The arena had been running since morning.
Not one duel. Not one spotlight. A whole rotation of them. Pairs called, names announced, decks revealed like masks pulled half an inch off the face. The Obelisk testing bracket didn't feel like a school event so much as a production line: ambition in, verdict out.
Julian felt it before he even crossed the threshold.
The sound hit first. Crowd-noise with a sharper edge than usual, laughter that landed like thrown coins, applause that carried a faint cruelty when someone misplayed. The air itself felt warmer under the lights, a little too dry, the kind of heat that made your pulse show up in your throat.
He stepped in, and the place reacted. Not all at once. Not in some dramatic hush, but in little turns of heads, small shifts in posture, whispers that moved like wind through tall grass. Recognition traveled faster than manners. Words about his duel history, about his fainting, about the current issue… It was like his entire history in the academy was being judged and reviewed by his peers at each and every moment.
Julian kept his expression neutral and his pace even, walking down the side aisle with his DuelPad in one hand and his other tucked into his jacket pocket like he had nowhere else to be.
Inside, his senses catalogued the arena the way his eyes used to catalogue duel fields: positions, angles, exits.
Front rows held the students who wanted to be seen watching. Upper rows held the ones who wanted to watch without being seen. Along the rails, staff in academy colors moved between stations, checking names, confirming brackets, rotating judges between matches like referees in a tournament.
And around the whole thing, like an invisible ring: the smell of stakes. He caught glimpses of the morning's matches as he passed.
A Ra candidate leaving the platform with hollow eyes, clutching his DuelPad like it was proof he still existed. An Obelisk boy laughing too loudly as his opponent's LP hit zero, then immediately smoothing his hair, practicing a composure that didn't quite fit his age.
Julian didn't stop. His match wasn't until now, at the end of the afternoon.
The center platform, his platform, sat a little further ahead under a more concentrated bank of lights. A judge stood there already, clipboard in hand, speaking quietly with a staff member. The academy's official Duel Disks were stacked on a nearby table in sealed cases, anti-cheat seals bright against the plastic.
Another bait. Another promise. He climbed the steps.
The murmur sharpened into individual voices.
"... heard his friend sold him out."
"... no, I heard he begged for it. Like, literally begged. Yellow kid desperate."
"... Cauldwell's going to crush him. Those cards he got are insane."
"... they let him use them? That's not fair."
"... it's Obelisk. Fair isn't the point."
"... I heard he agreed to him using them."
"Really? That's insane, why make like so difficult for yourself?"
Julian's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He didn't react outwardly. He let the words pass through him and settle where they belonged: filed, not swallowed.
He scanned the stands again.
There, near the lower left rail, a cluster of red jackets, loud even when they were trying not to be. Jaden stood at the center of it like a campfire, hands behind his head, smiling too wide for the tension around him. Beside him, Bastion looked composed but alert, the kind of calm that came from planning out contingencies in advance. His notebook wasn't in his hands now, but Julian could almost feel its presence anyway, like a ghost weight.
And Syrus… Julian's eyes found him and paused.
Syrus sat half a step behind Jaden and half a step behind himself, shoulders tucked in, trying to make his body smaller without realizing it. He was clean. Presentable. His uniform looked like it had been adjusted and re-adjusted until the fabric obeyed. But there was still something off about the way he held his hands, like he didn't trust them not to shake.
'This one will be for you, buddy.' Julian thought, the pounding on his chest making him feel his clothes were too tight for a moment.
Syrus didn't look up immediately. For a heartbeat, he seemed to be staring at the platform with the kind of fixed attention that came from not letting yourself think too hard about anything else.
Then his gaze lifted. When Syrus met Julian's eyes, it wasn't confidence that flashed between them.
It was something quieter. An apology that wasn't really for the duel. A promise that didn't have words.
Julian gave him the smallest nod. Not reassurance. Not forgiveness. Just presence: I see you. I'll take it from here.
Syrus's shoulders eased a fraction, almost unnoticeable. Exactly the kind of change most people would miss. Julian turned his attention away before he could linger. If he stared too long, the crowd would notice what mattered. And the crowd, he'd learned, loved nothing more than a weakness with a name.
His eyes continued sweeping the rest of the stands.
Alexis sat with Jasmine and Mindy a few rows above and to the right, their blue uniforms distinct in a sea of mixed colors. Alexis's posture was controlled: shoulders back, chin slightly raised, eyes locked on the platform like she was already bracing to step into it herself. Jasmine looked tense in that particular way she got when she wanted to comment but knew she shouldn't. Mindy's expression was sharper than her usual playful mask: she watched the crowd as much as she watched the duel, as if mapping who was watching whom.
And higher still… a streak of blue hair. Zane Truesdale.
Not in the front row. Not in an expected place of honor. Off to the side, where the view was good and the attention was minimal. He sat with his arms relaxed, posture unforced, as if he were watching a training session rather than a promotional duel that half the academy had decided to treat like theater.
He didn't look impressed, or bored. He was just there, solemn. Julian felt the weight of that presence more than he saw it.
Zane's gaze drifted, almost casually, and for a brief moment his eyes met Julian's.
There was no nod. No greeting. No obvious acknowledgment. Just a look that said: Show me what you are.
Julian looked away first. Not out of intimidation, but because he understood the rules of that kind of attention. You didn't stare at a predator and call it respect. Did he learn about the things with his brother the previous day? It honestly did not matter right now.
Another cluster caught his eye.
Chazz Princeton sat with his usual entourage, smirking like the duel was entertainment he owned. He leaned forward in his seat, one elbow resting on his knee, chin propped on his hand. He looked like he was waiting for someone else to fail so he could feel better about his own past.
When Julian's gaze passed over him, Chazz's smirk widened.
It was not friendly, but it strangely was also not openly hostile either. More like a shark excited with blood on the water. Julian didn't give him anything. His eyes only continued their path and finally landed on the upper aisle where the staff moved.
Chancellor Sheppard.
He wasn't seated. He never really was for these things. He stood with a clear view of the platform, hands behind his back, expression composed in that particular way that looked neutral until you learned how to read the lines around the eyes.
