The Silver Ridge Grand Arena stood as a monument to the city's obsession with the game. It was a cathedral of glass and steel, crowned with massive holographic projectors that broadcasted legendary monsters into the clouds. Today, the sky above the city was filled with the translucent image of a golden eagle, its wings spanning blocks, signaling the start of the Silver Ridge Open.
Limousines and sleek town cars lined the entrance, discharging the city's elite. Young duelists in pressed blazers, their Duel Disks polished to a mirror shine, strutted toward the gates with the confidence of gods. Among them was Vance Sterling, surrounded by his inner circle. He looked revitalized, wearing a new, even more intricate Duel Disk on his arm, his eyes scanning the crowd with a predator's hunger.
"Check the guest list again," Vance muttered to one of his assistants. "Make sure the 'Ghost' hasn't tried to sneak in as a janitor."
"No sign of him, Vance," the assistant chuckled. "The system blocked his ID forty-eight hours ago. He doesn't have the rating. He's probably at home crying over his cardboard."
Vance smirked, adjusting his collar. "Good. The trash has been collected. Now we can play a real game."
But at the edge of the plaza, a figure was approaching.
Rami wasn't wearing a blazer. He wore his faded hoodie, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His boots were still stained with the mud of the alleyway from the night before, but his posture had changed. He didn't hunch his shoulders. He didn't look at the ground. He walked with a steady, rhythmic pace, his eyes fixed on the towering glass doors of the arena.
The crowd began to notice. The whispers started at the perimeter and rippled inward.
"Is that... the Ghost?"
"He shouldn't be here. He doesn't have the Rank."
"Look at his bag. Is he actually trying to enter?"
As Rami reached the main security checkpoint, two guards in heavy tactical gear stepped forward, their arms crossed. Between them sat the Rating Pillar, a high-tech terminal that every player had to scan their deck against to unlock the turnstile.
"Name and Rank," the lead guard barked, his eyes scanning Rami with obvious disdain.
"Rami. No rank," Rami said clearly.
The guard snickered. "No rank, no entry, kid. This is an Open for Elite-tier players. You're clogging up the lane. Move along before we—"
"I have the rating," Rami interrupted.
He didn't wait for permission. He reached into his satchel and pulled out the leather pouch Maya had given him. He pulled out his deck. In the bright morning sun, the cards didn't look like paper. The gold etching Shadi had left behind caught the light, refracting it in a way that made the cards look like they were made of molten sun.
The guard's scoff died in his throat. He looked at the cards, then at the Rating Pillar. "Fine. Scan 'em. But when it turns red, you're leaving in handcuffs for wasting our time."
Rami placed his deck onto the glass scanning plate.
For a second, the machine did nothing. Then, a low-frequency hum began to vibrate through the floor. The lights on the pillar, which usually blinked a steady green or blue, began to spiral through colors that shouldn't have been in the software. Violet. Crimson. Deep, ancient gold.
Suddenly, a siren wailed—not a security alarm, but a fanfare reserved for the arrival of a Grandmaster. The massive holographic screens above the arena entrance flickered. The golden eagle in the sky vanished, replaced by a single, towering image: The Sandswept Sentinel.
The screen flashed a message in giant, block letters:
[PLAYER IDENTIFIED: RAMI]
[DECK CLASSIFICATION: ANCIENT TIER - UNMEASURABLE]
[ACCESS: OVERRIDE GRANTED. ALL BRACKETS OPEN.]
The turnstiles hissed and spun freely. The guards backed away, their faces pale with shock.
Rami took his cards back, the gold feeling cool against his skin. He walked through the gates without a word.
Inside, the Great Hall was a sea of stunned silence. Hundreds of duelists had stopped mid-conversation to look at the giant monitors. Vance Sterling stood at the center of the hall, his face a mask of disbelief that quickly curdled into a murderous rage.
"Unmeasurable?" Vance hissed, his grip tightening on his Duel Disk until the plastic creaked. "How? He's using trash! He's using common scraps!"
Maya Vance was standing near the fountain, her eyes wide with joy. She saw Rami enter and ran toward him, ignoring the stares of the elite. "Rami! You did it! I don't know how, but you did it!"
"I didn't do it alone, Maya," Rami said, his voice carrying a new, resonant weight. He patted the Millennium Puzzle box hidden in his bag. "The items... they're starting to wake up."
"Wait," Maya whispered, looking at his cards. "Rami, those aren't the cards I gave you. They look... different. They look like they're alive."
"They are," Rami said. "And they're hungry for a fair fight."
