Air was strained with excitement as Shen Qiu and Lian stepped onto the stone platform. The audience went quiet, the hum of conversation fading to a soft whisper of banner seams. The referee raised his hand, Qi aura wrapping the rims of the arena.
"Round of 16, match five: Shen Qiu vs. Lian."
The bell rang.
Shen Qiu didn't waste a moment. His stance vague in an instant, streaking off to the left and then to the right, vanishing like a ghost between the flashing lights. To the unaided eye it seemed like teleportation, but Lian's danger sense was bellowing at full pitch: each step deliberate, each false move calculated. Shen wasn't just fast—he was cunningly fast. He burst forward, waving an arm, then whirled out of reach, inviting Lian to chase.
Lian didn't.
Instead, he shot threads from his wrists in wide arcs, the silk glinting under the fire of the torches. The webs weren't meant to entrap Shen's shape, not yet—meant to cut the space into a grid. A net to choke the rhythm.
Shen's grin widened, teeth flashing. "Smart. But walls don't do you much harm if I'm quicker than you can build them."
He charged. Lian's Qi burst as Shen dodged, his body shifting in mid-run to strike from a blind side. Lian raised an arm instinctively to block, but the blow was never coming—Shen had already moved past him, his shoulder glancing against Lian's guard as he whirled back around. A kick struck Lian on the side, sending him stumbling forward.
Lian staggered but didn't fall. His webs caught his weight like invisible crutches, springing him upright. He fired more silk, crisscrossing the ring. Shen cut through gaps with impossible precision, his smirk growing sharper.
"You're too rigid. I'll tear this down thread by thread."
Another blur. Shen solidified next to Lian's ribs, fist battering out. But this time Lian turned with it, his hand flashing. A single strand snagged on Shen's wrist as he swung. Shen's eyes widened, but for only a moment—he turned, the momentum causing the bind to be an obstacle to Lian, and now Lian was being tugged towards Shen. Shen rammed an elbow into his shoulder.
The crowd gasped. Lian's body quivered from impact, pain radiating, but he ground his teeth and planted his feet. Don't chase him, Chen's words replayed in his head. Anchor. Stake the place, not the person.
So Lian dropped to one knee, palm slapping the floor. Threads erupted outward, score upon score, sticking into the stone floor and snapping tight. The arena was a colossal spider web, strands glimmering in every direction.
Shen slid, brows furrowing. "So that's your plan."
He charged ahead anyway, but now each step was met with resistance. A strand tugged at his ankle, and he had to correct. Another swept across his arm, slowing his rotation. He chopped one off in a flash of Qi, but three more tightened across his path.
For the first time ever, Shen's pace didn't feel effortless—it felt strained.
Lian exploited the moment. He swung down, threads accumulating into fat cords, then flayed them like whips. Shen evaded one, turned past another—but the third raked his flank, and the impact broke his step.
Lian leapt forward, wrapping more webbing. Shen struggled, twirling, nearly breaking loose in raw speed. His Qi exploded, ripping the threads binding his arms. But Lian had counted on that—he added some more threads, this time binding Shen's legs. The trappings tightened, pinning Shen's ankles to the floor.
The crowd erupted, half cheering, half yelling in shock.
Shen's smile faltered for the first time, his body twisting, speed broken to jerks on the sticky strands. "You—"
Lian pulled with every ounce of strength, pulling Shen down to the mat. Before Shen could snap the final restraint, Lian lunged forward, driving his knee onto Shen's chest and holding him immovably in place. He did not give a killing blow, but his eyes did not waver, his webs rigid.
The referee's hand went up. "Winner: Lian!"
The crowd cheered. Some clapped his cleverness, others gasped that the freshman had beaten Shen Qiu, who had seemed invincible during the qualifiers.
Shen knelt on the floor, gasping, then erupted into laughter—a cold, harsh cackle. "You're not stubborn. You're dangerous." He smiled, though sweat trickled down his forehead. "Guess I'll have to return the favor another day."
Lian slowly unwrapped the web, retreating. His chest heaved, all his muscles crying out in agony from the fight, but his gaze glinted with unspoken resolve. One battle won. Rui was still out there.
In the waiting rooms, the air was calmer. Xia alone, wrapping her forearms in cloth, her golden eyes squinted into focus. She replayed Lian's match in her head and rejected it immediately—her fight was different, her path her own. Across the corridor, Rui leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, watching her with a cryptic smile.
"You've been glaring at me since the bracket was released," Rui stated flatly. His voice was still characteristically cocky confident, but his eyes locked gaze, assessing. "What is it, Xia? Afraid?"
She tightened the last knot on her bandages and looked up, expressionless face. "I don't get afraid. I prepare."
Rui grinned, pushing himself away from the pillar. He moved closer, the air around him almost-seething with repressed anger. "Good. Because when we step out onto that stage, I don't want excuses. You're tough, Xia—I'll give you credit. But toughness isn't enough. Not against me."
She smiled hesitantly, throwing her head back. "Funny. I was going to say the same thing."
Their eyes clashed, sparks almost leaping in the tension between them. One radiated unshakable haughtiness, the other unshakable determination. The storm between Rui and Xia was gathering—and everyone was aware the stage would tremble when they finally clashed.
For now, they returned to their corners, tension heavy with anticipation. The Round of 16 had hardly begun, and the real fights were only beginning.