The Mall of Asia Arena pulsed with electric fervor, its vast dome transformed into a crucible of light and sound. Holographic banners—blazing with Fourth High's navy-and-gold and Second High's green-and-white—swirled above, their runes flickering like captive stars.
The announcer's voice thundered, a tidal wave over the crowd's roar: "Fourth High's Sallie Mae and Celeste Marie Salcedo, the undefeated storm, face Second High's Marco Reyes and Rika Santos, masters of lockdown!" Cheers erupted, layered with jeers and the sharp clink of betting chips changing hands in the stands.
In Tondo's smoky betting dens, Divisoria's bustling market stalls, and Quezon City's neon-lit bars, screens flickered with the arena feed.
Bettors leaned over tables, voices hoarse, tossing coins and curses. "Fourth High's chaos'll shred 'em!"
a Tondo vendor barked, slamming a fist on a crate. "Second High's barriers are iron—Sallie's done!"
a Quezon bookie countered, scribbling odds. From First to Sixteenth High, names flew like darts—Andrea's fire gauntlets, Trixie's lance, Sallie's whispered "Restore"—each school's pride a currency of grit and gamble.
Back in the arena, the urban trial stage sprawled below: a simulated cityscape of jagged debris, flickering mana grids, and civilian zones marked by glowing holograms. The air crackled with ozone, mana currents humming through the floor.
Sallie Mae Salcedo strutted onto the stage, Briefcase CAD slung over his shoulder, its titanium surface glinting under spotlights. His navy jacket hung loose, unbuttoned, a cocky grin curling his lips as he waved to the crowd, absorbing their cheers like fuel.
Whispers rippled through the stands—"That's the Salcedo briefcase, rewinds anything!"—his legend already a spark among rivals.
Celeste Marie Salcedo stepped beside him, her posture razor-sharp, Grimoire CAD holstered at her thigh, its silver sigils pulsing faintly. Her eyes swept the stage, cold and calculating, ignoring the crowd's roar.
Their sync was unspoken, a rhythm honed through countless victories, their undefeated streak a blade sharpened by trust and fire. Across the stage, Marco Reyes stood, his chain-cast CAD—a sleek gauntlet—humming with mana, his stance solid as a fortress. Rika Santos flanked him, her lance CAD balanced lightly, her gaze locked on Celeste like a hawk sizing prey.
The crowd's chants swelled—"Sal-cedo! Sal-cedo!"—but darker murmurs wove beneath: bets on blood, whispers of war, the execution's echo still raw.
In the bleachers, Angela Castillo led Fourth High's cheer squad, her gold-trimmed uniform flashing as she pumped a fist, her eyes darting to Third High's section, where Trixie's green-coated scouts watched, unblinking. Somewhere in the shadows, Fuyumi Nakamura sat, head bowed, her silence a coiled spring.
The referee's holo-signal flared green, and the arena's mana grid surged, debris shifting as civilian zones flickered. Sallie's fingers brushed his Briefcase CAD, runes flaring green, the device humming with latent power.
Celeste's hand hovered over her Grimoire, her mana a steady pulse, ready to dictate the tempo. Marco's gauntlet glowed, a barrier shimmering faintly, while Rika's lance snapped to position, its tip crackling.
The horn blared, and the stage erupted into chaos—mana bolts flying, debris exploding, and the Salcedos' legend colliding with Second High's iron will, the Games' crucible igniting under Manila's neon sky.
The crowd's roar was a living thing, shaking the stands as Fourth High's Sallie Mae and Celeste Marie Salcedo faced Second High's Marco Reyes and Rika Santos. Mana grids crackled, drones buzzing like vultures, their lenses beaming the scene to Tondo's betting dens and Quezon's neon bars, where credits danced on the Salcedos' legend.
Sallie slouched at the arena's edge, briefcase CAD dangling from his shoulder, its green runes pulsing faintly.
He shot Celeste a sidelong glance, voice low but teasing. "Yo, sis, you gonna keep sulking over my *Neon Trigger* fanfic, or we crushing Marco's ego first?"
Celeste's grimoire CAD glinted at her thigh, her eyes narrowing as she adjusted its holster. "Keep your dumb stories out of this, Onii-sama. I'm not losing to Second High because you're daydreaming about pixel punks." Her tone was sharp, but a smirk tugged at her lips, their locker room rift simmering beneath the banter.
Sallie grinned, spinning his calibrator like a toy. "Bet Jax'd have Marco crying in two seconds. Me? I'll give him three, just to be nice."
Celeste snorted, folding her arms. "Nice? You're about as nice as a mana bolt to the face. Focus, or I'll bench you for real this time."
Across the arena, Marco Reyes smirked, his gauntlet CADs humming, their spiraling runes catching the light.
He leaned toward Rika Santos, whose lance CAD gleamed as she sighted the Salcedos. "Look at 'em," Marco muttered, loud enough to carry. "Bickering like toddlers over a toy. Fourth High's 'storm' is more like a tantrum."
Rika's hawkish eyes glinted, her voice dry. "They're gonna trip over their own egos. Makes our job easier." She adjusted her lance, its tip pulsing, and the Second High cadets in the stands laughed, their green-and-white banners snapping as they jeered,
"Go cry to mama, Salcedos!"
Sallie's grin didn't falter, but his eyes hardened, locking on Marco. "Oh, big talk from the barrier boy. Hope your shield's ready for a timeout."
Celeste stepped forward, her voice cutting like a blade. "Save it, Marco. Your chain-casts won't help when we're done rearranging your face."
The crowd roared, Fourth High's navy-and-gold scarves waving as their cadets chanted, "Sal-ce-do! Sal-ce-do!"
The announcer's voice boomed, drowning the taunts. "Competitors, are you ready?" Spotlights tightened, the arena's mana grid humming as drones zoomed in.
Marco raised a gauntlet, nodding curtly. Rika's lance steadied, her stance unyielding. Sallie gave a lazy salute, briefcase CAD swinging, while Celeste's hand hovered over her grimoire, her nod sharp.
"Ready!" the announcer roared. The timer overhead blazed—3… 2… 1—and a klaxon screamed, igniting the match.
