I. The Tournament Grounds
The Arena of the Kageyama Academy's Martial Arts Hall felt less like a training center and more like a colosseum today. Even the air had changed, growing thick with the metallic scent of sweat, the sharper, high-frequency energy of activated Aura, and the sheer, collective volume of hundreds of student voices. This wasn't merely the mid-term tournament; for the student body, it was a holiday, a spectacle, and a brutal measuring stick of where everyone truly stood.
The large, circular fighting stage at the center—known simply as The Ring—was where all eyes were drawn. It was a massive composite platform designed to absorb and redistribute the energy of high-level techniques, preventing the kind of structural damage that would bankrupt a lesser school. Today, its obsidian-black surface shone under the harsh stadium lights, edged by a bright, cautionary yellow line indicating the boundary.
Around the Ring, the three tiers of seating were a kaleidoscope of school uniform colors and personalized banners. The lower tier was a tempest of raw, uncontrolled cheering, occupied by the younger students and the more raucous spectators. The middle tier, filled with the serious -years, buzzed with quieter, more focused energy—judgments being passed and notes being taken. The upper stands housed faculty and guests, a silent, critical jury.
Above it all, giant house banners hung from the rafters, representing the school's four core disciplines: the Crimson Fist of close-quarters combat, the Azure Blade of weapon mastery, the Emerald Stream of energy manipulation, and the Obsidian Shield of defensive arts. Beneath them, smaller, hand-painted banners fluttered. 'Go-Years! Crush Them!' one read, while another, clearly the work of a few overly-optimistic freshmen, simply stated: 'We're Here, Probably!'
In the viewing box high above the noise, the serious commentary team—composed of the previous year's tournament champions and an overly-enthusiastic, microphone-wielding faculty member—had already begun their pre-game analysis.
"And welcome, everyone, to the Mid-Term Academy Trials!" boomed the voice of Mr. Takeda, the History teacher who treated every sporting event like the final battle of an ancient epic. "The energy is electric! We're all here to witness the established order, the power of our seniors, but let's be honest, the real buzz this year is about the first-years."
A sharp, cynical voice cut in, belonging to Akari, last year's -year champion. "The buzz is mostly skepticism, Mr. Takeda. We've heard the rumors, of course. The 'mysterious prodigies' who only showed up halfway through the term, skipping the preliminaries."
"Ah, yes! Akari speaks, of course, of the trio from Class -A!" Mr. Takeda's voice rose to a crescendo. "Aiko Satomi, the 'Ice Princess,' whose technique is reportedly flawless! Haru Kido, the unpredictable wildcard with a terrifying amount of raw power! And the final one, the enigma... Kai Takasugi, the boy whose records are practically blank and who seems to win all his sparring matches without ever actually throwing a serious punch!"
Akari scoffed audibly into the microphone. "Winning without fighting is fine for a strategic simulation. But this is the Ring, Mr. Takeda. This is where your blood is up, where instinct takes over. If these three are relying on reputation and tricks, the veterans will chew them up. They need sparks today—they need to show us they can burn."
Down on the main floor, nestled near the entrance tunnel reserved for Class -A, the subject of the commentary stood.
Kai Takasugi was observing the environment with a clinical detachment. He wasn't looking at the opponents or the cheering crowds. He was looking at the way the light glinted off the polished floor, calculating the potential slippage coefficient; he was listening to the echo and decay of the crowd's noise, gauging how sound would travel; he was tracking the subtle shifts in the Aura readings from the composite Ring material.
The pressure dissipation rating is, he thought, his eyes half-lidded. Meaning any force over Newtons will leave a visible, though momentary, tremor. The air density is slightly higher than the classroom. That increases drag on a direct strike by . Minor, but relevant. The crowd is a factor of distraction, an entropy multiplier on all emotional data. The only true puzzle is the opponents—unpredictable variables based on flawed emotional input.
A sharp elbow jabbed him in the ribs, shattering his calculations.
"Hey, Lazy Genius!" Haru Kido grinned, his normally messy hair slicked back in an attempt at professional bravado that was quickly failing. Haru was practically vibrating—a human tuning fork of hyped-up anxiety. "We're here, man! The big leagues! Smell that? That's the scent of victory! And maybe a little bit of fear, but mostly victory! I'm going to show everyone that Haru Kido is more than just a guy who accidentally breaks doors! I'm going to—" Haru paused mid-sentence, his face going pale. "Wait, what if I don't accidentally break things, and I just get broken instead?"
Kai gave a barely perceptible sigh. "Your anxiety is generating a visible Aura fluctuation, Haru. You're advertising your fear. Focus on the geometry of your stance, not the hypothetical outcome."
Haru threw his hands up. "Geometry! This is combat, not calculus! You think too much, Kai!"
