The class designation was as follows: Seko Ikara – B-Class, Rank 122, Kiyomi Hatari – B-Class, Rank 317 Violet Evergreen – A-Class, Rank 1025 Atama Meto – M-Class, Rank 4
Seko glanced at his rank and shrugged—he didn't care. Numbers never meant anything to him unless they led to blood. Violet, on the other hand, was openly simping over Izanami again, practically drooling at her with love-struck eyes.
"Queen me up already," he whispered, heart-shaped pupils locked on her.
Kiyomi rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't fall out of her head. Her hand was already half-raised, twitching with the urge to smack Violet across the skull.
Atama? He wasn't surprised by his M-Class title. If anything, he looked mildly bored, like the whole ranking system was a repetitive gacha game he'd already mastered. He spun a piece of fruit in his palm, muttering, "Tch. Should've been Rank 3. I knew skipping that paperwork would bite me."
Then Seko caught something on the edge of the hologram display. His eyes narrowed, a rare flicker of curiosity lighting up his face. An article blinked into focus with a bold title:
"TERRA: New Designation and Era"
He leaned in slightly as it scrolled:
"From this cycle onward, all recognized powered individuals—Heroes, Anti-Heroes, and Freelance Operatives—will be granted governance over their own assigned Terra: a planet that reflects their values, purpose, or allegiance."
Seko's brow lifted slightly.
"Planet of their own?" he thought. "That's... new."
He kept reading as the next line pulsed in bold letters:
"Tournament of Selection""A team of 1 to 8 contestants may enter. A total of 20,000 individuals will compete through four elimination rounds. Only 100 teams will qualify for Terra ownership and governance rights."
He felt a twitch in his fingers. His thoughts were no longer on Madala Sujay, nor even the ranks. This wasn't just some game or power play. This was opportunity—territory, access, leverage. Something deeper.
And perhaps... answers.
Answers worth bleeding for.
"What is this?" Seko asked, his eyes still fixed on the hologram, voice low but edged with a brewing intensity. At that exact moment—smack—Kiyomi's palm connected with the back of Violet's head, snapping him out of his Izanami fantasy.
"Oww—Kiyomi-sama, that was unfair!" Violet whined, immediately turning to her instead with sparkles in his eyes. "Was that... a love tap?"
Kiyomi looked at him like she was debating whether to break a second bone.
Without even glancing up from his fruit, Atama spoke as if he had been part of the conversation the whole time. "You're interested in Terra, aren't you?" he said casually, tossing a slice into his mouth. "That means you've got to make it into the top 100."
Seko didn't answer, but his silence spoke volumes.
Atama continued, now leaning back, arms folded behind his head. "Buuut—bad news, Vampy-boy—M-Class aren't allowed in the Tournament. Too broken. Too unfair. I'd wipe the floor with half those multiversal toddlers without stretching."
Seko slowly turned toward him. "So?"
"So, you need a replacement for me. Someone to fill the eighth slot if you're thinking of entering. Better start making friends," he added with a sly grin.
Seko narrowed his eyes.
Kiyomi, brushing dust off her gloves, looked up. "Do we even have friends?"
Violet raised a hand. "I volunteer for anything Kiyomi is in."
Seko muttered under his breath, "Useless simp."
Atama only chuckled. "Start planning, team leader. You want Terra? You want info on your family? You'll have to claw your way up in that arena… without me this time."
Seko turned his gaze back to the hologram, eyes narrowing on the glowing word: "Tournament."
Challenge accepted.
"I'll join your team," Izanami said calmly, arms crossed, fire sword flickering behind her back like it was no big deal.
The room fell silent for a beat.
Seko blinked. "Wait… what?"
Even Atama paused mid-chew.
Izanami's holographic ID flickered beside them: Izanami – A Class, Rank 1191.
Everyone stared.
Kiyomi raised a brow. "You're lower ranked than Violet?"
Violet's face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Wait—what? I'm higher than Izanami-sama?! This is the best day of my life!!"