Sallie and Celeste moved as one, their 98.1% CAD sync rate a seamless pulse. Celeste's grimoire flared, silver sigils spiraling as she cast a mana tether—a shimmering, elastic thread anchoring Sallie's position, granting him fluid mobility across the urban maze. Her fingers danced over the grimoire, predictive buffs humming, her eyes tracking every shift in the battlefield, ensuring Sallie's chaos stayed leashed to her command.
Sallie sprinted, briefcase CAD snapping open with a pressurized *click*. Its runes blazed, segments unfolding, reshaping into a brutal, Doom-inspired super shotgun—barrels wide, etched with mana amplifiers, glowing with raw power.
He vaulted a crumbling wall, the tether flexing, and aimed at Rika, who was perched on a shattered balcony, her lance CAD charging. "Eat this, sharpshooter!" he yelled, firing a mana-infused shell—a high-damage, close-range burst that screamed through the air, its shockwave cracking concrete.
Rika dove, the shell exploding against her perch, debris raining as she rolled behind a steel beam. The crowd gasped, drones capturing the blast's glow, while bettors in Divisoria's stalls cheered, "Sallie's got her running!" The shotgun's amplification core thrummed, its instant adaptability letting Sallie pivot without pause, his next shot already chambered.
Celeste held the center, grimoire open, her buffs weaving a lattice of control. Her predictive spells—mana threads pulsing with foresight—guided Sallie's shots, narrowing Rika's dodge windows. Marco charged, his gauntlet CADs flaring, a chain-cast barrier shimmering into place—a translucent dome redirecting mana like a mirror. He smirked, voice booming. "Nice toy, Salcedo, but you're hitting air!"
Sallie grinned, unfazed, the tether letting him slide across a collapsed wall. "Air? Nah, I'm just warming up!"
He fired again, the shotgun's shells spraying mana shrapnel, testing Marco's barrier, forcing it to flicker as it absorbed the chaos. Celeste's eyes narrowed, her grimoire's sigils pulsing faster, counterspells ready to lock Rika's lance if she resurfaced.
Their coordination was a dance—years of drills distilled into instinct, no gap for Second High to exploit. The arena shook with cheers, Third High's Trixie Saavedra watching from the stands, her crimson eyes glinting, her lance case humming as she noted Sallie's shotgun and Celeste's precision. In Tondo's betting dives, odds swung wildly, the Salcedos' legend growing with every shot, their sync a blade cutting through Second High's defiance.
Sallie Mae Salcedo darted through the ruins, his briefcase CAD—now a Doom-inspired super shotgun—glowing with green runes. Its barrels smoked from the last mana-infused shell, the air still rippling where it had forced Rika Santos to dive for cover. Celeste Marie Salcedo held the center, her grimoire CAD open, silver sigils spiraling as her mana tether pulsed, anchoring Sallie's chaotic sprints. Their 98.1% CAD sync rate was a living rhythm, each move a note in a song only they could hear.
From the shadows of the stands, Andrea Fernandez leaned forward, her crimson Fourth High jacket half-zipped, her amber eyes glinting like a predator's. Her fire gauntlets, strapped to her wrists, hummed faintly, their runes dormant but ready. She tracked Sallie's shotgun blasts, her lips curling into a faint, calculating smirk.
*Regrowth's one thing, but that CAD's a monster,* she thought, her gaze flicking to Celeste's precise buffs. *They're not just winning—they're rewriting the game.*
Marco Reyes planted his feet, his gauntlet CADs flaring as he raised his chain-cast barrier—a translucent dome shimmering like liquid glass, its runes spiraling to redirect mana.
"Keep swinging, Salcedo!" he shouted, his earlier mockery gone, replaced by gritted teeth. The barrier hummed, absorbing Sallie's last shell, its surface rippling but holding. "You're burning out!"
Sallie laughed, sliding behind a crumbled wall, the mana tether flexing to keep him tethered to Celeste's control. "Burning? Nah, I'm just getting cozy!"
His briefcase CAD whirred, its universal computation core kicking in—zero-lag, seamless. He switched tactics, the shotgun morphing back into its briefcase form, then snapping into a sleek pulse emitter. Runes blazed as he unleashed a barrage of low-cost mana pulses—sharp, relentless bursts that slammed into Marco's barrier like a swarm of hornets.
Each pulse was calculated, exploiting the barrier's overcompensation flaw. The dome flickered, its runes straining to redirect the rapid hits, draining Marco's mana reserves. The CAD's Mana Optimization Engine thrummed, recycling Sallie's psion output to keep his endurance high, his grin unshaken.
"Come on, Marco, dance for me!" he taunted, darting to new cover, the tether guiding his path.
Celeste's eyes scanned the battlefield, her grimoire CAD projecting faint holograms—mana flow readouts, enemy positions. Her fingers danced across the sigils, casting counterspells with surgical precision.
Rika Santos, scrambling to reposition on a shattered rooftop, aimed her lance CAD, its tip glowing for a high-accuracy shot. Celeste's gaze locked on her, and a counterspell surged—a shimmering net of mana that jammed Rika's lance, its runes stuttering, forcing her to duck as the shot misfired, scorching a nearby wall.
The crowd roared, Fourth High cadets leaping to their feet, their chants—*"Sal-ce-do! Sal-ce-do!"*—a deafening pulse. In Divisoria's betting stalls, screens flashed, odds swinging hard toward Fourth High.
"Told ya, Salcedo's briefcase is unholy!" a bettor crowed, while another cursed,
"Marco's choking!"
Second High's earlier arrogance—mocking the siblings as toddlers—had evaporated, their disciplined tactics crumbling under the Salcedos' seamless sync.
Rika cursed under her breath, sliding behind a steel beam, her lance CAD still sparking from Celeste's counterspell.
"They're too fast!" she hissed to Marco, her hawkish eyes darting for an opening.
Marco's barrier flickered again, his jaw tight, sweat beading on his brow.
"Hold the line!" he barked, redirecting another of Sallie's pulses, but the dome wavered, its edges fraying.
Celeste's voice cut through, low and steady, her tether pulsing to guide Sallie's next move. "Sallie, flank left—Rika's exposed. Keep the pressure on Marco." Her grimoire's predictive buffs flared, tightening Sallie's shots, ensuring his chaos stayed a scalpel, not a wildfire.
