The night had fallen over the Dome, but behind the extinguished spotlights, colder lights still shone in the restricted floors.
NANO-TECH LABORATORY – FLOOR 47
Chloé was sitting in front of a holographic console, her fingers mechanically tapping through the tournament data. Behind her, a door slid open silently.
Professor Sendo entered. Behind him, the shadow of a bodyguard, immense and silent.
"Chloé."
She stood up immediately. Not out of respect. Out of reflex. Out of fear.
"Father."
Sendo approached, his cold eyes fixed on the screen displaying the fighters' statistics. Grann. Orion. Kotobe. One.
"You've worked well so far. Your analyses have allowed us to optimize Orion's protocols to 94% efficiency."
Chloé felt a surge of pride. She had earned it. She had studied, calculated, anticipated.
"But that's not why you're here."
The pride vanished.
Sendo turned to her, his eyes shining in the darkness.
"This tournament is not a game. It's not a competition for the public. It's a test. Our new gadgets need real data. The sensors you wear, the analyzers you use... all of this feeds directly back to our laboratories."
Chloé lowered her eyes. She knew it. She had always known it.
"Your primary mission: monitor Grann. Find a flaw. The smallest detail. The slightest micro-expression. He's too perfect not to be hiding something."
A silence.
"Your secondary mission: support Orion. You'll send him real-time directives during his fights. He'll follow your orders to the letter."
Chloé nodded.
"And now... your new mission."
She looked up.
"ONE."
The name fell like a guillotine blade.
Chloé blinked, incredulous. "ONE? The... the sandwich guy?"
Sendo did not smile.
"Exactly. No one understands that boy. His Ether gauge is unknown. His limits are invisible. He beat Brick without lifting a finger. He walked Axel out of the arena."
"He's an idiot," Chloé protested. "A complete moron who got lucky. There's nothing to analyze."
Sendo approached her, too close. His breath smelled of cold coffee and ambition.
"That's precisely what you need to discover. Why does an 'idiot' reach the quarter-finals? Why can no one touch him? Is it luck, instinct, or something deeper?"
He placed a hand on her shoulder. The pressure was light, but she felt the weight.
"That young man ONE destroyed every machine the association had at its disposal to measure him. So you're going to face him. You're going to analyze him. And you're going to tell me where his limits are."
Chloé swallowed.
"Understood, father."
---
QUARTER-FINALS
The Dome was a furnace. The crowd was screaming, banners were waving, Neko screens displayed counters at 15 million viewers.
On the platform, Lola was radiant.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! WELCOME TO THE QUARTER-FINALS OF THE ACOLYTE TOURNAMENT! TODAY, TWO EXCEPTIONAL FIGHTS! FIRST... THE GENIUS OF ANALYSIS, PROFESSOR SENDO'S DAUGHTER... CHLOÉ! FACING THE LIVING ENIGMA, THE MAN WHO WINS WITHOUT FIGHTING... OOOOOONE!"
The audience, divided, oscillated between laughter and applause.
"ONE! ONE! ONE!" shouted part of the crowd.
"CHLOÉ! CHLOÉ! CHLOÉ!" the other responded.
K2B, on Nano-Neko, was in ecstasy.
— SCIENCE AGAINST MYSTERY! CALCULATION AGAINST THE ABSURD! BETS ARE OPEN, FOLKS, AND I'M TELL YOU RIGHT NOW: IF CHLOÉ WINS, SHE'LL HAVE PLANNED EVERYTHING! IF ONE WINS... WELL, HE WON'T HAVE PLANNED ANYTHING AT ALL!
---
MAIN ARENA – ONE vs CHLOÉ
Chloé entered first. Her holographic tablets floated around her, her sensors crackled, her eyes were already analyzing every centimeter of the arena. She was ready. She had planned everything.
One entered.
Hands in his pockets. Vacant stare. He stopped in the center, looked up at the Dome's artificial sky, then yawned.
Chloé clenched her teeth.
Him? This is who they want me to analyze? A slacker who doesn't even know how to stand properly?
— FIGHT!
Chloé attacked immediately. Her hexagonal shields deployed, her Ether scalpels shot out, and a rain of analytical projectiles headed toward One.
He ducked.
The projectiles passed overhead.
She adjusted her aim, fired a lower burst.
He jumped. Just enough. Just at the right moment.
She sent capture drones.
He wasn't dodging missed shots like something was deflecting them; he did a little awkward dance he'd seen in a video that, inexplicably, worked.
Chloé, frustrated, stopped firing.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" she screamed.
One stopped too. He looked at her, perplexed.
"...I'm dancing?"
"Why aren't you insulting me?! Why aren't you looking at me with contempt?! Why aren't you... not... NORMAL?!"
One tilted his head, like a dog facing a concept too complex.
"I don't understand," he said calmly. "Why are you angry?"
Chloé felt something snap inside her. All her preparation, all her science, all her certainty... crashed against a wall of pure incomprehension.
