backline—a pillar of control amid the chaos. Her grimoire CAD floated steady above her palm, steel plates unfolding with crisp, mechanical clicks. Silver sigils cycled across her HUD like clockwork lightning, her violet eyes glinting with tactical precision.
Her voice was calm. Steady.
Silver magic lashed out, threads of mana weaving a jagged glyph that snapped around Mateo Vargas's gauntlet arm mid-cast.
The indigo runes on his CAD stuttered, pulsing erratically as her tethers locked him down, pinning his next Disruption Pulse before it could fire.
Her HUD flared—data flashing: Mateo's mana output, Trixie's lance trajectory. Her fingers twitched—
A golden arc blazed in, Trixie's lance screaming toward her.
Celeste shifted, redirecting it with a silver barrier.
The impact rang like a temple bell, sparks cascading across the concrete. Her posture didn't break.
Every cast was exact. Every motion optimized. No waste. No fear.
—
Sallie Mae Salcedo was the storm—the other half of the storm. His tattered blue-and-red uniform flared as he darted between rebar, his briefcase CAD already shifting.
Scythe to longsword—
The blade hummed low as it sliced through the haze.
Trixie countered, her golden lance thrusting in a molten arc, uniform gleaming like she'd stepped from a forge.
Sallie's longsword flicked up, parrying with a clash that showered sparks. His CAD clicked again—a shotgun now, mid-morph, pressed into the opening she left.
Boom.
A slug of water and wind mana slammed into her lance shaft, driving her back. Her boots skidded across scorched concrete, heat trailing her path.
She shifted to defense—lance spinning, runes flaring.
Sallie's grin widened.
Click. Morph.
Revolver. Left hand.
A focused mana dart cracked from the barrel, grazing her shoulder, singeing her uniform.
"Keep up, Saavedra!" he taunted, his voice slicing through the crowd's roar.
Another morph—dual micro-Uzis, green runes flaring.
A storm of mana-charged pellets roared toward her.
Trixie raised a blazing Aegis, blocking fast—eyes burning, stance braced.
But Sallie was already moving, CAD clicking again—
Trixie lunged. Lance flaring, aiming for his flank.
Blast shield.
One beat before impact.
Green runes pulsed. Her molten strike slammed into the barrier, shaking the pit, cracking the floor beneath their feet.
She staggered—momentum broken.
Sallie didn't hesitate.
Shield collapsed—morphing in a flash.
Sledgehammer.
The head glowed with dense wind mana, pressure coiling with each step.
"Gotcha!" he roared, swinging low and brutal.
Trixie tried to twist—her lance rising—but the hammer hit with the force of a wrecking spell.
Her Aegis shattered, and she crashed into a rebar wall, the concrete folding with her.
Dust erupted.
Her lance clattered.
She dropped to one knee, breath sharp, runes flickering like a dying star.
—
Mateo surged, fury in motion. His gauntlet flared, indigo pulses arcing as he cast—
"Disruption Wave!"
The shockwave fractured Celeste's glyph, mana tearing through the edge lines.
Her HUD flickered.
Her focus didn't.
"Mirror Frame: Counter Bind."
Her grimoire pulsed, silver light flaring.
A new tether snapped out, coiling around Mateo's other arm, binding him mid-cast. His arms locked, movement stilled.
Her first tether tightened again—a dual restraint.
Sallie's sledgehammer twisted back to scythe—green flare spinning in a wide arc toward Trixie's exposed flank.
The pit erupted—mana crackling, steel ringing, crowd screaming.
Celeste's control. Sallie's chaos.
Perfect sync.
Relentless pressure.
Fourth High's siblings were forcing Third High to the edge—and the arena felt it, every heartbeat of it, shaking with the force of magic and momentum.
___
In the Third High section, green and yellow scarves hung mid-air, frozen like battle flags in retreat. Students stared in silence, the megascreen looping Sallie Salcedo's last-second switch—blast shield to sledgehammer, Trixie sent flying into rebar.
A wiry cadet hunched forward, HUD glasses askew, his hand white-knuckling the bleacher rail.
"He switched twice in a blink…" he muttered, voice trembling beneath the crowd's roar.
"That's not morph-speed. That's CAD sorcery."
His scarf slipped down his back unnoticed as the footage played again: Trixie's lance blazing, Aegis flaring—then crunch—Sallie's hammer crashing home.
