The duels had dragged on.
At first, the audience had cheered with every clash of steel and surge of power.
Sparks flew, contestants shouted, victories were hard-fought.
But after dozens of matches, repetition dulled the edge.
A cut here, a dodge there, another victory declared.
The energy dipped. Cheers grew softer.
A few spectators even left mid-match, shaking their heads.
Ashen sat in the lounge, quiet as ever, watching the arena.
His gaze wasn't fixed on any one thing—he seemed to be studying the crowd's shifting moods more than the fights.
It was then that the sky itself seemed to hum.
From above, a figure drifted into view, suspended in the air as though gravity had politely stepped aside.
The figure wore a smooth, reflective mask, gleaming silver under the lights.
His voice carried with sharp clarity, neither loud nor soft, but impossible to ignore.
"Enough."
The word dropped like a stone into still water. Every murmur silenced.
"These endless duels…" the figure continued, gesturing lazily at the exhausted fighters below.
"…Are tedious. Repetitive. If we continue at this pace, the tournament will conclude in… let me see…" He paused.
Pretending to calculate, "…a century or two."
"Perhaps longer, if you insist on dragging your feet."
A ripple of laughter broke from the audience. Nervous at first, then growing.
The masked man tilted his head.
"And look around. Already, your precious viewers drift away, one by one."
"If they wished to watch the same clash repeated endlessly, they could duel their shadows at home. So why, I ask, should I be bored as well?"
Gasps rose from the contestants. Some shifted on their feet, others narrowed their eyes.
Ashen, however, simply tilted his head slightly.
His expression did not change, but his eyes glimmered faintly. "Interesting."
The masked man raised a hand.
"From this moment on, the rules will change. You will no longer bore me with endless repetition."
"Instead… let us entertain."
He snapped his fingers.
At once, dozens—hundreds—of tiny spheres floated into the air.
Each one hummed softly, lights blinking in rhythm like fireflies.
Their metallic shells reflected the arena's glow.
"What are those?" one contestant muttered.
"They look like… drones?" another whispered.
The masked man chuckled, the sound echoing unnaturally.
"Sharp eyes. These, little ones, are your new companions. They will follow you, record you, capture every victory, every humiliation, every stumble, and every triumph."
He leaned forward mid-air, mask gleaming.
"And because I am merciful, I've taken the liberty of binding them for you."
A sudden tug—sharp, subtle.
Contestants flinched as droplets of blood rose from their bodies, drawn into the air.
No wounds, no pain—just the strange sensation of being plucked.
Dozens gasped, instinctively reaching to their arms, chests, or necks.
Ashen lowered his gaze.
A single drop of crimson floated upward from his skin, absorbed smoothly into the hovering drone beside him.
His face remained calm. A small trick. A simple thread tugged from the fabric of the soul.
The masked man spread his arms.
"There. Simple, no? Now you are all linked. Each drone will serve as your witness, your lens. For the audience…"
He gestured grandly. "…multiple live streams, all accessible at their whim. They may choose which of you to watch. Which of you to laugh at. Which of you to admire."
The arena's great screen flickered, comments beginning to pour in.
"LET'S GOOOO POV streams unlocked 🚀"
"Ashen Cam WHERE???"
"Bro better not trip on the grass 💀"
"Finally something fun, I was about to log off."
Ashen glanced at the small sphere now hovering faithfully at his shoulder. It blinked twice, like an eye acknowledging him.
"…Troublesome," he murmured.
The masked man's laughter rang again. "And now, for our next game…"
The ground rumbled. The smooth arena floor shifted, breaking apart with booming cracks.
Grass sprouted unnaturally fast, painted lines glowing as they carved themselves into the soil.
At either end, massive goalposts rose from beneath, nets reinforced with shimmering runes.
The audience gasped as the transformation spread, the entire dueling field reshaping into something utterly bizarre.
"Behold," the figure declared.
"Chaos Soccer."
Contestants exchanged looks.
Some blinked in confusion, others broke into nervous laughter, Some were Confident.
"Soccer? Seriously?"
"With powers… this'll be insane."
"I don't even know the rules…"
The masked man's voice cut across their doubts.
"Teams of eleven. Use your powers, your skills, your luck. The ball must enter the opposing goal."
"First ten teams to secure victory will advance. The rest…"
His tone dipped low, carrying amusement that chilled. "…will be eliminated."
The crowd erupted in cheers and shouts.
The monotony was broken; chaos promised.
Ashen studied the glowing field with faint curiosity.
The drone hovered close, recording his impassive stare.
"…Soccer," he repeated softly, tasting the word as though unfamiliar.
The audience feed immediately lit up again.
"LMAOOO imagine if Ashen doesn't even know what offside means 😭"
"Ashen goalkeeper arc???"
"That drone better catch him emptying the vending machine again fr 💀"
"I swear if this man solos a whole team with one kick I'm done."
Ashen stepped forward, hand brushing Wayfarer's hilt out of habit.
His gaze lingered on the glowing goalposts.
He sighed softly, voice barely above a whisper.
"…Very well."