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Russell's eyes swept across the viewing platform, taking in the sheer scale of it all. Row upon row of seats stretched back into the darkness, every single one occupied. Faces everywhere—excited, curious, skeptical, hungry for drama. The air practically vibrated with anticipation, thousands of people holding their collective breath.
He'd known it would be big. Blake had asked him three days ago if he was okay with making this public, really public. Russell could have said no, could have kept it small and private. But where was the fun in that? If he was going to humiliate Wade, he might as well do it with style.
A wave of reporters surged toward him the moment he stepped onto the arena floor. Cameras flashed like strobe lights. Microphones thrust forward on the ends of poles, nearly smacking into his face. The crowd of journalists pressed in close enough that Russell could smell coffee breath and nervous sweat.
"Mr. Russell!" A woman in a sharp blazer shoved her microphone closest to his face, her eyes gleaming with that predatory look reporters got when they sensed a story. "May I ask why you decided to fight Mr. Wade?"
Russell looked at her, then at the sea of expectant faces around him, and felt a smile tug at his lips. "You'll know after the fight."
The reporters froze, exchanging bewildered glances. Several turned to look at their colleagues as if to confirm they'd all heard the same non-answer.
"But Mr. Russell—"
"Can you at least tell us—"
"Is this about the incident in—"
The Shadowkhan materialized beside him without warning, rising from his shadow like smoke given form. They formed a wall of blue skin and glowing eyes between Russell and the reporters, their presence radiating an aura that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.
The reporters stumbled backward, their questions dying in their throats. Several cameras lowered. One microphone clattered to the ground.
But Russell could see it in their eyes—the hungry gleam hadn't disappeared, just sharpened. Their instincts were screaming at them that this was more than a simple competition. Something juicy was happening here, and they were going to find out what.
Russell left them behind, walking toward the sidelines with his Shadowkhan escort.
Wade was already there, warming up with some stretches. When he saw Russell approaching, his face transformed into that signature fake smile—all teeth and no warmth. "Thank you, Russell, for giving me this opportunity." His voice was syrupy sweet, loud enough to carry to nearby spectators. "I won't let you lose too badly."
Russell's eyes flicked up to the VIP section where Blake sat watching. Wade's gaze followed, and yeah, there it was—the calculation. The performance. With Blake's eyes on him, Wade couldn't let the mask slip. Couldn't let that burning resentment show through.
Good, Russell thought. Keep playing nice. Makes it better when I tear you apart.
A deep, resonant hum filled the arena. Russell looked up as the barrier began to rise—not the standard silver-level barrier, but an emerald-level one. Hexagonal panels of shimmering energy materialized out of thin air, interlocking and spreading outward and upward like a growing crystal structure. The panels glowed with a soft green light that cast everything inside in an otherworldly hue.
The barrier sealed with a sound like a bell being struck, clear and pure. The crowd's noise became muffled, distant. Inside the barrier, the world felt different—heavier somehow, the air thick with potential.
Teacher's sponsoring this, Russell realized, looking at the massive structure. No holding back this time. No worrying about collateral damage.
He walked to his starting position, the floor solid beneath his feet. Across the arena, Wade did the same. The distance between them felt both vast and intimate—fifty meters of empty space that would soon be a war zone.
Russell reached for his deck. Time to make a statement.
He pulled the cards and channeled his power. Four figures materialized on the battlefield, their forms solidifying from light and shadow and psychic energy.
[Captain of the Fourth Division, Retsu Unohana] appeared first, her presence calm and dignified, her healer's smile somehow more unsettling than any scowl.
[Pure White Knight Princess, Artoria] materialized next, her invisible sword held ready, her green eyes sharp and focused.
[Blizzard of Hell, Fubuki] stepped into existence with wind swirling around her dress, her expression cool and confident.
And finally, [Young Antelope, Neliel], who stumbled slightly as she formed, looking around with wide, confused eyes before quickly hiding behind Fubuki's back.
Four silver-level cards. Four completely different presences. Four distinct auras that filled the arena like competing perfumes.
The crowd went dead silent.
The shock was almost physical, rippling through the stands like a shockwave. People half-rose from their seats. Mouths hung open. Even the commentators seemed to have lost their voices.
In the VIP section, the Northgate University president leaned forward so far he nearly fell out of his chair. "Four?" His voice came out as a strangled whisper. "He has four silver-level cards?"
The Southeastern University president's eyes were wide behind her glasses. "That's... that's a complete lineup."
They'd all known Russell was Blake's new disciple. They'd known he was talented—you didn't become a Master's student without serious skill. But this? The kid had been a high school student six months ago. Six months! And now he stood there with a full silver-level team, each card radiating quality that even from this distance, even through the barrier, was unmistakable.
"Impossible," someone muttered behind them.
But the evidence was right there in front of them, undeniable and terrifying.
Across the battlefield, Wade's confident smirk faltered. His eyes went wide as he counted. One. Two. Three. Four. "So many?" The words slipped out before he could stop them.
The last time they'd met, Russell had only shown three. When had he made another one? Wade's mind raced, trying to calculate material costs and time requirements and—
Then his gaze landed on Neliel, cowering behind the other three with that vacant, confused look on her face. Wade's frown deepened. I can barely sense any power from her. She felt... weak. Incomplete, almost.
Understanding clicked into place. Ah. A bond card. Russell must have made her specifically to create synergies with his other cards. A support unit to boost the others. Clever, but ultimately pointless.
Wade's confident smirk returned, spreading across his face. It's a bit tricky, sure, but the final winner will still be me. He was already imagining it—Russell's expression of disbelief when his cards fell, Blake's regret at choosing the wrong disciple. The thought sent a thrill down his spine.
