The marble beneath Kazuo's feet still pulsed faintly with the activation rune — and yet, he was already moving.
No hesitation.
He launched forward.
A blur of black hair and clenched fists, his boots scraping the glowing surface as he sprinted straight toward one target — Aoi.
The crowd didn't even have time to process. A collective inhale followed him like a wave — the sudden shock of someone daring to move first.
Across the circle, Aoi barely shifted.
Just as Kazuo's fist came in — fast, raw, tight toward his chest — Aoi turned his body with a lazy pivot, the scarf around his neck catching a breeze.
Kazuo missed by inches.
Before he could recover, Aoi's arm came up, not in a counter, but in a block — forearm to forearm, clean and sharp.
They stood locked for half a second. Then Aoi's voice, calm and clear:
"So you really do hate me."
Kazuo gritted his teeth. "I need to eliminate the biggest threat."
Aoi blinked once — slowly, like he hadn't expected honesty.
Then he shoved Kazuo back with surprising force.
Kazuo staggered two steps but held his ground. Around the arena, the others didn't speak — but they watched. Tension now had a direction.
Rulthan cracked his knuckles, already stepping forward. Kaya shifted her weight onto one leg. Sylvain tilted his head slightly, like watching a stage play begin.
Aoi adjusted his scarf with the same ease one might brush away dust.
"You know I'm not the only threat here," he said calmly.
Kazuo didn't reply — but behind the silence, his thoughts burned.
Everyone was watching him. Everyone wanted him gone.
That's what he thought.
Until something blurred past Kazuo's peripheral vision — not toward him, but straight at Aoi.
Yuki.
The fighter moved like mist in motion — soft, silent, sudden.
He didn't leap. He didn't yell. He simply appeared in Aoi's blind spot, pivoted, and swung a perfectly timed leg sweep toward his ankles.
Aoi jumped — barely.
But Yuki wasn't done.
He stepped in with his shoulder and aimed a tight elbow strike at Aoi's ribs. A fast jab followed — mechanical, clean, like he was sparring in stillness.
Aoi blocked both.
No wasted movement. Just a sidestep and a rising hand to parry.
"You too?" he said, not annoyed — just resigned.
Yuki didn't answer.
His face remained unreadable, movements fluid. One step back. Then stillness.
But the message was clear:
Kazuo wasn't the only hunted piece on this board. Just like he predicted.
Kazuo barely had time to scan the arena.
A thudding step. Then another.
Rhakka. Coming fast.
Kazuo turned, caught the blur of green and fur charging straight for him — claws out, arms wide, grinning like this was playtime.
No warning.
Just fists.
Kazuo ducked under the first swing — barely. The second came right after, a hammer-like left hook. He blocked with both arms, teeth clenching as the impact rocked his body.
Before he could reset, another shadow loomed — Sylvain, silent and sharp, closing from the side.
Kazuo stepped back, just in time for a high kick aimed at his jaw.
Blocked — again. Arms stinging.
Another strike from Rhakka. Another from Kaien. Elbow. Palm. Shoulder.
They were alternating like clockwork. One hit fed the next. Relentless.
A flash of red in the corner of his vision.
Someone crashed against the marble and rolled.
Sylvain. But who threw him?
Kazuo didn't see it. Didn't know.
I can't see everything. Can't track everyone.
A bitter realization — this wasn't a duel. It was a storm. No clean fronts. No full control.
Lyria still hadn't moved. Kaya was circling toward him like a shadow — eyes locked. Watching.
He couldn't strike. Could barely breathe.
They're trying to force me out already!?
Panic flared.
I just got here and they already have an alliance?
Kaien spun low this time, sweeping at Kazuo's legs.
Kazuo jumped — too slow.
A hit clipped his ankle mid-air.
His body twisted — Rhakka caught him mid-spin with a shoulder check that launched him backward across the ring.
Stone blurred beneath him. His back hit the ground. He slid — fast.
The edge was close.
Too close.
No. I can't—
The arena roared above, wild and rising.
Not this fast. I'm not getting thrown out in the first damn minute!
He tried to stop — boots dragging, palms scraping marble.
But it wasn't enough.
Kazuo was sliding off the edge.
The crowd roared like thunder.
And in the squad stands—
"NO!!"
Sora's voice cut through it all.
She stood with both hands clenched on the railing, claws digging into the stone. Her tail whipped behind her in panic.
"He's gonna fall—!"
Tetsu's eyes went wide behind his glasses.
"Crap—Kazuo—!"
Their words didn't reach him.
Kazuo was seconds from the edge.
His heart slammed like a war drum.
Not like this—
His body tipped.
His fingers reached.
Then—
A hand.
Rough. Unrelenting.
It grabbed the back of his collar like a hook yanking fate itself.
Yanked.
Thrown.
He was pulled violently backward — away from the drop — and slammed against the stone with a grunt. The impact knocked the air from his lungs. He rolled once, twice, and landed face-down near the platform's center.
Chest heaving. Arms shaking.
Still inside the ring. Barely
Silence fell.
Even the crowd quieted — confused, breathless.
Sora's mouth hung open. Her claws slowly retracted.
Tetsu blinked hard, like his mind hadn't caught up.
At the Captains Gallery, Setsuna leaned slightly forward — just a centimeter. That was all.
Idris eyed Setsuna and then turned back to the arena.
Kazuo turned his head.
Boots.
Heavy. Worn. Blood-stained.
He looked up.
A figure stood over him — broad-shouldered, scarred, unmoved. His presence felt less like rescue… and more like judgment.
Those eyes weren't concerned. They didn't ask if Kazuo was hurt. They looked at him like he was unfinished business.
Kazuo's breath caught.
The man exhaled once through his nose.
Rulthan.