"BECAUSE YOU'RE NOTHING!" she screamed. "YOU'RE LESS THAN NOTHING! A CLOWN! A MISTAKE OF NATURE! AND I'M SUPPOSED TO ANALYZE YOU?! WHILE MY FATHER WATCHES ME, WHILE EVERYONE JUDGES ME, YOU JUST EXIST AND THAT'S ENOUGH?!"
Her voice broke. Tears of rage welled in her eyes.
One looked at her for a long time.
"...Okay," he said.
And he waited.
Chloé, panting, activated her most powerful scanners. She would see through him. She would find his flaw, his weak point, his limit.
The data scrolled across her glasses.
Ether gauge: [INDETERMINATE]
Estimated limit: [INDETERMINATE]
Maximum capacity: [INDETERMINATE]
Complete analysis: [FAILED]
Chloé blinked. She ran the analysis again. Same result.
She activated emergency protocols, depth algorithms, resonance scanners.
Nothing. Still nothing.
ERROR. ERROR. ERROR.
Her knees gave way.
She fell to her knees in the middle of the arena, hands trembling, eyes wide staring at her own data. Her mouth opened.
Her gauge is infinite, she has no observable limit.
And she vomited.
A violent, uncontrollable spasm bent her double. Her body was rejecting what her mind refused to accept.
He has no limits. He never has. All this time... all this time we've been looking for flaws in people who had them... and him... him...
One approached slowly. He knelt beside her, bringing his head level with hers.
"...You okay?" he asked, genuinely concerned.
Chloé looked up at him with wild, lost eyes, where all certainty had died.
"What... what are you..."
One thought about it.
"...One," he said. "My name's One."
She collapsed, unconscious, her face in her own vomit, her body shaking with spasms.
The silence in the Dome was absolute.
The referee, after a long moment, blew his whistle.
— TECHNICAL K.O.! WINNER: ONE!
The stunned audience dared not applaud.
But One didn't hear them. He remained kneeling near Chloé, looking at her, perplexed.
"...Why is she angry?" he murmured.
---
IN THE SPONSORS' LOUNGE.
Tamura Seijin crushed his glass in his hand. The crystal cut his palm, mingling with his own blood.
He had bet big on Chloé. Very big. Enough to fund three missions.
And she had just collapsed in front of a complete idiot.
"That... that boy," he growled. "What is he?"
His assistants, pale, frantically typed on their tablets.
"No data, boss. Nothing. He doesn't exist in our databases."
Tamura stood up, his gaze dark.
"Find me something. Anything. That guy is an anomaly. And anomalies... we eliminate them."
This kid might disrupt the order our ancestors established.
Clans must not disappear in favor of such anomalies.
he thought, with a deep, long-buried rage.
---
A PAUSE ON THE BLAZING NETWORKS
Nano-Neko had never known such chaos.
#ChloéVomit: 25M views.
#ChloeTheLoser: 20M views.
#BoycottNanoNeko: 18M views.
Theories flourished:
"— He has a mental confusion power?
— No, he's just TOO stupid to be analyzed.
— Did you see his face when she threw up? He was PERPLEXED.
— That guy is a god disguised as an idiot.
— Or an idiot disguised as a god."
One post went viral: an image of One watching Chloé vomit, with the caption: "First date."
ONE had won the fight, certainly. But the public does not forgive.
K2B, in his livestream at home, couldn't believe it.
— FOLKS... I... I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO SAY. CHLOÉ, THE SCIENTIST, PROFESSOR SENDO'S DAUGHTER, JUST COLLAPSED WITHOUT ONE LIFTING A FINGER. SHE ANALYZED HIM... AND SHE BLEW A FUSE. HER BODY REJECTED WHAT HER MIND COULDN'T ACCEPT. THIS IS... THIS IS THE STRANGEST DEFEAT IN TOURNAMENT HISTORY!
In the infirmary, Chloé, awake but with an empty stare, was fixed on the ceiling.
"He has no limits," she murmured. "He never has."
The doctor shrugged.
"We'll keep you for observation."
She didn't hear him. She was elsewhere. In a world where science had failed.
---
THE SECOND QUARTER-FINAL BEGAN.
The atmosphere had settled, but the tension was higher than ever. After the One-Chloé chaos, the public needed certainties. Logic. Clean fighting.
LENA vs KOTOBE.
The avenger with scars against the Adaptor with the broken face. The fight announced as the tournament's most balanced.
But behind the scenes, balance did not exist.
---
IN THE SPONSORS' LOUNGE – MINUTES BEFORE THE FIGHT
Tamura Seijin sat in an armchair, a glass of sake in hand. Before him, a screen displayed Lena's statistics.
"She has potential," he murmured. "But not enough. Not against him."
His assistant approached.
"Boss, the Fifteen Greats have approved your request. Lena will receive a slight... advantage."
Tamura smiled.
"Not an advantage. A correction. That kid, Kotobe, humiliated Dante. He humiliated the name Seijin. He must lose."