Beside him, a girl with a green tie loosened at the collar crushed a SparkVita against her thigh.
"She had the read," she hissed, disbelief turning her voice sharp.
"She had him—and he still flipped the fight. That wasn't a counter. That was premonition."
Her braid swung as she turned, scanning the screen again, watching Sallie's grin blink in and out of view. Around her, cadets whispered in disbelief
"No reflexes are that fast."
"He's got to be using some custom tech."
A broad-shouldered cadet in a crimson-collared jacket rose to his feet, eyes locked on the megascreen where Celeste's tethers strangled Mateo's cast.
"Mateo should've cut the tempo—should've jammed him."
He flexed his fists, voice a low grind of frustration.
"But that CAD… it's not reacting. It's anticipating."
The edge in his tone wasn't just awe. It was the ache of watching Third High's best get outplayed—not with brute force, but with tempo-breaking chaos.
---
Across the arena, Fourth High erupted.
Blue-and-red scarves whipped through the air, and the megascreen replayed the moment again—Sallie's hammer swinging in, concrete exploding, Trixie crumpling beneath the blow.
A lanky cadet, sleeves rolled to the elbow, jumped to his feet, nearly spilling his drink.
"You see that curve? That was a reverse morph out of defense stance!"
He slapped the bleacher rail, laughing breathlessly.
"Sallie doesn't just fight—he composes fights. Like music. Loud music!"
Nearby, a girl in a blue-and-red headband, her HUD visor flashing real-time diagnostics, clutched her friend's arm.
"Scythe to sword, to shotgun, to micros, and he still had bandwidth for that hammer swing?" she said, half-gasp, half-religion.
"He's not just fighting Trixie. He's rewriting the fight around her."
Her visor glinted with reflections of runes flaring green, silver, gold.
"Celeste locked Mateo like a vice—and Sallie delivered the hit like a reaper."
One row down, a cadet with blue face paint smeared across his cheeks leaned forward, pointing at the screen with both hands.
"Sallie's CAD isn't a weapon. It's a wild card with a grudge."
His voice shook with excitement, pride blooming like a riot.
"And Trixie? She blinked. That's all it took."
Celeste Marie Salcedo stood unwavering on the backline, her grimoire CAD floating above her palm, steel plates clicking into place with clinical precision.
Silver sigils spiraled across her HUD visor, a storm of data etching her violet eyes with icy focus. Her blue-and-red uniform, singed from earlier clashes, hugged her frame as her boots anchored deep into scorched concrete.
"Hexbind Vector: Stranglehold!"
Her voice sliced through the chaos—a scalpel's edge, cold and exact.
Tethers snapped forward, silver mana threads coiling like serpents around Mateo Vargas's gauntlet, halting his charge mid-stride.
Indigo runes stuttered. His Disruption Pulse sputtered, locked down as the tethers constricted, shimmering like liquid steel.
Her HUD flared—3.4 gigajoules, dropping fast—and with a twitch of her wrist, she redirected his momentum, collapsing his angle of attack without a wasted step. Her eyes never left the field; every cast a silent stitch in their shared rhythm.
Sallie Mae Salcedo tore across the pit like a wild current, his tattered blue-and-red uniform whipping as he skimmed twisted rebar with reckless ease.
His briefcase CAD snapped open, green runes flaring like wildfire—sledgehammer to shotgun in a flicker, barrels humming with compressed water and wind mana.
Trixie Saavedra lunged, her golden lance CAD blazing in a molten arc toward his chest.
"Tamaraw Pierce!" she shouted, her green-and-yellow uniform gleaming, eyes locked with fiery precision.
Sallie fired.
The slug clipped her shoulder, searing her uniform, knocking her half-step off balance. Her lance cleaved empty air—inches from his chest—as she staggered, runes flickering under strain.
Sallie's grin widened.
His CAD shifted again—a flail now, the spiked head trailing green light as it hummed with mana, pulsing like thunder on a chain.
"Got you now!"
His voice slashed through the crowd's roar, perfectly timed with Celeste's opening.
The flail cracked outward—a coiled whip of destruction—and slammed Trixie's shoulder, snapping her lance arm back. Her footing faltered, her stance unraveling under the blow.
The megascreens zoomed in: Sallie, relentless, his CAD a blur of emerald fury, the flail arcing again.
