The Dome's floodlights ignited in a bluish glow. The air vibrated. The audience, now attuned to the tournament's rhythm, had settled into their habits: Neko earbuds plugged in for live streams, Nano-Banana protein snacks wedged under seats, open bets running on the official app.
On social media, hashtags were already running wild.
#AdapterInPower still reigned in trending, but two newcomers were climbing fast:
#WhoIsOrion
#MikaTheSurvivor
The atmosphere was electric. Today, destinies would be sealed.
———
The first match was approaching.
The giant screen displayed the portraits.
On one side, Ivy, smiling, her plant tendrils dancing softly around her. The "bio" crowd's favorite. On the other side, Orion. Closed face. Fixed eyes. No emotion. No bio available. No pre-tournament interview. Nothing.
On Neko, an amateur analysis live stream was exploding:
"— Guys, I searched everywhere. There's ZERO trace of this guy before the tournament.
— Maybe an anonymous entry?
— Anonymous my ass. Look at his arms. There are metallic joints."
———
In a Builder's lounge—the Nano-Tech Sponsors' Lodge—
Two silhouettes could be seen leaning forward, identical smiles, an unhealthy gleam in their eyes.
Professor Sendo – smooth scalp, pristine lab coat, fingers tapping on a control tablet.
Engineer Kibaru – younger, disheveled hair, the feverish eyes of an art collector before a blank canvas.
"He's beautiful," murmured Kibaru. "Truly beautiful."
Sendo nodded, cold. "The Orion model. Version 7.2. Neuronal stabilization at 98%. Total cost: the equivalent of a residential district."
"And today… we launch him." Kibaru leaned in. "The crowd will love it."
"The crowd loves power, Kibaru. And Orion is power incarnate."
They exchanged a glance. A silent contract. Orion was their masterpiece. And this masterpiece was FINALLY going to be exhibited.
———
IN THE ARENA
"READY?" the referee thundered.
Ivy nodded, confident. Her flowers bloomed.
Orion nodded nothing. His eyes remained fixed on some invisible point, beyond Ivy, beyond the arena.
— FIGHT!
Ivy attacked first. Her vines shot out, fast, precise, targeting his ankles to unbalance him.
Orion didn't move.
CRACK.
The sound was so sharp, so final, that the crowd flinched. Ivy's vines had shattered cleanly, like glass, against Orion's legs. The metal visible beneath the torn fabric of his pants gleamed faintly.
Ivy's eyes widened. "What the…"
Orion raised an arm.
The movement was mechanical. Fluid. Perfect. His forearm opened laterally, revealing a complex internal structure: pistons, fiber optics, and a minuscule, perfectly calibrated cannon.
In the lounge, Sendo smiled. "Launch."
BOOM.
The explosion was blinding. A beam of white energy, dense as a cathedral pillar, tore straight through the arena.
Ivy was hurled backward. Her plant armor disintegrated in a fraction of a second, her flowers exploding into a rain of charred petals. She tore through the safety barrier—supposedly reinforced—like paper, and slammed into the concrete of the lower stands, fifteen meters away.
Silence.
Then, chaos.
"WHAT… WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!" screamed Lola, standing, her microphone trembling. "ORION… ORION JUST UNLEASHED CLASS A POWER! HIS ARMS… THEY'RE WEAPONS! HE'S A CYBORG! A GENUINE COMBAT CYBORG!"
Neko screens ignited.
#ORION instantly became number one.
#CYBORG
#WHOTHISCYBORG
Slow-motion clips looped endlessly: the arm opening, the cannon heating, the white beam pulverizing Ivy.
"— THAT'S NOT HUMAN.
— It's BETTER than human. Look at that precision!
— He just vaporized a candidate. Is that even legal?!
— He didn't kill her, look, she's still moving. But damn…
— NEW FAVORITE. RIGHT NOW."
Ivy, unconscious, was evacuated on oxygen. Orion lowered his arm, the cannon retracting with a hydraulic hiss. He did not look at his work. He turned and left the arena, impassive.
In the Nano-Tech lounge, Kibaru was applauding softly. "Masterpiece," he murmured.
Sendo noted something on his tablet.
"Phase two approved."
———
Meanwhile, the second match was approaching.
The atmosphere was still reeling from the shock of Orion. But Lola, professional, pressed on.
"AND NOW, A FIGHT WITH ENTIRELY DIFFERENT DYNAMICS! YOUNG MIKA, OUR RESCUE SURVIVOR, FACES THE COLD CALCULATOR… ROGAN!"