Kiyomi immediately grabbed a chair and looked like she might use it on him.
Izanami narrowed her eyes, lips twitching. "Was he... hiding his potential… just to simp for me?"
Seko, genuinely trying to understand, looked at Violet like he was some sort of absurd puzzle. "You could've ranked higher... but didn't... because?"
"I had my priorities!" Violet declared proudly, putting his hands on his hips. "Love before violence!"
Seko pinched the bridge of his nose. "This team's doomed."
Atama chuckled, rising from his seat. "Or... maybe it's just chaotic enough to work."
And somewhere deep in Seko's mind, he wondered… not if they'd win… but if he'd survive a single week with these lunatics.
That's when Seko remembered Nirvana.
She used to be the same—cocky, carefree, always flashing that sharp grin like the world couldn't touch her. Friendly in a way that made it feel like you'd known her forever, even if you'd just met. Violet's goofy simping, Izanami's fire, even Kiyomi's violent patience—pieces of her scattered in others. And yet none of them could fill that hollow she left behind.
Seko slumped back into the seat, head tilting, eyes on nothing.
Nirvana…Was she still alive out there? Or had that thing—Madala Sujay—already torn her from this realm?
His hands tightened into fists. No answers. Not yet.
Atama, sensing the heaviness in the air, gave one last exaggerated bow with a grin. "Well then! As your beautiful genius M-Class is now unfortunately disqualified from the tourney, I shall take my leave. Time to decorate my office. I'm thinking… neon skulls. Or floating fruit."
"You're not decorating a torture dungeon," Kiyomi muttered under her breath.
He winked, twirling away. "Temporary goodbye, weirdos. Try not to get yourselves exploded without me!"
The team stood as he left, the doors sliding shut behind his silhouette.
No words were exchanged.
Just a nod.A shared understanding.A quiet breath before the storm ahead.
And as they remained in that dim-lit room, Seko's mind whispered one name again:
Nirvana...
Where are you?
The training chamber was alive with energy—each member lost in motion, sweat, and focus. Blades clashed, abilities sparked, and sweat hit the reinforced flooring like silent rain. It was more than practice—it was the prelude to war.
Seko stood on the far side, rolling his shoulders and gazing at the case beside him. Inside lay the weapon he hadn't dared touch since Kutol.
The composite sword.
Forged with alien alloys and fused with psychic energy, it responded not just to physical movement, but willpower, emotion, and intent.
He hesitated.
Then, without another word, he opened the case.
As his fingers closed around the hilt, the sword pulsed—faintly at first, then stronger, syncing with his heartbeat like a second soul trying to crawl into his.
Izanami noticed. Her flames dimmed. "You sure about that?" she asked, approaching, blade already drawn.
Seko nodded silently. "Let's see what this thing can do."
She didn't wait.
In a burst, Izanami closed the distance. Her fire blade slashed across, fast and wide. Seko parried instinctively, and the composite sword roared to life, its core glowing, splitting into two forms briefly before recombining mid-swing.
It was too fast.
Too responsive.
Too wild.
Seko grunted, his hand trembling as the sword pushed further, overwhelming him with energy that wasn't fully his. His foot slipped back as the blade screamed against Izanami's.
She raised an eyebrow. "It's controlling you."
"No—" Seko said through clenched teeth, "—I've got it."
He didn't.
A sudden pulse surged from the sword. An arc of unstable energy exploded from it, knocking both of them apart—Seko crashing into the wall, Izanami sliding back with a scorched line beneath her boots.
Kiyomi ran toward him, eyes wide. "Seko!"
"I'm fine," he muttered, coughing, the sword clattering beside him like a laughing devil.
Violet watched silently, arms crossed. "Well… that escalated."
Seko stayed on one knee, breathing heavily. "This sword… it's not a weapon. It's a challenge."
Izanami dusted off her armor. "Then master it, or it'll kill you before the enemy gets the chance."
The blade hummed once more—almost as if agreeing.
Seko stared at it, jaw clenched. "Looks like I've got more work to do."