Chapter LXIII: Let the Games Begin! Part 2
The third morning of the Starlight Festival dawns with a brightness that feels almost ceremonial, as if the sun itself understands that it rises not merely upon a campus, but upon a living arena of ambition, rivalry, and celebration. The sky stretches in a boundless blue over the twelve districts of the university, and the banners of gold and sapphire ripple gently in the early breeze, whispering against the façades of buildings that gleam beneath layers of fresh polish and anticipation.
Across the campus, the games continue. They do not pause. They do not falter. They surge forward.
In the Aquarius District, where fountains glimmer like mirrors and the Technology Complex hums quietly even before the official hours begin, four figures stroll side by side along the paved promenade. Ryujin walks at the center, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, posture relaxed but eyes observant. To his right, Hageshi gestures animatedly as he speaks; to his left, Inoshiro scrolls through his phone; behind them, Haruto carries a paper cup of iced tea that sloshes gently with each step.
The festival music from a distant speaker drifts faintly through the air.
"Wait," Hageshi says suddenly, halting mid-stride. "Are you sure that today is not yet the Semi-finals?"
Inoshiro doesn't look up from his phone. "I think it's still game day. Or finals."
Hageshi turns sharply. "That makes no sense. It can't be finals already."
Inoshiro shrugs. "It might. Time moves fast."
"Fast?" Hageshi exclaims. "It's only Wednesday!"
"And?" Inoshiro retorts. "We started Monday."
"That doesn't mean we're already in semi-finals!" Hageshi insists, voice rising.
Haruto sips his drink carefully, eyes darting between them. "Here we go again..."
"You're just saying that because you don't remember the schedule," Hageshi accuses.
"And you're just assuming because you want to win the argument," Inoshiro fires back.
"Fine!" Hageshi declares. "If it's not semi-finals, I'll buy you fries later. If it is, you buy me."
"You're on."
Their voices begin overlapping, escalating into a comical dispute about brackets, elimination rounds, and how many colleges actually participate in each category. Students walking past glance at them, amused.
Then Ryujin raises one hand.
"Gentlemen," he says calmly, voice cutting through the bickering without force, "to answer your questions and to put an end to this fight—look there."
He points ahead. At the edge of Aquarius Avenue stands a massive tarpaulin banner, mounted between two reinforced steel posts. It is bordered in gold and framed with the emblem of the university at the top. The entire week's schedule is printed in meticulous detail.
They approach it together.
Monday:
> Opening of the Food and Trade Fair
> Formal Opening of the University Walls
> Reopening Ceremony of the Starlight Festival and Sports Fest
Tuesday:
> First Games
> Volleyball (8:00 AM) – Virgo Open Field
> Football (8:00 AM) – Leo Arena
> Basketball (8:00 AM) – Sagittarius Gymnasium
> Taekwondo, Karate, Tennis, Badminton – Different Districts
> Chess, Scrabble, Checkers, Games of the Generals (8:30 AM)
> eSports (9:00 AM) – Aquarius Technology Complex
Wednesday:
> Continuation of Preliminary and Elimination Games
> All Categories
Hageshi scans the list, then grins triumphantly.
"See?" he says, pointing. "Continuation of elimination games. Not semi-finals."
Inoshiro sighs dramatically. "Fine. You win."
Haruto chuckles. "Fries are safe."
Hageshi folds his arms proudly. "I declare myself victorious."
Ryujin smirks faintly. "Your victory prize is knowing how to read."
They continue scanning the schedule.
Thursday:
> Family Day
> No official competitive matches
> Campus Activities, Parental Visits, Cultural Programs
Ryujin's expression softens slightly. "My mom is coming tomorrow."
Hageshi nods. "Mine too."
Inoshiro lifts his head. "Same here."
Haruto smiles quietly. "My grandparents are coming."
"That's nice," Ryujin says.
Hageshi nudges him. "You nervous?"
Ryujin shrugs. "A little. It's been a while since she visited during festival week."
Inoshiro pockets his phone. "At least tomorrow's chill. No games. No stress."
"Speak for yourself," Haruto replies. "My grandma always asks about my grades."
They laugh together. The tension dissolves into easy camaraderie, and for a moment the Starlight Festival feels less like competition and more like belonging.
But the games do not rest. They surge forward.
In the Virgo District, the Open Field is alive with movement. The grass stretches wide and emerald under the morning sun, the net taut between steel posts reinforced for festival play. Spectators cluster along the sidelines beneath shaded canopies, their cheers rising and falling like waves.
Samero stands at the backline, knees slightly bent, eyes sharp. Sweat glistens along his brow, but his focus remains unbroken. Across the net stands the College of Fine Arts from the Cancer District. Their jerseys shimmer in pale silver and deep teal. They have already taken one set earlier in the match, but now the score tightens again.
