The four-hour break had melted away faster than Jade expected, and now he stood at the entrance to the massive contestant seating area, watching as a thousand elite awakeners filtered back in and claimed whatever seats they wanted. The space was enormous—tiered rows that could have held ten times their current number—and with only a thousand fighters left, people were spreading out naturally, some clustering in groups while others claimed isolated corners.
Jade pulled his hood lower and made his way toward a middle section that looked relatively empty, settling into a seat with a clear view of the grand stage below. He'd barely gotten comfortable when someone dropped into the seat directly beside him with zero warning, and he turned to find a woman with green hair pulled back in a messy ponytail grinning at him.
"Finally," she said, stretching her arms overhead until her shoulders popped. "I've been wanting to sit near you since the matches started yesterday. I'm Kara, by the way. Rank 8." She stuck out a hand covered in scars and calluses. "What's your name? I'm tired of just calling you 'that hooded guy' in my head."
Jade hesitated for half a second before accepting the handshake. Her grip was strong and confident, the kind of person who measured others through physical contact. "Jade," he said simply. "Jade Fraunces."
"Jade," Kara repeated, testing the name like she was committing it to memory. Then she leaned back in her seat and propped her feet up on the railing in front of them. "Nice to finally put a name to the face. Well, the hood. Speaking of which—you ever gonna take that thing off? Because I gotta say, the mysterious act is getting old. We're all in the top rankings now. Nobody gives a shit what you look like."
Before Jade could formulate a response, a new voice cut in from several rows back—dripping with condescension and barely concealed disdain.
"Oh, I think we all know why he's hiding his face."
Kara turned to find a young man lounging across three seats like he owned them, his posture radiating the kind of casual arrogance that only came from a lifetime of never being told 'no.' He had auburn hair swept back from a sharp, aristocratic face, and his clothing screamed expensive in that deliberately understated way only old money could achieve. His watch showed rank 36, and when his eyes met Jade's, there was something cold and dismissive in his gaze.
"He's from somewhere called Nexarion," the man continued, examining his nails like this entire conversation bored him. "Some backwater dump in the Heliaster Galaxy that nobody's ever heard of. Probably doesn't want people seeing him and realizing he's just some..." He waved his hand vaguely. "Common slum rat who got lucky in the early rounds."
'Oh ,' Jade thought flatly. 'One of those.'
"And you are?" Kara asked, her friendly demeanor evaporating into something considerably colder.
"Lysander Corvinth," the man said, as if his name should mean something. "House Corvinth of the Stellara Galaxy, rank 36, and someone who actually belongs at this level of competition." His gaze slid back to Jade with undisguised contempt. "Unlike certain... participants... who somehow managed to climb rankings despite having no notable bloodline, no family connections, and no business being here in the first place."
"He's rank 24," Kara pointed out, her scarred knuckles flexing. "That means he beat literally thousands of people to get here. Seems like he belongs just fine."
"Numbers can be deceiving," Lysander countered smoothly. "Weak opponents, favorable matchups, pure dumb luck... There are countless ways for someone undeserving to advance further than they should." He smiled, and it was the kind of expression that suggested he'd never experienced real hardship in his entire privileged life. "I'm sure we'll all see his true level once he faces actual nobility."
Jade said nothing, an amused smile building on his shadowed features .
"Ignore him," another utterly unimpressed voice said. A woman with flowing brown hair and ice-blue eyes had claimed a seat several seats towards Jade's left side, and she glanced up at Lysander with the expression of someone who'd just discovered something unpleasant on the bottom of her shoe. "Lysander's been running his mouth since yesterday about bloodlines and proper breeding and how everyone from non-core worlds is beneath him. He's exhausting."
"I'm simply stating facts, Sienna," Lysander replied coolly. "Some of us were raised and trained for this level of competition. Others..." His gaze flickered to Jade again. "Stumbled into it through circumstances beyond their capability."
"Right," Sienna said dryly. "Because seventeen strikes in two seconds against a rank 61 alpha is definitely stumbling." She turned her attention to the datapad in her lap, clearly done with the conversation. "You're an idiot, Lysander. A well-bred idiot with money and connections, but still an idiot."
Lysander's aristocratic face flushed slightly, but before he could respond, someone new dropped into the seat on Jade's other side with a heavy sigh.
"Is he doing the bloodline superiority speech again?" The newcomer was a man with dark brown hair and intelligent eyes that held more warmth than calculation. His watch showed rank 12, and when he glanced at Jade, his expression was apologetic. "Sorry. I'm Theron Ashford, and I'd say you get used to Lysander, but that would be a lie. He's been insufferable since Round One." He offered his hand. "What's your name? I've been calling you 'efficient hooded fighter' in my notes."
"Jade," Jade supplied, shaking Theron's hand and appreciating the straightforward introduction.
"Jade," Theron repeated with a slight smile. "Good to meet you properly. And just so you know—most of us don't give a damn what planet you're from. Lysander's just mad because someone from a 'lesser world' is ranked higher than him."
"I am not—" Lysander started hotly, but was interrupted by someone laughing from further back in the seating area.
"Oh, you absolutely are." The speaker was a young man—mid-twenties maybe—with messy black hair and a grin that suggested he found this entire situation hilarious. His watch displayed rank 3, and he was sprawled across his seat like a cat in the sun. "You've been bitching about 'proper breeding' and 'bloodline superiority' for two days straight, Lysander. We all know you're just pissy because the rankings don't care about your family tree."