His presence did something strange to the atmosphere. It didn't calm it. It contained it.
The same students who had been laughing too loudly at someone's misplay were now a little more careful about the shape of their laughter. The same Obelisk boys who loved leaning over rails to whisper were now leaning back half an inch.
Not because Sheppard glared. Because he didn't have to. He simply was. And somewhere in the shifting crowd beneath that gaze, Julian noticed something else. Not obvious. Not cinematic. The kind of thing you only saw if you were looking for how systems protected themselves.
A few teachers, scattered rather than clustered. Two hall monitors near the back stairs. A staff member near the bottom rail who wasn't watching the duel at all, their eyes on the audience instead of the platform.
And then, as Julian watched, a brief motion: one of the staff, an older instructor with a tired face Julian recognized from the East Wing, leaned down to speak to a pair of students in the stands. Not a scolding. Not a confrontation. Just a quiet request.
The students stiffened.
Then nodded.
Then stood and followed him: eyes darting, trying to look casual, but failing miserably.
Julian's gaze lingered long enough to note who they were.
Obelisk. Male dorm. Sitting too comfortably. Too familiar with the idea of watching people get hurt.
They weren't being dragged out. They were being collected.
No spectacle. No announcement. No disruption of the duel schedule.
Just a hand closing gently around a thread and pulling it loose without tearing the tapestry.
Julian's mouth tightened. The administration was moving.
'So that's how you do it, huh?' he thought. Not with approval, not with disgust, just recognition. 'You don't make a show about it. You make a record.'
He didn't look at Sheppard again.
If he did, he might see something in the man's eyes that would make the neutrality impossible to believe. And Sheppard didn't get to be the Chancellor of a place like this by letting belief become evidence.
Julian reached the table by the platform.
The judge turned as he approached.
He wasn't like Crowler. Not even close. This man's uniform was immaculate, yes, but his demeanor looked professional in a way that felt more like tournament staff than faculty. His DuelPad, an administrative model, rested in one hand, and his other held a clipboard with a printed bracket sheet.
"Julian Ashford." the judge said, voice neutral. "Candidate for promotion, Ra Yellow."
Julian inclined his head. "That's right."
The judge's eyes flicked down, then up again. "You have been cleared to use your standard academy Duel Disk for this match. Your opponent has likewise been cleared. Both devices were found without problems."
Julian's gaze went, briefly, to the sealed cases.
A standard disk. A controlled environment. A performance framed to look like fairness.
He didn't comment. At least in his case, Sheppard's protection for the bet was a safety net. One of three other protocols and proofs he had with him and fortunately were not deemed necessary.
Across the platform, movement drew the crowd's attention.
Dorian Cauldwell stepped up with the ease of someone who had never had to earn the right to take up space.
He wore the Obelisk jacket like it was a birthmark. The boy also had blonde hair, but it was styled with deliberate care, like a team of professionals analyzed it and deemed it to be the best possible alternative for him. Smile practiced enough to pass as natural. He moved with two other Obelisk boys trailing half a step behind, not quite friends, not quite servants… more like satellites.
They stayed at the base of the steps. Dorian climbed alone.
His eyes landed on Julian, and his smile sharpened.
"Ashford." Dorian said, as if they were meeting at a polite social function instead of a duel built on pressure and leverage. "I'm glad you've decided to make today interesting."
Julian's expression didn't change.
"I didn't decide that, you know. You did." he replied evenly. "I'll just take the garbage out and collect my jacket quickly. Someone has to show these pricks that it takes more to be elite than a list of rare cards and a holier-than-thou attitude."
A ripple of quiet laughter moved through the standing. Dorian chuckled as if Julian had made a joke. Then his gaze slid past Julian for a fraction of a second, toward the red jackets. Towards Syrus.
Julian shifted his stance by barely a degree.
Not blocking the line of sight, but claiming the space.
Dorian's eyes returned to him.
"Well…" Dorian said lightly, "I suppose we'll see whether courage is enough when the deck is… outclassed."
Julian didn't rise to it.
"Or whether money is enough when the duelist isn't." he countered.
Dorian's smile thinned.
The judge cleared his throat: not loudly, but with authority.
"Candidates." he said. "This match is part of the special Obelisk promotional examination. Timed duel performance and written assessment have been recorded. This practical duel will conclude the evaluation for both parties."
A hush settled. Not complete, but focused. Even the people who didn't care about fairness cared about drama. The judge continued, voice pitched to carry.
"Additionally: by administrative sanction, this match includes an agreed-upon stake. The academy acknowledges the terms as binding and enforceable."
A stir ran through the crowd. Julian didn't move. Dorian lifted his chin slightly, as if pleased the words were public. The judge glanced at his DuelPad, confirming.
"Should Candidate Ashford win, the sealed collection of rare cards acquired this last week and registered to Candidate Cauldwell will be transferred to Ashford's account and custody, under academy supervision."
A louder reaction this time. Whistles, murmurs, laughter that tasted like disbelief.
Julian heard someone in the stands mutter. "No way."
The judge continued, smooth as a professional narrator.
"Should Candidate Cauldwell win, no administrative action regarding the acquisition of said collection will be taken based on the evidence presented for this case, and the collection remains in Cauldwell's custody." he said.
Dorian's smile returned full force. It wasn't triumph. It was the smug delight of someone convinced the game had already been won elsewhere.
Julian's gaze flicked again, briefly, to the red stands. Syrus stared back, pale, mouth set in a tight line.
Julian looked away first. Not because he didn't care.
Because if he looked too long, the anger would surface, and anger in this arena was not something to spend carelessly.
The judge stepped back half a pace, giving them room.
"Duelists." he said. "Present your DuelDisks for synchronization."
Julian held his out. The judge's device connected, a quick scan, a confirmation tone. Clean. Standard.
Dorian did the same.
The judge's eyes lingered a beat longer on Dorian's side, just a fraction of a pause, like a professional making sure a seal was truly sealed. Then he nodded once and stepped back fully.
"Take your positions. First turn goes to Dorian Cauldwell."
Julian walked to his mark on the platform, the line that had been polished so often it almost glowed.
Dorian moved opposite him. The arena lights felt hotter now, the air tighter.
