The soft light of dawn filtered gently across the rooftops of the quiet village, casting long shadows and giving the early morning a golden hue. A cool breeze stirred the leaves, and the air carried the scent of dew, pine, and something faintly sweet—perhaps the herbs from Julius's window.
Michael slowly opened his eyes, blinking at the ceiling above him. After everything that had happened the day before, it felt strange to wake up in silence.
No explosions. No fire. No yelling.
Just… peace.
He sat up and let out a quiet breath, rubbing his eyes. "A new day," he muttered. "And the third selection stage…"
With a stretch and a few quick motions, he changed into fresh clothes and stepped out into the cool morning. The village was only just beginning to stir. A few villagers were moving about—some drawing water, others sweeping their porches. But most still clung to the warmth of sleep.
Michael made his way toward a familiar house at the edge of the village, one with herbs drying under the awning and a faint wisp of smoke curling from the chimney.
He knocked lightly on the door.
After a few moments, it creaked open, revealing Julius holding a steaming mug in one hand. His short blue hair was still damp, as if he'd just washed up.
"Michael?" Julius blinked. "You're up early."
"Didn't feel like eating alone," Michael replied with a small smile.
Julius nodded and stepped aside. "Come in."
The inside of Julius's home was calm and warm. A gentle fire glowed in the hearth, and the air smelled of mint, sage, and old books. Michael took a seat at the wooden table while Julius poured him a cup of tea and slid a small plate toward him—fruit slices, a few nuts, and a thick slice of bread.
Michael took the cup gratefully. "Thanks. This is exactly what I needed."
Julius sat down across from him, his expression curious. "So. Survived another insane day, I see."
Michael let out a dry chuckle. "That's one way to put it."
"I heard bits and pieces," Julius said. "Something about a fire mage and a lightning strike? Sounded exaggerated."
"It wasn't," Michael said, rubbing the back of his neck. "It was Adam. Insanely strong. He came back twice. First, the Elder burned him to nothing… and then—bam—lightning out of nowhere. Wiped him and even his artifact clean."
Julius raised an eyebrow, his fingers tightening around his mug.
"Twice?" he echoed.
Michael nodded. "And each time, I thought it was finally over."
Julius was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Do you think it really is, this time?"
Michael hesitated. "I want to say yes… but after yesterday? I don't know anymore."
They both sipped their tea in silence. For a while, the only sounds were the fire crackling and a soft birdcall from outside.
"I'm glad you stopped by," Julius said eventually, setting his cup down. "You've been through a lot lately."
"Yeah." Michael smiled faintly. "And with the third selection today, I just needed something normal. A calm moment. And you always seem to have that around you."
Julius gave a light smile in return. "Well, for what it's worth… I'm rooting for you."
"Thanks," Michael said. "I think I'm gonna need it."
Outside, the distant chime of a bell rang once, long and slow—the signal that the third stage was only one hour.
But for now, inside that quiet little house, there was still time for peace.
As Michael made his way toward the tournament arena, the fresh morning breeze brushed past him. The village was already bustling—participants walking in groups, stretching, or mentally preparing themselves for the third selection stage.
He followed the familiar path through the forest toward the stone road that led to the arena. But as he reached a clearing near one of the narrow passes, he noticed something off.
A group of participants had stopped ahead, forming a loose semi-circle. Some whispered to each other nervously; others simply stood there, unsure of what to do. Michael narrowed his eyes and stepped forward.
Three older boys were blocking the way, standing shoulder to shoulder in the center of the path. None wore tournament numbers on their uniforms. Their posture oozed arrogance—one leaned lazily against a tree, another cracked his knuckles loudly, and the third stood with his arms crossed, wearing a smug grin.
Whenever someone attempted to pass, the trio shoved them back or tripped them deliberately.
One guy, younger and visibly anxious, tried to walk around them. "Excuse me—"
He didn't finish the sentence. One of the blockers casually swept his foot forward, sending the boy tumbling to the ground. The three laughed loudly.
"Careful," one of them mocked. "These paths can be dangerous."
Michael's jaw tightened. He stepped forward through the crowd.
"What are you doing?" he asked firmly.
Guys turned toward him. Their eyes lit up—not with respect, but amusement.
"Well, well," one of them chuckled. "Look who it is."
"Number Two," another added with a sneer. "Didn't think you'd show your face so early."
Michael's expression didn't change. "This path leads to the arena. Let the others through."
The three exchanged glances, then burst out laughing.
"Who put you in charge?" one of them asked.
Michael ignored the provocation. "Move. This isn't the time or place for games."
One of the boys stepped forward, looking him up and down. "You don't seem that special for someone ranked so high. Maybe it was a fluke?"
Michael didn't react. "I'm not here to impress you. I'm here to compete. Let everyone pass."
The tension in the air grew heavy. The other participants stepped back, too nervous to intervene.
The blockers didn't move.
Michael held his ground.
"If you won't move," he said, voice low and steady, "then I'll move you myself."
The boys paused, their smiles faltering just for a moment—then returned, sharper this time.
"Try it," one of them said. "Let's see if Number Two lives up to the title."
Michael narrowed his eyes as he stood before the three boys, tension still in the air. "Who are you exactly?" he asked calmly, though his stance remained alert.
Before any of them could answer, a voice behind him cut in.
"They're participants," Katsu said, stepping beside Michael. "At least, that's what I've heard. Most likely, they're going to be competing in the third selection stage too."
Michael glanced back at him with a slight nod, then turned toward the others approaching from the path.
Rob, Ralph, and Renald had arrived just in time to catch the end of the standoff. Rob's expression shifted instantly when his eyes landed on the trio blocking the path.
"Wait a second… That's them!" he snapped, pointing. "Those are the jerks who jumped me yesterday!"
The three boys looked at Rob, and one of them burst into laughter. "Oh, it's the little forest explorer," he sneered. "Did your girlfriend teach you any new moves after that beating?"
Another one added mockingly, "Still limping? Or was that just your pride we bruised?"
Their insults rang out with obnoxious confidence, drawing a few uncomfortable glances from the surrounding participants.
Rob clenched his fists but didn't move forward. Ralph placed a calming hand on his shoulder, shaking his head. "Not worth it. Let them bark."
The three troublemakers, still grinning, finally stepped aside and began walking toward the arena, clearly satisfied with their disruption.
"See you on the field," one called back over his shoulder.
Once they were gone, the rest of the group slowly began to move again.
Michael looked at Rob. "Are you okay?"
Rob grumbled something under his breath and nodded. "Fine. I'll be more than okay once I get to face one of them in the ring."
"Let's hope we do," Renald said calmly. "People like that need a reality check."
With that, the group continued their way toward the arena, the tension still lingering—but now with a clear sense of purpose.