Their teamwork was airtight, years of drills distilled into instinct, leaving no crack for Second High to exploit.
Sallie nodded, his pulse emitter snapping back into shotgun form, its barrels glowing. He vaulted a twisted rebar pile, the tether snapping taut, and fired another mana shell at Marco's barrier, the blast forcing it to buckle inward.
"Your shield's looking tired, Reyes!" he yelled, his grin sharp, eyes alight with focus. The crowd's roar spiked, drones zooming in, capturing the barrier's cracks for the megascreens.
Andrea Fernandez shifted in the stands, her smirk fading into something harder—respect, maybe, or hunger. *They're not just chaos. They're a damn machine.* Her gauntlets pulsed faintly, as if itching to join the fray.
Third High's Trixie Saavedra, seated rows away, watched too, her crimson eyes narrowing, her lance case humming louder. *Regrowth's a wildcard, but that sync… dangerous,* she thought, her fingers tapping her armrest.
In Quezon's neon bars, bettors screamed at screens, credits flashing as the Salcedos dominated. "Fourth High's eating 'em alive!" a voice echoed, while in Tondo's dives, a grizzled gambler muttered, "That briefcase ain't normal. Kid's got Shiba's ghost in it."
The siblings' undefeated streak, whispered as legend, now burned bright, their CADs a spectacle of power and precision.
Marco's barrier flickered one last time, its runes dimming as Sallie's pulses overwhelmed its core. Rika, pinned by Celeste's counterspells, couldn't fire, her lance CAD useless against the siblings' tempo.
Second High's disciplined facade shattered, their earlier taunts now a bitter memory as the Salcedos' harmony turned the arena into their playground.
The air shimmered with disrupted mana, Rika Santos' lance CAD sparking uselessly on a shattered rooftop. Celeste's counterspells—a lattice of shimmering nets—cloaked Rika's position, fizzling her high-accuracy shots before they could form.
Rika's hawkish eyes widened, her fingers scrambling to recalibrate, but Celeste's grimoire CAD pulsed, silver sigils spiraling as mana tethers snapped into place. Thin, elastic threads of control pinned Rika's arms, locking her in a crouch behind a steel beam, her lance trembling as its runes stuttered.
"Damn it!" Rika hissed, her voice lost in the arena's din.
Celeste stood firm in the maze's center, her grimoire open, holographic readouts flickering—enemy mana flows, position tracks, predictive arcs.
Her fingers danced across the sigils, layering buffs with surgical precision, her tempo control a conductor's baton over the battlefield. Each tether tightened Rika's prison, neutralizing her long-range threat, leaving her a pinned bird unable to soar.
Celeste's eyes flicked to Sallie, her voice low but piercing through their comms. "Rika's done. Break Marco now."
Sallie grinned, his briefcase CAD whirring mid-sprint, its green runes blazing as it morphed. Segments unfolded, reshaping into a Fire Emblem-inspired sword—sleek, mana-forged, its balanced grip humming with a razor edge.
He closed on Marco, who braced behind his chain-cast barrier, the translucent dome flickering, its runes dimming under Sallie's earlier pulse barrage.
Sallie's sword slashed, each strike sending ripples across the barrier, mana sparks spraying like shattered glass. The CAD's Physical Enhancement Mode kicked in, runes pulsing along the hilt, boosting Sallie's agility—his steps a blur, dodging Marco's counter-casts with preternatural grace.
Marco's gauntlet CADs flared, redirecting Sallie's strikes, but his pivots were slow, rigid, his barrier straining to keep up. "You're nothing without tricks, Salcedo!" Marco growled, sweat beading on his brow, his earlier arrogance a fading echo.
Sallie laughed, spinning the sword, its edge slicing again, forcing the barrier to buckle inward. "Tricks? This is art, Reyes!" The CAD's core thrummed, optimizing mana flow, letting Sallie strike relentlessly without faltering.
Celeste's tethers wove through the maze, stabilizing the battlefield—threads anchoring Sallie's chaotic dashes, guiding his strikes, ensuring his unpredictability stayed a blade, not a wildfire.
Her grimoire's predictive layering anticipated Marco's counters, her buffs tightening Sallie's angles, making each slash a calculated wound. Their sync—98.1% CAD harmony—was a dance of precision and chaos, overwhelming Second High's disciplined formation, Marco's rigidity crumbling against Sallie's fluid strikes.
The crowd erupted, a tidal wave of sound crashing through the stands. Fourth High cadets leaped, navy-and-gold scarves flailing, their chants deafening: *"Sal-ce-do! Sal-ce-do!"*
A Second High cadet, green banner limp in his hands, muttered, "They're monsters… Marco's done." Nearby, a First High mage, her crimson coat stark, gripped her staff, eyes wide.
"That sword… it's like the briefcase *thinks* for him!"
In the upper tiers, a grizzled bettor, streaming the match on a holotab, shouted, "Told ya, Salcedos are freaks! My credits are singing!"
In Tondo's smoky dives, screens blazed, bettors screaming as odds flipped hard toward Fourth High. "Sallie's sword's shredding him!" a woman yelled, slamming her drink down,
Another growled, "Marco's barrier's toast—Second High's cooked!"
In Quezon's neon bars, a drunk gambler waved a fist at the megascreen. "That's no cadet, that's a damn demon with a blade!"
Divisoria's stalls buzzed, vendors pausing to gape at streams, one muttering, "Salcedo's CAD's gotta be illegal—nobody switches like that!"
Andrea Fernandez, half-hidden in the stands' shadows, leaned forward, her fire gauntlets humming faintly, amber eyes locked on Sallie's swordplay. *That's not just chaos—it's a masterpiece,* she thought, her smirk tightening with hunger.
Third High's Trixie Saavedra, rows away, gripped her lance case, its hum rising, her crimson eyes narrowing. *Their sync's a problem. Regrowth's just the start,* she calculated, her fingers itching for the urban trials.
The crowd's disbelief surged louder, a Fifth High cadet shouting to her friend, "They're making Second High look like rookies!"