The whistle blows. The serve arcs high. The rally begins. The ball flies back and forth with precision with dig, set, spike, block, recover. Shoes scrape across turf. Voices call out positions.
"Left!"
"Mine!"
"Up!"
The tension builds with every exchange. The Fine Arts setter lifts the ball high toward their ace hitter. He leaps, arm cocked back but, Samero reads the movement instantly. He launches upward. For a split second, he hangs in the air, suspended between earth and sky.
Then he strikes. The spike crashes through the opposing block and slams into the floor near the baseline. The crowd erupts.
"Point! Junior High School!" the referee signals.
Samero lands, chest heaving, teammates swarming around him. They take the set. The momentum shifts. Another set begins. The rally intensifies. Then something unpredictable happens. A miscalculated return from the Junior High side sends the ball flying wildly off trajectory. Instead of clearing the net cleanly, it sails at a strange angle. It strikes a Fine Arts player directly in the face. The impact echoes.
He stumbles backward and collapses onto the court. A collective gasp spreads across the audience. But the rally continues. The Juniors hit the ball back instinctively, driven by momentum and instinct. It arcs again toward the fallen player.
His teammates scramble to lift him. The ball strikes his face a second time.
"Whoa!" one of the emcees shouts from the announcer's booth. "A spike straight to the man, the myth, the legend!"
The crowd half-laughs, half-winces. The Juniors send it again. Third hit. The Fine Arts teammates, now determined, hoist their fallen comrade upright, almost like a human shield in a desperate block attempt.
"His teammates help him to his feet!"
"NO!"
"They raise him heavenward!"
The ball ricochets off his forehead and flies back across the net. Samero dives for it. His fingers brush the surface—but not enough. The ball hits the turf. Point to Fine Arts. The emcees lose composure entirely.
"He did it! He did it!" one cries. "He descended through the air like a defensive angel!"
"An angel with the face of a devil!" the other adds dramatically. "Look at this replay!"
The giant LED beside the field replays the absurd sequence.
"One is the loneliest number, two tickets to paradise, three times a lady—"
"And FOUR-EVER YOUNG!" they shout together.
The crowd roars with laughter and applause. The Fine Arts player, now fully conscious and upright, gives a shaky thumbs-up. The score tightens. Neck and neck. Another set begins.
Meanwhile, in the Sagittarius Gymnasium, the air is thick with the scent of varnished wood and anticipation. The polished court gleams under bright overhead lights. Banners hang high along the walls, and the bleachers are packed with students chanting rhythmically.
Kuebiko stands near the sideline, rolling his shoulders. Across from him tower the players from the College of Criminology with broad-shouldered, muscular, imposing.
The whistle blows. No powers allowed. Standard rules only. The first quarter begins. The Criminology center wins the tip-off easily, towering over Kuebiko's teammate. They drive forward aggressively. The ball moves fast.
Kuebiko intercepts a pass, pivots, and drives toward the basket—but a wall of muscle blocks his path. He passes out. Shot attempt. It's a miss. Time for the rebound. The battle intensifies.
At a timeout, his teammates gather around him, visibly intimidated.
"They're huge," one whispers.
Kuebiko breathes steadily.
"Picture them as Goliaths," he says. "And we're David."
One teammate blinks. "David only had one stone."
Kuebiko grins. "We have five players."
They chuckle nervously.
"If there's a will, there's a way," he continues. "And yes—we can slip through holes. If there's a hole, there's a way."
The whistle blows again. They return to the court. This time they move faster, weaving through defensive gaps, exploiting spacing. Drive. Pass. Screen. Cut.
Kuebiko feints left, spins right, and slips between two defenders to score off the glass. The crowd erupts. The score remains tight. Neck and neck. The first quarter ends nearly tied. The battle continues.
In the Aquarius District's Technology Complex, the eSports arena glows with LED lights and focused intensity. Takeshi sits forward in his gaming chair, fingers flying across the screen. Beside him are Miran, Katsunan, Nakao, Aoto, and Okaki. Their opponents are from the College of Communication and Information Technology—are calm, strategic, relentless.
"Push mid!" Takeshi commands.
"Enemy jungle!" Miran warns.
"Ult ready!" Katsunan calls out.
The match spirals into chaos as team fights, tower dives, last-second escapes. But momentum slips away. One by one, their structures fall.
"Defend base!" Nakao shouts.
Too late. The final blow lands. Burrowing and resulting into defeat. Silence as the screen flashes. They lean back slowly.
"Well," Okaki mutters.
Nakao stretches his arms. "Ice cream?"
Takeshi exhales heavily. "I need something cold."
They gather their gear such as power banks, cords, backup mobile data; and head outside toward Aquarius Avenue.
The festival continues around them, bright and noisy and alive. Loss fades into laughter as they disappear into the crowd in search of sweetness to cool their frustration.
The Starlight Festival does not stop. It surges forward. And the day is far from over.