A day had passed since the clash between the two Queens. The arena had been repaired, the sea had calmed, and the phantom light fleet had dissolved into memory. But the weight of the battle lingered like a bruise on the hearts of those who had watched.
Lucianne stood frozen outside the steel door of one of the lab rooms, her hand hovering just inches from the handle. Her chest tightened. She could hear the faint hum of machinery inside, and she knew who was there, it was Noah. She swallowed hard, but her throat was dry. She wanted to go in, to speak, to comfort but her legs refused to move.
Inside, Noah stood motionless, his back to the door, staring at the empty resonance chamber where his time machine was built. His shoulders trembled faintly, though his eyes remained sharp and unyielding. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. But he could not… not as the leader, not as the one others would turn to in the coming battles. His fists clenched tightly, nails digging into his palms, blood threatening to break the skin. He had to be strong. If he broke, then all the sacrifice Artemisia and Alexander had made would mean nothing.
Lucianne lowered her head, her hands pressed to her chest. She whispered, "Why can't I walk in? Why do I feel so weak…?"
A heavy hand suddenly rested on her shoulder. She turned and saw Lapu-Lapu, his strong frame casting a long shadow across the corridor. His eyes were steady, carrying the weight of countless wars.
"Child," Lapu-Lapu said softly, his voice like a tide against stone, "I know the pain of loss. It burns hotter than fire and cuts deeper than any blade." He paused, looking toward the lab door, then back at her. "But losing someone… or a comrade you swore to protect that pain is heavier still. It can crush a person if they let it."
Lucianne's lips quivered. "But Noah… he's forcing himself to stand strong. I don't even know if I can help him."
Lapu-Lapu shook his head. "He doesn't need you to carry his pain. He just needs you to remind him that he's not alone." His gaze hardened with conviction. "If you, and he, stop believing in humanity… if you give in to despair then everything the two warriors that fought in the last two rounds will vanish into nothing."
Lucianne's eyes widened, shimmering with restrained tears.
"We will win," Lapu-Lapu said firmly, like a general rallying his warriors. "But victory is not instant. It waits, patiently, for those who endure. All you must do is believe… and wait for the right moment."
He released her shoulder and stepped back. "Go inside, Lucianne. Don't let him bear it all alone."
Lucianne's trembling hand finally touched the cold steel handle. She drew a breath, steadying herself, and pushed the door open.
Inside, Noah didn't turn, but he spoke, his voice raw.
"I thought I told you… I needed to be alone."
Lucianne stepped closer, her steps light but firm. "Noah… even Queens don't stand alone."
Noah didn't turn when Lucianne entered, his reflection caught in the glass of the resonance chamber, hollow yet unbroken. His voice was steady, but heavy, as though each word weighed more than his body could carry.
"Do you know how many of us are left?" he asked, not looking at her. "Two billion. Out of the 8 billion that could have been if the world hadn't burned itself hollow."
Lucianne's lips parted, but no words came. She only listened.
Noah's shoulders tightened, his jaw set firm. "Two billion lives… and every single one of them is hanging by a thread. If we lose this tournament, if we fail even once to hold the line… there will not be a single human left. Not one child. Not one mother. Not one dreamer to look at the stars again." His voice cracked for just a heartbeat, but he pulled it back, masking the break with a sharp breath.
Lucianne felt her chest tighten.
"That's why… you can't afford to fall, isn't it?" she whispered.
Noah finally turned, his eyes glistening faintly, not with tears, but with the reflection of all his grief, locked and buried, yet undeniable.
"Yes. That's why I cannot break. I cannot cry. I cannot show despair. Because if I crumble, then so does the last hope of humanity. Artemisia knew it. That's why she asked me to use the sphere for her. She was willing to carry her share of the burden, even if it killed her."
Lucianne's hands balled into fists. "Then… let me carry some of it too. Please. If you stand alone, you'll burn out before the end. We can't afford that either."
For the first time, a faint, weary smile touched Noah's lips, an expression that looked foreign on his battle-worn face. "You've grown, Lucianne. Maybe I'm not the only pillar left standing."