Mika entered.
She was trembling. Her shoulders were hunched, her gaze averted. She looked like prey.
Rogan, across from her, adjusted his tie. He hadn't removed his three-piece suit. His smile was polite, professional, absolutely not reassuring. On his wrist, a connected watch displayed a holographic screen—like video game stats.
"Don't worry," he said. "I'll be efficient. That's all."
— FIGHT!
Mika screamed.
Not a war cry. A scream of panic. Her hands opened and a sphere of pale purple Ether, unstable, vibrating, shot toward Rogan.
He sidestepped it, almost elegantly. The sphere exploded behind him, carving a crater into the ground.
"Oh. Unstable." He made a mental note. "Movement speed: low. Trajectory: linear. Range: limited."
Mika threw a second. Then a third. Rogan dodged, retreated, analyzed. He did not counter-attack.
"SHE'S ATTACKING, BUT ROGAN ISN'T RESPONDING!" Lola commented.
On Neko, reactions flew:
"— Is he messing with her?
— No, he's studying her. Look at his eyes.
— It's creepy. He's treating her like a math problem.
— SHE'S GOING TO LOSE."
Mika was panting. Her spheres were getting smaller, slower. The Ether was leaving her. Rogan, meanwhile, hadn't broken a sweat.
"Assessment," he announced calmly. "Four weaknesses identified. Charge time too long. No feints. Rapid exhaustion. And…"
He took a step forward.
"…no defense."
His right hand, sheathed in fine leather, extended. Not a punch. A simple push on Mika's shoulder, at the exact moment she tried to charge a fifth sphere.
She lost her balance, fell to her knees.
Rogan took his time finishing her off, stomping on her head four times. So this defeat would be engraved in her.
"FIGHT OVER," said Rogan, as if announcing the weather. "Efficiency comes first."
He raised his hand to the referee.
Mika, on her knees, trembling, tears streaming down her cheeks, clenched her fists.
"I…"
Rogan looked at her, surprised.
"I… don't want… to be efficient…" Her voice was a thread. "I want… to be useful…"
She tried to get up. Her legs gave way.
The audience held its breath.
"— Come on…
— Get up…
— GODDAMMIT GET UP!"
She fell. Once. Twice.
The third time, she stood, swaying, her tiny Ether spheres, barely visible, floating around her like dying fireflies.
Rogan watched her for a long time.
Then, softly, almost politely:
"Useful."
He took a step toward her.
"Usefulness is a subset of efficiency."
His hand rose for the final blow.
Mika closed her eyes.
"SORRY. WINNER: ROGAN."
She collapsed, drained. But on her face, despite the defeat, there was something new. Not resignation. Anger. At herself.
"Not yet. Not ready yet. But soon."
Said Angel, from the stands.
[probably a future important character]
———
With those words, a brief glance toward the next match.
The candidate corridor was deserted. One was walking, hands in his pockets, when a shadow stopped in front of him.
Captain Man.
The hero, the symbol of peace, the role model for children. He looked at One with unusual intensity.
"You."
One stopped. He looked up at Captain Man. No admiration. No fear. Just polite curiosity.
"Your fight."
Captain Man stepped closer. His voice, usually so light, was serious.
"You're going to win. That's simple."
One waited.
"But winning isn't enough." Captain Man locked eyes with One. "You need to take it seriously."
A silence.
"You hide behind your indifference. Behind your sandwiches and your yawns. People laugh, it's cute, it's quirky. But you and I, we know."
He leaned in.
"You have a level far beyond what you show. Why are you holding back?"
One looked at him for a long time. Then, very calmly:
"Holding back?"
Captain Man frowned.
"Ahhh… I just prefer not to tire myself out."
The hero stood frozen, searching for mockery, sarcasm. There was none. One was sincere.
"… Win," Captain Man finally said. "You wanted the costume, so just win. Simply."
He turned and disappeared.
One shrugged. He entered the arena.
———
ONE VS. BRICK. That was the upcoming match-up.
Brick was ready. His guard was solid, his morale unshakable, his smile friendly. He greeted One with respect.
"Ready whenever you are!"
One yawned.
He was thinking about Captain Man's costume. It was stylish.
— FIGHT!
Brick charged.
No feints. No tricks. A mammoth's charge, loyal, straightforward.
One dodged with a minimal, almost invisible hip movement. Brick passed by, pivoted, attacked again. One stepped back, dodged a left hook, ducked under an uppercut.
