The arena was still warm from the firestorm left behind by Sohan's battle. Yet even before the dust could fully settle, the next match was announced.
> "Next Match: Candidate Rakib vs. Candidate Yasir!"
A murmur passed through the spectators.
Rakib—the boy with uncontrollable laser hands.
Yasir—a calm, composed strategist with a unique ability to bend kinetic force.
Two completely different paths. One wild. One calculated.
---
A Quiet Entrance
Rakib stepped onto the field, his hands tucked inside thin metallic gloves.
He took a deep breath.
This was his first real fight—one where he had to hold back, and yet win. His fingers twitched unconsciously under the gloves.
His laser powers had always betrayed him. They came out on their own, flared without command, hurt without meaning to. He had grown up hearing the same words:
> "You're dangerous."
"This power isn't for heroes."
"Don't hurt people."
But today, he wanted to prove them wrong.
Yasir, on the other hand, walked in like a ghost. Calm, quiet, unreadable. He wore no armor, no gauntlets—only a dark blue combat vest. His posture was that of someone who didn't need to show off. Confidence radiated from him, not ego.
He looked at Rakib and gave a small nod.
"Let's make this clean."
Rakib nodded back.
But inside, he was anything but calm.
---
The Bell Rings
> DING.
Rakib didn't wait.
He ran forward, gloves still on, zigzagging across the field. A faint yellow glow began to pulse around his wrists—contained, but growing.
Yasir simply watched, unmoving.
> "Laser Release: Spark Shot!"
Rakib tore off the right glove and flung a short burst of laser from his palm. A small explosion crackled against the ground near Yasir's feet.
Yasir moved just a step—and dodged it perfectly.
Then, his hand flicked upward, as if brushing dust from the air.
Rakib felt a sudden, invisible push.
He flew backward—ten feet—crashing onto the ground.
"What the hell?!"
---
The Counter: Yasir's Force Redirection
Yasir's power wasn't flashy. But it was terrifying.
He could redirect kinetic force. Any motion with speed or impact—punches, kicks, energy blasts—he could touch it, twist it, and return it.
A man who didn't need strength—just timing.
Rakib wiped blood from the corner of his mouth.
> "Of course I get paired with a freakin' counter guy..."
Still, he smiled. It wasn't hopeless.
Because while his lasers were hard to control, they were fast, random, unpredictable. And in unpredictability... there was hope.
---
Round Two
This time, Rakib removed both gloves.
His hands began glowing bright yellow, flickering wildly. Sparks flew off his fingertips like fireflies before a storm.
"Alright," he whispered. "Let's dance."
He sprinted, then jumped—high.
Mid-air, he twisted, letting both hands fire erratic pulses of light.
Yasir tried to track him—too late.
> "Scatter Beam!"
Lasers shot in all directions. Some missed. Some hit the ground. But one—just one—grazed Yasir's leg.
The crowd gasped. Yasir stumbled.
Rakib landed on his knees but rolled quickly and shot again.
Yasir redirected one blast back—Rakib narrowly dodged it.
---
An Unexpected Malfunction
But then it happened.
Rakib's left hand glowed too brightly. A high-pitched whine filled the air.
"No no no—stop!"
A huge beam shot out wildly, tearing into the arena floor and ripping a line across the sidewalls. The judges rose from their seats. Alarms buzzed.
The attack missed Yasir. But the explosion shook the ground beneath both of them.
Rakib dropped to the ground, hands smoking.
The match paused for a few tense seconds.
Yasir didn't move. Instead, he walked—slowly—toward Rakib, who lay on his side, gasping for breath.
---
The Final Decision
Rakib looked up. His gloves had melted. His palms were blistered.
But he smiled.
"I guess... I still can't control it."
Yasir looked at him for a long moment.
Then did something unexpected.
He turned around—and raised his hand to the judges.
"I yield."
The entire stadium fell into silence.
Rakib's eyes widened.
"What?"
Yasir didn't look back.
"He could've hit me ten times over. He held back... even though his power betrayed him."
He turned toward Rakib one last time.
"You're still dangerous. But not to people. Just to limits."
The bell rang.
> "Winner: Rakib!"
---
Aftermath
Back in the waiting room, Tisha patched Rakib's hands with ointment, while Isha prepared a proper healing spell.
"You did it," Tisha said softly.
Rakib looked away. "Barely. He gave me that win."
"No," Sohan said from the corner. "You earned it. Not because you were perfect—but because you tried anyway."
Rakib looked at his bandaged hands.
Maybe, just maybe, he wasn't broken.
Just unfinished.
---
[End of Chapter 13]