Ronin leaned against the wall, arms crossed, hood slightly pulled up, watching the room unravel.
The Winners' Room was weird. Not quiet. Not loud either. It was waiting. A room filled with people either too cocky to care or too anxious to breathe. The air felt heavy with sweat, like the walls were sweating too, soaked in adrenaline and pre-fight rituals.
Around him, the finalists moved in their own rhythms. Some were stretching, others cracking their knuckles or pacing. One dude was just whispering affirmations into his hands like he was about to walk into a funeral. Couldn't blame him.
The announcer earlier had mentioned they'd be called out match by match. Rizzo—yeah, that tattooed guy with stars inked across his scalp and eyes that twitched with either madness or excitement—had asked where they'd watch the matches. The announcer had gestured at the massive TV screen bolted into the wall.
"No need to go anywhere. Matches will be broadcast right here."
Rizzo had grinned like a stoner in a candy store. "Dope."
Then the guy had dipped, leaving sixteen fighters and way too many nerves behind.
Ronin exhaled and reached into his jacket, pulling out the mask.
A blank, white porcelain piece. Smooth. Featureless. No eye holes—just faint slits he could see through. Cold against his fingertips.
He ran his thumb across its surface.
Time to become Peter White.
"You're really going all in on the mystery aesthetic, huh?" Oren said beside him, arms crossed, half-grinning. "What, does it make the flames stronger or somethin'?"
Ronin shrugged. "I just always wear a mask when I fight in front of people."
"Sure, Peter. Whatever keeps the illusion alive."
Ronin chuckled. "Wouldn't want to disappoint the fans."
Aurelia hadn't said a word.
She was seated against the far wall, chin resting on her hand, her orange-highlighted hair a frizzy mess. She looked like she wanted to be anywhere but here.
Ronin wandered over to the screen mounted on the wall. The bracket was displayed in full. He followed the lines with his eyes until he saw it.
Aurelia vs. Brock.
Damn.
Brock was built like a war crime and had the arrogance to match. Yeah, Lucas wrecked him. But Brock wasn't weak. That was just Lucas being… whatever the hell Lucas was.
"You okay?" Ronin asked her.
She blinked, clearly caught off-guard. "What?"
"You're quiet."
She scoffed. "Thinking."
"Worried?"
"No," she lied.
Ronin raised his brow under the mask.
Before either could speak again, the metal door hissed open.
The announcer walked in like a tax collector—bored, unbothered, and slightly smug.
"Match one. Lucas vs. Liria Arven."
Everyone turned. The name didn't matter.
Lucas stood up from his corner like he was stretching before a walk in the park. Still humming that annoying little tune—some lullaby or children's rhyme—eyes half-lidded like he hadn't even warmed up yet.
His opponent?
A navy-haired girl, barely older than a teenager. Liria. She looked like someone had just told her she had to solo a dragon with a spoon. Her legs were already shaking.
Lucas passed by her, not even sparing her a glance.
She flinched and followed him through the door. She stumbled.
The door shut.
And then the screen flickered on.
A sweeping view of the arena—massive. Stands full to the brim, lights bright, energy screaming from the crowd.
Rizzo whistled. "Fuuuuck yeah, that's a big-ass audience."
No one answered. They were watching.
Two dots walked into the spotlight.
On one side: Lucas, relaxed, arms swinging loosely.
On the other: Liria, head down, fists clenched.
The buzzer rang.
Liria moved first—thank God, because if Lucas did…
Ice exploded from beneath her like a tidal wave. It surged outward in all directions, massive and jagged. The temperature dropped even in the room.
Lucas?
He was laughing.
Then gone.
Just vanished. One frame to the next.
The ice cracked. Something had sliced through it like it was butter. A horizontal cut, so clean it didn't even fall apart at first.
Then it splintered.
Lucas reappeared where he had been, smile a little smaller now. Focused.
Liria launched an ice shard the size of a javelin—Lucas waved his hand like shooing a fly.
Split in half.
He crouched slightly. One hand forward. The other back, fingers extended like he was gripping a sword that wasn't there.
He swung.
No blade. No sound.
But her shield split.
The massive dome of ice around Liria just… parted. Like a curtain. A perfect surgical slice right down the middle, revealing her wide-eyed inside.
Then he vanished again.
And this time, when he reappeared, she was gone.
A shockwave rang out from her position—well, where she used to be. Her body hurtled through the air, outside the platform, limbs limp.
Lucas stood where she had stood, arms down, still as a statue.
In the room, everyone was silent.
Even the arrogant ones.
Nyra, a purple-haired girl in the back, clutched her elbow and muttered, "How the hell did he cut ice like that?"
No one answered.
Because no one knew.
Brock stood like a statue. Eyes down. Fists tight.
Ronin looked over. Oren was frowning.
Finally, Rizzo broke the silence.
"Pfft. Wind."
Everyone turned.
"What?" Brock asked, his voice sharp.
"Wind affinity," Rizzo said, grinning and pointing at the screen. "Only element that can make clean slices like that. Boost speed too. That's why he's untouchable. Fast, sharp, invisible attacks. That's wind, baby."
Nobody refuted it.
Because… it made too much sense.
Ronin's eyes narrowed. He studied Rizzo again.
Maybe that guy wasn't just some tatted-up idiot. Maybe he had some brains behind the ink.
The door hissed open again.
Lucas swaggered in. Calm. Not a scratch. That humming had returned.
He sat in his corner. Smiling. Always smiling.
Rizzo walked over, let out a low whistle. "That was impressive, man."
Lucas glanced at him. "Was it? I thought it was sloppy."
Rizzo laughed. "You're dangerous."
Lucas smiled wider. "We all are."
Rizzo wandered off, and Lucas leaned back, humming again.
The announcer returned. Match two. Then three.
Until finally—
"Match four. Bran Kavir. Peter White."
Ronin stood.
Oren clapped him on the back. "Go break something."
Aurelia gave him a single nod. She looked worried.
Ronin reached into his jacket, pulled his mask tight, and walked toward the door.
The name Peter White echoed in his ears.
The crowd outside was screaming.
Let the fun begin.