The crowd erupted, a surge of noise that hit the rafters like a wave of flame. Scarves whipped. Hands flew to mouths.
Third High reeled. Fourth High rose.
On the backline, Celeste recalibrated.
Mateo thrashed, gauntlet crackling, indigo pulses flaring hot—but the tether held.
"Mirror Frame: Reinforce Bind!"
Her voice was steel through silk.
A second weave locked down his free arm, glyphs latching shut as sparks flared and died. His pulses fizzled, caged in silver light.
She flicked her gaze toward Sallie.
Sallie's flail spun faster, raining blows on Trixie's raised Aegis, the golden barrier flickering—then fracturing, fine cracks spiderwebbing across its shell.
He pressed harder. She blocked, faltering.
The siblings moved like mirrors spinning on the same axis—Sallie's chaos, Celeste's control, one force.
Trixie dodged, barely—her lance skidding along the floor, carving molten scars into cracked concrete.
Celeste redirected a stray pulse—a flick of her grimoire, sending it crashing into a rebar stack with a concussive boom.
Green and silver warred against gold and indigo.
Concrete groaned. Mana grids screamed. The pit seethed with light and heat.
Trixie Andalucia Saavedra staggered upright, concrete dust cascading off her once-pristine uniform.
Her golden lance CAD flared, molten runes igniting along its shaft, casting jagged shadows across the pit like a burning sigil of defiance.
Her jaw was clenched, blood trailing from her temple, but her grip was steady—unyielding fury burning behind her eyes.
She raised her lance, runes pulsing like caged suns, and unleashed.
A beam of radiant gold howled forward, slicing through the arc of Sallie's flail—the mana chain vaporizing mid-spin, sparks snapping as it unraveled.
The beam didn't slow. It tore through a rebar cluster at the pit's edge, melting steel into slag, the air warping from raw heat.
Sallie's grin faltered.
He dove left, boots skimming the floor in a barely-controlled roll behind a jagged slab of concrete.
The beam struck the slab's edge—scorching it black, heat cracking stone with a gunshot pop.
His briefcase CAD, still mid-morph in flail form, pulsed angrily, its spiked head swinging wide, runeless for a second too long.
"Shit, Trix—you don't quit!" he barked, adrenaline stripping the taunt down to grit.
His eyes flicked to Celeste—just a heartbeat—searching for an opening, the hum of his calibrator steady now, itching for another form.
Celeste Marie Salcedo didn't flinch.
Her grimoire CAD hovered above her palm, silver sigils cycling like turbine blades, her violet eyes locked onto Trixie's advancing form.
Her HUD flashed red—thermal spike detected. 1.5 gigajoules and climbing.
Still, she held her tethers tight—Mateo's arms bound, his indigo runes flickering, the last of his momentum sputtering out.
"Onii-sama, flank left!"
Her tone was surgical, cold steel sheathing strategy.
Her fingers snapped once—tethers realigning to Mateo's shifting weight, counterbalancing his final lunge.
Her boots scraped as she reset her stance, her visor recalibrating sync intervals.
She had seconds. She gave Sallie all of them.
Trixie didn't wait.
She charged—lance low, a comet of molten gold aimed square at Sallie's heart.
Each step cracked concrete.
Her runes flared brighter with every stride, the lance's trail a molten slash through the pit.
The megascreen locked onto her—
Sweat streaking her jaw. Eyes narrowed like a drawn bowstring.
A warrior. A storm. A final strike coming unchained.
The crowd screamed.
Third High's banners surged, their roar a rising tide crashing against the pit walls.
Sallie stayed low, his CAD humming—a pressure cooker of wind and water mana.
Green runes flickered, flickered… then flared.
Mateo Vargas stood resolute, his crimson-and-gold uniform stained with dust, indigo runes pulsing across his gauntlet CAD like the heartbeat of a storm. His eyes narrowed, locked on Celeste's silhouette.
"Fracture Pulse!" he roared, voice cutting through the chaos.
A wave of disruptive mana shattered the air. The shockwave slammed into a concrete pillar nearby—thunderclap impact, steel-threaded debris exploding outward, the crowd gasping as dust clouded the pit.
Celeste slid back, boots scraping scorched concrete, uniform singed but stance stable. Her HUD flickered, sigils stuttering under pulse interference, but her violet eyes blazed with calculated calm.
"Mirror Frame: Reflect!" she snapped.