Next to them, Aiko Satomi stood in a posture of near-perfect stillness, like a carefully honed blade waiting to be drawn. Her black gi was immaculate, her expression entirely devoid of the nervous excitement plaguing Haru. She was watching the upper-year students warm up on a smaller side mat—a -year effortlessly generating a field of shimmering energy around his fists.
Aiko's focus was an intense, laser-like beam. They are strong, she admitted to herself, without a hint of fear, only a cold, burning determination. The efficiency of that Aura distribution, the speed of his footwork... I am still behind. Today is not about proving I can win; it's about gathering data on the gap, and then proving that I can close it. I will not be the weak link.
She adjusted the tight knot of her belt, her fingers lingering for a moment on the fabric. She felt the pressure—the collective weight of their class's reputation and the heavy, silent expectations of their instructor.
II. Instructor Tanaka's Expectations
A deep, gravelly voice cut through the noise pollution of the arena, instantly silencing Haru's frantic whispering.
"All right, Class -A. Line up."
Instructor Tanaka—their homeroom teacher and the head of the Combat Training curriculum—looked like a man carved from granite and fueled by black coffee. He wore a crisp, dark suit instead of a gi, which only amplified his authority.
The twelve competing members of Class -A snapped to attention. Kai, Haru, and Aiko stood at the front, the unofficial vanguard.
Tanaka scanned their faces, his expression unreadable. "Look around you," he ordered, sweeping a hand toward the overwhelming crowds. "This is theater. Your job is not to entertain them. Your job is to execute the lessons I gave you. Nothing more, nothing less."
He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping low. "Win if you can. Lose if you must. I don't care about your final placement. I care about your form, your discipline, and your ability to analyze a situation under duress."
He paused, letting his harsh words sink in. "But for the love of the Academy, don't embarrass me. If I see any flailing, any whining, or any cheap theatrics, I will make you run stadium stairs until you vomit. Understood?"
"Yes, sensei!" the class chorused, their voices a little shaky but firm.
Tanaka's eyes settled on the trio, finally coming to rest on Kai. A faint, almost predatory smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Good," he said. Then, raising his voice just enough for nearby classes to hear, he delivered the familiar taunt. "And especially you, lazy genius." He used the nickname with an emphasis that made it clear he meant it as both an insult and a label of grudging respect. "Don't just stand there calculating the wind speed and the opponent's caloric intake. If you're going to fight, fight. Don't bore the crowd, or worse, bore me."
A ripple of laughter went through the surrounding classes. Kai merely blinked slowly, processing the comment as if it were a complex, yet familiar, equation. The coefficient of expectation is abnormally high. A predictable variable.
Haru, desperate to shift the spotlight, puffed out his chest and saluted Tanaka with exaggerated formality. "Sensei! Fear not! I, Haru Kido, shall utilize the maximum extent of my training! I shall make you proud! I shall be the spark that ignites this tournament—"
He punctuated his declaration with an enthusiastic, high-knees stretch, misjudged the distance to the bench behind him, and clipped his heel on the leg of the seat. The magnificent future champion of the academy immediately performed a flawless, graceless face-plant into the composite floor with a muffled thud.
Aiko, who had maintained her stoic posture, allowed a single, deep sigh to escape her lips. She didn't look down at Haru, who was currently groaning and clutching his ankle. Instead, she stared straight ahead at the -year stands. She muttered under her breath, just loud enough for Kai to hear: "We are unequivocally doomed."
Tanaka didn't even flinch. He just gave a deep sigh that sounded like shifting tectonic plates. "See that, class? That, precisely, is the definition of embarrassment. Get up, Kido. Your first match is in fifteen minutes." He clapped his hands once, the sound sharp and authoritative. "Dismissed. Go warm up. Go be... slightly less useless than you were yesterday."
III. Early Year Matches (Crowd Favorites)
The first hour was dedicated to the upper-classmen's exhibition rounds—a showcase designed to pump up the crowd and subtly intimidate the new recruits. These were not mandatory fights, but rather a chance for the strongest students to display their Aura mastery before the main brackets began.
The -years took to the Ring first. A powerful athlete named Jiro, known for his command of Earth-elemental Aura, dominated the first match. Every punch he threw seemed to carry the weight of falling stone. When his opponent tried to grapple, Jiro simply activated his power, causing the air around his body to compress and solidify, transforming his defense into an impenetrable, heavy shield. He won with a single, concussive Earth Wave punch that sent his opponent tumbling off the platform.
"That's Newtons of force on impact," Kai murmured, his fingers subtly tracking the projected trajectory of Jiro's Aura. "Remarkably efficient energy transfer. Minimal leakage."
"Efficient is boring!" Haru hissed, having recovered enough to sit up, though he rubbed his shin constantly. "But man, he's strong. Did you see the sheer pressure? If I hit something like that, I just break it by accident. He controls it! It's not fair!"
