The living room pulsed with light and sound. Fire and stone clashed on-screen, painting the walls in flickering shades of orange and gray. A pair of feet rested on the carpet, bare and still. Just inches away, the holo-TV hummed as the final match of the Champion Recruit Tournament lit up the quiet forest home.
RYU vs. HADES appeared in bold across the top of the display. The announcer's voice thundered above the crowd.
"One flame. One Fortress. Only one will stand!"
The audience screamed, hundreds of thousands packed into a stadium that looked like it belonged to a different world.
Gintan didn't blink.
He sat with his legs crossed, elbows resting on his knees, eyes locked on the screen like it was the only thing that mattered. Maybe it was.
He knew the names. Everyone did.
Ryu—around thirty-five, fast, loud, the flame prodigy from Solis District. Red-black hair tied back with messy care, cocky smirk etched into his face like it was permanent. He moved like his element: wild, furious, all-in. A fighter who treated every match like a dare.
Hades—also in his mid-thirties, the stone tactician. Stoic, cold, wrapped in quiet discipline. A fit, imposing figure with a half-covered burn mark stretching from jaw to temple. He wore a gauntlet of solid stone on his right arm and moved like a strategist playing a long game. He didn't strike first. He struck last.
They were polar opposites, the kind of matchup that made kids bet on lunch money and shopkeepers close early just to watch.
From the hallway, the floor creaked. A voice murmured something from the kitchen.
Gintan didn't hear it.
He leaned a little closer to the screen as the fighters entered the ring. The crowd's roar faded into static in his ears. His eyes caught every twitch, every breath, every shift in stance.
He wasn't just watching.
He was learning.
The stadium lights dimmed.
"Begin!"
Ryu burst forward first. No hesitation. A red-black blur streaked across the ring, flame coiling around his limbs as he launched into a flying kick. The air shimmered in his wake, the ground beneath his heels scorched and cracked.
Gintan's breath caught.
Hades didn't move. Not until the last moment. Then, one heavy step back, right fist rising, wrapped in a gauntlet of solid stone. A wall exploded from the floor between them.
Ryu's boot hit it hard.
Stone cracked. Flame burst through the seams.
But Hades was already gone—flanking around the other side as another wall shot up behind him. He weaved through his own terrain like it was second nature, using it to shape the fight, cut angles, and corral his opponent.
Gintan watched every motion. Every shift in weight. Every time Ryu overcommitted, and every time Hades punished it.
He didn't need the commentators.
He was reading it himself.
Ryu fights with his whole body, he thought. Momentum's his weapon. But he burns through options fast.
A crack of impact snapped his attention back—Ryu broke through the third wall, twisting mid-air into a spinning heel strike.
Boom.
Hades caught it with the stone gauntlet.
The screen flared with light and smoke.
From the kitchen, Gintan's mother sighed. Her voice came through, quiet but sharp.
"He's watching that again."
Gintan didn't turn around. Didn't answer.
His fingers curled tighter around his knee. He already knew how this fight ended. But that wasn't the point.
He needed to see why.
The screen rattled as the clash continued. Ryu ducked low, spun, and shot a burst of fire at the floor to launch himself forward like a rocket. His foot collided with another wall of stone—this one rising halfway through the dash.
He rebounded mid-air, twisting into a wild axe kick.
"He's unpredictable"
Gintan said it under his breath. He wasn't talking to anyone. Just thinking aloud, the way he always did when something mattered.
On the screen, Hades didn't retreat. He stepped into the kick, raising his gauntlet and absorbing the strike with a thunderous thud. Dust and heat exploded outward.
A blur of motion.
The next wall came up behind Ryu. Not to block—but to cut off his retreat.
That's when the counter came.
Elbow, pivot, gauntlet—slam.
Ryu hit the ground hard, bouncing once before rolling back to his feet, breathing heavy.
Gintan leaned in closer.
He could feel it—the momentum starting to shift. Not because Ryu was slowing down, but because Hades was never chasing. He just waited. Adjusted. Built the battlefield around him until escape wasn't even an option.
From the kitchen, the volume of voices rose.
"It's not healthy," his mother said. "That world's not real. Not for someone like him."
"Let him dream," his father replied, quieter. "He'll grow out of it eventually."
Gintan didn't flinch.
He'd heard it before.
Too many times.
He watched as Ryu flared up again, fire blasting from his palms to fake a charge—only to leap over the next wall instead.
