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Wade's voice snapped the audience out of their trance.
"He survived that!?" someone shouted, half-rising from their seat.
"Does that mean Wade's going to win?"
The question rippled through the crowd like a shockwave. To be honest, after seeing that golden light cannon—that absolute monster of an attack that had melted the ground itself—most people had started rooting for Russell. Everyone loved watching the plucky underdog slay the dragon, right? The scrappy newcomer taking down the established champion.
"Hard to say," a man near the front argued, gesturing at the battlefield. "Russell's still got three cards standing. Wade only has one. Numbers advantage goes to Russell."
"But look at that knight," someone else countered, their voice uncertain. "Her sword's gone. And an attack that big? Had to drain her completely."
"Yeah, and the psychic girl's just defending. She can't hurt anything."
The observation spread through the crowd, and excited chatter died down into worried murmurs. People shifted in their seats, leaning forward, squinting at the battlefield. If Russell didn't have another trick up his sleeve, if this was all he had left...
Victory was starting to tilt toward Wade.
Wade's face was pure ecstasy, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. His hands trembled—not with fear, but with barely contained excitement that made his whole body buzz. When Artoria's light cannon had descended like judgment itself, he'd felt his heart stop. Had thought it was over. Had started composing his apology to his father in his head.
But Melinoë hadn't let him down.
At the cost of his other three cards—Meng Po, the fan-wielder, the hammer-wielder, all of them sacrificed, their power absorbed—she'd survived. Transformed. Become his strongest trump card.
[Goddess of Vengeance · Melinoë]!
The skill's full name echoed in his mind like a prayer: Launch a desperate battle against the enemy at the cost of teammates' deaths.
No matter how many plans you make, Wade thought, his grin widening until it hurt his face, you still can't beat the difference in raw power!
Ghosts swirled around the arena in a howling vortex—dozens, hundreds of them, all with resentful faces and grasping hands. They dove at Russell's remaining cards like a plague of locusts. Fubuki stood her ground, her telekinetic barriers flaring with each impact, keeping the spirits at bay. But that was all she could do.
Her offensive capabilities had always been weak. She could protect Neliel and the now-weaponless Artoria, but she couldn't attack. Couldn't damage Melinoë. Couldn't end this.
Was Russell really going to lose?
Across the world, in living rooms and dorm rooms and cafes, everyone who knew Russell felt the same sinking sensation in their guts.
Nancy clutched a pillow to her chest, her knuckles white. "No, no, no..."
Jonathan sat beside her, his jaw tight, unable to offer reassurance.
In the Battle Club section, Grant's hands gripped the armrests hard enough to hurt. Lucian stared at the field, his expression unreadable.
Victory had been right there. So close you could taste it. And now...
In the VIP section, the Northgate University president sighed heavily, slumping back in his seat. "As expected, the gap in experience is still too much." His voice carried resignation, maybe a touch of disappointment. "Russell's basically finished now."
Several heads nodded in agreement.
"That telekinetic defense is impressive, sure, but it drains mental energy like water through a sieve. Wade doesn't even need to attack anymore—just wait it out. Let the ghosts wear Russell down until there's nothing left."
Made perfect sense. Simple math. Wade could afford to be patient now.
Only Blake Whitmore and William remained completely still, their eyes locked on the battlefield with an intensity that suggested they saw something the others didn't. Neither spoke. Neither moved. They just... waited.
Deep underwater, in his luxurious cave, Five watched the screen with growing disappointment etched across his features. He let out a soft sigh, shoulders sagging slightly.
"Sir," he said, turning to Regent Jin, "I request permission to lower Russell's priority. We've invested significant resources in him. If this is the extent of his capabilities, perhaps those resources would be better allocated elsewhere."
Regent Jin's fingers drummed against the armrest of his chair, a slow, thoughtful rhythm. "Let's wait and see," he said after a moment, his tone neutral. "Maybe there will be some changes."
Five's expression clearly said he doubted it, but he bowed his head respectfully and fell silent.
On the battlefield, Russell stood at the sideline, his expression calm as still water. No panic. No desperation. No fear.
Inside? His heart was steady, his mind clear. He just smiled—small and knowing—and spoke softly to Neliel.
"Do what you can, Neliel."
The little girl's face immediately twisted with confusion and panic. Her eyes went wide, darting between Russell and the howling mass of vengeful spirits. "Huh?" The sound came out small and scared.
Do what? She didn't know what he was talking about! Russell had been nice to her these past few days, playing with her, making her feel safe. But fighting? Against those terrifying monsters on the other side? She was useless. Weak. Just a scared little kid who couldn't help anyone.
But she felt something else too—warmth flowing from Russell's mind into hers, gentle and reassuring. Comfort. Confidence. Trust.
Slowly, her small hands clenched in the torn fabric of her dress, fingers digging into the cloth.
"Russell, why don't you just admit defeat?"
Wade's voice rang across the battlefield, dripping with magnanimous condescension. His smile was wide and smug, the expression of someone who'd already won and was just waiting for the other person to acknowledge it.
"You won't win by dragging this out anyway. You might as well give up gracefully." He spread his hands in a generous gesture. "Don't worry—the compensation our Wu family promised will definitely be paid in full."