Steel plates clicked; a shimmering barrier snapped into place. The pulse struck, warped the air—but the barrier redirected it upward, detonating inside the ceiling. Chunks of concrete rained down, rebars clanged, chaos inhaled and flung skyward.
Mateo's pinned right arm strained—it quivered against the tethers, runes sputtering at 2.8 gigajoules and falling.
"Onii-sama, now!" Her call rang precise.
Sallie Mae Salcedo struck.
A blur in a tattered uniform, he weaved through shattered pillars with reckless precision. His CAD morphed from flail to polearm, the spearhead humming with wind mana—then immediately morphed into a crossbow, string taut and loaded with water-laced bolt.
His grin was savage.
"Eat this, Vargas!"
The bolt streaked across the pit, grazing Mateo's gauntlet. Indigo runes stuttered with crackling disruption—Mateo's next pulse balking, body staggering as embers flickered out under pneumatic shock.
Trixie saw her opening.
Trixie Andalucia Saavedra surged forward, dark green-and-yellow uniform streaking under flood lights. Her golden lance flared, molten fury blazing down the shaft.
Her beam erupted like a comet—Sallie stayed put, CAD morphing mid-attack into a tower shield in a heartbeat. Runes flared as he absorbed the molten blast with a deafening clang, force rippling through his arms.
"He's a rock," Trixie murmured through clenched teeth.
Sallie grunted forward, shield pounding into her chest. She staggered, lance dragging sparks along the pit's warped concrete.
Trixie countered, lance spinning to thrust again. But Sallie was already gone—CAD flickering as the shield morphed in mid-motion into an impact grenade.
"Catch!"
He lobbed it at her feet. Her Aegis flared, a desperate barrier—but the grenade exploded. A storm of wind and water mana roared outward, slamming her backward into twisted rebar and dust clouds. Her lance clattered out of reach.
The crowd detonated—Fourth High's banners snapping across the arena, megascreens zooming on Sallie's grenade flash.
Celeste's tethers held, silver threads lacing tighter around Mateo as he struggled—gauntlet crackling with defiance.
Her HUD recalibrated, tracking Trixie's faltering runes. She realigned the Glyph Anchor, prepping another layer just as Sallie steadied his breath, calibrator humming a new shape—waiting.
---
Andrea Cervantes Fernandez sat rigid in the Seventh High stands, her maroon-and-grey uniform taut against her bandaged shoulder—a dull echo of the duel she'd lost.
Her grey eyes widened, blazing with bitter familiarity as the megascreen replayed Sallie's instant CAD switch: tower shield to impact grenade, green runes flaring before the blast sent Trixie staggering.
Her fingers curled into clenched fists, nails biting deep. The Tome of Embers at her hip pulsed faintly, crimson runes awakening to mirror the fury rising in her chest. The crowd roared, a crashing sea—but Andrea's vision shrouded everything but the pit.
She leaned forward; the metal bleacher bit through her jacket as the grenade explosion looped.
"Same damn trick," she murmured, voice gravel-thin. Ash-bitter.
Her mind flared back to Round Two: Sallie's frag grenade creating smoke cover, masking Celeste's tether strike as Andrea's own Blazing Tempest stumbled—and she was hurled through concrete. The memory flared: Sallie's grin, his CAD morphing faster than her flames could track.
Javier Castillo, slouched beside her, his lance CAD humming restlessly at his side, followed her line of sight. His sapphire eyes narrowed at the replay.
"He's running the same script," he said, voice steady despite loss.
"Smoke, chaos, bait… then the strike. He tricked Trixie like he did us."
Lila, perched behind them, gripped her dented drink can so tightly it crinkled. Her short hair glowed under the neon lights as she leaned in, eyes wide.
"Andrea, that grenade—it's pulled straight from your match." Her voice shook.
"He's got Trixie reeling with your shadow. How is he that fast?"
---
Marco, adjusting his HUD glasses as data scrolled across the lenses, spoke quietly but urgently.
"It's not just speed."
He leaned forward, eyes flicking between field and screen.
"Sallie's CAD morph cycle ticks at .8 seconds—faster than what blindsided you. That grenade exploit Aligns with Mateo's pulse delay. He used your bait-and-switch—but now it's refined."
Sofia, braid swaying, stood at the row's edge, maroon-and-grey scarf loose around her neck. She watched Trixie stagger to her feet, lance flickering.
