The silence that settled in the air after Fitty's victory was suffocating.
No one there seemed able to breathe freely anymore, as if something were locking their throats shut. Neale watched the scene with his head lowered, gripping his own wrist so tightly he nearly cut off the circulation, while everyone observed Troll being carried away unconscious on a medical stretcher, his blood staining the sand of the arena floor—like someone trying, somehow, to leave behind a signature.
Group Twelve was lost. They didn't know how to react to any of it.
Meanwhile, Fitty walked under escort to a room where she would receive treatment before being sent to the waiting room for the next stage. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs, carrying wounds—and the weight of having "killed" her friend's dreams by being the one responsible for his expulsion.
— This… this place really is an academy, isn't it? — Neale whispered, his voice heavy and strained. — There's no way this is just some strange form of entertainment… right?
Kilay glanced at him from the corner of his eye, his expression nearly cold and unreadable.
The twins on the opposite side didn't know how to answer either and simply looked away in silence.
Those at the back silenced even their own thoughts in a dull, oppressive quiet.
Meanwhile, Nuke seemed to be sleeping peacefully.
Up in the stands reserved for the elite, Matteo F. Mouro adjusted his black leather gloves, boredom written clearly across his face. To him, this was just another tedious obligation—he was the type who preferred participating rather than being stuck in a chair watching.
Igor Xen Don Crates, on the other hand, was finishing his notes about the fight and the thoughts it had sparked.
"| Thermal vision / Tracking, combined with reptilian appearance.
Scales—don't seem rock-hard, perhaps.
Forced body modifications. Appears painful. Do these modifications apply to the entire body? |"
— Thirty seconds. — the instructor's voice cut through the air without care. — Remember, if no choices are made within that time, the remainder of Group Twelve will be eliminated.
Time began to flow like sand through an ancient hourglass—except the sand seemed to spill in several directions at once.
— That was an exciting fight, don't you think? — Kássia D. Apolodoro
— Indeed, it was an excellent display of combat. My research gained new topics to study today. — Igor Xen Don Crates
— I wish my admission fight had been as thrilling as that girl's. I'm almost jealous. — Kássia D. Apolodoro
— The way you talk always irritates me, Igor. — Vastos S. Agiades — But that fight really was exciting. The boy surprised me with that form of his. He has a lot of potential.
— Too bad he was eliminated. In the end, it doesn't matter if you have potential or talent if you're still weak. The Order's system exists so the strong can step on the weak. — Matteo F. Mouro
— You're right. At least once in your life, you're right. — Vastos S. Agiades
— The two of you, control yourselves before you start fighting. Lord Igor, since you mentioned your notes—the House of Cleopatra would gladly assist the House of Plato and you in your research, aiming to bring this war against us humans to an end. — Kássia D. Apolodoro
— Ah… the House of Cleopatra. Always trying to grab a bigger slice of the power pie. — Matteo F. Mouro
— Power isn't the priority here. I simply believe we should start working together in more than just one area if we want better chances of winning this war. — Kássia D. Apolodoro
— You know very well we only work together on the battlefield, Apolodoro—
— Don't you think it's time we changed that? — Kássia D. Apolodoro
Igor remained silent, watching the arena, pen in hand over his notebook. Then he spoke.
— The House of Plato appreciates the House of Cleopatra's initiative. We will remember this and consider it. — Igor Xen Don Crates
— While you all argue, I'm keeping my eye on the real prize here—that girl. She'd do very well in my House. — Vastos S. Agiades
— Ah, Vastos, don't delude yourself. You saw her fighting style. She'd do far better in my House—and you know it. — Matteo F. Mouro
— Are you trying to irritate me, Matteo? Or should I call you by that second name you hate so much, boy? — Vastos S. Agiades
— You wouldn't dare, old man. — Matteo F. Mouro
At that moment, Igor calmly clapped his hands once. It wasn't even forceful—yet the sound echoed sharply, sending a chill down the spines of everyone nearby.
— That's enough. All of you. — Igor Xen Don Crates
When Igor's palms met, they were coated in a thin layer of his Justa Ira, at the Light Blue power level.
— My apologies for my rudeness, sir. — Matteo muttered.
— My sincerest apologies as well, Lord Igor. — Kássia D. Apolodoro
Vastos merely crossed his legs and huffed, remaining silent.
— The youths seem close to making a decision. Let's pay attention. — Igor Xen Don Crates
— If you'll excuse me, I'll step out briefly. I need to relieve some tension. You—come with me. — Matteo F. Mouro
— Yes, sir.
— Taking your representative with you, Matteo? — Kássia D. Apolodoro
— He's not just my representative. He's my bodyguard. Let's go. — Matteo F. Mouro
They descended the arena's inner stairs, disappearing from the other leaders' sight. Reaching a corridor with two paths—one left, one ahead to the right—Matteo continued down the poorly lit right-hand corridor.
— Sir, the restroom entrance is the other way. — the representative said.
— I know. — Matteo F. Mouro
— Then… where are we going?
— Relax… I just want somewhere a little… more private. — Matteo F. Mouro
Inside a dim room with flickering lights, Matteo suddenly pinned his representative against the wall, bare hands gripping the high collar of his black tactical uniform representing the House of Othello.
— You, my little snake, are going to do me a small favor. — Matteo F. Mouro
— And why should I? — the representative replied.
— Because I know you want my position. And I could make your life a living hell for what I've discovered. — Matteo F. Mouro
He smirked.
— But instead, I admired your courage. That's why I promoted you—to keep an eye on you. Obey me without question.
— What do you want me to do?
— I want blood samples—and if possible, some scales—from the snake boy. Before he's thrown out the gates. — Matteo F. Mouro
— That's impossible. He's surrounded by the House of Plato's medical team.
— You'll find a way. Now go. — Matteo F. Mouro
The representative left.
"Cleopatra's House thinks it can move its pieces quietly. I'll always stay steps ahead," Matteo thought.
Back with Group Twelve, time continued ticking.
— Who wants to be next? Decide quickly—we've got less than twenty seconds. — Kilay
After tension and hesitation, Vitel stepped forward.
— You're all overthinking. We don't have infinite time. Hey, Nuke—wake up. It's our turn. — Vitel
— …You sure? — Nuke asked sleepily.
— You don't want to blow things up with me down there?
— …Fine.
They descended to the arena.
After surrendering their weapons, they entered.
— State your full names clearly. — Instructor
— Vitelina Morgan.
— Nathalia Vanharley… but call me Nuke.
— Vitelina Morgan versus Nathalia Vanharley.
Nuke frowned at hearing her real name.
— Begin! — Instructor
Back in the elite stands:
— Apologies for my delay. I hope I didn't miss much. — Matteo F. Mouro
— It just started. — Vastos S. Agiades
— Good for me. — Matteo F. Mouro
— You returned alone. Where is your representative? — Kássia D. Apolodoro
— He felt unwell. I allowed him to rest. — Matteo F. Mouro
— How disgusting. — Kássia D. Apolodoro
— Slander. I didn't even do anything this time. — Matteo F. Mouro,He smirked.
— Look at that—now this is entertainment. A fight between little girls.
All eyes turned to the arena once more.
Vitel versus Nuke.