"Caelum," Lysander said through gritted teeth. "This doesn't concern you."
"Sure it does," Caelum replied cheerfully. "I'm concerned about anything that might make my future matches more entertaining, and watching you get your ass kicked by someone from a backwater planet?" He made an exaggerated chef's kiss gesture. "That's going to be fucking beautiful."
Despite everything, Jade felt his lips twitch slightly under the hood.
"You're all missing the point," a new voice cut in—female, cold, and precise. A woman with pale blonde hair and sharp features had positioned herself a few rows away, her posture perfect and her expression calculating. "Bloodlines and planets aside, what matters is capability. And none of us have seen this... Jade... actually struggle yet." Her pale eyes fixed on him in assessment. "Every match ends in seconds. Either he's genuinely that far above everyone he's faced, or he's been getting extraordinarily lucky with matchups. The semi-finals will tell us which."
"Or," Kara said slowly, "he's just that good and you're all overthinking it."
"I prefer to gather data before drawing conclusions," the blonde woman replied. "I'm Tanya Veylin, rank 28, and I don't believe in luck. Only preparation and capability." She turned her attention back to whatever she was reading, clearly done with the conversation.
More fighters continued filtering into the seating area, and Jade found himself subject to a variety of reactions. Some offered brief nods of acknowledgment. Some stared with open curiosity, clearly trying to figure out what was under the hood. Some ignored him entirely, focused on their own concerns.
And then there was the loud crash of someone tripping over absolutely nothing, followed by enthusiastic cursing.
"I'm okay! I'm fine! Nothing broken!"
Jade turned to see the young beta scrambling to his feet with the kind of manic energy that suggested he'd consumed his body weight in caffeine. His brown hair stuck up in every direction, his eyes were wide and slightly wild, and his watch showed rank 27. The moment he spotted Jade, his entire face lit up like someone had just told him he'd won the tournament.
"Oh my gods, it's you!" He practically launched himself toward Jade's section, only to be caught mid-leap by a long-suffering alpha with tired eyes.
"Rivan," the alpha said with the patience of someone who'd had this exact conversation a hundred times. "What did we discuss about personal boundaries and not overwhelming people?"
"But Orion, it's him! I wanted to talk to him yesterday, but he was gone before I realised. So I'm just gonna—
"Breathing," Orion interrupted firmly. "Remember breathing."
Rivan sucked in a huge gulp of air, held it for three seconds, then exhaled explosively. "Right. Breathing. I can do that." He turned back to Jade with slightly more restraint, though his hands were still fluttering around like anxious birds. "Hi! I'm Rivan! Rank 27! I know we've never actually talked before but I feel like we're practically battle brothers because we've been fighting in the same tournament and I've been watching your matches and you're so fast I can barely track it even on the replays and—" He paused, visibly forcing himself to slow down. "What's your name?"
"Jade," Jade said, and watched Rivan's expression transform into pure delight.
"Jade! That's such a cool name! It sounds mysterious and dangerous and it totally fits the whole hooded mysterious fighter aesthetic you've got going!" He bounced on his heels, apparently unable to contain his energy. "Are you nervous? I'm nervous. I'm always nervous but this is different because it's single elimination now and one loss means we're done and I really really don't want to be done yet because—"
"Rivan," Orion said, placing both hands on the beta's shoulders. "In through the nose. Out through the mouth."
Rivan obeyed, sucking in another dramatic breath and releasing it slowly. His shoulders relaxed fractionally, though the manic energy in his eyes suggested he was about two seconds away from another outburst.
Jade found himself almost smiling despite the chaos. There was something refreshing about Rivan's complete lack of artifice—no posturing, no judgment about planets or bloodlines, just genuine excitement and nervous energy.
"Good luck with your matches," Jade offered quietly.
Rivan's face split into a brilliant grin. "You too! I mean, you probably don't need luck because you're clearly super skilled, but still! Good luck anyway!" He let Orion drag him away toward some empty seats, still waving enthusiastically over his shoulder.
"That kid's going to have a heart attack before the finals," Kara observed, though her tone was fond rather than critical.
"At least he's honest," Theron commented. "Better than Lysander's superiority complex."
"I can hear you," Lysander called coldly from his position several rows back.
"Good," Theron replied cheerfully.
The seating area continued filling as more fighters arrived and claimed their spots. Jade recognized some faces from their matches—a woman with intricate tattoos covering her arms, a thin man whose water techniques had been beautiful and brutal, a broad-shouldered alpha whose enhancement abilities had left craters in the stage.
They were all exceptional. Every single person here had fought through thousands of competitors to reach this point, and now they were all gathered together, waiting to find out which half would advance and which half would go home.
The energy was electric—anticipation and nerves and competitive fire all mixing together into something almost tangible.
Jade settled deeper into his seat, and let the conversations wash over him. Kara was engaged in an animated discussion with someone about the best way to break through defensive barriers. Caelum was holding court a few rows back, loudly predicting his own dominance to anyone who'd listen. Lysander sat in isolated dignity, looking down his nose at anyone from non-core worlds. Sienna reviewed her datapad with focused intensity. Rivan gestured wildly while explaining something to an exhausted Orion.
And throughout it all, Jade could feel eyes on him. Glances and assessments from fighters who were curious, competitive, or calculating.
He pulled his hood lower and waited.
....