Arena — Finalist Crescent | 08:12 AM
The early morning sunlight streamed through the stadium dome, catching glints of metallic trims on coats, battle-scarred Whisps resting near their partners, and the reflective lenses of camera drones buzzing overhead.
Spectators, trainers, families, and random fans—each had their favourites.
"Binny! Over here!"
"Volttusk boy, give us that smile!"
"Saya, one shot with Mirrorail! Just one!"
"Class A girl with the green hood—what was your Whisp again? Wait—Florashade! Yes, yes!"
Flashbulbs sparked. Hologram lenses flickered. People shouted code names and district zones, trying to get attention.
A few contestants gave peace signs, others waved. Some simply stood tall, letting their Whisps glow or pose beside them.
But not everyone was enjoying the spotlight.
Eloa, seated just behind the front row, stared into the open distance, her expression unreadable. Arms crossed. Legs tucked stiffly. Not a single smile.
"Eloa," said Binny, leaning toward her with an awkward grin. "Shouldn't you... maybe go talk to him?"
"To Jimmy?" she clarified with a dry voice.
Binny nodded.
Eloa's lips twisted, not in thought—but in cruelty.
"No need," she said smoothly. "Let him sit in his little cloud. Remorse suits him."
"Poor, pitiful boy. All that build-up. All that drama. And still—nothing."
"What a sad end. Bad luck, I guess."
The words were low but sharp. Too sharp to stay private.
Around her, six others overheard and laughed.
One of them, a sharp-faced boy with a spiked leather belt and metallic armour cuffs, scoffed:
"Remorse? Please. He's just sitting there like a ghost. If you ask me, he lost it long ago."
"He doesn't even flinch anymore. Did you see that blank stare?"
A girl with silver-painted lips chuckled.
"Honestly, I thought he was cool before, but now? Just another blind freak playing humble."
Another added,
"You know who should get credit? Us. We turned the tables. Jimmy didn't see it coming—literally."
More whispers, more chuckles.
Then one bold voice:
"You know what we should do?" a sandy-haired boy said. "Take a photo right now and tag it—'The Real Winners'."
Just then—
Reporters noticed the stir.
Their media instincts kicked in. They rushed in, microphones blinking, notepads hovering, voice-record spheres glowing.
"Excuse us—can we get a few words?"
"You're the team that broke the code chain, right?"
"Who came up with that path split strategy?"
"Did any of you expect to beat a team like his?"
"Was that synergy planned or improvised?"
"Are you implying Jimmy failed because of internal breakdown?"
"How did you bait him into overcommitting?"
"Were there psychological tactics involved?"
"Was the choice to blindfold yourself a gimmick or strategy?"
"Do you think his Whisp is overrated?"
"Who deserves MVP in your squad?"
They didn't even wait for complete answers.
The group loved it.
"We worked together, that's all. Everyone played their part," said the silver-lip girl.
"I saw the weak point in his clone rotation, so I called it," said the sandy-haired boy.
"Eloa held back till the perfect moment. That was all her," said one of the others, gesturing grandly.
"He messed up, not us. Simple as that," muttered another, nodding smugly.
One reporter leaned in.
"Eloa, any thoughts on your former teammate?"
Her face stayed cool, composed—just slightly amused.
"He was brilliant. For a while."
"But... leave that poor boy."
Binny flinched at that.
"You don't think that's a bit harsh?" he muttered under her breath.
Eloa only shrugged.
But someone else muttered, just loud enough to be heard:
"Can't wait to see his fanboys spin this one."
The laughter resumed, quieter now, but crueller.
Meanwhile, a few photographers tilted their lenses toward Jimmy's corner again, debating whether to approach.
"Should we?"
"No. He'll ignore us."
"But that silence could be marketable."
"Unless he breaks down live. That would go viral."
"Let him be," said an older reporter. "We all saw what he did. That wasn't a loss."
..........................
Suddenly, amidst the swirl of conversations, flashing cameras, and the steady hum of press chaos, a curious young reporter stepped forward, notebook in hand. He approached the group where Binny and a few others stood.
He cleared his throat.
"Um—excuse me, miss," he said, voice polite but firm, "The audience and even other contestants have been calling you just 'Miss' or 'A1'. But you—clearly—you're more than that. Would you mind sharing your name with us, officially?"
A hush drifted into the air.
