The impact of Aria's energy wave was still echoing in the arena when Oliver darted forward, driving his elbow toward the silver-haired leader's sternum.
The strike landed.
For the briefest moment, the illusion shattered—there was real resistance, a grunt, and a glimmer of something human beneath those unreadable gray eyes.
Then the boy countered, spinning with a strike aimed at Oliver's temple.
He ducked under it, barely. The wind of it grazed his ear.
Analysis: Muscular acceleration exceeds standard augmentation. Estimated: Rank 3 or higher.Power Levels Detected: Hidden. Force calibration in progress...
Oliver shoved the system notifications to the back of his mind. Not now.
He needed to focus.
Across the field, Garek charged into his opponent, shoulder-checking the slim girl into the wall with enough force to crack the tiles. She groaned, dropped—but didn't get up.
"Got one!" Garek bellowed.
Oliver didn't have time to respond. The silver-haired boy was on him again, hands blurring into open-palm strikes, each one sharp enough to shatter bone if they connected.
Oliver dodged three. The fourth clipped his ribs.
Pain shot through him.
He stumbled back, sucking air through his teeth, and the boy tilted his head.
"You're adapting."
"So are you," Oliver said, eyes narrowing.
He noticed it now—slight inconsistencies. Delayed recovery between bursts of movement. A flicker in his opponent's footwork, too robotic for someone truly elite.
They were copying.
No—mimicking.
Update: Subject's combat pattern analysis reaching saturation. Weak point at left knee detected. Recommend aggressive reversal.
Oliver didn't wait.
He feinted a punch, dropped low, and twisted into a sweeping kick—this time aimed precisely at the soft joint.
It hit.
The silver-haired boy stumbled, for the first time.
The crowd gasped. Some of the instructors watching in the box above stood from their seats.
Kaien Deros leaned forward, elbows on knees.
In the stands, one of the other captains muttered, "Was that hesitation I just saw?"
Back on the field, Oliver didn't hesitate.
He pressed the advantage, launching a barrage of controlled strikes, each one calculated, purposeful. The silver-haired boy was fast—but Oliver was learning faster.
"Garek! Lira! Aria! Focus your attacks—they're mimicking, not adapting! There's a delay!"
"Copy that!" Lira yelled, leaping into a spinning knee that crashed into her opponent's temple.
The boy she hit slumped to the ground.
Two down.
Aria and her opponent clashed again—energy flaring between them like dueling auras. But this time, Aria grinned.
"I was holding back."
She clenched her fist, and the wind around her surged. Her opponent staggered, trying to adjust to the pressure, but Aria was already gone—in a flash, she appeared behind him and struck the pressure point at the base of his neck.
He collapsed.
Three down.
Only the silver-haired leader remained.
And Oliver was staring straight into his eyes.
"I don't think you're from Earth," Oliver said quietly.
The boy blinked once. Slowly.
"Not entirely."
And then he smiled.
It wasn't friendly.
It was haunted.
"I wasn't supposed to lose," he said.
Then his eyes flickered—not fear, not pain, but something deeper.
Recognition?
He struck again, but Oliver was ready.
They clashed in a brutal flurry—Oliver's punches and kicks meeting counter after counter. They moved in a dance of violence, tearing across the arena floor. The remaining members of both squads stood watching, breath held, as the final two fighters clashed under the glaring stadium lights.
System Analysis Complete.Power Level: Rank 2 PeakUser's Current Rank: Rank 1 MidWarning: Overexertion approaching critical levels.
Oliver ignored the system and kept fighting.
His opponent wasn't invincible—he was copying too much. There was a cost to that, and it was catching up.
Oliver fainted with a hook, then slipped under and landed a rising uppercut to the chin.
Blood sprayed.
The silver-haired boy staggered back.
For the first time, he looked afraid.
"I—remember you," he whispered.
Oliver froze.
"What?"
The boy clutched his head, grimacing in pain. "Before this life. I saw you—in the dark—"
Then he collapsed, eyes rolling up, as if something inside him just shut down.
The announcer's voice cracked through the speakers, clearly shaken:
"Squad 7… victory."
The crowd erupted.
But Oliver didn't hear them.
He was staring at the unconscious boy on the ground, mind spinning.
Before this life?
What did he mean?