The assistant hesitated.
"Boss... that's against the rules..."
Tamura looked at him. Just a second. The assistant lowered his eyes.
"Yes, boss. Everything is ready."
---
IN THE MAIN ARENA – LENA vs KOTOBE
Lena entered. Her scars gleamed under the spotlights, her gaze was a block of ice. She radiated determination.
Kotobe entered. His arm was still in a sling, his ribs still fragile, but his gaze... his gaze was that of a man who had already lost everything and feared nothing anymore.
"KO-TO-BE! KO-TO-BE! KO-TO-BE!" chanted the crowd, still hyped but unable to stomach his appearance inside.
Lena didn't blink. She had come to win. Period.
— FIGHT!
Kotobe immediately retreated. Not out of fear – out of strategy. He observed, analyzed, decoded.
But something was wrong.
Lena's movements were... too fast. Too precise. She executed combos with a fluidity that didn't match the data he'd collected on her.
A kick struck his side. He had anticipated the trajectory.
Another hit his shoulder. He should have dodged it.
What's going on?
In the Seijin lounge, Tamura smiled.
The arena's sensors had been slightly modified. The visual cues Kotobe used to analyze were offset by a few milliseconds. Nothing visible to the naked eye. But for a mind like his, it was poison.
Lena pressed on. Her techniques were sophisticated, precise, lethal. She had been trained by the best, funded by the Fifteen Greats. She was a weapon.
Kotobe took the hits. He retreated. He bled.
The worried audience began to murmur.
"— He's losing...
— He's too injured...
— Lena is too strong..."
Kotobe fell to his knees.
Lena raised her fist to finish him.
And then, he smiled.
"Thank you," he murmured.
Lena blinked. "What?"
"Your techniques..." He spat blood. "...are perfect. Too perfect. No one would have understood them. Except me."
He stood up. Slowly. Painfully. But he stood up.
"You were trained to be a machine. Me, I was trained to survive. Guess who had the better teacher."
He took a strange, awkward stance, not academic at all.
Lena attacked. Her most formidable technique: "Shadow Blade" – a flurry of strikes so fast they seemed to come from everywhere at once.
Kotobe didn't dodge them. He guided them.
Each blow, instead of hitting him, was deflected by a millimeter, by a tiny angle, through a minimal movement of his body. Lena's strikes were wasted, spent on nothing.
"What... WHAT?!" she screamed.
"You always attack where I would be if I were logical," Kotobe explained calmly, like a teacher. "But I'm no longer logical. I'm adaptive."
His fist shot out.
Not a powerful attack. Just an Ether flick, placed exactly where Lena, after her combo, had an open guard.
TAP.
The strike hit her solar plexus. Light. Insignificant.
But it interrupted her Ether flow. Just enough. Just at the right moment.
Lena collapsed, paralyzed, eyes wide, unable to understand.
"YOUR TECHNIQUES ARE PERFECT," Kotobe repeated, standing over her. "BUT PERFECTION IS PREDICTABLE. AND THE PREDICTABLE... CAN BE BEATEN."
He raised his functional fist, ready to strike.
Lena, on the ground, looked at him.
And in her eyes, for the first time, he saw something other than rage.
Fear. Understanding. Defeat.
He lowered his fist.
"I won't give up," she said, her voice breaking. "I WON'T GIVE UP!"
She tried to get up. Her legs gave way. She fell again.
Again. Again.
Kotobe watched her struggle. He saw her scars, her efforts, her pain. And he understood.
She's like me. She lost someone. She fights so she won't forget them.
Lena, on her knees, looked up at him with eyes full of angry tears.
"FINISH ME, YOU... YOU..."
Kotobe crouched down to her level.
"I won't finish you," he said softly. "You deserve better."
He stood up, turned to the referee, and raised his hand.
The referee counted.
— EIGHT... NINE... TEN! K.O.! WINNER: KOTOBE!
Lena collapsed, drained, but with a strange smile on her lips. She had lost. But she had held on. Until the end.
The standing crowd roared.
"KO-TO-BE! KO-TO-BE! KO-TO-BE!"
K2B was almost crying into his mic.
— HE HU-MI-LI-A-TED HER! BUT NOT LIKE YOU HU-MI-LI-ATE AN ENEMY! LIKE YOU TEACH A STUDENT! HE SHOWED HER THAT PERFECTION WITHOUT A SOUL IS WORTHLESS AGAINST ADAPTATION WITH A HEART! LENA FOUGHT LIKE A LIONESS, BUT KOTOBE... KOTOBE WAS UN-SHA-KE-ABLE!
In his lounge, Tamura Seijin broke his second glass.
"How... HOW?! The sensors were modified! Nothing was working!"
His assistant, trembling, murmured:
"Boss... he adapted. Even to that."
Tamura looked at him. For a long time. Then he stood up and left without a word.
The plan had failed. Kotobe, the "visual abomination," had just defeated the perfection funded by the Fifteen Greats.
And the public loved him for it.