The notification hung in the air of the virtual locker room, a golden scroll of text that felt more like a death sentence than an achievement. 5,000 Credits. The number seemed to suck the sound right out of the post-victory celebration. The cheering died in their throats, replaced by a stunned, heavy silence.
Taro was the first to speak, his voice uncharacteristically small. "Five… thousand? But… we only have two thousand. And that's if we pool everything."
"It's a gatekeeping mechanic," Daichi muttered, his practical nature surfacing through the shock. "They don't want every random team clogging up the Copper League servers. They want only the serious, funded ones."
"Funded?" Jiro laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. "We're about as funded as a stray dog. What are we supposed to do? We just used our last credits to repair our basic gear durability."
A wave of despair threatened to overwhelm Kairo. This was the cruel irony of their situation. They had the skill, the teamwork, the drive to compete at a higher level, but they were being blocked by the most mundane of obstacles: money. He thought of Hana's medication, his parents' exhausted faces. The 45 credits he'd sent home felt like a cruel joke now. He couldn't ask them for this. He wouldn't.
"We'll earn it," Kairo said, his voice cutting through the panic. It was calm, but it carried the steely resolve of a commander. "We have seventy-two hours. We find matches. We win. We take the prize money."
They scrambled to the mission board in the Genesis Square hub, the glowing interface displaying available challenges. The reality was grim. Standard Iron League matches now paid a paltry 200 credits to the winners, split eleven ways. They would need to win over twenty-five matches in three days—an impossible feat of endurance and luck.
"Look!" Yumi pointed a trembling finger at a flashing, crimson banner at the top of the board. "The 'Ironblood Gauntlet.'"
It was a single-elimination tournament, open to all Iron League teams. The entry fee was a staggering 1,000 credits—half their total capital. The prize, however, made Kairo's breath catch.
1st Place: 10,000 Credits. Automatic Copper League Qualification.
It was a gamble of terrifying proportions. Win, and they'd not only pay their fee but have a five-thousand-credit surplus to upgrade gear and help his family. Lose, and they'd be bankrupt, back to square one, with no way to enter the Copper League before the season started.
"It's a trap for desperate teams," Daichi warned, his face grim. "Look at the rules. No substitutions. Matches are back-to-back. If you win, you play again in one hour. It's designed to break you."
"But ten thousand…" Ren whispered, his eyes wide with a dangerous hope.
As they debated, a smooth, familiar voice cut through their huddle. "Staring into the abyss, are we?"
Kaito Hoshino leaned against a nearby pillar, inspecting his perfectly manicured virtual gloves. "The promotion fee is a nasty little surprise, isn't it? Separates the wheat from the chaff. Or in your case, the funded from the destitute." His eyes slid to Kairo. "The offer still stands, you know. 5,000 a match. You could pay that fee with one game. No gauntlet. No risk."
The temptation was a physical ache. It would be so easy. But Kairo looked at Taro's determined face, at Yumi's hopeful eyes, at Jiro who was trying so hard to be brave. He had built this. He would not abandon it for a shortcut.
"The answer is still no," Kairo said, his voice flat.
Kaito shrugged, a theatrical gesture of mock disappointment. "Suit yourself. I'll be watching the Gauntlet stream. Try not to get your spine broken in the first round." He pushed off the pillar and melted back into the crowd.
His words, however, had sealed their decision. The mockery was a catalyst.
"We do it," Taro said, his jaw set. "We enter the Gauntlet."
"We'll lose everything," Daichi countered.
" We have nothing to lose!" Taro fired back, his passion igniting. "What's the alternative? Grinding until our fingers fall off for pocket change? This is who we are! We're the underdogs! This is our story!"
Kairo looked at his team, at the fire Taro had sparked in their eyes. Daichi was right—it was a terrible risk. But Taro was right, too. Playing it safe was a slow death. This was their chance to leapfrog into the future.
"All in favor?" Kairo asked.
A chorus of "Aye!" echoed, Daichi's being the last and most reluctant, but it was there.
With a deep breath, Kairo selected the tournament. A confirmation screen appeared, warning them of the high stakes and brutal format. He confirmed. A digital counter in their team interface began: 71:59:59.
The first round draw was announced moments later. Their opponents: The "Juggernauts." The name said it all.
---
The "Gauntlet Grounds" were a stark contrast to the Iron Anvil. It was a bare-bones, metallic arena surrounded by crackling energy fields, designed for efficiency, not comfort. The stands were packed with a bloodthirsty crowd there for carnage. The air hummed with a predatory intensity.