Julian let his breathing slow.
In his periphery, he could feel Nightmare-Eyes. Distant, present, a shadow at the edge of his awareness. Not seen. Not acknowledged. But there, like the second heartbeat behind his own.
The judge raised his hand.
"Life Points." he said, and the duel systems responded.
The holographic readouts flared into existence, raising to an even 4000 at both sides.
The classic anime format. Faster. Harsher. Less room for error.
Fitting. Julian's Duel Disk unfolded with a mechanical snap, the metal settling onto his arm with familiar weight. His deck slid into place. The system recognized it instantly.
Across from him, Dorian's disk deployed with the same crisp precision. A newer model, of course, gleaming like it hadn't seen a scratch in its life.
The judge's voice carried again.
"Candidates." he said. "Declare the match and let's begin."
Julian didn't raise his voice.
He didn't need to.
"Duel."
Dorian's grin widened, and his declaration followed like a curtain dropping.
"Duel."
The system chimed, and Dorian's eyes gleamed.
He reached for his deck with the ease of someone reaching for something that had always belonged to him and drew. The Duel Disk's holographic light flared faintly as the card joined his hand, but Dorian didn't even glance down for long. He only looked up.
He smiled as if the arena were a private room and the rest of Duel Academy had simply wandered in by mistake.
Julian didn't move. He stood with that familiar stillness: shoulders loose, spine straight, hands calm at his sides, like a duelist who had learned the hard way that the body broadcasted weakness long before the mouth did.
Around them, the main arena was loud with a different kind of energy than a normal exhibition match. This wasn't one duel. It was the culmination of a week of trials. Of names being called, brackets advancing, cheers for blue jackets that hadn't been earned yet. Earlier matches had come and gone in waves; someone somewhere had already lost their chance at Obelisk with a single misread line. The crowd carried the residue of it: the smell of sweat and concession, the sharp brightness of ambition.
And now, when Julian and Dorian faced each other, that noise tightened into a thinner, meaner thread.
The judge's voice carried cleanly across the arena. "Dorian Cauldwell. Proceed."
"Let's not waste anyone's time." he said, as if he were doing the academy a favor. "I'm sure you're all eager to see whether the rumors were true."
He didn't specify which rumors. He didn't have to.
Julian heard the whispers even over the ambient noise, Obelisk students and their orbiters talking like they were narrating a tragedy they'd paid admission for.
"I heard he's playing Gravekeepers."
"Doesn't matter. Not against that."
Julian's mouth didn't change, but something in his eyes sharpened. If you were in Obelisk, it was comforting to believe every upstart had a neat label.
Dorian's grin widened slightly, as if he could taste the crowd's assumptions.
"I activate Graceful Charity." The words landed like a key turning.
A shimmering triad of light manifested above his side of the field, three spectral cards flickering into existence before dissolving into his hand. Even from where Julian stood, he could see the way Dorian's fingers adjusted around his grip: subtle, practiced, like a dealer who had handled expensive paper all his life and never once feared losing it.
Graceful Charity wasn't power by itself. It was speed: the ability to dig, filter and sculpt the perfect opening. But the real message was older and uglier: In a modern deck, the graveyard might as well be a second hand. The cost is an upside, not a problem.
Dorian's Duel Disk chimed. Two cards were sent to the Graveyard, their names briefly displayed by the system as the crowd caught them.
B-Buster Drake. X-Cross Cannon.
A ripple ran through the stands.
"B-Buster Drake. Wait, is that… ?"
"... some kind of retrain of XYZ?"
"That second one… X-Cross Cannon, those aren't even on the standard registry yet! XYZ use Dragon Head, not Cross Cannon!"
Bastion's eyes narrowed in a way that was almost pleased, purely from the intellectual shock of it. "Those are… components in a union deck." he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. "And he discarded one without hesitation."
Jaden leaned forward, eyes bright. "Yeah. He just tossed it like it was nothing."
Alexis didn't look impressed. She looked offended on principle. "His deck probably has a way to recycle it or bring it back."
Julian said nothing. He measured. ABC's were not a novelty for him. A competent and powerful deck, for sure, but without pieces like Union Carrier and other links and powerful extra deck tools, was it able to present an endboard oppressive enough for him to be unable to even play? He seriously doubted that.
Dorian moved without pause.
"I activate Union Hangar."
The arena's lighting shifted subtly as the Field Spell took hold, and for a moment the duel didn't look like a school match at all. It looked like an industrial deck plan unfolding: steel beams, suspended rails, mechanical arms that moved with silent precision. The hologram of a hangar rose behind him like a cathedral built for machines.
As the Field Spell resolved, its search triggered. The system flashed the revealed add. A-Assault Core.
"Yeah, there it is," someone in the crowd said, voice eager with the thrill of being right. "It's ABC."
"ABC?" another scoffed. "What kind of alphabet soup…"
Dorian set a card to his Duel Disk with the ease of someone putting down a signature.
"I Normal Summon Gold Gadget." A compact Machine appeared, gleaming in the arena lights and crisp as if it had been polished five minutes ago. Its eyes flashed as its effect triggered, and Dorian didn't even bother to dramatize it. "By it's effect, I can special summon a level 4 or lower machine monster from my hand. Come, A-Assault Core."
Gold Gadget (Light/Machine/Level 4/1700 ATK).
The core unit manifested beside the gadget, sliding into position like a magnet snapping into place. Union Hangar responded immediately, mechanical arms descending as if the field itself had been waiting for that exact signal.
"And since a LIGHT Machine Union was Special Summoned," Dorian said, almost conversational. "Union Hangar equips a Union monster from my deck to it."
The system displayed the equip as it resolved.
C-Crush Wyvern. A new piece locked onto A-Assault Core, fitting with a pleasing inevitability. It didn't look like a normal equip, more like assembly. Like the monster was being built into something larger.
Mindy made a low sound, half impressed and half annoyed. "He's building a boss on turn one."
Jasmine's eyes narrowed. "That's what you do when you use cards that weren't even supposed to be available."
"And I feel that it is more than just a beatstick." Bastion muttered. "Probably has a gnarly effect on its frame."
