The tournament resided in a building in the outermost region of Serene Harbor—near the port, close to the vast ocean.
The cohort sat at a nearby café, seated in a booth that was directly parallel to the window panes that offered them a gorgeous look of the outside world.
"A monstrous building," David muttered plainly. Beneath his chin, a plate of pancakes settled with faint heat emitting from the soft, luscious stack.
"It's unfortunate that we weren't able to sign up," Miller muttered back.
The windows — clearer than the sky overhead — was penetrated by the soft rays of sunlight that neared noon. The light pressed atop of their table, a bright spot emerging like spotlight in a theater.
Grace couldn't help but nod his head at this notion—the prize to the victor was 150 Notes, after all.
A sum of money that could change the trajectory of their circumstances in an instant. However, they were a hair's breadth too late.
"Would any of us be able to beat him?" David asked, his gaze pointing towards a figure that was standing in front of the tournament arena.
Elis Fay.
The winner of the Serene Harbor for four consecutive years.
Grace snorted.
"Not a chance," Grace said, snorting. "Although it wouldn't hurt to test our luck."
Miller chuckled dryly. "I think… we tested our luck quite a bit already." Hearing those words, Grace smiled softly.
Maybe they did.
Maybe they didn't.
But, it was for certain that it would be an uphill battle had they entered. Perhaps not on the same level as the dungeon, but their fate was more discernible in this instance because of the fewer variables that this tournament held.
Grace adjusted his head, swiveling to the cup of coffee directly in front of him. The dark-brown swirled gently as his small spoon pressed around the edges of the cup.
Time went on, the early morning jitters of the customers that coiled in the form of anticipation for the tournament quickly ushered them out of he doors, beckoning them to the arena.
The cohort wasn't in any rush, though.
They sat, enchanted by their conversation, and basking in the warm light of the sun.
~~~
In the arena, private quarters.
Elis' eyes were close, his breathing slightly disheveled as he sat in a faintly-dim room. He slowly opened his optics, revealing a batch of yellow eyes that matched his hair.
His gaze turned, eyes rolling towards a faint object that was right next to him.
A syringe.
The stainless steel needle shined the brightest within the faintest of light. As his eyes lingered on it, a certain thought crossed, echoing like a forewarning.
Is this what is necessary?
He looked down, seeing all the muscles that ached. From every intramuscular injection, the pain has reminded him the path he has taken. None of it has ever been forgotten, coursing through his veins like sins.
Elis shook his head, a groan escaping his lips as he pushed his body off of the wall that the bench was attached to.
No... The thought whispered in a fleeting trail.
Capping the syringe, Elis threw it in the nearest bin. His mind — in a soft, quiet haze — shut off all the fear and regret that constantly circulated within him.
What is done is done.
He couldn't turn back and rewrite the past.
The only thing he can do is continue forward, carrying all of these impurities until fate exacted the price that he deserved.
Walking outside of the private quarters, he saw a man leaning onto a wall in direct line of sight from the door.
It was a man holding a cane beside him, his torso slightly arched forward.
An angular face framed by long, frizzy hazel hair. And eyes hidden by the darkness of sun glasses. His mouth curled into a sleazy, sly smile.
Adam Letchler.
The Serene Harbor Mayor.
The tournament organizer.
"Took you long enough, hero."
And the one who supplies him with the mana-enhancement drugs.
Elis was much taller than Adam, yet he couldn't bring himself to look down on him—he was the Adam Letchler, after all.
"The product hurt much more this time around," Elis told.
Adam nodded, as if not surprised.
"Well, yes. That is to be expected. The product was made to be twice as potent as the product you usually... indulge in."
Elis bit his tongue down, his eyes finally darting to Adam.
"Twice as potent?!" Elis clenched his hands together. "Are you trying to fucking kill me?!" He unknowingly stepped forward, the distance between them as faint as a spider's web.
When not enhanced, Elis was a Grade 1.7.
However, once enhanced, Elis was firmly a Grade 2.5.
And Adam — who was essentially a regular civilian, though he was a Devotee himself — was vastly inferior to Elis, akin to that of a mere insect in comparison.
In any case, Adam should have been scared, cowering at the possibility of death.
But he didn't.
In front of Adam: he never will.
Because the dynamic between them was hardly that of two Devotees.
Adam's gaze remained even; the edges of his fingertips did not retreat; his breath smooth like that of cake frosting.
He lifted his hand, planting it softly on Elis' shoulder.
He leaned in, his smile maintained.
"Don't you think... risks are necessary? For evolution?" He posed, his voice slow, each word painfully accentuated by his venomous tongue.
The smile turned into a grin.
"If not for the project, then do it for your pathetic dream, hero."
~~~
Betting was an option.
That was something that Grace eventually realized once he saw someone posted near the front desk of the arena lobby, collecting Notes from people who wanted to test their intuition — luck — on the potential victor of tournament.
Miller looked at the Note Collector, then he looked at the rest of the cohort.
"Should we go all in on Elis Fay?" He asked them.
For a moment, Grace and David were confused, then in another, the lightbulb in their heads lit up.
"Great idea."
It was obvious to everyone attending that the winner of the tournament was almost guaranteed to be Elis. Due to this, the profit amount of Notes that would return to them would probably be just a Note or two.
Normally, a normal person wouldn't care about an extra Note or two—these three weren't in a situation where they could be picky.
Every Note counts.
When they did as planned, the three quickly made their way to the arena stands.
"The organizers for this tournament—do they make profit doing this every year? The entry is completely free for anyone to come..." Grace asked aloud while they maneuvered through the masses.
"Supposedly, no," David responded. "At least, from what Melissa said, Adam Letchler does not make a single dime from this. Giving back to the community, he says."
"...Right..." Miller chuckled dryly.
Grace hummed.
Grace didn't believe it either.
"Something's fishy," Grace muttered. "There must be a point other than that." Thinking this, he frowned and closed and opened his eyes, wiping his thought clear.
Tsk. This is hardly our business. No need to overthink about it. Grace mused inwardly.