The Young Division Leader Everyone Talks About
Mike remained calm.
He slowly leaned back in his seat, the wooden chair creaking softly beneath his weight. The sound was faint, almost swallowed by the distant hum of the arena, yet it carried a strange sense of ease—like he didn't belong to the tension surrounding everyone else. His long sleeves draped lazily over the armrests, the fabric shifting slightly as the afternoon wind passed through the open space.
Dust stirred lightly across the ground, caught in the golden slant of sunlight.
Then he spoke casually.
"Fellow Cultivator Tobias…"
Quiet filled the room before he spoke. Not a shout, just words arriving like footsteps on damp earth. They slipped through gaps others left behind. A steady pace pulled attention without asking. You listened because stopping felt wrong.
"If I'm not mistaken…"
A silence came next - not long, yet loud in its presence. It pulled eyes toward it, tugged ears closer.