Jaden shifted in his seat like he physically wanted to jump onto the field and see the cards up close. "Sugoi!" he whispered, then grimaced like he'd betrayed himself. "I mean. It's awful. But also awesome. They are like the Power Rangers turning into a megazord!"
Julian's attention stayed on Dorian's hands.
The moment Dorian reached for his Extra Deck, the crowd collectively leaned forward. Dorian lifted a single card.
"Now…" he said, and the tone finally sharpened into something like a blade. "Let's bring out something worthy of the stage."
"By it's unique mechanic, I can banish from the field of graveyard the necessary pieces and Special Summon… ABC-Dragon Buster!"
The field erupted.
A-Assault Core and its equipped unit disassembled mid-air, their parts tearing apart into arcs of light. Then, like a third presence answering a summons from below, a beam surged upward from the Graveyard: B-Buster Drake returning as if the discard had been a deliberate investment rather than a loss.
The components collided. Connected. Reconfigured. Metal screamed in the imagination even if the hologram made no sound.
A massive mechanical dragon slammed onto Dorian's field, wings unfolding in segmented plates, engines glowing along its spine. It looked less like a monster and more like a weapon that had learned how to stand upright.
ABC-Dragon Buster (Light/Machine/Fusion/Level 8/3000 ATK).
The arena quieted for a glimpse. Not fully silent, but muted by the kind of awe that made people forget to breathe for a second.
Julian didn't flinch. It was a standard board. And one that made his opponent spend a lot of resources. He certainly was not familiar with the deck's intricate lines and possibilities. A modern deck like that could not be figured out in a couple days, not by a single man.
He catalogued the play in the same way he'd catalogued spiritual training: not emotionally, but structurally.
Sure, Union Hangar had given him the scaffold. Gold Gadget had supplied speed. The discard had been a bridge into the Graveyard. And ABC's summon had turned "loss" into "material."
It was modern, efficient. And, to an extent, unfair. But he could deal with that.
The crowd started to talk over itself in a rising tide.
"How are you supposed to play against a deck you've never even seen?"
"That's not a duel. That's a money flex."
"I heard ABC can tag out, right? Isn't it got some crazy disruption?"
Dorian didn't bask in it long. He moved like he had a checklist.
"I activate Field Barrier."
A translucent grid of light formed around Union Hangar, reinforcing it, sealing it. The implication was simple: my engine stays. No one was going to casually wipe it away and replace it with something else.
Julian's eyes narrowed a fraction.
Field Barrier. Protection. A lock.
He could respect the caution. He could not respect what came next.
Dorian's hand lifted again.
"And now…" he said, voice light, almost playful. "Let's make sure we don't have any… thematic surprises."
He raised his Duel Disk.
"I activate Prohibition."
A dark sigil bloomed into existence, a conceptual pressure that wasn't about attack points or defense values. It was about absence. About declaring that a possibility did not exist.
The judge's system registered the declaration prompt.
Dorian didn't hesitate.
"I'll forbid necrovalley." For a heartbeat, nothing moved. The name rippled through the arena like a thrown stone.
Necrovalley: the spine of Gravekeepers. The field that turned the Graveyard into a fortress. The card everyone expected Julian to be leaning on if the rumors were true.
A few Obelisk students laughed openly, already savoring the idea of watching Julian's "deck" fold.
"Oh, that's cruel."
"That's perfect."
"He can't even play."
Julian's laugh cut through the arena at an angle that didn't match the moment before he could even stop it.
It wasn't loud. It wasn't theatrical. It wasn't even meant for the crowd. But it landed wrong anyway. Sharp enough to stall a few Obelisk chuckles mid-breath, bright enough to make Dorian's smile tighten at the edges.
Because it wasn't the laughter of someone cornered. It was the laughter of someone recognizing a trap… and recognizing, too, how much of the room had already stepped into it willingly.
Heads turned. Dorian's smile wavered, just slightly.
All eyes were on Julian, and for a moment they were almost warm.
"Oh," Julian said softly, voice carrying farther than it should have. "So that's what you're afraid of."
The crowd's laughter stumbled.
"What?"
"Afraid? Of Necrovalley?"
Julian's grin widened. Dangerous, delighted, and entirely unreadable.
"Good call, y'know…" he added, still amused. "Really. It's… considerate."
It wasn't a compliment. Not truly.
It was Julian recognizing the shape of the trap, recognizing how much of the duel had been played already, not on the field, but in rumor and pressure and expectation. Gravekeepers. Necrovalley. Prohibition. A neat narrative.
The academy loved stories. Labels. Narratives neat enough to chant from the stands. It wasn't enough to defeat someone; they wanted the defeat to mean something. They wanted it to look inevitable, to send a message.
Julian's eyes drifted, inevitably, to the red jackets.
Syrus sat half a step behind Jaden like he was borrowing shade from the taller boy. His posture was too controlled, too careful. He looked clean, presentable… almost aggressively so, like he'd fought his own uniform into obedience one adjustment at a time. But his hands were wrong. Fingers lightly clenched anxiously around fabric, as though his sleeves were the only thing holding his pulse in place.
And for a heartbeat, the arena wasn't an arena. It was the threshold of Slifer's dorm. The dull, final sound of a door closing behind them. And a whisper, meant for only one person.
"I need to tell you something."
The memory came with teeth, dragging the rest of the truth on his head into daylight.
The door to Slifer Red closed behind them with a dull, familiar thud.
The Red dorm never truly slept. Even late at night, it breathed. Doors creaking, distant laughter muffled by walls too thin, a burst of noise that rose and fell like waves. It was a place built for chaos and survived by turning chaos into normal.
But when Julian guided Syrus through the entrance that night, the noise didn't feel normal. It felt far away, like they'd walked in carrying a storm that didn't belong in the common room.
Syrus's breathing had steadied, barely. Not calm, but functional. The kind of control people managed when they were afraid that one more inhale would turn into a sob.
Julian kept his arm around him, not as a show, not as a crutch, but as a line drawn in physical reality: You're here. I'm here. You're not going to vanish on me.
They walked down the hall and turned a corner. The light here was dimmer, safer. The kind of place where the walls held more shadow than sound.