Another, from Sixth High, shook his head, voice awed. "Celeste's tethers… it's like she's puppeting the whole fight!"
The megascreens zoomed in—Sallie's sword sparking against Marco's fracturing barrier, Celeste's tethers pinning Rika's futile struggles, the siblings' harmony a spectacle of raw power.
Marco's barrier cracked, a spiderweb of light spreading across its dome, his gauntlets trembling as he poured mana to hold it. Rika, still tethered, fired a desperate shot, but Celeste's counterspell snuffed it, the lance CAD sparking uselessly. Second High's formation collapsed, their earlier taunts—mocking the Salcedos as bickering toddlers—now a bitter irony. The siblings' egos, once scoffed at, were a crucible-forged force, their sync rewriting the arena's rules.
Sallie spun, his sword slashing a final arc, the mana-forged edge screaming as it tore through Marco's barrier, shattering it into a cascade of fading runes. The crowd's roar hit fever pitch, drones capturing the explosion of light, broadcasting the Salcedos' dominance to a world betting on their legend.
Sallie Mae Salcedo closed in on Marco Reyes, his Fire Emblem-inspired sword flashing back into briefcase form, its green runes blazing. He lunged, dodging a sluggish counter-cast, and slammed the briefcase against Marco's gauntlet CAD.
A blinding flash erupted, the air crackling as the Briefcase CAD's copy ability—unknown to Japan's infiltrators and Third High's Trixie Saavedra—activated. Sallie grinned, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Thanks for the loan, Reyes."
Marco's eyes widened, his jaw dropping as he stumbled back, his voice a choked gasp. "What the hell was that?!" His gauntlet sparked, its runes flickering, betrayed by the theft of its core magic.
Sallie's briefcase whirred, reshaping into a sleek emitter, deploying an adaptive mana shield—a mirror of Marco's chain-cast barrier, shimmering like liquid glass. The copied technique, fueled by the CAD's strategic-grade versatility and bio-locked security, absorbed Marco's desperate mana bolt, redirecting it into a nearby wall, which crumbled in a shower of dust. Sallie spun, the shield flexing, turning Marco's strength against him, each redirected spell a taunt of his own failure.
Sallie's briefcase pulsed, its runes flaring as he activated *Absolute Territory*, a personal magic field shimmering around him like a second skin. The CAD's auto-defense mechanism, powered by its amplification core, blocked the pulses, reflecting them back in a burst of light.
Sallie smirked, the briefcase morphing into an out-of-ammo revolver. Inspired by *Call of Duty*, he hurled it as a decoy, its runes detonating in a blinding explosion of light and sound, disorienting the flankers further.
The crowd went wild, Fourth High cadets screaming, "Sallie's a beast!"
A Third High mage, gripping her lance, muttered, "That's no cadet—that's a damn arsenal!"
In Divisoria's stalls, bettors roared at screens, one shouting, "His CAD's cheating! Nobody's that fast!"
Tondo's dives erupted, a gambler slamming his fist. "Salcedo's briefcase is a game-ender!"
Andrea Fernandez, in the stands' shadows, leaned forward, her fire gauntlets humming, amber eyes narrowing. *Copy ability? That's new. Dangerous.* Trixie Saavedra's lance case thrummed louder, her crimson eyes locked on Sallie, calculating.
Rika Santos, still pinned by Celeste's tethers on her shattered rooftop, watched Marco fall, her face twisting with fury. "Marco! Get up!" she screamed, her lance CAD sparking as she struggled against the mana nets.
Her hawkish eyes burned, infuriated by her partner's collapse, her earlier arrogance now a bitter memory.
Celeste Marie Salcedo, in the maze's center, shifted her focus, her grimoire CAD glowing, silver sigils spiraling. Her holographic readouts tracked Rika's every twitch, predictive buffs humming. She snapped her fingers, and a tether lashed out, yanking Rika from her perch like a whip.
Rika slammed into the concrete below, the impact echoing, her lance skittering away. Celeste's binding spells surged—mana chains coiling around Rika's wrists and ankles, restricting movement, their runes pulsing to block recovery. Rika thrashed, snarling, but the chains tightened, her lance CAD useless.
Celeste's voice was cold, cutting through the comms. "Stay down, Santos. You're done."
The crowd gasped, a Fifth High cadet shouting, "Celeste's a surgeon with those tethers!" A Second High supporter sank into his seat, muttering,
"Rika's finished… we're screwed." Quezon's neon bars buzzed, a bettor yelling,
"Fourth High's running the show! Santos didn't stand a chance!"
Celeste's surgical precision, her tempo control a steady pulse, complemented Sallie's chaos, their sync a symphony dominating the battlefield.
Sallie, his copied barrier shimmering, faced Marco, whose fractured dome flickered weakly. The briefcase CAD morphed again, snapping into a revolver—sleek, rune-etched, its barrel glowing with mana.
Sallie unleashed a barrage of spells—mana pulses, illusion feints, disruption waves—each chosen to exploit Marco's slow pivots, his barrier unable to adapt. The CAD's *spell override* ability kicked in, a strategic-grade hack that breached Marco's dome, shattering it like glass in a cascade of fading runes.
Marco staggered, his gauntlets dim, his voice a desperate shout. "No way—you can't!"
Sallie's grin was razor-sharp, the revolver steady in his grip. "Yes Way." The CAD's Mana Optimization Engine thrummed, ensuring his endurance, its *Weaponization Protocol* charging the revolver with magic-enhanced bullets.
He fired—a single, decisive shot, the bullet blazing with mana, striking Marco's chest plate. The impact threw Marco back, his gauntlets sparking as he hit the ground, knocked out cold. The arena's klaxon blared, signaling Fourth High's victory.
The crowd exploded, Fourth High cadets leaping, navy-and-red scarves a sea of triumph. "Sal-ce-do! Sal-ce-do!" echoed through the stands.
A First High mage whispered, "That revolver… it's like the briefcase *knows* the fight." In Tondo's dives, bettors cheered, one crowing, "Salcedo's CAD's a myth come to life!"