Wade pulled his own cards, and four figures materialized across from Russell's team.
Meng Po appeared first, the old woman with her bowl of forgetting soup, her blind eyes somehow still watching everything.
Next came a figure that made Russell's eyebrows rise—a woman with a yellow veil covering her face and the strangest coloration: one half of her skin pure white, the other half pitch black, split right down the middle of her body. Melinoë, Russell recognized immediately. An Olympian underworld goddess. Interesting choice.
The other two cards Russell didn't recognize. One was a man holding an ornate fan, his robes elaborate and his expression haughty. The other gripped a massive hammer, his build stocky and powerful.
Russell studied the lineup, his tactical mind automatically cataloging threats. Underworld themed, all of them. Death gods and psychopomps. It made sense for someone trying to imitate Blake's style. But the mix was messy—Chinese mythology mixed with Greek, probably a few others thrown in. No coherent aesthetic.
Then again, Russell thought with a trace of irony, looking at his own team of Soul Reaper, British king, psychic, and Arrancar, who am I to judge?
If someone saw this match without context, they'd probably assume Wade was Blake's disciple, not Russell. The underworld theme was right there, obvious and derivative.
The moment both teams fully materialized, the atmosphere shifted. The playful tension from before crystallized into something sharp and dangerous. Both cardmakers stood perfectly still, hands ready, eyes locked on the opposing team.
In New Metro, Nancy gripped the edge of the couch so hard her knuckles went white. "Dad," she said, her voice tight with nerves, "do you think Russell can win?"
Jonathan was silent for a long moment, his eyes never leaving the screen. His mind worked through the matchup, analyzing what he could see. "I don't know," he admitted finally. "I wasn't there to witness his cards in action, so I can't properly analyze their abilities." He paused, his expression troubled. "But I recognize his opponent's. Meng Po—she's devastating in the right conditions. Melinoë can phase between life and death. And those other two..." He shook his head. "They're death gods from various mythologies. All of them powerful."
He thought about his own silver-level days, running through hypothetical scenarios. If I had faced that lineup back then, I would've been destroyed.
"Russell's cards are original, as always," Jonathan continued, adjusting his glasses. "His creativity has always been his strength. But as for who's stronger..." He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.
Nancy's jaw set in that stubborn way. She leaned closer to the screen, as if proximity could somehow help Russell win.
Deep underwater, in a cave that had been transformed into something almost luxurious, a massive screen displayed the same broadcast. The water outside pressed against reinforced walls, but inside it was warm and dry and comfortable.
"Five," a hoarse voice said from the shadows, tinged with amusement, "who do you think will win?"
The man in the suit—Five—stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his posture respectful but relaxed. "Sir, although Wade has been at the silver level for a long time, I still think Russell will win."
Regent Jin leaned forward slightly, his interest piqued. In his opinion, any rational person would favor Wade. The experience gap alone should be decisive. "What's your reason?"
"If Russell can't even beat Wade," Five said, his tone matter-of-fact, "I would have to reconsider whether it was worth it for the Society to have invested so much in him."
Regent Jin's smile widened in the darkness. "Then let's see if Russell has run out of tricks."
On the battlefield, the referee raised his hand. The whistle's sharp blast cut through the tension like a gunshot.
Both teams exploded into motion.
Fubuki moved first, her hands coming up in a fluid gesture. Wind erupted around her—not a gentle breeze but a howling gale that appeared from nowhere, screaming across the battlefield toward Wade's team. Debris that had somehow gotten into the arena went flying. The air itself seemed to shriek.
The man with the fan snorted, his lips curling in disdain. He flicked his fan open with a sharp crack and waved it once. A counter-gust roared to life, but this wind carried something foul with it—a stench like rotting meat and stagnant water, thick enough to taste. The two winds collided in the center of the battlefield with a sound like thunder, creating a swirling vortex of clashing air currents.
The fishy smell spread rapidly, filling the arena. In the stands, people covered their noses and mouths.
Fubuki's expression didn't change. Her psychic power flared, creating a vortex around herself that pushed the stench away. Clean air, courtesy of telekinesis.
Then a figure burst from the swirling winds.
Artoria had used Fubuki's attack as cover, her invisible sword raised high as she charged the fan-wielder. The man's eyes widened—he hadn't seen her coming, couldn't track her through the wind. Artoria brought her blade down in a devastating arc, aiming for his shoulder.
CLANG!
The sound of metal on metal rang out, so loud it echoed despite the barrier. The hammer-wielder had moved at the last second, his massive weapon intercepting Artoria's strike. His arms strained with the effort, his feet sliding backward from the force of her blow.
But he'd stopped it.
And that moment of distraction was all Wade needed.
Blood-yellow water erupted from behind Meng Po, surging forward like a tidal wave. The liquid moved with unnatural speed and purpose, seeking Artoria like a living thing. Wade knew from experience how dangerous the knight was—he wasn't giving her any breathing room.
"Dankū!"
Unohana's voice cut through the chaos, calm and clear. A transparent wall of spiritual energy materialized beside Artoria, the barrier forming just in time to intercept the yellow flood. The water splashed against the Dankū, hissing and steaming where it touched the spiritual energy. The barrier held for a crucial second—long enough.
Fubuki's telekinetic shield snapped into place around Artoria, a second layer of defense. The remaining yellow water that made it past the Dankū splattered harmlessly against the psychic barrier.
Russell nodded slightly, satisfaction flickering across his face. "Good cooperation." His eyes fixed on Wade across the battlefield. "So what are you going to do?" His voice carried across the distance, clear and challenging. "If you can't break through my defense, I'll just wear you down."
Wade's face twisted, his confident smirk cracking at the edges.
PLZ THROW POWERSTONES.