The tournament structure was simple: The "Survival Bracket." 128 duelists would be narrowed down to the "Final Eight" through a series of rapid-fire matches.
Rami's first opponent was a boy named Leo, a top-ranked student from a rival school who specialized in a high-speed Union-Machine deck. Leo was known for ending matches in five minutes.
As they stepped onto the elevated Duel Platform, Leo smirked, though there was a bead of sweat on his forehead. "I don't know what kind of glitch you used to get in here, Ghost, but 'Ancient' is just another word for 'Obsolete.' My Machines will grind your sand into glass."
[DUEL START]
[Rami: 5000 LP]
[Leo: 5000 LP]
"I go first!" Leo shouted. "I summon Turbo-Gear Soldier! And I activate its effect to Special Summon Clockwork Scout from my hand! Now, I activate the Union Spell: Total Synchronization! My Scout equips to my Soldier, doubling its attack!"
[Turbo-Gear Soldier: 1600 -> 3200 ATK]
The crowd roared. A 3200-attack monster on the very first turn was a death sentence for most players.
"I set one face-down and end my turn! Let's see your 'Ancient Tier' deck handle 3200 points of raw iron!"
Rami looked at his hand. He could feel the cards whispering. They weren't just cardboard; they were memories. They were spirits that had waited three thousand years to be played again.
"I draw," Rami said.
As he pulled the card, a faint, golden trail of light followed his hand.
"I summon The Weaver of Veils."
The Spellcaster appeared. But she wasn't the translucent hologram she had been before. Her robes looked like real silk, and the scent of jasmine and ancient spices filled the arena. The audience gasped—the "hologram" was so high-fidelity it looked like a living person.
"I activate her effect," Rami continued. "I add Sandswept Sentinel to my hand. But since my opponent controls a monster with more than 3000 attack, I can activate the 'Ancient' skill: Sand-Trap Ambush."
"Skill?" Leo stammered. "You can't use Skills in this format! That's only for—"
"This isn't a game skill, Leo," Rami said, his eyes glowing with a faint, amber light. "It's a property of the deck. I discard my Sentinel to the graveyard to force your monster into Defense Position. And its defense becomes zero."
"What?!"
The golden sand swirled around Leo's giant machine, clogging its gears and forcing it to its knees.
"Now," Rami said, "I activate the Spell: Resurrection of the Sands. I Special Summon the Sentinel I just discarded. But since he was summoned from the graveyard by a Spellcaster, he gains an additional effect: Piercing Echo."
The Sentinel rose, his stone shield glowing.
"Attack, Sandswept Sentinel! Desert Judgment!"
The Sentinel didn't just attack the machine; he struck the ground. A shockwave of golden energy rippled through the platform, shattering Leo's monster and sending the excess energy straight into Leo's Life Points.
[Leo: 1800 LP]
"I... I activate my face-down!" Leo yelled, panicked. "Emergency Repair! I regain 1000 Life—"
"Negated," Rami said calmly. "The Weaver of Veils has the Silent Prayer ability. As long as she is on the field, no Trap cards can be activated during the turn a monster is destroyed."
The crowd was dead silent now. They weren't watching a "Ghost." They were watching a masterclass in tactical lockdown.
Rami set one card face-down. "I end my turn."
Leo looked at his hand. He looked at the Weaver and the Sentinel. He felt a sudden, crushing weight on his chest—the same weight Rami had felt in the alleyway. The "Ancient Tier" cards were exerting a physical pressure on the opponent.
"I... I forfeit," Leo whispered, his hands trembling as he deactivated his Duel Disk. "I can't... the air... I can't breathe when they look at me."
[WINNER: RAMI]
Rami stood on the platform as it lowered back to the ground. He looked toward the VIP booth, where Vance Sterling was standing. Vance wasn't yelling anymore. He was staring at Rami with a look of pure, unadulterated terror.
Rami didn't celebrate. He just turned to Maya and nodded.
"One down," Rami said.
But as he walked away, he felt the Millennium Puzzle pulse again. The 41 pieces left to solve were starting to hum in unison. The "Other Rami"—the Pharaoh Cyril—wasn't awake yet, but he was dreaming. And in his dream, he was already winning.
Rami knew the next round wouldn't be as easy. Vance would do anything to stop him. But for the first time in sixteen years, Rami didn't feel like a boy with a deck.
He felt like a God of Decks in the making.
The Tournament Progresses
Rami has moved into the Top 64. The elite world is in a panic, and rumors of "Illegal Ancient Cards" are spreading.