There was a long silence between them, broken only by the hum of the machines. Then Lucianne took a breath, steadying herself.
"The next round is in a week," she said, shifting the conversation forward, though her voice trembled with the weight of it. "We need to prepare not just for the match, but for the mind games the Grimms will play. They want us broken before the fight begins."
Noah nodded, his eyes hardening again. "Agreed. Let us rest first then we discuss Round 3 the first thing tomorrow morning. For now, we let the people believe. Give them something to hold on to. Artemisia's death wasn't just a loss, it was a reminder. That even Queens bleed for them."
Lucianne lowered her head, but a sense of resolve lit her features. "Then we'll make sure her sacrifice isn't wasted."
Noah turned back to the chamber, his reflection staring back at him once more. This time, he didn't see his own grief, he saw the faces of two billion people, silent, waiting, desperate for a reason to believe.
And he whispered, so quiet that only Lucianne could hear:
"We will not vanish. Not while I still stand."
Tomorrow morning has arrived, time to decide who will fight in the next round.
Lucianne wakes up from her room and gets ready before she comes to meet Noah at the center room of the underground lab. When she arrived there, she saw a figure with white hair and white lab coat standing with a file on his hand. The figure looks happy, calm and composed. Seeing Noah like that really calms her heart.
"Finally, I did something for you, Noah." she said, murmuring under her breath.
Noah finally realised that Lucianne already arrived in the room with him but she seems smiling alone. Noah started to realise that her genuine smile is really beautiful that make him saying it out loud,
"Your smiles make you so beautiful," Noah said without conscious.
Suddenly when they realised what they were doing, they both flustered and got shy. Lapu-Lapu and beside him a hooded figure that are protecting them silently, watching from the ceiling make an annoyed but funny faces watching them kinda flirt from the far.
"You must have something good happen that makes you smile like that" says Noah.
Lucianne looks at him with a flustered face but she changes her flustered face seeing his face.
"Yes… something good did happen."
Both are happy but get serious immediately when they start the discussion for the next round.
Noah then asked Lucianne,
"Lucianne, you never went to the part of the lab where all of our champions live, right?"
"Yeah, I never went there. You always go there to greet and brief our fighter while I do the research, discussion and calculation at our usual lab room. Why did you ask?"
Noah looks with a smirk and says.
"So, today we will meet the combatant of our side for the next round at their room."
Lucianne showed an excited expression, it was her first time seeing the place they live in their lab.
After a brief walk, they have arrived at one part of the underground lab where the fighter will live the whole tournaments.
The corridor hummed with quiet electricity. Thirteen steel doors lined the wall like solemn guardians, each marked with a glowing panel above it. Eleven still shone bright, but two had already gone dark which showed the two lives extinguished, two champions fallen.
Lucianne slowed as they passed, her gaze lingering on the extinguished lights. The silence weighed heavier here, like the dead themselves lingered. "So these are…"
Noah's tone was flat. "Our remaining champions. Each one carries a sliver of humanity's hope."
They stopped at a door mid-way down the hall. Noah pressed his hand to the scanner, and the lock disengaged with a heavy metallic thud. The door slid open, releasing a faint scent of old tatami mats and dust.
Lucianne blinked as her eyes adjusted. The room was nothing like the sterile corridors outside, it looked like a training hall from another era. Bamboo dummies lay scattered, most of them cleaved cleanly in half. The tatami floor bore scars of repeated duels. In the center of the room sat a futon, a large lump hidden under a thick blanket.
From beneath the mound came the unmistakable click-clack of buttons, followed by the beeps of a handheld console game.
Lucianne's jaw dropped slightly. "…This is one of our fighters?"
Noah strode forward, kneeling beside the futon.
"Wake up."
A muffled groan answered him. The blanket shifted slightly, then a lazy voice followed:
"Go away. I'm at the last boss…"
Lucianne's eyes widened. "He's playing games?!"
Noah's patience visibly thinned.
"You can either wake up now, or I'll take back the console I gave you."
There was a sharp pause under the blanket. The sounds of frantic button-mashing stopped dead. "…You wouldn't."
"Try me." Noah's tone left no room for doubt.