"He's mocking the lot of us." Her voice dropped low, laced with grudging respect.
"That smoke trick in Round Two? That was a beta. Now he's playing the pit like it's his board."
She looked at Andrea, softer now.
"You came closest, Andrea. Trixie has a shot—if she breaks the pattern."
Andrea's eyes burned beneath the replay—the grin, the CAD shift to flail, then grenade. She brushed her Tome; its runes pulsed faintly, demanding rewrite, retaliation, rematch.
"He baited me with smoke, blinded me—and hit with that slug,"
she said, pain fading into resolve.
"Trixie's lance is stronger. But Sallie's choreography is what masks the strike. If she doesn't break his rhythm…"
The statement went unspoken.
The roar swelled. Seventh High's scarves waved in defiance.
But Andrea's world had narrowed to one focus: she would never be baited again.
---
Trixie Andalucía Saavedra staggered, her uniform streaked with dust, charred at the shoulder, golden lance CAD flickering. The heavy burn from the grenade impact left her breath ragged, knees trembling. She gripped the lance tighter, its hum faltering, against the wall's edge—her stance wobbly, strength waning with every pulse.
Mateo Vargas surged beside her, eyes flashing sapphire concern. His gauntlet CAD crackled; indigo runes sputtered as he strained. Yet Celeste's silver tethers held firm—"Stranglehold" cutting off his Disruption Pulse before it could ignite.
"Trixie, hold on!" he rasped, desperation threading his voice as Trixie's back inched ever closer to the pit's edge.
At the backline, Celeste Marie Salcedo stood unwavering—a sentinel. Her grimoire CAD hovered calm above her palm, steel plates clicking in sync. Silver sigils cycled in a frenzied pattern over her HUD; violet eyes locked in tactical focus.
"Amplify Protocol: Surge Boost," she intoned—precise, cold.
A radiant glyph enveloped Sallie: a mana surge fueling his next morph.
At the same moment, Celeste's tethers snapped around Trixie's lance, steel-like cords pinning her weapon mid-thrust. The golden beam sputtered; the lance quivered.
She dove forward—a mana dagger materializing in her fist. Silver and indigo sparks erupted as she clashed with Mateo's gauntlet, binding battlefield momentum to her rhythm.
Trixie raised her last weapon, gathering every ounce of mana.
The beam lanced out—a smaller comet of molten gold, scorching the air toward Sallie's flank. Her body shook, but still shone with fierce resolve.
Sallie Mae Salcedo was ready.
His tattered uniform fluttering in the pit's heat, he morphed mid-step—flail to tesla staff, prongs crackling electric blue, courtesy of Celeste's Surge Boost.
His grin slashed the air.
"Nice try, Trix!"
The staff arced a bolt of electric mana that streaked across the floor. It slammed into Trixie mid-beam, the strike knocking her lance sideways. Lightning flared across her body; her uniform smoked.
She convulsed, lance clattering out of her grip as she collapsed to one knee—her runes sputtering out. The crowd gasped. Megascreens zoomed in on her faltering form, the strike's brutality clear as dust and sparks swirled around her.
Sallie Mae Salcedo darted through the pit, his tattered blue-and-red uniform whipping behind him, briefcase CAD snapping open with a metallic screech.
Green runes flared like storm-beaten emeralds as it morphed into a longbow, its sleek frame humming with wind mana. His grip tightened on the string, sweat beading at his brow, eyes locked with a hunter's focus on Trixie and Mateo.
Celeste Marie Salcedo held the backline—a storm in stillness. Her grimoire CAD hovered beside her, steel plates clicking as silver sigils cycled across her HUD visor. Her violet gaze never wavered as she summoned an astral bow, translucent and gleaming with silver mana. It drew back in perfect sync with Sallie's longbow.
There was no need for words—only rhythm.
A silent pulse. A shared breath. One mind, two hearts.
"Twin Tempest Shot!" they cried in unison—voices sharp as a drawn blade.
Sallie's longbow fired first: a colossal arrow of compressed wind and green mana screamed forward. A heartbeat later, Celeste's silver arrow wove into it mid-flight—interlacing in midair, forming a coalesced bolt of spinning force and precision, streaking like a comet through the pit.
The crowd fell silent.
