It was high noon again.
The colosseum of Yurelda had changed. The destruction and cracks are gone, replaced by gold banners and polished marble. The arena that once echoed with roars of battle now shimmered beneath the sun..
Rows upon rows of nobles filled the stands, their jeweled fans fluttering like restless wings. Guards lined the perimeters, their polished armor catching the light. The air buzzed with chatter and expectation.
In the squad stands, the Royal Guard had gathered. Tetsu stood near the railing with his notebook tucked under one arm, his glasses reflecting the glare of the sun. Sora leaned lazily beside him, tail swaying idly as she scanned the crowd.
Further along sat Kaya, arms crossed. Rulthan was beside her — posture rigid, gaze fixed on the arena floor. And in the row just behind them, Mimi and Yuki whispered animatedly to each other.
Yuki tilted his head, his white hair catching the light. "Who would've thought Kazuo would actually defeat Aoi?"
Mimi brushed a strand of her red hair behind her ear, her tone casual but thoughtful. "Even though he was remarkable in that battle, it still came down to luck in the end."
Sora leaned back in her seat. "You call that luck? You didn't see him train with Setsuna. He practically broke himself in half for weeks."
"So what you're saying is, near-death is a valid training method now?" Mimi asked dryly.
Sora let out a quiet sigh. "If it works."
The conversation behind her kept rolling — light, careless, a murmur of voices that blurred together.
Kaya, however, wasn't here for laughs. Her eyes stayed fixed on the arena floor, her expression sharp. "Why are you even here?" she asked suddenly, her tone low, cutting through the noise.
Rulthan didn't turn to face her. "I could ask you the same."
Kaya's lips pressed into a line, but she exhaled, voice softening. "You hated him."
"So did you," Rulthan said evenly. "Or have you changed your mind?"
Kaya didn't answer right away. Her gaze lowered to the far below, where sunlight caught the edges of the arena. "We both lost to him," she said at last. "The least we can do is be present."
She turned toward Tetsu. "Hey, four-eyes. You're close to Kazuo aren't you? What's he going to wish for?"
Tetsu looked up from his notes, blinking once. "He never said."
"Never?" Kaya pressed.
He shook his head. "Not once."
Even Rulthan leaned slightly forward, interest flickering in his eyes. The chatter from Sora and the others faded as curiosity took hold.
"You think it's something personal?" Lyria asked quietly.
Tetsu adjusted his glasses, hesitating. "I'm just as curious as you are. But this is Kazuo we're talking about — knowing him, it's probably something that'll end up helping him and his gramps."
The group fell silent for a moment, the tension between curiosity and unease thick in the air. The crowd's chatter rolled like distant thunder, a constant hum beneath the weight of expectation.
High above, in the captain's gallery overlooking the colosseum, the captains had gathered — all but Captain Aleina and Captain Asahi, whose seats remained conspicuously empty.
Setsuna leaned casually against the railing. Beside him stood Idris, posture straight, single arm folded neatly across his chest, a cigarette balanced between his lips. Garou loomed nearby, his beastlike frame impossible to miss even in formal attire, while Vaskel lounged in his seat with an irritated expression, one leg crossed over the other — clearly only there to avoid trouble for skipping the event. Captain Jin and Zahari stood near the back, murmuring quietly to each other.
Even Captain Shiranami was present, arms crossed.
Zahari turned slightly toward Setsuna. "Kaien's recovering well," he said. "He decided not to attend. Said he'd rather get more rest."
Idris exhaled a thin trail of smoke, his eyes half-open, expression unreadable. "I'm glad," he said simply.
Garou's deep voice rumbled after a brief pause. "That explains why Rhakka isn't here either. Said he'd keep Kaien company."
"Tch," Shiranami muttered, tapping a finger against her arm. "Can this be over already? The whole thing's a waste of time."
Setsuna chuckled softly, leaning his chin into his palm. "Relax. This is the part where my student gets to shine."
Idris raised an eyebrow, smoke curling from the side of his mouth. "You really want to bask in the glory, don't you?"
Setsuna's grin widened. "Your words, not mine."
Beyond the captains' gallery, the royal balcony loomed in full splendor — draped in white and gold, overlooking the colosseum like a sanctum of judgment. It was less a seat of rest and more a throne for power itself.
Lady Elyria sat to the right of the throne, her hands resting gracefully on her lap. Today she wore a flowing gown of deep sapphire blue, the fabric threaded with silver filigree that shimmered with every breath of wind. A delicate crown of blue roses encircled her hair — simple, regal, and alive against the light.
Beside her, King Cedric reclined on his throne, one leg crossed over the other, his silver-tipped cane resting idly against his knee. He didn't need it, and everyone knew it — but he'd brought it anyway, the symbol of authority itself, the unspoken reminder of control.