Divisoria's screens flashed, odds cementing the siblings' legend. Andrea's eyes gleamed, her gauntlets pulsing, while Trixie's grip on her lance case tightened, her mind racing. *Copy ability, auto-defenses… he's a bigger threat than I thought.*
Rika, bound by Celeste's chains, slumped, her fury spent, her lance CAD dark. Second High's flankers lay scattered, their pulses useless against Sallie's *Absolute Territory*. The siblings stood amidst the ruins, Sallie's revolver morphing back into a briefcase, Celeste's grimoire snapping shut. Their sync—chaos and precision, tethered by trust—had turned Second High's disciplined tactics to ash.
The announcer's voice boomed, shaking the rafters. "Victory to Fourth High! Sallie Mae and Celeste Marie Salcedo, the undefeated storm of Batangas, crush Second High's Marco Reyes and Rika Santos!"
The stands erupted, Fourth High cadets leaping, chanting, "*Sal-ce-do! Sal-ce-do!*"
In Divisoria's stalls, bettors screamed at screens, one crowing, "Told ya, Salcedos are untouchable!"
A Quezon bar exploded, a gambler shouting, "That briefcase is a damn demon!"
Sallie Mae Salcedo stood amidst the ruins, his briefcase CAD slung over his shoulder, its green runes dim but smug, as if mocking the wreckage. He turned to Marco, still sprawled, his gauntlets dark, and Rika, bound in Celeste's mana chains, her lance CAD useless.
Sallie's grin was sharp, his voice carrying over the crowd's din. "Nice try, Green Archers, but you fought like six-year-olds out there. Maybe stick to playgrounds next time."
Marco scrambled to his feet, his face flushed with rage, gauntlets sparking faintly. "You cocky bastard!" he roared, pointing a trembling finger.
"You think you're hot stuff, huh? We'll see you choke next round!"
Rika, struggling against the chains, glared, her voice venomous. "You're a rotten cheat, Salcedo! That CAD's rigged—nobody copies magic like that!"
Sallie clutched his chest, barely holding back laughter, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Cheat? Nah, you just messed with the bull and got the horns, amigos. Green Archers? More like Green Toddlers." He mimed wiping a tear, his briefcase CAD swinging as he turned, the crowd howling with laughter, Fourth High cadets chanting louder.
Celeste Marie Salcedo snapped her grimoire CAD shut, its silver sigils fading, her expression a mix of exasperation and faint amusement.
She stepped beside Sallie, her voice low but sharp. "Quit gloating, Onii-sama. We've got bigger fish next." Her eyes flicked to the stands.
Marco shouted again, his voice cracking. "Laugh now, Salcedo! You'll crash and burn!" Rika, finally free as Celeste's chains dissolved, snatched her lance CAD, her glare promising vengeance. "This isn't over, you smug punk!"
Sallie waved dismissively, already striding toward the arena's exit, his briefcase CAD bouncing. "Keep crying, Reyes. Send me a postcard from the loser's bracket."
The crowd roared approval, a Fifth High cadet yelling, "Sallie's savage!" while a Second High supporter muttered, "They're too damn good…"
In the stands, Angela Castillo leaped to her feet, her Fourth High cheer uniform—gold-trimmed navy—catching the spotlight as she waved both hands, her grin wide enough to split the arena.
"That's my girl, Celeste!" she shouted, her voice piercing the chaos, pom-poms shaking like battle flags.
Celeste Marie Salcedo, striding toward the arena's exit, paused mid-step, her grimoire CAD secured at her thigh. She glanced up, spotting Angela's wild waving, and a rare smile broke her stoic mask. She raised a hand, waving back, her silver sigils glinting faintly under the neon lights.
The gesture sparked a fresh surge from the Fourth High crowd, cadets roaring,
"Celeste's the queen!" A wiry Fourth High mage, clutching a navy scarf, yelled,
"That tether snap on Rika? Surgical!"
The Fourth High section buzzed, cadets crowding the rails, their voices a chaotic blend of awe and bravado. A stocky second-year, his scarf tied like a bandana, leaned over, shouting to his friend.
"Did you see Sallie's lazy slouch demolish La Salle? Dude's half-asleep and still wiped the floor!"
His friend, a lanky girl with a holotab streaming replays, laughed. "Marco thought he had 'em with that barrier, but Sallie's briefcase just ate it! Copied his shield like it was nothing!"
"Celeste's tethers, though—Rika was a sitting duck! La Salle's Green Archers got schooled by a slacker and a strategist!"
Sallie Mae Salcedo, slouching beside Celeste, his briefcase CAD slung over his shoulder, smirked at the crowd's frenzy. Its green runes pulsed lazily, as if basking in the adoration.
He nudged Celeste, voice dripping with mock offense. "Yo, sis, they're chanting for my briefcase more than you. Feeling jealous?"
Celeste rolled her eyes, her smile fading to a familiar exasperated glare. "Keep dreaming, Onii-sama. They're cheering because I kept your chaos from imploding."
She quickened her pace, the corridor's neon lights casting stark shadows, but her tone softened slightly, their locker room rift a dull ache beneath the victory.
"You should hear that, sis? They're calling me the slouch king. Should I trademark it?"
Celeste snorted, her grimoire's holster clicking as she adjusted it. "Trademark 'idiot' first. We've got Seventh or Eighth High next—focus, or Angela's cheering for nothing."
---
The taxi hummed through Manila's neon-lit streets, weaving past jeepneys and holographic billboards blazing with Imperial Federal Republic of the Philippines (IFRP) propaganda. The Mall of Asia Arena loomed in the distance, its dome a beacon against the night sky, pulsing with the promise of the ongoing CAD duels.
Inside the cab, the air was thick with tension and the faint glow of mana-charged devices, as USNA Stars operatives Cassandra Kwon, Amon Reyes, and Angelina Kudou Shields—fresh from a covert IFRP mission—sat shoulder to shoulder, their voices low but sharp.
Cassandra Kwon, her gauntlet CAD strapped to her wrist, its indigo runes dim but ready, leaned back, her sharp eyes flicking to Angelina.
"So, Lina, you're back from chasing ghosts for the IFRP, huh? Care to spill what that was about, or is it still 'classified'?"
Her tone was teasing but edged, her short black hair catching the city's lights through the window. As a Stars sniper, Cassandra's precision was legendary, but her patience for secrecy wasn't.
