Jackson wiped his nose with the back of his hand, smearing blood across his cheek.
He inhaled.
Then exhaled.
His stance dropped unnaturally low—arms hanging loose, hands falling below his knees like dead weight. His posture looked wrong, almost lazy, but the pressure in the air thickened.
Jackson rolled his shoulder.
Everything from his elbow down hardened.
Skin folded inward, darkening, reshaping—metal blooming over bone. Plates locked together with a dull clang as his arm turned into forged steel, seams glowing faintly with Tao.
Akira lunged.
Jackson ducked under the blow with minimal movement and fired back.
The punch landed clean.
Akira staggered, coughing as he covered his mouth again. Blood spilled between his fingers.
…He's stronger.
Not just focused.
Stronger than before.
Akira suddenly slammed his own head into the ground.
The impact cracked stone.
Jackson paused, turning his head slightly.
"…What?"
Akira pushed himself up, blood running down his forehead. He blinked, wiped his face, then smiled sheepishly.
"Sorry," he said. "I thought slamming my head into the ground might cause enough trauma to awaken a bloodline."
He laughed weakly.
"Guess it didn't work."
Jackson stared at him for a long second.
Then reached up and swiped the bandages from his forearm.
They unraveled midair.
Metal flowed through the cloth like ink soaking paper—stretching, folding, sharpening.
A katana formed in his hand.
"You'll never gain a bloodline if you want one," Jackson said flatly. "It only happens when you don't."
Akira wiped the blood from his brow, then jolted Tao into his arm.
He stepped forward and drove a palm strike into the blade.
The impact exploded outward.
The katana shattered—steel fragments screaming away like shrapnel.
Jackson didn't flinch.
The broken sword melted mid-fall and surged back up his arm, reshaping into a massive iron glove.
He swung.
Akira didn't dodge.
Didn't flinch.
The blow crushed into him.
Akira slid back, boots carving trenches through the arena floor—but he stayed standing. He twisted his torso and fired back with everything he had.
Jackson blocked with the iron glove.
The shockwave cracked the ground beneath them.
Jackson followed through, slamming his fist straight down onto Akira's chest.
Akira took it.
The sound was wrong—like stone breaking underwater.
He collapsed to one knee.
Jackson stepped back.
Didn't finish it.
Again.
"…Why?" Jackson asked, voice tight. "Why do you keep getting back up?"
Akira coughed, forcing air back into his lungs. His vision swam.
"Because…" He swallowed. "I don't know how to live without trying."
Jackson attacked again.
A flurry.
Metal limbs formed and reformed—hammer, blade, spike—each strike precise, overwhelming. Akira blocked some. Most got through.
Bones screamed.
Blood splattered the arena.
Still—Jackson stopped short of killing blows.
Each time.
"What else can I do?" Jackson shouted as he struck. "I beat you. I outclass you. And it's still not enough!"
Akira was barely standing now.
His legs shook.
His hands trembled.
Fear crept in—not the thrill of fighting, but the cold certainty of death.
I might actually die here.
The thought struck deep.
Deeper than pain.
Deeper than pride.
Something inside him snapped open.
The air ignited.
Blue.
Not light—heat.
Azure flames erupted from Akira's body, wild and unstable, screaming upward as Tao burned beyond control. The ground beneath him scorched white.
Jackson's metal constructs melted.
Steel warped, ran, dripped like wax.
Jackson stumbled back, eyes wide.
"…Fire?"
Akira breathed hard, staring at his own hands as blue flames licked up his arms. The word burned into Akira's mind the name of his bloodline
"Azure Flames."
"So that's it," he said softly. "That fear… that desperation."
Akira raised his head.
"If you want an answer," he said, flames roaring higher, "then put your life on the line."
Jackson nodded.
Everything metal peeled away—
Except one arm.
Iron locked around his right limb, thicker than before, veins of Tao pulsing like molten ore.
They charged.
Azure flame versus iron will.
The clash shattered the arena.
Akira poured everything into it—fear, hope, desperation, his dream screaming through the fire.
Jackson met it head-on.
His iron arm held.
Then pushed.
Akira's flames flared—
Then collapsed.
The impact sent Akira flying.
Jackson stood at the center—
Then felt it.
His Tao drained too fast.
The barrier cracked.
Shattered.
Jackson's footing vanished as the arena edge collapsed beneath him.
He fell.
Out of bounds.
Silence.
The announcer's voice trembled as it rang out:
"Winner—Akira Yamato."
Akira lay on the broken floor, staring up at the sky, barely conscious.
Jackson hit the ground below the arena, coughing, laughing through blood.
"…Guess I still don't understand strength," he muttered.
He looked back up at Akira.
"I want to find something worthy enough to put my life on the line for."
Jackson grinned.
For the first time—genuine.