Syrus slowed for a second, as if thinking and considering something for a moment, then stopped. His fingers tightened on Julian's sleeve like he'd caught himself falling and needed something, anything, to grab.
"Julian…" Syrus whispered.
There was something in the way he said it. Not dramatic. Not theatrical. But intent, like someone who'd been rehearsing a sentence in his head for hours and still didn't trust his mouth to make it real.
Julian didn't push. He didn't demand. He simply turned slightly, giving Syrus the space to speak without forcing him to hold Julian's gaze.
"What is it?" Julian asked, equally low.
Syrus swallowed hard. He took a breath and then another, as if building a bridge out of air.
"I… I need to tell you something." he said again, and this time the words didn't sound like a confession meant to impress.
They sounded like someone about to admit failure.
Julian's hand tightened around Syrus briefly as he helped the boy sit down. Not restraining, just anchoring. "All right." he said, sitting himself near his friend. "Tell me."
Syrus stared at the floor. His voice came out small. "I didn't want to… I didn't want to be a problem."
Julian's jaw flexed once. He forced it to relax.
"Syrus…"
"I mean it." Syrus rushed on, as if speed could outrun shame. "You had the written exam, the timed duels, the duel itself, and… everyone was watching you and… and I knew you had enough on your plate. I didn't want to add…"
He cut himself off. His shoulders trembled. He tried to pull in breath again and came up short.
Julian leaned closer, tone clipped in a way that wasn't anger so much as refusal to let Syrus drown in his own narrative.
"First of all." Julian said, "I don't care if it was my bloody wedding day. If someone is doing something like that to you, you ask for backup."
Syrus flinched at the firmness, then nodded quickly, like the reprimand didn't hurt because it was cruel. It hurt because it was true.
"I know." Syrus whispered. "I know. I just… I thought I could handle it. Just until your exam was over. It was just for a couple days."
Julian exhaled slowly through his nose.
Trying to endure alone wasn't handling it. It was just delaying the crash.
Syrus's voice shook, but he kept talking, forcing the words out like pulling glass from his throat.
"It started small. Comments. Like… like jokes. Or pretending they were jokes." His hands tightened into fists, then loosened, then tightened again. "They'd say things when teachers weren't around. They'd stand too close. They'd laugh when I looked down. It was… it was like they wanted me to remember I didn't belong in any room where people wore any other color other than red. They kept calling me your pet, your shadow. Like I was something you kept around because I was easy."
Julian's expression didn't change, but something behind his eyes did.
"And then…" Syrus continued. "They started asking questions. About you."
Julian didn't react outwardly. He didn't give Syrus anything to fear. But internally, something cold settled into place, like a piece clicking into a mechanism.
"What kind of questions?" Julian asked, already knowing the answer.
Syrus's throat bobbed. "Mainly your deck, but also your side deck options and tech cards."
There it was. Julian nodded once, slow. "Okay."
Syrus looked up, panic flickering. "They never said it like… like they wanted to learn. It was like they already assumed they had a right to know. Like I was just… a tool they could squeeze until I made noise."
Julian's hand tightened around his shoulder again, firmer this time. "And you didn't tell me."
"I didn't want to distract you." Syrus said miserably. "I kept thinking, if I just keep my head down, if I don't react, if I just… just endure until Thursday, then it'll be over."
Julian's voice dropped another degree, sharper. "Syrus… That isn't endurance, mate. That's self-harm with better PR. I understand not wanting to tell me, but you could have gone to Jaden or Bastion."
Syrus winced, but he didn't argue. He looked exhausted enough to accept the insult if it meant Julian was still here.
"You told me I needed to stop running to you every time things got hard." he said. "And you were right."
Julian froze. Syrus looked up at him fully now.
"I know you weren't telling me to face a mob alone…" Syrus continued. "You were telling me to stop assuming I'd already lost before anything even started. And I wanted to do… something, instead of just being a burden on a hard day for you. To not depend on others for every little thing…"
Syrus stopped for a second, taking a long and loud breath like his speech caused him an asthma attack. A couple seconds later, he raised his eyes again and continued.
"I tried to do something." The blue haired boy said, suddenly, like he needed Julian to know he wasn't completely passive. "Not… not fighting. I can't fight them like that. But I tried to… avoid being alone. To stay near people. Near Jaden. Near…" His mouth twisted. "It didn't always work."
Julian's gaze softened by a fraction. Not pity. Understanding.
Syrus's voice dropped into something almost inaudible. "Eventually they cornered me in the bathroom."
Julian didn't ask where. He didn't need the details to know what that meant. The word carried its own architecture.
Syrus breathed in too sharply. His fingers dug into Julian's sleeve again, knuckles whitening.
"There were three of them." he continued, words uneven, like he was stepping carefully over broken ground. "Maybe four, I don't know. I wasn't… counting." He let out a small, humorless sound. "They never do it where there are cameras. Or teachers. Like they knew where not to."
Julian's jaw tightened, his patience running thin, but the thought of his friend needing him overwhelmed the need to go straight to the blue dorm and throw some hands there.
"They didn't hit me." Syrus said quickly, as if correcting an assumption. "Not at first. They don't need to. They just…" He hesitated, eyes fixed on the floor. "They blocked the door. And one of them turned on the sink."
Julian's hand curled slightly, a reflex he didn't let travel any further.
"They pushed me in its direction." Syrus went on. "Not hard. Just… enough to make me trip. There was water all over me. My shirt, my hair, my jacket." His voice wavered. "They laughed. Said it was an accident. Said I should be more careful."
He swallowed.
"And then they left me like that."
Julian exhaled slowly through his nose.
"It was cold in the halls." Syrus said. "I tried to dry it in the bathroom, but… it didn't work fully. I couldn't exactly explain why I was standing there for so long, so I just… I went to class." His shoulders hunched inward at the memory. "The air conditioning was on full. I sat there for hours, trying not to shake."
Julian closed his eyes for half a second, repressing murderous thoughts once more.