He didn't strike.
He didn't even block.
He simply existed just out of reach, like a poorly framed photograph.
Brick was tiring. His punches grew slower, heavier. Sweat ran down his forehead.
"…Why won't you fight?" he panted.
One looked at him.
"I am fighting."
"Against who?!"
One didn't answer.
He was too busy worrying about his hunger.
"I'm hungry," he kept repeating in his head.
While Brick struggled to exist.
Brick, frustrated, gathered his remaining strength for a desperate attack. He charged, fists forward, his entire body thrown into the momentum.
One ducked.
Brick sailed over him, stumbled, took three staggering steps… and collapsed, exhausted, breathless, unable to get up.
The referee counted.
"EIGHT… NINE… TEN! K.O.! WINNER: ONE!"
The audience was perplexed.
"— He didn't even punch.
— He exhausted him. It's strategic.
— Strategic? He just STROLLED around.
— This guy is weird."
On Neko, the memes exploded:
#OneTheGhost
#SandwichWarrior
#HeStruckWithHisAbsence
Captain Man, in his lounge, watched the screen, jaw tight.
"… Tiring," he murmured.
But he didn't look away.
He hadn't even intended to fight Brick. Why had he been matched against him? He wondered.
———
END OF DAY - OTHER MATCH SUMMARIES
While these three duels captivated attention, the rest of the first round had concluded in a constant background hum.
LENA vs. FANG → LENA VICTORY.
The scarred avenger had shredded the fanged predator with surgical coldness. Three moves. Two slashes. One K.O. Fans had nicknamed her "The Silent Reaper."
SORA vs. GAIA → SORA VICTORY.
The aesthetic dreamer had danced around Gaia's earth attacks, turning the arena into a living painting. His victory was controversial—some called it "staged"—but undeniable.
ZANE vs. JIN → ZANE VICTORY.
The lightning bolt had atomized the adrenaline junkie in under twenty seconds. Tournament record. On Neko, they were already calling him "Zane the Thunderbolt."
Some purists were even drawing parallels to a legend named Naga, endlessly repeating that this was his power in the texts—Zane is his reincarnation, they said. A real bunch of clowns.
NOVA vs. KAI → NOVA VICTORY.
The radiant optimist had blinded the bandaged avenger with a light so intense the Dome's sensors had saturated. Kai, disoriented, had walked out of the arena without realizing it. Technical victory.
She had won in the least tiring way possible. Well done.
JET vs. ECHO → JET VICTORY.
The aerial acrobat had too much mobility for the echo of the dead. Echo had tried to trap him in resonances, but Jet struck from above, below, everywhere. K.O. after three minutes of vertical pursuit.
CHLOE vs. ROOK → CHLOE VICTORY.
The scientist had spent four minutes analyzing the immobile fortress. Rook hadn't moved an inch, confident in his endurance. Chloe had finally found the flaw: an expansion joint under his left knee. A flick of Ether. Rook had collapsed like a house of cards.
Yet another proof that technique could surpass a well-stocked Ether reserve.
———
EVENING ON THE NANO-NEKO SOCIAL NETWORK
The trends were a firework display.
#OrionCyborg: 12M views.
#MikaDidntGiveUp: 8M views.
#OneTheGhost: 6M views.
#ZaneTheThunderbolt: 5M views.
#KotobeAdapter: still 15M views (people still couldn't get over it).
Edits, theories, debates:
"— Orion is the new favorite. Period.
— And Grann? You forgot Grann?
— Grann vs. Orion in the finals. I can't stop thinking about it.
— One is hiding something, I swear.
— Kotobe COPYIED the Flow. Do you realize?!"
Amidst the chaos, a post went viral. A single sentence, posted by an anonymous account:
"The second round will reshuffle the deck. Some favorites will fall. Others will reveal themselves. And the Seijin clan hasn't said its last word."
No one knew who had posted it. But everyone was sharing it.
———
IN THE SHADOWS
Tamura Seijin turned off his communicator.
"The round of sixteen," he murmured. "That's when the real games begin."
Behind him, on a silent screen, the portraits of the qualifiers scrolled by.
Grann. Kotobe. Axel. Viper. Luna. Bo. Mira. Orion. One. Lena. Sora. Zane. Nova. Jet. Chloe. Rogan.
Sixteen names. Sixteen destinies.
One victor.
The tournament was entering its most dangerous phase.