Eligant nodded and reached into his pocket, pulling out the shimmering key and holding it steady for the man to see. The staff member leaned in, the lenses of his glasses glowing as they projected a blue grid over the metallic surface. After a tense few seconds, a soft chime signaled that the key was authentic.
"Key verified. Identity confirmed: Player 18," the staff member announced, his posture relaxing slightly as he looked Eligant up and down. "I'm sorry, but your family cannot proceed any further. From this point on, you are under the jurisdiction of the Tower authorities."
The younger siblings immediately burst into a dramatic display of grief, wailing as they hugged Eligant one last time. "Don't forget us when you're famous!" one shouted, while his mother wiped her eyes and his father gave his hand a final, firm squeeze.
"Go on, son," his father said, his voice thick with pride. "Don't look back until you've reached the top."
Eligant took a single step but the weight of his father's words made him pause. He turned back abruptly, pulling his mother, his father, and all his siblings into one final, crushing embrace. The air was filled with the sound of his brothers' sobbing and his mother's quiet prayers as they clung to his school blazer.
"I'm coming back home, I promise," Eligant whispered into the huddle, "I won't be coming back because some monster eliminated me or because I gave up. I'm coming back because I'm going to win this entire game for all of you."
Eliana wiped a stray tear from her cheek, but a mischievous glint quickly returned to her eyes as she pointed her drone phone at the group.
"You definitely better win, El, because we've already spent half that prize money in our heads!" she joked, her voice breaking the heavy tension. "I've already picked out the mansion with the pool, so don't you dare come back empty handed!"
The family erupted into a chorus of startled, watery laughter, the suffocating sadness of the moment evaporating into the morning air. Even his father chuckled, shaking his head at his daughter's audacity as he waved Eligant away.
"Go on then, before your sister sells your bedroom to a fan!" he shouted, his smile beaming with genuine hope.
Eligant gave one last wave and followed the staff member through the narrow security lane, his heart feeling lighter despite the massive task ahead. He looked at the other players, to his left, a group of massive men were performing explosive squats, their joints popping like gunfire. In stark contrast, others huddled in quiet corners, frantically leafing through a "Newbie Guide to the Fantasy Tower," a popular booklet penned by one of the surviving players from Season 1.
"I thought arriving at 7:30 would give me a head start," he muttered as they bypassed the struggling masses. He adjusted the strap of his bag. "It looks like I'll be waiting for hours just to get through this sea of people."
To his surprise, the staff member didn't stop at the end of the line. Instead, he continued walking, cutting straight toward the very front. They approached a massive, ornate entryway arch that led directly to the base of the Tower, where a lush red carpet had been rolled out.
"Wait, why am I being moved up here?" Eligant asked, his brow furrowing as he glanced at the hundreds of people they had just bypassed. "I just arrived; I shouldn't be jumping the line ahead of people who have been waiting here since midnight."
The staff member didn't even look back, his pace remaining brisk and efficient. "The producers were very specific about the opening shot for the global broadcast," he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand.
He gestured toward the heavy security barriers separating the red carpet from the sea of spectators. Thousands of people were already chanting, their voices rising in a feverish pitch as they caught sight of Eligant's towering, athletic frame.
"Look at them," the staffer whispered, nodding toward the crowd where people were already gossiping, pointing out how his suit fit his lean muscles. "First impressions aren't just important— they're everything. You're already gaining fans before the game has even started. This carpet? This is your first 'Hero Entrance.' This is where the viewers decide if you're worth their money, their votes, and their loyalty."
The man stopped at the very edge of the threshold, turning to face Eligant. He pointed toward a swarm of high definition camera drones hovering just a few feet away.
"You're the face of the new generation, kid. When those gates finally swing open, that's the shot that will be plastered on every billboard from here to the capital. Just stay right here, look into the main camera drone, and try to look like a hero."
He came to a halt in front of a girl with long, wavy pastel pink hair that shimmered like silk in the morning sun. She was wearing the same elite academy uniform as Eligant, her back stiff and her hands trembling as she clutched her fantasy key. Her entire body seemed to vibrate with a secret, frantic energy the moment he stepped into place in front of her.
"Calm down, just stay calm," she pleaded with herself, her knuckles turning white. "He's right in front of me. He's actually right there. After three years of hiding letters in his locker and leaving those lunches at his door... I can't even say hello? You bought this key with every cent you had just to be near him! You're even wearing this school uniform just so he'll know you were in the same classes! Say something, you coward!"
While the academy had gifted the key to Eligant as their star scholar athlete, she had spent a fortune to secure her own spot in the Tower. She took a deep breath, her lips parting as she prepared to finally break the silence, but the words died in her throat the moment Eligant spoke.
"Is that... Zohn Harris?" Eligant asked, his voice hushed with genuine awe. "I can't believe it. I've watched every single one of his title defenses since I was in middle school. Having a heavyweight MMA champion in the mix changes the entire dynamic of the first floor."
The girl's shoulders slumped as she followed his gaze toward the adjacent lane, a special corridor reserved for high profile athletes and celebrities. There, seated on a bench with an air of supreme boredom, was Zohn Harris. He wore his championship belt over his fighting gear, the gold plates catching the light as he leaned back, his massive arms crossed over a chest that looked as hard as granite.
"He looks even more intimidating in person than he does on a pay per view screen," one of the nearby players whispered, their voice trembling. "How are we supposed to compete with a man who breaks professional fighters for a living?"
Zohn Harris didn't bother to acknowledge the whispers of the crowd, his gaze drifting lazily across the lanes like a predator assessing a herd of cattle. He viewed no one here as a partner or a teammate; to him, the nine hundred and ninety nine other players were simply obstacles in his path to the summit. His eyes finally landed on the front of the other lane, lingering on Eligant's polished appearance and friendly face.
"So, they're putting the pretty boy at the front of the line for the cameras, are they?" Zohn muttered. "I suppose they need someone easy on the eyes to distract the audience before the real blood starts hitting the floor."
Eligant met the fighter's gaze without flinching, his own expression remaining neutral and respectful. He didn't see an idol anymore; he saw a formidable obstacle that stood between his family and their future. Zohn narrowed his eyes, leaning forward as he took a more calculated look at Eligant's posture and the subtle ripple of muscle beneath his school blazer.
"Wait a second," Zohn added, his tone shifting from mockery to a grudging, professional curiosity. "Look at the way he stands. The center of gravity is perfect, and those shoulders aren't just for show. Maybe the scholar boy actually knows how to throw a punch after all; I might actually get to break something substantial in there."
The pink haired girl watched the silent exchange, her heart sinking as she realized she had missed her window of opportunity once again.
"He hasn't even noticed my uniform," she thought, a small, sad smile tugging at her lips. "He's already focused on the battle ahead, and here I am, still wondering if he liked the cheesecake I baked for him last Tuesday."