Angelina Kudou Shields, codename Angie Sirius, sat in the middle, her long blonde hair tied in loose twin-tails, sky-blue eyes reflecting the taxi's dashboard glow. Her Brionac CAD, disguised as a sleek bracelet, hummed faintly, its strategic-class potential a quiet threat. She sighed, brushing a ribboned lock behind her ear, her voice soft but firm.
"Cass, you know I can't just spill. The IFRP's got eyes everywhere, and this mission…"
She trailed off, glancing at the driver, whose earpiece suggested he might be more than a cabbie.
"Let's just say it wasn't a vacation. Rogue mages, mana tech leaks, and some very nervous IFRP brass."
Amon Reyes, slouched on Angelina's other side, his lance CAD propped against his knee like a knight's spear, snorted. His dark eyes glinted with amusement, his dreadlocks swaying as he shifted.
"Nervous? That's rich. The IFRP's been twitchy since the Salcedos started shredding their urban trials. You see that last match, Lina? Sallie's briefcase copied Marco's barrier like it was downloading a file."
As Stars' heavy hitter, Amon's brute-force style contrasted with his easy grin, but his mind was always on the mission.
"Bet that's why they dragged you back—to babysit their precious arena."
Angelina's lips twitched, a half-smile breaking her guarded demeanor.
"I saw the replays. Sallie's CAD's a nightmare—bio-locked, adaptive, and now copying rival magic? Japan's gonna lose it when they find out."
She leaned forward, voice dropping.
"But my mission wasn't about the Salcedos. Not directly. The IFRP's worried about external leaks—someone's siphoning mana tech to the black market. My job was tracking a lead in Davao. Found a cache of prototype CADs, but the trail went cold."
Cassandra raised an eyebrow, her gauntlet's runes flickering as she adjusted its settings.
"Prototype CADs? Like what, another briefcase that thinks for itself? Or something nastier?"
Her fingers tapped the gauntlet, itching for action.
"And why's Stars involved? Sounds like an IFRP mess."
Angelina's gaze hardened, her military training kicking in.
"Because the USNA wants eyes on it. Those prototypes had our tech signatures—Stars-grade encryption, but tweaked. Someone's reverse-engineering our work, and the IFRP thinks it's tied to the urban trials. High-profile matches like tonight's? Perfect cover for smuggling."
She glanced out the window, the arena's lights now dominating the skyline.
"I'm here to watch, but also to… listen."
Amon chuckled, his lance CAD's tip glowing faintly, casting shadows across his face.
"Listen, huh? You mean spy. Bet you're itching to jump in, though. Sallie and Celeste are tearing through Second High like it's a sparring drill."
He tilted his head, grin widening.
"You think you could take 'em, Lina? Your Brionac versus that psycho briefcase?"
Angelina's eyes narrowed, but a spark of competitive fire lit her face, her quarter-Japanese heritage tying her to the arena's stakes.
"Brionac's not just a spear, Amon. It's Heavy Metal Burst—focused, precise. Sallie's chaos wouldn't last five seconds against me."
She paused, thoughtful.
"But Celeste's tethers… She's the real threat. Her Grimoire's predictive buffs are almost AI-level. I'd need to shut her down first."
Cassandra smirked, leaning closer, her voice a mock whisper.
"Sounds like you've been studying, Major Sirius. Planning a comeback? Or you just miss the spotlight after playing IFRP errand girl?"
Her gauntlet pulsed, a silent reminder of her own prowess.
"Stars hasn't been the same without you, but don't think you're stealing my kills if we get action tonight."
Angelina laughed softly, the sound easing the cab's tension, her goofier side peeking through.
"No kills to steal, Cass. I'm here for intel, not a duel. Besides, I'm still shaking off Davao's humidity—give me a week."
Her bracelet CAD vibrated—Stars' secure channel. She glanced at it, her smile fading.
"Command's got eyes on the Seventh-Eighth High match. Whoever wins, we're shadowing them. If the Salcedos advance, though…"
She didn't finish, but her hand rested on Brionac, its runes flaring briefly.
Amon leaned back, his lance steady, his voice low.
"Salcedos versus Stars? That's a pay-per-view I'd buy. But if your black-market lead's here, Lina, what's the play? We busting smugglers mid-match, or you just gonna parade around as 'Lina' and charm the IFRP suits?"
He winked, referencing her Parade spell, which once disguised her as crimson-haired Angie Sirius.
Angelina's sky-blue eyes flicked to him, a half-smile tugging at her lips, her Brionac CAD bracelet glinting under the taxi's dim light.
"Keep dreaming, Amon," she said, her tone light but edged with command. "No parades, no charming. We're here to trace the CAD leak, not make a spectacle like the IFRP's execution stunt."
Her smile faded. Her voice dropped, weighted with something darker.
"Speaking of that… Reina Saegusa. Shot in front of millions. I can't shake it."
The memory flickered behind her gaze, clouding it with restrained fury.
"The Clans back in Japan? They've gotta be livid."
Cassandra, her gauntlet CAD strapped tight, its indigo runes pulsing faintly, leaned forward, her sharp elbows resting on her knees.
"Livid's putting it mildly," she muttered, her voice low, almost a growl. "I was at Ninoy Aquino when it aired—crowd went dead silent, then exploded."
Her fingers curled tighter around her gauntlet.
"Social media's a warzone; Japan's screaming for blood. The Ten Master Clans don't just get mad—they get even. Bet they're already planning something."
Her sniper-sharp eyes cut to Angelina.
"You think they've got operatives here, don't you? Watching the Games, sniffing for weaknesses?"
Angelina nodded slowly, her twin-tails swaying as she double-checked the driver's earpiece—still dark.
"They'd be stupid not to," she murmured, her Lieutenant's instincts sharp, cold.
"Reina was Saegusa blood—elite, covert, mapping the IFRP's mana grids. Her execution wasn't just a kill; it was a middle finger to Japan's pride."
She glanced out the window, watching the arena lights pulse like a heartbeat.
"Katsuto Juumonji's probably got a team embedded already—neutral covers, maybe ASEAN delegates, like us. They'll be profiling CADs, especially Sallie's after that copy trick."
