The crowd's cheers still echoed through the underground coliseum as Azazel stood, brushing dust from his coat. Hypathia raised her arms in quiet victory, bloodied but calm. Ino gritted his teeth, seated on the stone bench, his breathing heavy, lips drawn in frustration.
Azazel moved to leave, but a familiar voice behind him called, "Leaving so soon?"
He turned. Giovanni stood with a half-smile, arms folded. Beside him was Melissa, her ever-present smirk softened with amusement.
"Giovanni. Melissa." Azazel nodded respectfully. "Thank you and please pretend you don't know me.."
"Will we see you around?" Giovanni asked, raising an eyebrow.
Azazel glanced back at the arena, where the final cheers were fading. "Seems like it."
Melissa looked him over. "You'll be eaten alive," she said with a teasing grin. "But I'll enjoy watching."
Azazel gave a short laugh and nodded farewell, stepping into the stone corridor that led to the surface.
Outside, the air was damp, carrying the thick scent of oil, old stone, and incense. Near the entrance stood a group—an old woman with silver hair braided tightly back, regal despite her age. She wore a dark velvet coat with crimson stitching in a strange script. She was comforting Ino, her hand resting gently on his shoulder as he tried to suppress frustration. That must be Margarita, Azazel thought.
Standing proud and tall was Hypathia, chin lifted, arms crossed.
Azazel watched for a moment before a familiar silhouette caught his eye.
Basil.
The old man had just stepped out from the side alley and was already scanning the crowd. The moment their eyes met, Basil lifted a hand and beckoned. For being so old he had a very good sight.
Azazel didn't even get the chance to wave back before he was walking over.
Basil met him halfway, resting a hand on his shoulder. "You took your time," he said dryly, then turned to the others. "Everyone, meet my new student. Azazel."
Margarita raised a well-sculpted eyebrow. "You? A student? And a good-looking one at that? Who are you and what have you done with the real Basil?"
Hypathia tilted her head, eyes sharp as flint. Ino's gaze narrowed, scanning Azazel from head to toe.
"You never said you had another student," Margarita added with a mischievous edge.
"Because I didn't." Basil's voice was calm. "Until recently. This one's special."
Azazel cleared his throat. "Thanks, I guess…"
"Ino. Hypathia." Basil's voice dropped slightly. "He'll be training with you."
"What?!" Ino and Hypathia said in perfect unison.
Hypathia turned, her arms crossed. "That's not really how this works."
Margarita pulled by her cheek teasingly.
Basil shrugged. "Then think of him as a warm-up partner."
Ino muttered something under his breath. "This is a waste of time…"
Azazel stepped forward, arms casually at his sides. "You think I'll slow you down?"
Ino's smirk returned. "You'll barely keep up."
Margarita clapped her hands once. "Oh, this is going to be fun."
Basil only smiled with that familiar patience. "The arena's yours tomorrow. Let's see what he's got."
Azazel said nothing. But deep inside, something stirred—a hunger, not for glory, but to prove that he belonged here.