Trixie, weakened, smoke curling from her shoulders, raised her golden lance CAD, its flickering runes barely holding as she formed a final Aegis shield. Her stance trembled, but her glare still burned.
Mateo, arms still bound by Celeste's tethers, strained to cast Fracture Pulse, indigo sparks dancing—but it was too late.
The Twin Tempest Shot struck.
The blast hit Trixie's shield like a meteor—a detonation of silver and green mana that shattered the Aegis into shards of golden light. The shockwave hurled both cadets backward, their bodies crashing through a concrete wall at the pit's edge—rebar shrieking as it split, debris raining as they tumbled out of bounds.
The klaxon screamed.
Mana grids dimmed.
Silence.
Then—eruption.
Sallie landed in a crouch, boots skimming scorched concrete. His briefcase CAD folded closed, runes dimming, the fight's end etched in the ragged rise and fall of his breath. His grin returned—sharp, winded, victorious.
Celeste lowered her bow. Her sigils slowed, her HUD darkened. She stood tall, sleeves singed, visor cracked but unreadable. One last scan of the field confirmed what her HUD already told her: they'd won.
Fourth High's section exploded—blue-and-red scarves streaking through the air like a monsoon, their chants of "SALLIE! CELESTE!" shaking the stadium rafters. The megascreens looped the Twin Tempest Shot in slow motion—arrows weaving, Aegis shattering, bodies flung, victory written in light and ruin.
Third High's crowd was frozen, their dark green-and-yellow banners limp. Faces pale. No cheers. No recovery.
In the rubble at the pit's edge, Trixie and Mateo lay stunned, runes dark.
Fourth High was through to the finals.
And the Salcedo siblings' rhythm was no longer just sync.
It was domination.
High above, on the central platform, the announcer strode forward, his IFRP-branded suit gleaming, holo-mic pulsing orange like a live ember. His grin was wide—feral, feeding off the arena's raw voltage. He raised both arms, dragging the crowd's frenzy to a fever pitch, their cheers shaking the steel rafters.
"Manila, you've just witnessed a goddamn massacre!" he roared, his voice unfiltered, thundering through mana-charged speakers.
"Fourth High's Sallie and Celeste Salcedo didn't just win—they tore the pit apart! That Twin Tempest Shot? A masterstroke of chaos and control! Third High is out Of Bounds!"
He paced along the platform's edge, eyes wide, soaking in the madness.
"These siblings are a storm—and they're headed straight for the finals!"
The arena detonated.
Fourth High's section became a warzone of celebration—blue-and-red scarves surging, students leaping, Coca-Cola cans toppling, mana sparks flaring like fireworks in a hurricane. The announcer leaned into the mic, voice dropping into a gravel-lined snarl.
"Sallie's morphing madness. Celeste's tether precision. They just rewrote the goddamn rulebook! The Empire's watching—and these two? They're carving their names into history."
A final growl—"Give it up for your semifinal victors: FOURTH HIGH!"
---
In the pit, Sallie Mae Salcedo slouched against a scorched rebar pillar, his blue-and-red uniform in tatters, briefcase CAD slung over his shoulder, its green runes dim but humming.
He yawned wide—long and deliberate—jaw cracking as if he'd just woken from a nap, not ended a war.
His sweat-soaked bangs clung to his brow. One lazy swipe through his hair.
The crowd's thunder washed over him.
He didn't flinch.
His grin, sharp and lazy, said everything: This was just warm-up.
Beside him, Celeste Marie Salcedo stood tall—still, controlled. Her singed sleeves and rigid stance made her look like a general surveying a battlefield.
Her grimoire CAD hovered for a moment longer, then folded shut, its sigils fading like extinguished stars.
Her HUD visor flickered down, revealing violet eyes as cold as precision steel.
She raised one hand—pointed fingers forming a crisp #1 that caught the floodlight and seared across the arena.
The crowd surged again—"SALLIE! CELESTE!" pounding through the stadium like cannon fire.
Blue-and-red banners whipped like war flags.
Celeste didn't smile.
She didn't need to.
Third High's section sat frozen.
Scarves limp.
Mouths silent.
Defeat sinking in like fog.
The announcer's final words hit like a hammer:
"Get loud, Manila! Fourth High's siblings are coming for the Pinnacle!"
The stadium shook.
Sallie yawned.
Celeste raised her fingers.
And the Empire listened.