Russell looked at him with an expression somewhere between disbelief and secondhand embarrassment. The game isn't even over yet, and you're already celebrating?
Celebrating at halftime is a massive taboo, Russell thought, fighting back a smile. I am absolutely going to slap you in the face for that.
Neliel's face was smudged with dust and dirt, her clothes torn, her hair a mess. But slowly—so slowly—her expression changed. The panic receded. Her jaw set. Her eyes hardened with determination.
"Although I don't know what you're talking about, Russell..." She took a deep, shaky breath, her small chest rising and falling. "Neliel will try her best!"
Her feet moved before her brain fully caught up, carrying her forward. She stumbled slightly, then found her stride, running to stand in front of Fubuki and Artoria. Planting herself between them and the howling ghosts.
The crowd watched in confusion.
"What's the mascot doing?"
"Is she seriously going up there?"
"Russell must really be out of options if he's sending that tiny thing to fight."
"Does he really have the heart to let such a cute little girl go up there to die? That's just cruel."
But in the VIP section, every high-level cardmaker had gone perfectly still. Their casual conversation died mid-sentence. All eyes locked on Neliel with laser focus.
"What's the point of sending her up now?" the Southeastern University president asked, genuine confusion in his voice.
Blake and William said nothing. They didn't know Neliel's specific capabilities either—Russell had kept her carefully hidden. But they knew something was about to happen.
The silence stretched, heavy and expectant.
"Except," the Northgate University president's voice broke through, quiet but certain, "she's not a mascot."
In the underwater cave, Regent Jin shifted forward in his seat, his earlier relaxed posture gone. His eyes narrowed, studying the small figure on screen.
After a long moment, he smiled—genuinely amused this time—and glanced at Five. "It seems you were wrong, Five. This Russell may have another trump card after all."
Neliel stood there, her whole body trembling. Not from fear—well, maybe a little fear—but from something else building inside her. Thoughts swirled through her mind in a desperate chorus:
I don't want Russell to lose.
I don't want Russell to get hurt.
I don't want the bad people to win.
I have to protect him.
The thoughts spun faster and faster until they weren't separate anymore, until they became a single, overwhelming need that burned in her chest like fire.
And then something inside her—something deep and old and powerful—clicked into place.
BOOM!
Pink smoke exploded outward from Neliel's position, instantly engulfing the entire battlefield. Thick and opaque, it billowed like a living thing, obscuring everything.
Wade tensed immediately, his smug expression vanishing. His hands came up defensively. What the hell is this? The smoke gave him a bad feeling, made his instincts scream warning.
The smoke began to dissipate, blown away by unseen wind.
The small girl was gone.
In her place stood a woman—tall and powerful, with long green hair that fell past her shoulders. She held a massive weapon that was part lance, part sword, its design strange and otherworldly. Her body was lean and athletic, radiating strength and confidence that made the air around her feel heavier.
"Don't worry, Russell," the woman's voice rang out, deeper and calmer than Neliel's childish tones. "It will be over soon."
A breeze swept across the battlefield, lifting her hair just enough to reveal a tattoo on her back: the number 3.
The crowd lost its collective mind.
"WHAT THE HELL!?"
"THAT WAS THE MASCOT!?"
"SHE CAN TRANSFORM!?"
People jumped to their feet, pointing, shouting, their voices overlapping into incomprehensible noise. Hope surged back into the arena like a tidal wave, electric and overwhelming.
Neliel—or whatever this form was called—opened her mouth. Light-red energy condensed in front of her face, building and compressing and growing brighter by the second. The air around it wavered from the sheer power.
Then she fired.
The Cero screamed across the battlefield—a massive beam of destructive energy that tore through the ghost swarm like they were tissue paper. It slammed into Melinoë with the force of an artillery shell.
BOOOOM!
The explosion was deafening, rattling teeth and making ears ring even through the barrier. Light and smoke obscured everything for a moment.
When it cleared, Melinoë still stood, looking disheveled and slightly singed but very much alive.
In the VIP section, several masters deflated slightly.
"Is that all?" the Northgate University president muttered, unable to hide his disappointment. The strength was impressive, sure—definitely powerful for a silver-level card. But not enough. Not nearly enough to overcome the gap.
Blake, however, was frowning thoughtfully. His head tilted as he studied Neliel's transformed state. "Why does she feel similar to my student's other cards?" he murmured. "That spiritual pressure... it's like Unohana's, but different. Death-aspected, but not quite the same system."
On the battlefield, Neliel stared at Melinoë with an expression of cold calculation. The goddess looked embarrassed, frustrated, but fundamentally unharmed.
Not enough, Neliel thought. That's not enough.
She shifted her grip on the massive weapon, rotating it until it lay horizontally in front of her chest. Her fingers adjusted, finding the perfect position. The weapon began to glow with light-red energy, spiritual power bleeding off it in visible waves.
Neliel's lips moved, and when she spoke, her voice carried across the silent battlefield with absolute clarity:
"Sing, Gamuza."
The world seemed to hold its breath.
Then spiritual power erupted from the ground beneath her feet—a massive pillar of light-red energy that shot skyward like a geyser. The force of it cracked the already-damaged battlefield, sending fresh spiderweb fractures racing outward. The air itself screamed, pressure waves radiating outward in visible ripples.
The light was blinding. The power overwhelming.