But Hades was already waiting.
Ryu landed hard, sliding back across cracked stone. He was breathing through clenched teeth, red-black hair sticking to his forehead. But his smirk was still there—cocky, unshaken.
He liked the pressure.
He thrived in it.
Gintan watched the way Ryu's stance dipped low, flames wrapping his fists again. His foot slid just a little, toes adjusting for grip.
Across the ring, Hades raised his stone-covered arm, still silent. Another wall jutted up behind him—not for defense. For control.
He's trapping him, step by step.
Ryu didn't wait. He launched forward again, reckless and explosive, flames bursting from both heels as he darted past the first wall. His right arm feinted, his left snapped into a spinning elbow—and Gintan could already see it coming apart.
Hades pivoted.
Wall to the left.
Gauntlet to the ribs.
A sharp crack as Ryu slammed sideways into the stone.
He staggered.
And this time, the smirk slipped.
From the kitchen, the voices grew sharper.
"He doesn't need this garbage in his head," his mother snapped. "He'll never be like them."
"He's not hurting anyone," his father replied, tone low, tired. "Let him have the fantasy while it lasts."
Gintan's jaw clenched. He wasn't even sure he was breathing.
Ryu steadied himself in the arena, shoulders heaving. His hands lit up again, brighter, hotter—like he was trying to burn through the pressure. Through the trap. Through the fate Hades had already planned.
He charged one last time.
Gintan leaned forward.
Ryu's roar cut through the stadium noise as he hurled himself forward, flame surging from his back and heels. The ring lit up in gold and red, heat distorting the air around him. This wasn't just a strike—it was defiance.
A final bet.
All-in.
Hades didn't move.
Not until the exact moment Ryu entered his range.
Then the wall rose—not in front of Ryu, but behind him.
He couldn't stop.
Hades turned.
Half-step pivot.
Right arm—gauntlet—rising.
The impact echoed like a war drum. Stone met fire. Speed met control. Ryu's body folded around the strike and collapsed in a tumble of ash and cracked tile.
The crowd didn't cheer at first.
They just stared.
Then the name dropped, crisp and final.
"Winner: Hades."
The arena exploded. Confetti burst into the sky. Reporters swarmed the platform. But Hades didn't raise his fists. He stood alone at the center of the ruined ring, smoke curling from his shoulders, burn-mark hidden beneath a wrap of cloth.
Gintan sat motionless, the glow of the screen reflecting in his eyes.
He wasn't disappointed.
He wasn't cheering either.
He was focused—burning something into memory.
From the hallway, the voices had faded. The argument was over. Or maybe they just gave up.
Didn't matter.
The moment was his. He whispered to himself, voice low but steady:
"I'll be #1 someday. Even without an element."
The screen faded into post-match interviews.
Gintan didn't move.
The fire in his chest was just starting to ignite.
The sound faded, but the feeling didn't.
Gintan stared at the empty ring as the post-fight chatter rolled across the screen—commentators throwing stats, interviews lining up, slow-motion replays looping back through the final blow.
None of it mattered.
He wasn't watching anymore.
He was processing.
Ryu had the crowd.
Hades had the win.
One earned cheers.
The other earned silence.
Two different kinds of strength. One loud. One inevitable.
Gintan leaned back slightly, resting his head against the couch. His hand fell to his side, fingertips brushing the hilt of his old wooden practice blade. Not by accident.
He thought about the way Hades fought. Cold. Patient. Built the fight, controlled the space. He didn't need speed. He didn't need fire.
He just needed to make sure the other guy had nowhere left to run.
A sound came from the hallway—soft footsteps, followed by the click of a door shutting. Someone had gone to bed.
The house was silent again.
But Gintan's mind wasn't.
They'll never believe someone like me could win.
Good.
He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. The glow of the screen was still there, painting his face in soft, shifting light.
"Even without an element," he whispered again, firmer this time.
It wasn't just a statement anymore.
It was a promise.
He finally pushed himself up to his feet, stiff from sitting too long. His toes curled slightly against the worn carpet.
He moved to the window. Pulled back the curtain.
The forest outside was asleep. No lights. No noise. Just the distant, faint glow of the Capital on the horizon—barely visible through the trees.
That was where they all went.
Champions. Recruits. The chosen.
He wondered if they ever felt like this. Like the world had already made up its mind about them—and they were going anyway.
No element. No legacy. No permission.
But still moving forward.