Binny stirred as if to intercept. "She doesn't have to answer that—"
But the white-haired girl gently raised her hand. "It's fine," she said softly, her voice calm, snow-smooth.
She turned her head slightly, strands of her platinum hair catching the morning light.
"My name is—"
But she didn't finish.
Two tall figures emerged from the inner corridor, wearing deep grey uniforms and silver collars — the sigil on their chest showed a frozen tree cracked in three. Their steps were silent, but their presence loud. One bowed slightly.
"Miss Evergreen," the taller guard said. "We've come to escort you. Madam is waiting at the room."
The moment that name echoed through the space…
Everything stopped.
Not just the press — but the other finalists, the coaches, the spectators, even a few seasoned Whisp handlers — all froze in place.
Reporters who were seconds away from shouting questions fell into stunned silence.
A veteran broadcaster lowered his mic.
Someone's coffee cup slipped from their hand, shattering gently on the ground.
A low murmur rolled through the gathered crowd like a shifting wind:
"Did he just say... Evergreen?"
"Wait—Frost Dominion?"
"One of them was in the trial?"
"That... that girl was from that place?"
A few contestants from mid-ranks took an uneasy step back. Others looked toward the guards in disbelief.
Binny clenched her fists. Even those who stood with the white-haired girl just seconds ago looked at her now like she was no longer one of them. — An identity far beyond, something untouchable.
One of the mentors whispered, "That sigil... that's the Cryoward crest…"
Someone gasped.
Meanwhile, the girl — now known as Miss Evergreen — stood unmoved, gaze unbothered by the shift around her. She merely adjusted her collar and turned, walking silently between the two guards. The sea of people parted instinctively.
As she passed, the air seemed colder. Cameras dropped. No one dared follow.
Back near the corner of the arena, Jimmy hadn't moved. Even after all he had been through — betrayal, humiliation, collapse — he is silent.
Their teacher, standing beside him with arms crossed, chuckled lightly and shook his head.
"Don't take it too hard, kid. Chill," he said in a low voice, meant only for Jimmy. "You can't win against someone like her… not now. She's from House Evergreen — out beyond the Frostwalls."
He paused.
"Where winter never ends..."
He glanced down at Jimmy's blank expression.
And as the guards and the white-haired girl vanished beyond the inner gates, even the morning sun seemed dimmer.
...................
🏆 Scene: Vatican Stadium – Prize Ceremony
Morning sun glints off the steel arches of the Vatican Grand Arena. Crowds murmur like a rising tide. The ceremony stage stands at the heart, circular and elevated, draped in flags of every zone. Above, a Lingrithm screen floats, shimmering softly. Every finalist — those who survived all zones — are seated at the front. Jimmy sits slightly apart, shadowed.
The stadium darkens as it top is being covered by Swablum. All darkness
Suddenly—
🎤 [Commentator - deep voice, grand tone]:
"Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed trainers, honored guests from across the Concord...!"
A golden spotlight hits the center of the podium as the commentator rises, a long coat fluttering behind him like a battle flag.
🎤
"Three days. Four battle zones or can I say one day battle. 500 challengers. Only nine have endured. And among them, one will now rise... as the Victor of the Vatican Summit!"
Crowd erupts—then falls completely silent. The air stiffens. Even the winds hush, almost reverent.
Cameras hover. Broadcasters hold their breath.
🎤
"Before we announce the name... remember this day. For it is not merely about victory—but survival, spirit, and unseen sacrifice."
The spotlight begins to sweep across the nine finalists. Every face is under the lens. One girl looks down, fidgeting. Another forces a smile. A boy wipes his palms against his coat.
Then—the light slowly pauses on Jimmy.
But it does not stop. It moves on.
The audience leans in.
Whispers ripple. Some shout names—"Binny!" "Lavi!" "Eola!" "Gorran!"
"The name of the Champion… of the 97th Vatican Grand Concord Trial…"
The screen above flickers. A golden name begins to form. One. Letter. At. A. Time.
People gasp.
Some stand.
One child drops his flag.
Even Eola's smirk fades, lips parting slightly.
"…Will be revealed in three…"
Crowd: "Three!"
"…Two…"
Crowd: "Two!"
"…One—!"
The entire arena goes dark.
A single glowing beam pierces the centre stage. The screen flashes:
🏆 Winner: "—"
Cut to black.
\\\ To be Continued...///
## Author asking "whom should I made winner?"