Next up was Reina, a -year with a reputation as a prodigy in the Azure Blade discipline, though she fought unarmed today. Her movements were impossible to track—she was a blur of speed, her Aura thin and razor-sharp, giving her strikes a slicing quality even without a weapon. She defeated her opponent in less than ten seconds, leaving faint, stinging red lines across his gi where her strikes had landed.
Aiko watched the fight with rapt attention, her usual impassivity momentarily broken by a flicker of pure, hungry admiration. She didn't take her eyes off Reina's footwork, which followed a mathematical pattern she had only read about in advanced texts. She quickly scribbled notes onto the small data pad she carried, not bothering with subjective comments, just raw data points: Reina: -second strike window. Aura: energy conversion rate.
That is the standard, Aiko thought, her heart burning with cold intensity. That is the level I must not only reach but surpass. I hate relying on them, she glanced at Kai and Haru, but if we are to be a team, I must be worthy of standing next to that power. Today, I prove my technique is iron.
The -years followed, displaying a level of synergy that the freshmen could only dream of. Riku and Daichi—the two top students from the previous year—were already fighting as a cohesive unit with their new teammate, a quiet girl named Sora. Riku, calm and tactical, used feints and distractions to draw the opponents' focus; Daichi, pure power, would then finish with devastating, direct strikes; and Sora, focusing on support and binding, would use subtle energy manipulation to slow their targets. They effortlessly eliminated an entire opposing team in a flawless demonstration of teamwork.
Haru sank lower in his seat. "I hate being a freshman. It's like watching gods fight. We're supposed to go up against people like that next term."
Kai didn't look away from the -years. "They are predictable," he stated. "Riku overcompensates on the feint of the time. Daichi telegraphs his final strike by shifting his center of gravity too far forward, seconds before impact. Sora's binding Aura is susceptible to a sonic frequency interruption. They are strong, but they are not perfect."
"Easy for you to say, Mr. Prediction," Haru grumbled. "You just stand there and dodge until they fall over. I have to actually fight."
IV. The -Year Preliminary Matches Begin
The atmosphere immediately shifted as the -year preliminaries began. The intense, almost silent focus of the upper-classmen was replaced by messy, chaotic energy. The stakes were high: three students from the entire -year class—regardless of class section—would be chosen as the official representatives.
The initial rounds were a blur of awkward enthusiasm and technical ineptitude.
In the first match, a tall, overly confident boy from Class -B tried to impress the crowd. He launched himself high, but his momentum betrayed him. He missed his opponent by a mile, and instead of landing gracefully, he spun once more mid-air and landed flat on his face with a muffled WHUMP. The crowd erupted, half in laughter, half in sympathetic groans.
Haru slapped his knee with delight. "See! He tried too hard! That's the key: just be yourself! Chaotic, accidental, pure energy!"
Haru's own first match was a perfect testament to this philosophy. He won a match purely by luck when his opponent, frustrated by Haru's erratic flailing, slipped on the edge of the composite floor and tumbled out of the Ring, earning Haru the victory.
Aiko's match was the antithesis of Haru's chaos. Facing a powerful, disciplined boxer, Aiko remained calm, allowing the opponent to exhaust their initial Aura reserves. Her movements were calm and precise—flawless defense that never overextended. When the boxer committed to a final, heavy overhand strike, Aiko delivered a quick, minimalist counter, targeting the flexor tendon in the wrist. The opponent gasped, the hand instantly losing strength, and conceded defeat. Aiko won with flawless form, eliciting respectful silence rather than cheers.
Then came Kai's first duel. His opponent was a swift, eager fighter who had scouted Kai's reputation for being "all brains, no brawn." The fighter immediately launched a burst of speed, aiming to overwhelm Kai before he could think.
Kai responded by doing almost nothing. He didn't overwhelm, but used prediction and counters based purely on physics. He analyzed the opponent's momentum vector, allowed the fighter to commit of his force, and then, with a simple, slight movement of his shoulder and a fractional push on the opponent's hip, he rerouted the force. The fighter, unable to adjust his inertia mid-sprint, careened off the Ring's boundary line.
BEEP!
Kai secured the win without throwing a single serious punch.
A wave of groans spread through the lower stands, loud enough to reach the Ring. "He did it again—thinking his way through instead of fighting!"
Kai simply nodded, his eyes already on the students waiting for the next round. He had quantified the opponent's speed and Aura resistance, but he felt zero gratification. Victory secured at physical exertion. Optimal. But I need more data.
The easy wins were over. Waiting in the next bracket were the serious contenders, students who saw Kai's calculation as a challenge, and Haru's luck as an insult. The air, already thick with Aura, was about to curdle with true rivalry.