After a long silence, the futon shifted. The blanket peeled away, slowly, deliberately, as though dragged by someone who had been through this routine countless times. A mane of messy black hair spilled out, followed by sharp, restless eyes that carried both irritation and a dangerous stillness.
The figure sat up, scratching the back of his neck, then finally tossed the blanket aside. His body was lean but coiled with muscle, every movement efficient even in laziness. Two swords rested against the wall beside him, their blades sheathed yet radiating an aura of violence.
Lucianne's breath caught. She didn't need an introduction because in every history book, every legend whispered his name.
"Miyamoto Musashi,"
Noah said firmly, as if reintroducing an old comrade to the battlefield.
The swordsman yawned, glancing between them with disinterest before reaching over to pick up his swords. "Tch. So it's finally my turn, huh? Figures. You only ever call me when things are messy."
Lucianne swallowed, still stunned by the sheer casualness of his demeanor.
"…That's… the Musashi?"
Noah gave the faintest nod.
"The Vagabond. The undefeated swordsman of countless duels. The man who walked the fine line between madness and genius."
Musashi stretched, cracking his neck, then smirked as his gaze sharpened like a drawn blade. "Heh. So who am I cutting down this time?"
Then, Noah and Lucianne started to give the swordsman the proper brief about the next round of the tournament.
Inside the tatami-lined chamber, Noah had been speaking for what felt like hours, laying out the gravity of Round 3, the enemy's momentum, and the dwindling human hope. His words carried conviction, every syllable sharpened by desperation.
Musashi, however, wasn't even looking at him. The legendary swordsman leaned back against the futon, blanket draped lazily over his shoulders, eyes glued to the glowing screen of his handheld console. His thumbs clicked away at the buttons with near-inhuman speed.
"…We've already lost two champions," Noah pressed, voice strained.
"We can't afford another defeat. Humanity needs your blade, Musashi. You are-"
"Mm," Musashi mumbled, tilting the console, squinting as his character leapt across the screen.
"Say whatever you want, kid. I'm on the last level."
Lucianne pinched the bridge of her nose, exasperated. "He's not even listening…"
Musashi gave a small laugh, not unkind but far too relaxed for the situation.
"You know, in my time we fought for food, land, survival. Every breath was a battle. And yet…" He held up the little console with a lazy grin. "I never had this in the Sengoku era. This? This is new. Let me enjoy the future a little, even if the world's burning down."
Noah's fists tightened, but he forced himself to calm. He had seen countless kinds of resolve, this was Musashi's. Detached, maybe, but not without reason.
Elsewhere, deep within the Grimms' grand hall…
Goblets of crimson wine clinked together. Hans Grimm leaned back, his manic laughter echoing against the black stone walls, while Leo raised his glass with a rare, satisfied smirk.
"Two to nothing," Hans crowed. "Humanity's fragile hope is crumbling like wet parchment."
Leo's voice was smoother, confident.
"Five more victories, brother. Just five, and this world is ours to script as we please."
From the shadows beside their thrones sat a figure small in frame yet radiating menace. A crimson hood veiled part of her face, the other half hidden by a wolf-shaped mask. Gleaming golden gauntlets covered her hands, a utility belt of knives, traps, and steel-tipped bolts resting at her waist. Across her lap leaned a weapon far too large for her slight body, a monstrous scythe, its blade curved like a blood moon.
She didn't join their toast. She simply stared ahead, eyes bored, voice cutting through the laughter.
"If you're using me for your next round, we will talk about the reward first."
Hans leaned forward, grin widening. "Oh, so serious. Our little huntress knows her worth."
Leo chuckled softly, swirling his wine. "You'll get your prize. After all, this next fight will be your stage to paint red."
Finally, she turned her head, the faintest glimmer of amusement in her gaze.
"Good. Because hunting demons and monsters is child's play. But if it's warriors… I'll make it worth the blood."
The blade of her scythe scraped the floor as she stood, the sound like steel across bone.
The Grimms grinned in unison, voices overlapping like a verdict.
"Little Red Riding Hood"
"The Blood-Color Hunter."