Silence.
The sound of the wind is the only thing being heard.
Three figures stand amidst one another, their eyes locked.
Mana crackles in the air.
Tension rises.
"…"
BOOM.
The ground is crushed under the force, the entire area shaking.
Each figure becomes a blur—only their clashes visible.
"Wow," Bobby remarks, a smile tucked on his face. "Let's crank it up a notch, shall we?"
A stop sign materialises in his hands.
"!"
CLANG.
Rook's eyes widen in shock as his great hammer is blocked by the flat side of Bobby's stop sign.
The force of the clash sends ripples through the air.
"Hupp…" Bobby groans, twisting the sign and smacking Rook's great hammer into the ground.
"How the fuck?" Rook mutters, confusion clear on his face.
"Ta-daa✨," Bobby says.
Tristan leaps upward, crashing down with a slash aimed at Bobby's stop sign.
Whoosh.
The sign dematerialises.
Tristan's sword lands against Rook's great hammer instead, the recoil from Rook's mana-coated weapon sending vibrations through Tristan's arms.
"Tsk," Tristan clicks his tongue in frustration.
Bobby takes the chance, responding with a back kick into Tristan's side, sending him flying into a nearby wall.
Rook draws his great hammer back before lunging at Bobby.
Bobby leaps over the thrust, drawing out his stop sign midair and smacking Rook across the face—only for the blow to halt against the dense mana surrounding him.
"!"
"What the—?!" Rook exclaims in shock as the mana where Bobby struck vanishes completely. "How did you do tha—"
Bobby's fist cuts him off.
He follows up with a flurry of blows, each punch faster than the last. With every strike, the dense mana coating Rook begins to peel away.
Who even is this guy? Rook thinks. Each punch is chipping away at my defense… and I can't even react.
"Ssstrike," Bobby says, landing the final blow.
Rook is sent flying, crashing through the window of a nearby building.
Crash.
Glass shards scatter everywhere.
You're telling me this guy… Rook continues internally, is an E-rank?!
"C'mon, boys," Bobby says, spreading his arms wide. "You aren't done yet, are you?"
He glances between Tristan and Rook. "I haven't even gotten serious yet."
This bastard… Tristan thinks as he pushes himself up. He's been holding back this entire time?! First I struggled against an A-rank—now I'm about to lose to an E-rank?!
His eyes flicker with resolve.
Like hell I would. I can do it—no. I must do it. I must win.
"Seems like you're not so tired after all," Bobby says as both Tristan and Rook come back into view.
"Looks like I'll have to get serious too."
Thud.
Bobby slams his hand against his chest.
Thud.
Again.
THUD.
Again.
"…"
A faint heartbeat echoes.
It grows—
Louder.
"It's Bobby time," Bobby says, smiling as veins bulge along his neck.
Bobby's Time.
All E-ranks are born with very little mana capacity, making them incomparable to higher ranks.
With one exception.
Bobby.
Through sheer experience and relentless experimentation, Bobby developed a—
"Kør?!" Tristan exclaims. "How does he have one?!"
With the use of this Kør, Bobby earned the title of the strongest E-rank.
His deep understanding of mana allowed him to defeat countless D-, C-, B-, and even A-rank hunters.
He discovered that mana responds to will and emotion.
Anger makes it violent.
Intent to protect makes it heal.
That is why Bobby's mana disrupted Rook's—his intent was absolute.
As long as his mana made contact, disruption was inevitable.
With this understanding, Bobby created his own technique.
His own constitution.
By placing his Kør on his heart, he forcibly increases his blood pressure, flooding his brain and forcing it into a constant state of overreaction—sharpening his reflexes and perception to their limits.
The downside?
If he maintains it longer than seven minutes—
He dies.
"Let us proceed," Bobby says as his stop sign reforms in his hand.
But for Bobby…
Seven minutes—
…is plenty.
Rook dashes forward with a horizontal swing packed with immense force.
Bobby meets it head-on, deflecting the strike with the flat of the stop sign.
Tristan follows, slashing toward Bobby's neck.
Bobby spins, narrowly avoiding it.
He twists the stop sign, slashing back at Tristan—blocked.
Rook raises his hammer again.
Bobby thrusts the pole backward, striking Rook in the stomach.
He plants the sign into the ground, fists coated in a thin layer of mana.
Tristan unleashes a barrage of strikes.
Bobby deflects every single one.
Rook attempts to shatter the sign with a full swing.
Bobby turns, catching the hammer and blocking it head-on, muscles tightening.
Rook discards the weapon and lunges with a jab.
Bobby leans back, narrowly dodging.
Tristan thrusts, aiming for Bobby's chest.
Bobby twists aside, the stop sign grazing Tristan's face.
Tristan's eyes glow gold—he ducks just in time.
Rook kicks the back of Bobby's knee.
Tristan follows with a slash.
Blocked.
Rook's fist flies toward Bobby's face.
Bobby tilts his head—barely avoiding it.
He grabs Rook's extended arm and flips him over his shoulder.
His eyes snap right.
Tristan's blade closes in.
Bobby blocks with his forearm and rolls backward, creating distance.
Tristan pursues.
Foresight—activated.
Multiple slashes tear through the air.
This guy… Tristan thinks. He isn't that strong. He isn't even that fast.
He attacks again.
Three consecutive slashes.
Bobby dodges all of them and counters with a straight punch that slips past Tristan's guard.
Tristan arches back, barely avoiding it.
He's barely reacting… Tristan realises. He's reading us.
Bobby flash-steps inside Tristan's guard.
A liver shot.
Then a left jab.
Tristan skids backward.
"All he's doing…" Tristan pants, resting on his sword, one knee on the ground.
"…is reading our movements."
He watches as Rook and Bobby continue clashing in the background.
"Is this… the difference in experience?"
BOOM.
Rock and debris explode outward.
Rook lies buried in the rubble.
Bobby cracks his neck and rolls his shoulder.
"Oooh," he groans. "That was a good one."
He walks toward Tristan.
Tristan gathers his strength and lunges.
Smack.
Bobby slaps him back into the ground.
"Relax, kid," Bobby says calmly. "You don't have the strength to fight me anymore."
Ring ring.
"…"
"Shit," Bobby mutters, pulling out his phone.
"Hello… honey."
A bead of sweat rolls down his brow.
"Okay, okay—I'm coming. Relax."
"…Yeah. Love you too. Bye."
He exhales deeply.
"Well," Bobby says, adjusting his suit and wiping sweat from his face, "looks like you're both lucky."
"Oh—and Tristan."
Tristan looks up.
"I know about five hundred people who could whoop the shit out of you."
Bobby smiles.
"Stay humble, eh?"
His body vanishes.
"Fuck," Tristan mutters, lowering his head in shame.
"…"
"...Should I restart?"