"I can't believe my eyes, sir – the boy's actually pulling through!" the attendant said, voice trembling with excitement.
"It's like he isn't afraid anymore!"
"Isn't afraid?" The hooded man gave a soft, low chuckle. "It seems you aren't using your eyes."
He leaned forward slightly, the dim light catching the edge of his smirk. "The boy I'm watching is terrified for his life."
Then his tone dropped to a murmur, sharp and deliberate.
"Let's see if that fear breaks him… or builds him."
...….
"Damn bastard!!" someone in the crowd shouted.
"He threw sand–how's that even legal!?"
"He cheated!!"
"Silence!!" Scarlet's voice cracked through the uproar, cutting it short like a whip.
Her gaze swept the stands, crimson and cold.
"The match will continue. No rules were broken."
The crowd fell into uneasy murmurs as all eyes turned back to the ring.
John crouched there, chest heaving, blood dripping down his eyes. His opponent still staggered, blinking frantically, sand grinding against his lashes as he cursed.
"Ugh! You damned cheating brat–I'll kill you!" he roared, swiping at his eyes.
John said nothing. He only breathed–slow, sharp, focused.
Then the man blinked clear–and froze.
SSHCK!
He felt it before he saw it.
A sharp sting tore through his thigh.
John had rolled from his crouched position, darted forward, and driven his dagger in deep before leaping back again.
The man screamed, clutching his leg.
"You little bastard! Fight fair!"
John wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes locked on him.
"Fight fair?" he rasped. "When you're like a million years older than me?"
The man's face twisted with rage. "You'll regret that!"
He charged forward, sword raised high.
Steel clashed against steel as John met him head-on. Sparks flew.
Slash for slash. Step for step.
Each one blocking, countering, forcing the other back in a brutal, messy rhythm.
John's arms shook. His breath came short. The man was stronger–much stronger–but John didn't stop moving. He couldn't afford to.
Their weapons clashed again – and this time, John's guard slipped.
SCHLNK!
The sword pierced his side.
John's eyes widened.
The sound of steel sinking into flesh rang across the arena.
"Crap… it hurts like hell…" John hissed through clenched teeth. His vision blurred as blood poured from his side.
"Why isn't he pulling it out…? Oh no–this is bad… I'm losing too much blood… I'm gonna die!... I'm gonna die!... I'm gonna–"
His mind spiraled. Panic clawed at his chest.
Then–through the chaos of the crowd–his eyes caught something.
Boros.
Standing still in the sea of noise, watching him silently, expression unreadable.
'Calm down, John… you can't throw your life away yet…'
"Hey!, Hey, little bastard!" the man's voice snapped him back. He grabbed John by the collar, yanking him upright.
"Oh? I thought you died there for a second." He laughed, the sound cruel and grating. "That would've been bad, huh?"
John coughed, blood splattering the man's chest, but said nothing.
"That's good–don't talk," the man sneered, and shoved the sword deeper.
John screamed. His body arched in agony as the blade tore further into his side.
"You'll know what happens when you mess with me!" the man barked.
'Think, John… think…'
'You didn't come this far to just die here…'
Then it hit him. His eyes flicked down at the man's feet–how close they were to the edge of the ring.
'That's it…'
The man noticed his smirk. "What's that? Trying to get out some last words?" he chuckled, glancing toward the crowd.
They laughed with him, cruel and careless.
None of them noticed how dangerously close the two had drifted.
In this sparring contest, there were only two ways to win:
Knock your opponent out–
or knock them out of the ring.
John's fingers tightened around the sword still lodged in his body.
"Arghhh!!!" he screamed. "This is gonna hurt like hell–but I've got no choice!!"
"What are you–"
Before the man could finish, John grabbed the sword's hilt with both hands, ignoring the pain tearing through him.
He twisted his body sharply, pulling the man off balance–then swept his leg low.
The man's footing slipped.
For a split second, both of them hung at the edge–then gravity took them.
THUD!!
Both bodies crashed out of the ring, dust erupting into the air.
"OUT!!!!"
Scarlet's voice roared through the silence, echoing across the arena. Every single spectator froze. Not a breath was heard.
Scarlet exhaled quietly, eyes narrowing as she looked at the two bloodied figures on the ground.
"Tch… I really wish the kid had won that one," she muttered under her breath.
She stepped forward, ready to declare the result–both eliminated–
–but before she could speak, movement caught her eye.
An attendant came rushing down from the stands, cloak flapping behind him, a sealed message clutched tight in his hand.
He stopped at the edge of the ring, bowing deeply.
"Ma'am! A message–from him."
"What?" Scarlet straightened as the attendant hurried toward her.
"He's here?" she asked sharply, eyes narrowing. "I was told I'd be informed when he arrived. How long has he been watching?"
She looked up toward a darkened corner of the stands, the shadows deep enough to swallow any face that might've been there.
The attendant caught his breath, then stepped closer, handing her a sealed note.
Scarlet broke the wax seal and unfolded it.
It read: "Check the footage."
Her brows knit. "What footage?" she muttered under her breath.
"The footage of this match," the attendant whispered. "Specifically… the moment before they fell."
He leaned in closer, murmured something quietly into her ear, then stepped back and hurried toward the stands.
Scarlet's brows furrowed. Confusion first… then a sharp flicker of concern.
"Check the footage!" she ordered.
"Yes, ma'am!"
Minutes passed–thick, suffocating minutes–as the entire arena waited.
The laughter, the noise, even the whispers had died away.
Then, finally, scarlet stepped back into the ring, voice clear and cutting through the silence.
"After careful review," she began,
"the winner of this contest is… John."
The arena erupted into confusion.
"What?!"
"Impossible!"
"We all saw both of them fall!"
Scarlet raised a hand, silencing the chaos.
"Yes… but his body–" she pointed toward John's unconscious opponent being lifted by medics "–touched the ground first. That eliminates him."
For a heartbeat, no one spoke. Then, slowly, John's eyes widened.
"I… I actually won?" he breathed.
He staggered to his feet, barely keeping balance. When he looked up, he caught sight of Boros– smirking like he'd just watched a miracle happen.
John managed a tired grin in return. But the moment Boros realized he was being watched, his smirk vanished, replaced by his usual unreadable calm.
John chuckled weakly. 'He's really bad at hiding that,' he thought – then winced as pain ripped through his side.
Scarlet noticed immediately. She walked over, her coat sweeping the dust.
"Don't worry," she said softly. "We'll take care of the wound."
She gestured to the medics, who rushed to support John as he finally let go the sword still lodged in his side.
...…..
"Hmph," the hooded man murmured from his seat, watching the medics carry John off. "That's how it's supposed to be."
His attendant glanced at him, hesitant. "Sir… I must admit, I'm surprised you chose to intervene. May I ask why?"
The hooded man chuckled, his voice low beneath the mask of his hood.
"Why? That's a good question…."
He leaned forward, eyes glinting beneath the shadow.
"Let's just say… I want to see where that boy is one year from now."
"One year?" the attendant repeated.
"Why that specific ti–"
"You talk too much," the man interrupted lazily, waving a gloved hand.
"My apologies, sir," the attendant said quickly, bowing his head.
A faint smirk curled beneath the hood.
"So… you let the fear build you, huh?" he murmured, almost to himself.
"Heh. The little bastard reminds me of lot of you… Griffin."