"They didn't stop there." Syrus added quietly. "After that, it was… smaller things. Every time. Someone sticking a foot out when I passed. A hand on my shoulder just long enough to throw me off balance. I fell more than once." He touched his own arm without thinking, fingers brushing a place Julian hadn't seen before. "I had bruises. Nothing you could point at and say something happened. Just enough to hurt."
Julian opened his eyes again. There was no softness in them now. Even if he wanted to transmit safety to his friend, his war face was inevitable. It had only a semblance of focus, tight and controlled.
"They'd joke about it…" Syrus said. "Say I was clumsy. Say I should watch where I was going. Say…" His voice thinned. "Say maybe I should stop following people who were out of my league."
Julian's grip on him steadied, firm enough to be unmistakable.
"And then…" Syrus whispered. "There was the fountain."
The word hung between them.
"It was crowded." Syrus said. "That's the worst part, people were around this time. Slifer, Ra… Even some Obelisk. But at first no one was really… watching." His mouth trembled. "They shoved me. Harder this time. I lost my footing and went straight into the water."
Julian's breath stopped.
"I hit the edge on the way down." Syrus went on, voice shaking now, raw. "That's where the mark came from." He touched his neck again, just below the jaw. "I came up coughing, and they were laughing. Saying I should be more careful again."
His voice dropped lower.
"One of them grabbed the back of my head."
Julian's hand tightened, his control just enough to not crush his friends hand.
"He didn't push me under!" Syrus said quickly, as if afraid Julian might picture it going too far. "Not really. He just… held me there. For a second. Long enough to make it clear he could."
Julian's pulse roared in his ears.
"And then he leaned in and said 'You know this could get worse, right?'" The words settled into Julian like lead. "They asked me to think about whether protecting someone like you was worth it." His voice cracked completely now. "And that's when I…"
He stopped. His shoulders shook once, hard.
"That's when I broke…" Syrus admitted. "I didn't wanted to! I just… couldn't keep pretending it was manageable. I felt like… Like I couldn't breathe."
Julian pulled him in then. Not abruptly. Not forcefully. Just enough to take the weight Syrus was no longer able to carry by himself.
"I was so scared." Syrus tears finally started to pour, landing on Julian's vest. "And every time I thought about just… telling them everything so it would stop… I'm sorry."
Julian held him firmly.
"You don't apologize for surviving." the blonde boy answered, voice low and steady. "You have no fault in what happened."
He shook his head. "I didn't know how bad it would get. I didn't think they'd go that far. But I remembered what you said. That even if I lost… I had to lose trying. Not decide it in my head first. Not decide that I'm doomed before it happens."
Julian's throat tightened. He didn't let it show.
"That's right," Julian said quietly.
Syrus nodded. "So I… I gave them something."
Julian remained still. He didn't jump to conclusions. He didn't interrupt.
Syrus forced himself to look up. His eyes were wet, but there was a flicker of stubbornness there too, the tiniest ember refusing to die.
"I didn't tell them the truth." Syrus whispered.
Julian's face stayed neutral, but his shoulders loosened just slightly.
"What did you tell them?" Julian asked.
Syrus swallowed. "Something that… made sense."
He took another breath, voice trembling.
"You were already using spellcasters. And you had… Spy and Guard, right? In that older pile. And control, you talk about control all the time. About not relying on brute force. So I… I told them something like that."
Julian listened without expression, letting Syrus speak it all the way through.
"They wanted leverage… So I gave them the illusion of it." He swallowed. "If they were going to hurt me anyway… I figured I might as well make it count." Syrus said, helpless. "It was close enough to be believable. Close enough that if they built their whole plan around it…"
Julian's eyes narrowed a fraction. "They'd counter a shadow."
Syrus nodded, miserably, relief and terror mixed. "Yes. I thought about what that would mean. Not just you losing a duel because of me. Losing you. Selling out one of the only people who never treated me like a burden."
Julian exhaled. Then, deliberately, he reached up and gripped Syrus's shoulder, steadying him.
"You did good, Sy." Julian said.
Syrus stared at him like he hadn't heard correctly. "No, I… I lost. I broke…"
"You didn't break." Julian cut in, voice firm. "You bent. Even when beaten, you still cleared the path for me to win. There's a difference."
Syrus's lips parted, words failing.
Julian's tone softened just slightly, enough to be human. "There are limits to what a counter can do, Sy. People have always expected Dark Magician from Yugi and Blue-Eyes from Kaiba. Everyone knows what they're facing… and they still lose to them. Even if you told him the truth, if Cauldwell wanted to fill his deck with hate drafting, that's his problem. I can play through preparation, especially if I know that in advance."
Syrus's shoulders sagged. "I was so scared," he whispered. "I still am."
Julian nodded, once. "Good. Fear means you understand the stakes. It doesn't mean you have to surrender to them. Like I said, you did well. They will regret messing with you, I promise that."
Syrus blinked, tears spilling once again, and he scrubbed at his face with his sleeve like he was ashamed of the evidence. Then, quieter… so quiet the words sounded like they'd been hiding behind his teeth, Syrus said:
"If you win… When you win." Julian's breath paused. "If it works… Please… say it was me. Say I mattered. Everyone tomorrow will laugh at me, the entire academy."
Julian stared at him for a long beat.
"You mattered whether I win or not." Julian said into the space near Syrus's hair, voice low and absolute. "But if what you want is for the academy to hear it… then fine."
Syrus froze.
Julian's grip tightened slightly. "When I win, I'll make sure they understand you weren't collateral. You were the blade."
Syrus let out a shaky breath that was almost a laugh and almost a sob.
Julian held him until the tremor in Syrus's shoulders eased from a quake into a shiver.
Then Julian shifted, guiding him forward again, deeper into the dorm, away from eyes, away from any lingering noise.
"Now…" Julian said, tone turning practical. "You're going to eat. Drink water, sit down. And stop punishing yourself for someone else's cruelty."
Syrus nodded weakly, clinging to the sleeve like it was proof Julian was real. The boy closed his eyes and for the first time that day, his shoulders dropped… not in defeat, but in an exhaustion finally allowed to exist.
The memory fractured there…
… and the roar of the arena crashed back into Julian's senses.
The roar of the crowd snapped back into place like a door slamming shut.