Andrea Cervantes Fernandez sat rigid in the Seventh High section, her black jacket stretched taut over her bandaged shoulder, pain a constant drumbeat in the background. Her amber eyes tracked the megascreen, fixed on the replay of Sallie's briefcase CAD morphing into that humming tesla staff, the flash of lightning catching Trixie mid-charge.
Her fingers curled around the edge of the cold metal bleacher.
"He didn't improvise," she muttered, her voice clipped.
"That wasn't luck. That was mapped—five moves ahead."
The Tome of Embers at her hip flared faintly, crimson runes stirring with the same flickering pulse that churned in her chest.
Javier Castillo, shoulders hunched beside her, eyes dark beneath his fringe, nodded slowly.
"That grenade wasn't just bait—it was rhythm control," he said, low and tired.
"Trixie stepped where he wanted her. The staff just sealed it."
His lance CAD buzzed quietly in its case, not out of rage, but a quiet demand: learn faster.
"He's not just fast. He's orchestrating chaos." He exhaled. "Like a damn conductor."
Lila, crouched behind them, no longer angry but stunned, held her crumpled Mountain Dew can in both hands like a relic.
"I don't get it," she whispered, eyes wide. "He made her look predictable. Trixie. Trixie."
She glanced between the megascreen and Andrea. "She's never been predictable."
Marco, adjusting his HUD visor, spoke like he was trying to convince himself.
"Morph time's not even the scary part anymore," he said.
"It's the sync rate. Celeste saw Mateo's lag, and Sallie fired before the pulse even fizzled. It's preemptive coordination. Scripted chaos."
He tapped furiously at his visor.
"They're not just reacting. They're baiting conditions to trigger pre-loaded options. Like code."
Sofia, standing at the row's edge, her voice quieter than usual, added,
"Trixie brought everything she had. Mateo too."
She looked down. "They didn't lose because they weren't strong enough. They lost because they were read."
Then, softly to Andrea: "You almost broke that rhythm. I think Sallie remembered."
---
In the Third High section, the energy had collapsed into a stunned silence.
A younger cadet whispered, "Trixie's shield should've held…" but his voice trailed off as the megascreen looped the Twin Tempest Shot again.
No chants. Just the hollow flicker of disbelief.
A girl in a blazer two sizes too big mumbled,
"She pivoted right before the bolt. Just like against Redshift High."
Another cadet beside her shook his head.
"And Sallie baited that pivot. That bastard made it look like a mistake."
A heavy-set boy stood slowly, eyes on the pit.
"It's not cheating," he said, voice flat.
"It's worse. It's control."
He looked toward the skybox. "They're going to eat the finals alive."
---
Andrea's gaze never left the screen.
"Trixie's strike should've landed," she said, not bitter, just measured.
"If it were a solo fight, maybe it would've."
Her Tome pulsed brighter, responding to her heartbeat. "But it wasn't. It never is with them."
She looked down at her bandaged shoulder.
"He's not unbeatable. But he is writing the rules. And we're still memorizing them."
---
The neon-lit alleys of Tondo crackled with restless energy. Air thick with the stink of grease smoke and mana-vape haze, street vendors slung fishballs beside betting dens papered in faded IFRP posters and burnt-out credit slips.
Across the metro, Divisoria's black-market sprawl pulsed with the same fever dream—knockoff CAD batteries hawked beside pirated CAD skins, while bookies scribbled frantically on glowing slates, odds shifting by the second.
And in Quezon City, on smoke-choked rooftops bathed in flickering holo-signs, the roar of gamblers spilled out onto the humid skyline, every clink of credits timed to a megascreen replay of Sallie and Celeste Salcedo's semifinal killshot—their Twin Tempest Shot ripping through Trixie Saavedra's Aegis, hurling her and Mateo Vargas clean out of bounds.
The underworld didn't just celebrate.
It profited.
---
In a sweat-slick betting den in Tondo, Jolo leaned back in a cracked plastic chair, tank top glued to his skin. His holo-tab flared, credits flowing in real time as Sallie's tesla staff lit up the screen. The green-and-silver arrow of the final shot followed.
"Told you, pare!" he barked, slamming a palm on the table, rattling empty SparkVita cans and waking a snoring vendor.
"Sallie and Celeste? Gold mine. I dumped three months of creds and now look—seven figures!"
He grinned wide, eyes wild, digital currency pinging into his account like rainfall on steel.