Neither spoke.
Yet their silence said more than words could: a quiet current of resentment and distance, a father and daughter bound by blood but divided by belief.
Cedric plucked a grape from the ornate bowl beside him, rolling it slowly between his fingers as his gaze swept across the stands. The noise of the crowd rose and fell like the tide, but his attention remained sharp, unwavering.
It was Elyria who broke the silence first, her voice soft yet steady. "What do you believe he'll wish for?" she asked, eyes still on the arena.
Cedric's expression didn't shift. "Knowing his record so far," he said, tone measured and calm, "it should be something that won't cause any problems. The boy knows his place."
He placed the grape between his teeth and bit down slowly, the faintest sound lost in the wind.
But behind his composed exterior, his thoughts ran colder.
Still… there is always the possibility he'll give me a reason to execute him.
For a moment, the sun dipped behind a drifting cloud, softening the light that fell over the balcony. Elyria's gaze lingered on the arena below, where the banners swayed gently in the wind. Her hands folded neatly over her lap, but her thoughts were far from calm.
When this is finally over, she thought, there will be time to study him properly. He won't be buried in duties or under constant watch.Perhaps then, I can learn what drives him — and what he hides.
Her eyes narrowed slightly, reflecting the glint of the arena's polished stone.
It's better to mend things with Father now. The boy's existence already stirs enough attention — I can't afford to be seen as divided.
Her expression softened almost imperceptibly.
Kazuo… I am truly intrigued by you.
The thought lingered — curiosity tinged with something sharper, something restless. As the wind caught her hair and the sound of horns rolled through the colosseum, her gaze hardened ever so slightly.
The blue of her eyes seemed deeper in that light. Greed, touched by a quiet, sinister fascination.
Below, the horns began to sound again, low and resonant — a call that silenced the colosseum.
The ceremony was about to begin. The horns faded into a clear, ringing silence. Then came the announcer's voice, amplified by magic, rolling through the air like thunder.
"Ladies and gentlemen!"
The colosseum erupted into cheers. The sound of thousands of voices filled the marble expanse, echoing off every arch and balcony.
"Today, we celebrate the strength and resolve of those who fought with honor in the Tournament of Nobles!"
The crowd roared again. The announcer's voice rose over it, practiced and regal.
"Let us begin by honoring the runner-up — the wind that never falters, the prodigy of the eastern division — Aoi!"
The northern gate opened. From its shadow, Aoi stepped into the sunlight, his uniform pristine, his posture calm despite the weight of every gaze upon him.
He moved with silent grace, the faint stir of wind following each step. When he reached the center, he bowed deeply, accepting the silver medallion from the attendant before turning aside to stand with the other finalists.
The applause that followed was loud.
Beneath the other end of the arena, behind thick walls and sunlight spilling through the cracks, Kazuo waited.
His hands rested loosely at his sides, but his mind had been restless since dawn.
He had replayed this moment over and over — the wish, the words, the faces. He couldn't use it for something like liberation. That would be suicide. But to waste it on something small — a meaningless comfort — would be no better.
Rulthan's laughter came back to him. "You're kind of selfish."
He'd brushed it off then. But now… maybe Rulthan wasn't entirely wrong.
His thoughts drifted next to Aoi — the man who fought because he had no choice, born into chains gilded by birthright. No escape, no freedom, no say.
And then came her face — Lady Elyria, framed by silver hair and blue light, the moment everything had begun. All of this — the Hollow Veins, the tournament, the Crown's leash — it all led back to the day she had seen him.
His jaw tightened.
This isn't my fight. It was never supposed to be.
And then there was King Cedric — the very man who wanted full control over him.The king who saw him as a threat. The one who built this entire stage, this ceremony, this game of politics — just to remind him who held the power.
Kazuo's hands curled slightly at his sides. The walls around him seemed to pulse with the distant cheers of the crowd, hollow and far away.
His thoughts tangled together — Elyria's face, Rulthan's laughter, Aoi's quiet pain, Cedric's gaze — all threads of the same chain pulling tighter around him.
Fine then, he thought, his heartbeat steady now. This wish will be my one last gamble.
The sound of the crowd swelled again, pulling him from his thoughts.
"And now!" the announcer cried. "The champion chosen by the Crown itself — the man with mismatched eyes and rare Water Magic — now a fully fledged noble under the King's decree — Kazuo of the Royal Guard!"
The southern gate opened.
Light poured in, blinding and white.
Kazuo stepped forward, the crowd's roar crashing against him like a wave. Each stride carried the weight of everything he'd endured — the Hollow Veins, Cedric's ultimatum, the battles, the blood and of course Rei and Gramps.
And when he reached the center of the arena, the noise faded into a low, pulsing hum — the world narrowing to sunlight, silence, and the eyes of a thousand watching him.