In the grand, dimly lit halls of Ginimbi's estate, the Master of Lightning summons Heather—mother of Dope and Gango. She enters the room, dressed in flowing black lace, a wide-brimmed hat shading her eyes, and takes a seat at the far end of the long table.
"You called?" Heather asks, her voice a soft hum.
"Yes. I haven't seen Najo in a while. How's the training progressing?" Ginimbi replies, his gaze sharp.
"The boys haven't returned either," Heather states, a chilling smile touching her lips. "But rest assured… he's in good hands. In fact, I'm certain you'll be seeing him very soon."
Ginimbi's gaze narrows slightly. "Very well then."
High atop the forested peaks of the Lightning Village, Najo treks alongside Dope and Gango. They finally arrive at a shed—weathered, cracked, and ominously surrounded by scorched earth and broken ropes marked with lightning burns.
"Isn't this far enough?" Najo asks, a prickle of unease.
"C'mon, we're basically there," Dope replies, dismissing his concern.
As Najo and Dope continue ahead, Gango lags slightly behind. He quietly picks up a thick branch from the ground. In one swift, brutal motion, he strikes Najo at the base of the neck, knocking him out cold. The brothers exchange a quick, knowing glance, then drag Najo's limp form into the shed and shut the door with a resounding thud.
Back at the Succession Trials, the arena is momentarily silent—until a raw scream of pain tears through the air.
Maroon flames blaze violently from Moto's arm, unfamiliar and terrifying. His skin sears beneath it, blistering, yet he doesn't release his iron grip on Gwen's leg. The raw, alien fire overwhelms even Gwen's formidable flames, burning straight through the veteran's legendary flame-resistant skin.
From the royal balcony, King Douglas and Aritri rise instinctively to their feet, shock etched on their faces. Even Gwen, the Master of Fire, looks utterly stunned—he's being burned. The maroon blaze crackles, then begins to fizzle, leaving Moto's seared flesh fused to Gwen's leg.
Gwen trembles with pure, unadulterated rage. His eyes glow a brighter, more furious red than ever before. His entire body ignites, flames roaring into blazing shoulder pads and a helmet, a terrifying silhouette reminiscent of a furious sports titan. A massive ball of fire manifests in his hand, ready to unleash destruction. "HAA—"
Mr. Jumbo, however, calmly raises his hand, his voice cutting through the inferno, unshakable. "Sixty percent. Gwen is disqualified."
Gwen freezes. His eyes widen in disbelief. His current form… it's one of his strongest, most dangerous manifestations. And according to the rules—he's just lost. To Moto.
Mukai rushes in, summoning a torrent of water to cool Moto's angry burns. Sheu and Sukai descend frantically from the stands. Moto looks toward the royal balcony. King Douglas's eyes are locked onto him, a complex mix of shock, intrigue, and something unreadable. Then—a slow, deliberate nod. Moto feels his chest loosen, finally able to breathe, the adrenaline beginning to recede. He did it. But Gwen's leg is still fused to his hand.
"Medics!" Douglas barks, his voice ringing with urgency.
As the medics rush over, Gwen—still steaming with fury and humiliation—violently yanks his leg away from Moto. The rip sends a searing, agonizing pain through Moto's nerves. He howls, a raw cry of torment, as Mukai, reacting instantly, quickly conjures a protective water bubble to contain the sudden, alarming gush of blood from Moto's arm.
"Regression, huh?" Mukai deadpans, a wry, almost teasing note in his voice.
Moto glances at him, a sheepish, pained smile.
"Looks like you weren't entirely honest with me," Mukai continues, his gaze sharp. "We'll talk about that later."
Sheu arrives, kneeling beside Moto, her eyes wide with concern. "You were amazing," she whispers, her voice filled with admiration. "Are you okay?"
Moto forces a weak smile, trying to reassure her. "Yeah. The worst is over."
The medics carefully lift him onto a stretcher and carry him out. Sheu follows closely behind, her gaze never leaving him, while Mukai remains in the arena for the final results.
Later, it's officially declared: Mukai will train under Musaka. Moto will train under Gwen.
That evening, Moto lies in a pristine bed, his arm entirely wrapped in clean white bandages, throbbing faintly. Sheu sits nearby, a quiet sentinel.