Her hand brushed Brionac. Its runes flared faintly in response.
"The Clans want payback, but they're not reckless. They'll play it cold. Surgical."
Amon's grin faded, his lance CAD steady against his knee. His eyes narrowed, the weight of the conversation sobering him.
"Cold, huh? That's a hell of a storm brewing."
He shifted, voice lower now, almost reverent.
"Reina's death was Mendez's opening shot—declare war, scare the world, flex his empire's teeth. You think the Salcedos know they're pawns in that? Sallie's out there clowning, but he's gotta feel the heat."
He paused, then leaned closer, voice barely a whisper.
"If Japan's here, and your smugglers are moving tech, this arena's a powder keg. We stepping into a three-way shadow war, Lina?"
Angelina's gaze steeled. Her fingers tapped her bracelet once—syncing with a faint beep from her Stars comms.
"Not if we're smart," she said quietly but firmly. "Our job's the tech leak—track the prototypes, ID the source, no noise."
She met both their eyes, her command tone sliding into place with practiced precision.
"The IFRP's execution and Japan's grudge? We monitor, report, don't engage. Stars can't afford to get sucked into Mendez's war game."
She nodded toward each of them.
"Cass, your gauntlet's got the best sensors—scan for rogue mana signatures, anything off-grid. Amon, your lance's got range—keep an eye on crowd patterns, spot any outliers."
She leaned back slightly, gaze flicking between them.
"We blend in, watch the Seventh-Eighth match, and follow the Salcedos' trail if they advance."
Cassandra snorted, adjusting her gauntlet's runes with a flick of her wrist, the CAD pulsing in reply.
"Babysitting and spying? You're killing my vibe, Lina."
She exhaled through her nose, jaw tight.
"But yeah, Reina's execution's got me twitchy. If I spot a Clan operative—or a smuggler—I'm not waiting for a memo to move."
Her eyes glinted with fierce certainty.
"And if Sallie's briefcase pulls another stunt, I'm calling it: that kid's CAD's got some of our tech. No way it copies like that without Stars-level code."
Amon chuckled, his lance CAD glowing steady, the light catching the edges of his dreadlocks as he turned toward them again.
"You're just mad Sallie's stealing your spotlight, Cass."
He threw a playful glance at Angelina, trying to cut the tension—just enough.
"Lina, what's Brionac's play if we do find your smugglers? You gonna zap 'em with Heavy Metal Burst, or we playing nice?"
He mimed a spear thrust, the movement exaggerated—but his eyes stayed sharp, scanning the thickening crowd through the taxi window.
The driver's earpiece crackled, but he stared ahead, oblivious to the operatives' tension.
A small rooftop TV mounted behind the driver's seat flickered to life, its screen cutting through the cab's dim glow with a burst of bombastic sound. The Imperial Federal Republic of the Philippines' crest spun into view, obsidian and gold, as a deep-voiced announcer boomed over a pulsing synth track.
> "Citizens of the Empire! Brace for glory! The Imperial Duel 2v2 Brackets are HERE—sixteen elite schools, one merciless tournament, one path to PINNACLE!"
Drone footage of the arena filled the screen—its urban maze shimmering under mana grids, cadets clashing in bursts of light—lance CADs piercing shields, gauntlets unleashing mana storms.
> "From First High's disciplined fire to Sixteenth High's raw grit, the best of the IFRP collide!"
A montage rolled through: First High's crimson phoenix, Second High's green archer, Third High's golden lance, Fourth High's navy storm.
> "Witness Second High's chain-casting titans! Third High's lance-wielding juggernauts! Fourth High's chaotic maestros! Fifth High's shield-breakers! Sixth High's illusionists!"
Seventh High cadets danced through rubble. Eighth High snipers perched on ruins. Ninth High brawlers crushed barriers.
> "Tenth to Sixteenth High bring hunger, heart, and havoc—each school a blade in the Empire's forge!"
The brackets appeared—sixteen slots, eight opening matches, one crown.
> "One tournament, one champion! The winners earn the Pinnacle—a direct commission to the IFRP's elite mage corps, a seat at Emperor Aurelio Mendez III's war table, and a legacy etched in mana!"
The screen flared with past champions—CADs raised to roaring crowds, their runes glowing beneath the looming shadows of battleships.
> "Will First High's precision reign? Will Fourth High's chaos topple all? Or will an underdog—Twelfth High, Fourteenth High—steal the throne?"
The screen zoomed on cadets lit by megascreens, their CADs—grimoire, staff, gauntlet, lance—flaring.
> "The 2v2 Duels test sync, strategy, and steel! Urban trials, mana grids, elimination rules—no mercy, no retreat! Every school fights for supremacy, every strike a step toward the Empire's war!"
The ad climaxed—Third High's lancer shattered a Fifth High shield in slow motion, sparks cascading as the crowd roared.
> "Tune in LIVE, bet your credits, and salute the future of the IFRP! The Imperial Duel Brackets—where legends are born and the weak are broken! PINNACLE AWAITS!"
The screen froze on the IFRP crest.
> "Brought to you by ManaTech Industries—powering the Empire's might."
The synth looped. The crest spun.
Cassandra groaned and slumped back, rubbing her temple as her gauntlet's indigo runes flickered.
"Ugh, that ad's so cringe it hurts," she muttered. "Pinnacle? War table? They're selling a bloodbath like it's a damn game show. Makes my skin crawl."
Amon gave a dry chuckle, but the warmth was gone from his voice. His lance CAD cast long shadows across his dreadlocks as he leaned forward.
"Yeah, it's over-the-top, even for the IFRP," he said, voice low. "Sixteen schools, one bracket? That's a meat grinder, not a tournament. And that 'legacy' crap—straight to Mendez's invasion force."
He glanced at Angelina, his gaze serious now.
"Japan's Clans saw that ad too, Lina. They're not just livid about Reina—they're scared. This is Mendez waving his war flag."
Angelina didn't look away from the screen, her Brionac bracelet catching the cab's flickering light. Her sky-blue eyes were ice.
"It's more than a flag," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "That ad's a psy-op. Show the world the IFRP's strength, dangle the Pinnacle to keep cadets hungry, and remind Japan their time's running out."