---
In Divisoria, inside a neon-drenched betting stall jammed between two vape booths, Lima grinned as her pink hair caught the flash of Fourth High's updated odds—now 1.3:1.
Her chipped nails danced across her tab, cashing out again.
The crowd pressed in, watching the loop of Sallie's morph—grenade to staff in 0.6 seconds.
"They're unstoppable," she snorted, swiping another win.
"I dropped half my savings after round two—now I'm gonna buy my cousin's whole jeep."
Behind her, vendors paused mid-sale, stunned into silence by the megascreen's replay.
---
Up in Quezon City, where the rooftop air hung heavy with cigar smoke and ozone, Rico the Bookie paced tight circles. His HUD glasses flashed green with every wager cashed, the holo-ledgers ballooning.
The megascreen blared—Celeste's tethers catching Vargas, Sallie's longbow loosing the killshot—and the parlor exploded with cheers.
"These kids are walking ATMs!" Rico barked, throwing a wad of physical creds to a grinning gambler in a bootleg Fourth High scarf.
"They don't fight. They perform."
He adjusted his glasses—another 20% spike in bets. He didn't care who won the finals anymore. As long as the siblings kept morphing, he kept eating.
---
Across the metro, the fever built.
In Tondo, bettors raised cans to Sallie's lazy yawn and Celeste's blade-sharp #1 gesture, their victory a shared anthem.
In Divisoria, a vendor who'd just gone six-for-six on the Salcedos bought out a stall's entire mana-vape stock, cackling as he paid in fresh-won creds.
And in Quezon, cheers shook the rooftop as the megascreen once again showed Trixie's shield fracture—the moment gamblers became legends.
The siblings' win wasn't just a bracket breaker.
It was a heist.
And the underworld?
It cashed in—big.
---
Outside the Mall of Asia Arena, the night air simmered with Manila's urban burn—diesel fumes curling through mana sparks, the far-off snarl of hovercycles weaving down EDSA's neon arteries. The roar of Fourth High chants bled through the arena walls like a muffled heartbeat, but in the shadow of a towering holo-billboard, the three cadets from the USNA Stars stood in absolute stillness.
On the screen, it played again—Sallie and Celeste Salcedo's Twin Tempest Shot, a spiraling lance of green and silver mana ripping Trixie Saavedra's Aegis to shrapnel and blasting her and Mateo Vargas through solid concrete.
Not one of the Stars spoke.
Not yet.
---
Angelina Kudou Shields stood in the center, her midnight-blue uniform crisp despite the cloying humidity, silver trim catching the billboard's glow. Her golden hair shimmered faintly, but it was her eyes—emerald, cold, unblinking—that cut through the light. Her hands rested on her hips, her fingers grazing the sleek, violet-lit gauntlet CAD at her side. Her jaw was clenched. Every flicker of the morph—from tesla staff to longbow, every echo of Celeste's tether timing—burned itself into her mind's ledger.
It's not chaos, she thought grimly.
It's orchestration. Calculated madness.
When the screen flashed Sallie's lazy yawn, followed by Celeste's pointed #1, something inside her snapped taut.
They're not just Mendez's cadets. They're his message.
To her left, Cassandra Kwon watched in brittle silence. Her dark ponytail clung to the nape of her neck, her athletic frame rigid in the heat. Her amber-braced CAD pulsed softly on her wrist. Her brown eyes were locked on the screen's looping impact—green and silver swallowing gold, the collision not just physical but symbolic.
She didn't flinch. But she wanted to.
"I thought I was ready," she whispered in her head.
But even from the sideline, even as recon—they'd felt scripted. Controlled. Deadly.
That's not teamwork. That's a shared weapon system.
Her gaze flicked to Angelina. If this was what Mendez was exporting, the Clans needed to stop preparing and start countering.
On the right, Amon Reyes said nothing.
He rarely did.
Broad-shouldered and silent, the light from the billboard played across his dark eyes and the faint scar cutting his cheek. His crimson-rune vambrace buzzed faintly, as if echoing the tension in his chest. The screen looped Celeste's tethers locking Mateo—flawless. Surgical. He ground his teeth.
That sync… it's not normal. It's artificial. Engineered.
He knew precision. He trained for it.
This wasn't training. This was warfare under a school's badge.
And the way Sallie grinned through it all—like he was playing for fun—made Amon's stomach twist.