Julian's smile remained, but it changed shape. Less amusement now, more precision. His laughter from a moment ago seemed suddenly like a deliberate blade: not a crack in his composure, but a warning.
Across from him, Dorian's expression had tightened. Not much. Just enough.
Because Prohibition on Necrovalley had been meant to do more than stop a card.
It had been meant to stop a person, to pin Julian into the identity they'd decided he wore.
And Julian's reaction had made it clear: the pin had missed.
They thought Syrus Truesdale had broken. What they never understood was that sometimes, even breaking didn't mean betraying.
What they had actually done was teach him exactly how to win. And Julian, standing under the lights, understood with absolute certainty: This duel had started long before the first card was drawn.
And it was already decided by the one they had underestimated most.Now, it was up to him to turn that into a lesson they would never forget.
Dorian watched him closely, like a man trying to decide whether he'd just heard confidence or madness. Julian met his glare with calm amusement.
Then Dorian's jaw tightened, posture straightening again as he reclaimed his performance. "I'll end my turn."
The judge's system updated. The field displayed only what everyone could see:
ABC-Dragon Buster, Gold Gadget. Union Hangar protected behind Field Barrier. And Prohibition's declared name hanging over the match like a verdict.
The crowd buzzed with a new kind of excitement. Half awe, half outrage.
"That's not fair."
"How can anyone prepare for that?"
"He's basically using next month's magazine."
Mindy folded her arms. "He's smug enough to make me want to root for Julian even harder."
Jasmine's voice was flat. "That's the point."
Around them, the stands reacted in uneven waves: Obelisk students exchanging sharp looks, some smirking with the confidence of people who believed they'd already read the ending. Ra students whispering more cautiously. Slifers leaning forward, trying to piece together why a card name carried that much weight.
Up in the stands, Jaden's voice rose. Too honest, too loud, too Jaden to belong in a place like this. "Uh… wait. Hold on…"
He leaned forward, brows knit together, confusion plain on his face in the way only Jaden could manage: unfiltered, unarmored.
"Bastion…" he said, half-whispering, half-not. "I don't get it."
Bastion glanced sideways, already suspecting where this was going.
"Why Necrovalley?" Jaden asked, tilting his head, brow furrowing. "Julian doesn't even play that card, he doesn't run Gravekeepers!"
The sentence hit the arena like a dropped weight.
A ripple of silence cracked across the crowd, then immediately fractured into whispers, startled laughs, confused protests.
"What did he just say?"
"He doesn't play it?"
"Then why…"
"Was the rumor wrong?"
Alexis's head snapped toward Jaden, eyes wide. Not with anger, but with the sudden awareness of what his innocence had just detonated. Bastion's mouth had opened, then closed again, like he was recalculating a thousand things at once.
Dorian's smile faltered, just a fraction.
Julian didn't look at Jaden. Not yet.
His eyes were on Syrus. Syrus sat rigid, pale, eyes fixed on the field, as if he were bracing for impact that was no longer hypothetical.
Julian's gaze softened for half a heartbeat and a warm smile took his face. It was now, the moment that everyone realized how big and brave that little boy was.
A couple seconds later, his warmth hardened again into focus. He turned back to Dorian, and when Julian spoke, his voice carried clearly enough for the front rows, and neatly enough that the judge didn't have to stop him.
"I find it interesting…" Julian said, mild as a lecture. "How… similar we are in that regard. You're not just playing your deck, but the information on how to beat me. Y'know… First rule of this game is to have accurate intel."
Dorian's eyes narrowed.
Julian's smile sharpened like a knife finding the seam in a glove.
"Don't worry, though." he added, almost gently. "You'll have a deep and personal lesson from the best."
The judge cleared his throat in one crisp sound, professional, trained to pull a room back onto rails.
"Spectators will please lower their tone during active play to not disrupt the match." he called, voice amplified just enough to carry without needing to shout. "Candidate Ashford, enough with the banter. Proceed, it is your turn."
A few people tried to laugh it off, but even that laughter didn't land right. It came out thinner, uncertain, the way people laugh when they've realized too late they were clapping for the wrong line.
The turn indicator on Julian's Duel Disk pulsed. A soft chime sounded—familiar, neutral, almost soothing in how indifferent it was to the fact that half the academy was trying to turn his life into a spectacle.
Julian drew, and the hungry pack of wolves at the arena leaned forward, wanting to see whether the "story" they'd bet on would collapse… or whether the person they'd dismissed as collateral was about to rewrite the script entirely.
A single card slid from the top of Julian's deck into his hand with a clean, practiced motion. He didn't look at it immediately. "My turn. Draw."
He let his eyes stay on Dorian as his fingers adjusted his grip around his hand of cards, aligning them by feel the way he always did. In that single second, he took inventory of what the field looked like in real terms, not in rumor.
Dorian's board wasn't just strong. It was structured.
Union Hangar loomed behind him in shimmering holographic steel granting recursion and tempo for future plays, reinforced by Field Barrier's translucent lattice. Prohibition hovered like a useless legal decree made manifest, the declared word still echoed in the glow of its sigil. In front of it all stood Dorian's monsters: Gold Gadget and the titanic presence of the new Union boss-monster, ready to disrupt his own plays.
A protected engine, a solid board and two cards still in Dorian's hand that Julian couldn't see but could feel the weight of, the way you could feel a knife behind someone's back if you'd lived long enough around people who smiled too easily.
Hanging over it all, like an invisible rope, was the assumption that Julian would panic. That he would scramble. It was time to prove them wrong.
He finally glanced down at his draw: Pot of Greed. One of the best start possible.
A few students in the front rows leaned forward instinctively. Even in Duel Academy, some cards carried a reputation like perfume. Pot of Greed wasn't merely strong. It was iconic. A simple and brutal tool of hand advantage that was carried by practically every single duelist, like it was made by Pegasus as an equalizer.
Julian's mouth twitched, a hint of humor that never reached his eyes. He raised the card.
"I activate Pot of Greed." he said, voice clear and steady. "It allows me to draw two cards."
Green light flared. The familiar, grinning face of the jar manifested briefly in holographic form, an exaggerated theatrical thing that looked almost childish in a room full of predatory teenagers. Two cards slid into Julian's hand. The thought of the classical joke regarding the card did not cross his mind this time, there was too much at stake.