"So… you've always had this power?" Sheu asks softly, her gaze fixed on his bandaged arm.
"…Yeah," Moto admits, his voice low. "But it burns me too, so I suppressed it into smoke."
"Were you ever planning to tell me?" she presses, a hint of hurt in her voice.
Moto looks away, offering no immediate reply.
Before he can answer, Aritri, the King's guard, steps into the room. "Good evening," she says, her voice cool and formal. She bows slightly to Sheu. "My condolences for your loss."
Sheu offers no reply, her expression stoic. Aritri then hands Sheu a formal, approved border pass. The moment is thick with unspoken tension, a silent communication passing between the two girls. Aritri then turns to Moto.
"Moto, the King wishes to see you at the palace. At sundown. I've been sent to escort you personally."
Moto sits up slightly, surprise spreading across his face. The King wants to speak with him—directly. He can feel it. This is it. His raw potential, his hidden power, has finally been acknowledged. With Gwen as his unexpected trainer and this newfound proximity to the throne, his audacious dream of influencing the future—of establishing real peace—feels suddenly within reach.
But Sheu, ever perceptive, is suspicious. Why sundown? Why send Aritri herself? And why separate them with her passport just now? She hides her unease behind a carefully neutral expression.
"I'll be waiting for you at your place… when it's over," Sheu tells Moto, her voice holding an unspoken warning.
Moto nods, oblivious to her deeper concerns. "I won't be long."
The palace is quiet as night falls, its ancient stones now cloaked in deep shadows. Inside a meeting room, glowing softly with candlelight, a dark mahogany desk centers the space. Moto enters, his footsteps echoing faintly. He forgets to bow, but the King doesn't mention it.
"Welcome, Moto. Please, sit," Douglas says, a warm, inviting smile on his face.
Moto takes a seat, his heart thumping with anticipation. Aritri quietly closes the door behind him, leaving them alone.
"First—congratulations," Douglas begins. "I hoped you would win, and you did."
"Thank you, Your Majesty," Moto replies, a genuine gratitude in his voice. "I'm truly grateful for the opportunity."
"Let's build some rapport," Douglas continues, his gaze softening. "I'll tell you a story—something not even my sons know." Moto leans in, genuinely honored, completely captivated.
"I grew up in the Water Village. Far from the royal family. My father was a soldier in the Terror Defense Division. Fighting monsters every day broke him. He beat my mother. Me, too. I had no power to stop it." Moto's chest tightens. He knows that feeling. A raw, visceral understanding passes through him.
"One day, he threw a table at her. I snapped. I fought back. He nearly beat me to death. That night, I ran away and never looked back. I left her behind…" Moto listens, his eyes wide, absorbing every word. Douglas looks up, his gaze distant, haunted. "But I heard of an Oracle in Nirvana. People said she could solve anything. So I searched for three years. When I returned, I was wiser. My parents had passed. But I began climbing. Rank after rank. Now… no one tells me what to do. I hold all the power—and I didn't get here with strength."
Moto feels the story hit him deep, a profound resonance. The King truly understands him. The weakness. The desperation. The fight to rise above it all. "But… how?" Moto whispers, a question full of desperate hope.
"The answer is simple." Douglas leans in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Knowledge is power. And I know everything."
Moto forces a nod, a faint unease stirring within him. "O-Okay…"
The King's smile fades slightly, his eyes sharpening. "Now… questions for you, Moto."
Moto straightens in his seat, ready.
"You don't possess wind ability. The Earth Ore doesn't react to you." Douglas pauses, his gaze piercing. "Why?"
Moto stammers, caught off guard. "Y-you don't either, do you, Your Majesty?"
"Fair deflection," Douglas concedes, a faint smirk. "So—what about your parents? Where are they?"
Moto looks down, his posture visibly stiffening, his face clouding. The King watches the change in his demeanor—he's breaking through Moto's carefully constructed resistance. Douglas opens a worn leather file, pulling out a stack of papers. Aritri's meticulous research. He drops it onto the table with a soft thud.
"So," Douglas asks, his voice low, "are you going to tell me the truth?"
Moto's mind spins, reeling. What does the King know?
Then—Douglas's voice, a chilling, almost casual statement that shatters Moto's world:
"I never imagined… that one day, I'd sit face to face with a child from Gehen."