The arena trembled as the announcer's voice rang out.
"Match Twenty-One! Number 47 versus Number 58!"
I stepped forward, the blue glow of my aura licking faintly around my arms. My first real fight of the tournament. My opponent — tall, silver-haired, blade in hand — looked at me with a smile that was more like a knife.
"You're prey," he said coldly.
I cracked my knuckles. "Funny. I was thinking the same thing about you."
The referee raised his hand, then cut it down.
"Begin!"
The silver-haired boy blurred forward, his blade flashing in a storm of strikes. To the crowd, it was lightning. To me, it was just movement — sharp, fast, but predictable. I leaned back, slid sideways, let each swing skim past without touching me.
His expression twisted with irritation. "What's wrong? Scared to fight back?"
I smirked. "Just measuring your speed."
He snarled and poured aura into his blade, a silver glow sharpening its edge. "Then measure this!"
The blade thrust toward my chest like a spear of light. I let my aura flare. Blue energy surged up my arms, forming a shield. The steel clashed against it, sparks flying. His eyes widened as I shoved him back.
"You lean too much on speed," I told him. "Your body can't keep up."
I shot forward. My fist, wrapped in blue aura, hammered into his ribs. The sound echoed like thunder. He flew back, crashing against the barrier wall, coughing blood.
The crowd erupted.
He staggered up, swaying, his blade trembling. "I… won't lose—"
Too late. I blurred forward again, blue aura exploding under my feet. My punch slammed into his chest and he collapsed, unconscious before he hit the ground.
The referee's voice cut through the cheers. "Winner, Number 47!"
I exhaled slowly, aura fading. My first fight, over in minutes.
The referee stepped toward me, clipboard in hand. "Number 47, you are scheduled for back-to-back matches. Can you continue?"
I looked him dead in the eye, smirk tugging at my lips. "Yes."
He gave a curt nod. "Then prepare. Next opponent — Number 62!"
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Two fights in a row? Some whispered it was unfair, others leaned forward, hungry to see if I'd break.
My second opponent climbed into the arena. A stocky boy with green hair, fists wrapped in bandages. His cracked knuckles dripped with blood, but the grin on his face was feral.
"Two in a row, huh?" he said, cracking his neck. "Bad luck for you. I like my prey tired."
I let my blue aura roar back to life, the glow rippling around me like fire. "Bad luck? No. Bad timing. For you."
The referee dropped his hand. "Begin!"
The boy bellowed and rushed me, his fists coated in jagged stone. Each punch slammed into the floor, splitting stone, shaking the arena. He was strong, raw power packed into every strike — but raw power without precision was nothing.
I slipped between his swings, calm and steady, letting his attacks crash into empty air.
"Stand still!" he roared, bringing both fists down like hammers.
I raised one hand and caught the blow.
The crowd gasped. His stone fists trembled against my grip, but my aura blazed brighter, crushing his strength.
"What—" His eyes widened.
I yanked him forward and drove my knee into his gut. He folded, air exploding out of him. Before he dropped, my fist — glowing with blue energy — cracked across his jaw.
The impact sent him spinning through the air before he smashed into the ground, unconscious instantly. His aura fizzled out like smoke.
The referee's voice boomed. "Winner, Number 47!"
The arena exploded with cheers. Two fights. Two victories. And I hadn't even broken a sweat.
I let my aura fade, shoulders loosening as medics carried the boy away. The eyes of the crowd burned on me, whispers filling the air. Some were impressed. Others wary. But all of them were watching now.
High above, I could feel Boros Kael's gaze, sharp and heavy. The professor leaned forward in his seat, analyzing every move I made.
I smirked faintly and turned my attention to the other arenas.
There, in the distance, was the one fighter who stood out most.
The cheetah kid.
His yellow eyes gleamed with feral hunger. Muscles twitched beneath his skin, restless, impatient. He looked less like a student and more like a predator caged in human form.
Our paths were about to cross.
And when they did, things would no longer be easy.