The morning sun glared off the arena stone. Qin Ye stood by his assigned ring, eyes tracing the rope boundary. Arena staff made a final check, but their movements near one corner felt deliberate. As they moved away, Micro-Perception picked a discrepancy—a segment sagged a thumb's width lower than the rest. A subtle trap.
He didn't accuse. He walked to the clerk's table. "The posted notice specifies a taut line," he said, calm. "I request a public re-measurement of the ropes on ring three."
Flustered by the public request, the clerk fetched a measuring rod. Under watchful eyes, the slack was confirmed. Red-faced, he ordered it corrected. The rope came taut with a sharp twang. A procedural trap, foiled by polite compliance.
The crowd pressed closer at the corners, shoulders packed along the rope posts. Whispers bled into one another—who set the slack, who noticed, who dared to call it out. Qin Ye let the noise flatten into a low tide. He mapped the ring in lines instead of arcs: center to post, post to post, each seam a deliberate refusal to drift. The judge tested the bell once—one bright strike that sheared the air clean. Qin Ye's toes found their angle; the rope hummed back a thin metallic note. He had the perimeter by feel now, not sight.
He ran a single Spiral Breath cycle—inhale four, anchor four, exhale two. Ready.
⸻
Near the rack of rope reels, a prompt appeared.
[Daily Sign-In available.]
[Location: Rope-Reel Post.]
[Sign-In? Yes / No]
Yes.
[Ding! Sign-In successful!]
[Reward: Boundary Chalk (1 use — request an on-the-spot line refresh) + Breath Token (+5 breaths to an active Focus Thread).]
A piece of white chalk and a small token—like a held breath—slid into storage. Niche tools for a battle of inches.
⸻
His opponent entered: Shen Rui. Liquid grace, eyes always on the boundary—a Duan Qi man, a specialist at edges. As Qin Ye stepped forward, Duan Qi stood at the aisle with a thin, courteous smile.
"The edges of the ring decide far more than matches," he said softly. "They decide careers." Implication clear: a ring-out is humiliation.
The judge's bell rang.
Shen Rui began his dance—feint center, then lateral, quick shoves, sneaky heel-hooks. One aim: force a foot across the line. The rope creaked.
Qin Ye answered with Silent Step, footfalls erased, balance absolute. Boundary Sense drew a precise internal map of the ring's limits. He stayed a hair from the rope, letting Shen Rui waste periphery energy, holding center, patient.
Frustration cracked Shen Rui's calm. He strung a series of feints into a powerful lateral shove, chest-high, body blocking the retreat lane. Textbook ring-out.
Qin Ye didn't resist the push head-on. He let the Boundary Chalk fall at his feet; it glowed faintly.
"Line refresh," he said evenly.
The unexpected action caused a pause. The clerk, recalling the sign-in registry, nodded. The judge gestured a brief halt. The chalk line at their feet shimmered, renewed crisp and bright. The trap reset neutered Shen Rui's positional edge. Rhythm broken.
Shen Rui exhaled through his nose, a small flare of heat in the cold. He reset his stance with a dancer's neatness, heel barely kissing the line before skipping away, testing whether the judge would bite. He didn't. Qin Ye floated one step left, one half-step forward, never giving the full square his opponent needed to lever. Silence from his feet, silence from his breath. Only the rope spoke—an almost inaudible fiber-creak whenever Shen Rui brushed too near. It was enough. Sound became a compass.
They traded feints without touching—two passes that looked like nothing from the stands and felt like everything up close. A sleeve lift; a hip twitch; the ghost of a shoulder drop. Shen Rui tried to turn a stumble into a shove with a slick palm on the forearm. Qin Ye didn't break the contact; he let it skim past, the angle stealing its teeth. The attempt died a step early, momentum bleeding into the chalk.
Qin Ye used the lull. He activated the Focus Thread. The world sharpened; timing stretched. Minute shoulder tension, a weight shift—Shen Rui's next move bared itself.
Shen Rui lunged again—final attempt to grapple and shove. In the hyper-clarity, Qin Ye flowed with it, Silent Step carrying him inside the lunge. Fingers tapped the shoulder seam—clean, undeniable point.
The bell rang.
[Ding! Micro-Goal: "Win at the Edge."]
[Reward: +350,000 Spirit Stones; Edge Timing +5% (situational).]
Shen Rui stared, breathing hard—beaten by chalk and perfect timing.
⸻
A Patrol functionary stepped forward, eyeing the fading glow. "External aid…"
"Boundary Chalk. Sign-in reward. Registry entry seven," Qin Ye said.
The functionary checked his ledger and scowled—entry found. "…Approved."
No injuries were filed.
[Ding! Optional Objective completed: Reach Top 50 Without Injury Report.]
[Reward: Minor Technique Cache (locked).]
⸻
The board updated with heavy finality. Fifty names. Qin Ye's among them. The path forward was clear: next opponent would be the winner of Duan Qi vs. a core lieutenant of He Rulong. The real challenge began now.
[Main Quest updated — Countdown: 1 day.]
That night the cliff wind ran cold and steady. Qin Ye stood in a chalk circle, not practicing—just breathing. He counted thirty in his head, then weighed the Focus Thread's duration without triggering it, considering the five-breath extension from the Breath Token. He measured his resources and the exact beat to spend focus in the final rounds.
One day.