The Xyprus Academy Annual Tournament was more than tradition. It was blood spectacle. A live-feed global event. Sponsors watched. Military divisions scouted. Bloodlines wagered reputations. And for the students, it was the first true taste of power — or humiliation.
Vaelric Thorne sat high above the arena in a private observation deck, alone, overlooking the early brackets. He'd already been fast-tracked to the final exhibition rounds. Watching the opening matches was beneath him.
Or so he thought.
Because someone had caught his attention.
"Fighter 1131: Kairon Vex"
"No clan listed?" Rhys murmured as he scrolled the files beside the Headmaster in the operations booth.
Kaien frowned. "No AI enhancements. No augments. No digital footprint. Not even a bloodline registry. That's impossible."
"And yet…" Rhys gestured toward the screen.
Below, in the dirt-ringed arena, a boy stood silent and still.
Kairon Vex, lean, tall, features unreadable beneath tangled black hair. Sleeves rolled past his elbows, unmarked uniform. Nothing about him looked elite. He didn't posture. He didn't stretch. He just stood — like a statue waiting to breathe.
His opponent — a ranked junior with neurothread reflex boosts and augmented joints — charged with a roar.
It ended in three seconds.
A clean strike to the solar plexus, a pivot, and a backfist so precise it looked rehearsed. The ranked student collapsed, twitching.
Silence.
Then murmurs.
By the fourth match, the arena was no longer dismissing Kairon — they were fearing him.
By the sixth, even the elite upperclassmen stopped smirking.
Observation Deck
Vaelric leaned forward.
"Play that again," he ordered.
The screen replayed Kairon's match in slow motion.
No telegraphed motion. No wasted movement. No fire in the eyes. Just cold, calculated precision. His limbs moved like coiled steel — and the scan overlays flickered in confusion.
"Unnatural muscle fiber density."
"Bone durability: classified above carbon-tier alloys."
"Adrenal rhythm: flat."
"AI signature: none."
"How is that possible?" Vaelric murmured.
No one answered.
Locker Room – Later That Evening
Kairon sat alone, head bowed, fingers laced.
A group of seniors stood at the door, watching him. They didn't enter.
He'd dismantled one of their top five in under ten seconds. Without tech. Without known style. Without even looking angry.
"Who the hell is that kid?" one whispered.
No answer.
Because no one knew.
That Night – The Arena Hallways
As the cleaning drones hummed and the halls emptied, Vaelric stood in the shadows, watching Kairon exit through a back gate.
The freshman stopped — as if he sensed it.
Their eyes met in the half-light.
Vaelric's lips curved. Not a smile. A challenge.
Kairon didn't react. He simply turned, and walked away — indifferent.
That, more than anything, enraged Vaelric.
For the first time… someone looked at him and didn't care who he was.