She clenched her fist. Brionac's runes responded, flaring.
"Reina's execution was the opening shot; this tournament's the reload."
Her breath steadied, and she nodded toward the arena's entrance, where security drones floated like vultures above the crowd.
"The Clans are definitely here—watching, profiling. If our smuggler's moving tech during these duels, they'll use the chaos as cover. We can't flinch."
Cassandra's lips twisted into a brittle smirk. She synced her gauntlet's sensors with a flick.
"Flinch? I'm more worried about puking from that ad's cheese. 'Legends are born'? More like kids get broken for Mendez's ego."
She sobered slightly, her voice softer now, heavy with the weight of memory.
"Reina's death was a gut punch. If the Clans are hunting, they'll hit hard. We better not get caught in their sights."
Amon nodded slowly. The glow from his lance CAD dimmed as his grip tightened.
He turned to Angelina, his voice more cautious now, laden with the risk unspoken.
"But Lina… if Japan's operatives spot us, or the IFRP's brass get twitchy about Stars poking around…"
He didn't finish, but the silence was loud.
The rooftop TV behind the driver's seat, still looping the bombastic Imperial Duel 2v2 Brackets ad, flickered to a new commercial. Vibrant colors sliced through the cab's dim glow. A jingle erupted—upbeat, catchy, with a synthetic beat that screamed IFRP pride.
The screen zoomed to a bustling First High campus, its crimson phoenix crest gleaming on a towering gate. A lean male student, clad in First High's blue-and-white uniform, strode into frame. His staff CAD slung casually across his back, ruby runes gleaming, tousled hair perfect in the breeze.
> "Thirsty for victory?"
His voice was smooth, confident as he leaned against a mana-charged training dummy.
The scene shifted—he was sprinting through an urban trial, dodging mana bolts, his staff casting a fiery arc that shattered a shimmering barrier. Sweat glistened, but his grin never wavered.
> "SparkVita's got your back!"
He yanked a sleek silver can from his jacket. Its logo—a lightning bolt wreathed in flame—flared holographically. The can hissed open, and he took a dramatic gulp. Sparks danced around him as the drink's mana-infused formula kicked in.
The screen cut to a sterile, high-tech lab. IFRP scientists in white coats worked over glowing vats. A booming voiceover rolled in.
> "SparkVita, the Imperial Federal Republic's premier energy drink, crafted for the Empire's finest! Packed with mana-enhancing electrolytes, zero sugar, and a patented VitaCore boost, it's the fuel for First High's champions—and YOU!"
The student reappeared—now in the arena, facing off against a Second High cadet. He chugged another SparkVita. His staff CAD flared, and a sweeping mana wave flattened his opponent.
The crowd erupted—crimson scarves waved wildly as the cadet raised the can and winked.
> "SparkVita: Ignite your edge, power the Pinnacle!"
Stats blazed across the screen: Mana Output +15%, Reflex Speed +20%. Flavors flashed: Inferno Citrus, Volt Mango, Shadow Lime. The jingle surged:
> "SparkVita, spark the fight! Power up, own the night!"
The ad closed with the IFRP crest, the tagline glowing bright:
> "Official Drink of the Imperial Duel Brackets—First High Approved!"
The screen looped back to the tournament ad. The cadet's smirk lingered, maddening and polished.
Cassandra Kwon groaned louder and slumped into her seat. Her gauntlet CAD's indigo runes flickered in annoyance.
"First High's poster boy hawking soda? That's a new low," she muttered, voice laced with disdain. "Mana-enhancing electrolytes? Sounds like placebo juice with extra propaganda. Bet it's just sugar water in cosplay."
She shot a dry look at Angelina and smirked.
"What's next, Lina? You endorsing SparkVita for Stars?"
Angelina's sky-blue eyes flicked from the screen to Cassandra. Her Brionac bracelet stayed steady as her twin-tails barely shifted. A grimace ghosted her features before she smoothed it away.
"Not a chance," she said, her Lieutenant's tone clipped but laced with dry humor. "That ad's pure IFRP flex—First High's disciplined fire, Pinnacle dreams, Mendez's war machine. They're not selling soda; they're selling loyalty."
Her voice dropped, a chill creeping in.
"Japan's Clans would see that and spit. SparkVita's probably on their radar now, especially if it's tied to CAD tech leaks. We should check its supply chain."
Amon Reyes gave a low whistle, his usual grin absent. His lance CAD glowed faintly beside him, shadows dancing across his dreadlocks.
"That kid's got moves, but damn, that ad's shameless," he muttered, eyes narrowing toward the arena's gates, where Fourth High cadets chanted and posed for drones. "Mana boost in a can? If that's real, it's our tech they're ripping off. If it's fake, it's just Mendez hyping his cadets for the slaughter."
He leaned forward, tone dropping as his soldier's instincts kicked in.
"Lina, you think the smuggler's using brands like SparkVita to move CAD parts? Big tournament, big sponsor—perfect cover."
Angelina nodded slowly, fingers brushing Brionac. The runes pulsed faintly as her Stars comms beeped, almost in sync with her thoughts.
"Possible," she murmured. "SparkVita's backed by ManaTech Industries—same corp pushing the arena's gear. If they're smuggling, they'd hide it in plain sight, like those cans."
Her eyes flicked to Cassandra, then Amon, her command voice slicing through the cab.
"Cass, add their booths to your scan list. Amon, watch for anyone lingering too long near sponsor stalls."
She paused, breath tight.
"Reina's death. Japan's eyes. Now this? The arena's a snake pit. We move quiet, find the tech, and don't get burned."
Cassandra's smirk slipped, replaced by a cold gleam. Her gauntlet hummed quietly as she synced sensors.
"Quiet's my style, boss. But if that First High kid's drinking smuggled tech, I'm not above spiking his SparkVita to find out."
Her tone was half-joke, half-deadly.
Amon chuckled, but the sound was hollow, his lance steady in his grip.
"Cold shoulders, hot mission. Let's not end up like Reina."
He glanced once more at the screen, where the IFRP crest spun, relentless.
"SparkVita's got my attention now. Let's see if it's just fizz—or something nastier."