Change of Heart and Relinquished Fusion were now in his hand. Julian didn't let his expression shift, but something in the front rows audibly reacted, an intake of breath, an almost silent whisper that hadn't been there before.
"Change of Heart?" someone muttered. "Seriously?"
"That means he will…"
"All of that just to have his boss monster taken?"
Julian's eyes flicked up again.
Dorian was smiling.
"I've been watching you," Julian said, not loudly, but with enough bite that the nearest rows heard it. "You like inevitability."
Dorian's brows lifted, as if amused by the assessment. Julian held up the next card.
"So do I." He slapped it into the Duel Disk. "I activate Change of Heart, targeting your ABC-Dragon Buster."
A ripple ran through the crowd. Confusion first, then understanding, then the kind of impressed annoyance that only came when someone realized a line was smarter than it looked.
"But he doesn't have…"
"He's forcing the tag-out!"
"Before it can banish something!"
Even Bastion, usually careful with his reactions, leaned forward a fraction, eyes narrowing with appreciation.
Julian's target reticle locked onto the space where ABC-Dragon Buster would have stood if Dorian had kept it. But the duel system had already registered the monster as part of that earlier resolution, its presence was still in the field's memory, and its effect was still available.
Dorian's smile widened.
He didn't look worried. He looked pleased, as if Julian had stepped onto the exact square he wanted.
"Chain." Dorian said smoothly. The crowd hushed again. Chains were always theater. Chains meant someone had planned for this.
"ABC-Dragon Buster's effect." Dorian's voice didn't rise. It didn't need to. "As Quick Effect, I Tribute it…"
In the air, the massive metallic dragon shimmered into existence for an instant like the memory of metal. Then it broke apart into light, disassembling with surgical precision.
"And Special Summon its components back from the banishment."
Three beams snapped down onto the field. A-Assault Core hit first with a heavy mechanical thud, then B-Buster Drake, then C-Crush Wyvern, each landing into place like a unit deploying from a carrier.
It was a defensive maneuver disguised as confidence. The boss monster was gone, avoiding the theft. But the price was clear: Dorian had spent his crown to build a wall.
Julian's eyes tracked each piece as it landed. Four bodies now, including Gold Gadget. Four LIGHT Machine monsters under Union Hangar.
(A-Assault Core/LIGHT / Machine / Level 4 / 1900 ATK)
(B-Buster Drake/LIGHT / Machine / Level 4 / 1800 DEF)
(C-Crush Wyvern/LIGHT / Machine / Level 4 / 2000 DEF)
(Gold Gadget/LIGHT / Machine / Level 4 / 1700 ATK)
The chain resolved completely and Change of Heart fizzled into empty air without complaint as its target was not in the field anymore.
Julian didn't need the card to resolve. He'd needed the reaction.
"It's a nice trick." Julian said calmly, as if he were grading homework. "I'd do the same."
Dorian's eyes narrowed a fraction. "Then why do it?"
Julian didn't answer immediately.
He reached for his hand and took out a monster card with a deliberate slowness that felt like a blade being unsheathed.
Because the next move wasn't about cards. It was about message.
"I Normal Summon Ally of Justice Quarantine." Julian declared.
A dark machine entered the field. Sleek, angular, built like a restraint rather than a weapon. It rose onto the field with a low mechanical hum, and its silhouette looked wrong against Union Hangar's industrial cathedral, like a parasite designed specifically to live in steel.
Ally of Justice Quarantine (DARK / Machine / Level 4 / 1700 ATK).
The moment it manifested, the air shifted. Not physically, conceptually. Like a rule had been written into the world. Bastion sucked in a breath through his teeth.
"Oh." he murmured, and for once he sounded less like a professor and more like someone watching an explosion happen in slow motion. "That's a Julian lock if I saw one."
Mindy blinked, not knowing the specific card. "A lock on what?"
Alexis answered without looking away from the platform. "The special summon of LIGHT monsters."
Jaden's brows knit together. "Wait… both players?"
Bastion nodded once, grim. "Exactly. Neither player can Special Summon LIGHT monsters."
A beat.
Then, like dominos falling in the minds of the students who could actually read a board, realization spread.
The ABC pieces were LIGHT. Dorian's whole engine was LIGHT. His boss monsters were LIGHT.
His contact fusions, his recursion, his "inevitability"... all of it ran on the assumption that he could keep Special Summoning more machines like he was breathing. Even his follow-up plays needed special summoning. Julian had just put a hand around the academy's newest shiny toy and squeezed.
Dorian's expression didn't crack into panic. But it did tighten into something colder.
Julian tilted his head slightly, eyes on Dorian as he spoke, voice mild.
For the first time since the duel began, Dorian's composure fractured.
Not violently. Not enough to look sloppy. Just enough that anyone paying attention could see the calculation stall for half a beat too long.
"Quarantine?" he repeated, incredulous despite himself.
His eyes flicked, not to the card text, but to Julian's face. Then to the field. Then, briefly, to the sealed memory of the briefcase he had opened days ago.
"That's…" Dorian said slowly, choosing his words with care, "…a very specific answer of you."
A few Obelisk students shifted in their seats.
Julian tilted his head, amused.
"You're surprised?" he asked lightly. "That hurts. I was under the impression you respected me more than that. Did you think you were the only one playing the information game? Or did you just assume the rest of us were too poor to be able to know what your new toys can do?"
Dorian's jaw tightened.
"You shouldn't know what I'd be playing. The collection had new cards and multiple viable builds. Even if you'd knew what they all did and somehow seen them…" his lips curled faintly "There were at least seven archetypes with different competitive directions." He gestured at the field. "And yet you just happened to Normal Summon a hard counter to LIGHT-based Special Summoning on turn one..."
The implication landed hard. A murmur rippled through the blue jackets.
"How would he know?"
"Did someone leak the list?"
"No way. The briefcase was sealed."
"You think he has an informant?"
Julian didn't answer. He only smiled. It was not overly smug or convincing. Just enough to make it clear that the question itself was already beneath him.