The Juggernauts lived up to their name. They were a team of giants, every player specializing in pure Strength and Tackling stats. Their strategy was primitive but effective: brutalize the opposition into submission.
From the first whistle, it was a war of attrition. The Juggernauts fouled with impunity, knowing the tournament's lenient refereeing. Hard tackles, shirt-pulling, elbows in the ribs—the game was a physical assault. Kairo was targeted relentlessly, scythed down every time he touched the ball. His health bar, a stat he usually ignored, dipped into the yellow.
"Kairo, they're breaking the rules!" Taro yelled after a particularly vicious challenge that left Kairo sprawled on the metallic pitch.
"They're playing the tournament's rules," Kairo grunted, picking himself up. His body ached with simulated pain. "We have to be smarter."
He adjusted their tactics on the fly, instructing the team to play one-touch football, moving the ball before the brutes could close them down. It was a dangerous game, requiring perfect passing under extreme pressure. For twenty minutes, they endured, a technically superior ship being battered by a storm of pure force.
The breakthrough came from an unexpected source. Jiro, receiving a pass under pressure from the Juggernauts' hulking striker, didn't panic. Instead of clearing it, he remembered Kairo's training. He took a touch, drew the striker in, and then played a perfectly weighted, first-time pass into the channel Kairo was already moving into.
It was the kind of intelligent play that separated a player from a pawn.
Kairo collected the ball, his
It wasn't a powerful through ball; it was a work of art. The ball seemed to hang in the air, giving Yumi all the time in the world to accelerate past her marker. She took it in her stride, and for the first time in the match, Aethelgard was behind the brutish defense. She squared it across the goal, and Ren, fighting off a defender, tapped it in. 1-0.
The Juggernauts, built to bully, had no answer to being out-thought. Their discipline crumbled. Aethelgard held on, a battered but unbowed unit, to secure the victory.
There was no time to celebrate. The system gave them a one-hour rest period. They slumped in a sterile recovery room, using basic, team-funded regeneration items to patch their health and stamina bars. The mood was grim. They had won, but they were already battered, and this was only the first round.
The second round was against the "Shadow Blades," a team built on Speed and Stealth abilities. They were the polar opposite of the Juggernauts—fast, technical, and deadly on the counter-attack.
The match was a frantic, end-to-end affair. Aethelgard, still aching from the first game, struggled to maintain their defensive shape against the Blades' rapid, interchangeable forwards. In the 35th minute, a quick turnover led to a devastating counter. Kenji made a spectacular save, but the rebound fell to a Shadow Blade striker who slotted it home. 1-0 down.
For the first time in the Gauntlet, they were losing. Doubt, that most insidious of opponents, began to creep in. They were tired, they were hurt, and now they were behind.
Kairo felt the panic spreading through his team like a virus. He looked at Taro, whose energetic runs were becoming sluggish. He saw the fear in Kenji's eyes. This was the moment. This was where a team of individuals would fracture.
He called them into a huddle as the Blades celebrated. His voice was low, intense, but calm.
"Look at me," he commanded. They did. "This is what we trained for. This is the pressure that forges diamonds. They have speed, but we have a mind. They have one goal, but we have a symphony. We do not break. We adapt."
He made a tactical shift, pulling Daichi deeper to form a back three and pushing the full-backs forward. "We control the tempo. We make them play our game. Taro, Yumi—I need you to stretch them until they snap."
The second half was a masterclass in controlled possession. Kairo activated
In the 68th minute, the equalizer came. A fifteen-pass move that stretched the Blades from one side of the pitch to the other, ending with Kairo sliding a disguised through ball to Taro, who finished with a powerful, cathartic strike. 1-1.
The momentum had shifted. Aethelgard was the machine again, and the Blades were breaking against it. The winning goal in the 88th minute was almost inevitable—a tired foul on the edge of the box, and Kairo stepped up to take the free kick.
As he placed the ball, a faint, golden shimmer flickered around his foot.
The roar from the crowd was deafening. They had done it. They were in the semi-finals.
But as the final whistle blew, Kairo didn't celebrate. He looked at his team. Their stamina bars were deep red. Jiro was playing on with a "Moderate Injury" debuff that reduced his speed by 20%. They had one hour until the next match. They were running on fumes, and the toughest opponents were likely still ahead. The price of glory was proving to be everything they had, and more.