Kangfu walked closer. The sand barely shifted beneath his steps. "You have to lose your last fight."
Harry froze.
The words hung there, wrong and heavy. "Why is that?" Harry asked. His voice came out flat.
Kangfu studied him for a moment, as if measuring something invisible. Then a thin smile touched his lips. "You already have enough points to proceed to the next level."
"I need all five combats to proceed unconditionally," Harry said. His fists tightened. "That was the deal."
Kangfu moved closer still, until Harry could smell the faint herbs on his robes. "Conditionally or not, you will proceed. But I need them to believe you only got through by luck. Not talent. Not power."
Harry looked past him, toward the arena where the Masters waited. "You want me to look weak."
"I want you to look ordinary," Kangfu replied. "Those are two different things." Harry's jaw worked. "And if I lose on purpose and it goes wrong?"
Kangfu's eyes flickered. "It will not."
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, Harry nodded. "Alright. I am only doing this because of you." Kangfu gave a small, approving dip of his head and turned away.
The next day, When the fifth fight was announced, the air inside the arena shifted. People leaned forward, eager. Harry had become a quiet favorite. Four wins had a way of doing that.
His opponent stepped onto the sand.
Ella. She was smaller than most of the fighters he had faced. Lighter on her feet, hair pulled back tight, eyes bright and alert. The crowd murmured, already deciding how it would go.
Harry felt it too. The assumption. The ease. They bowed to each other. The gong sounded. Ella moved first. She was fast. Faster than the last three he had faced. Her fist snapped toward his face and he leaned just enough to let it brush his cheek. The sting flared, sharp and real.
Good, he thought. That helps. He countered with a lazy jab that she slipped under, her footwork carrying her to his side. Her elbow drove into his ribs.
Pain bloomed. The crowd made a pleased sound. Harry staggered back a step, letting his shoulders dip, letting his balance look off. Ella did not hesitate. She came in again, a flurry of short, sharp strikes.
Harry blocked some. Let others through. Her knuckles cracked against his jaw. His head snapped to the side. For a moment, the world rang.
Easy, he told himself. Not too much. He swung at her, wide and slow on purpose. She ducked it, eyes narrowing as if something didn't quite fit.
Their bodies collided. He felt the strength in her, coiled and ready. For half a heartbeat, instinct screamed at him to release, to end it.
He didn't. He pushed her back, not hard enough to throw her, just enough to look clumsy.
Ella's foot lashed out, catching his thigh. His leg buckled and he dropped to one knee. The crowd gasped. He forced himself to stay there a fraction longer than necessary before rising. He could feel the Masters watching. He could almost feel their judgment shifting.
Ella's breathing was quick now, her eyes sharp. She came at him again, but this time Harry moved, really moved. Just for a moment. He slipped inside her guard and tapped her shoulder with his knuckles, a strike that could have shattered bone if he'd let it.
She froze, eyes wide. He stepped back and let his guard drop. Confusion flickered across her face, then anger.
She charged. Her fist slammed into his chest. He let it push him back. Another strike caught his shoulder. Another his side. He stumbled, sand spraying beneath his feet.
People were shouting now. Some in excitement. Some in disbelief. Ella drove forward, relentless. Harry saw an opening. A clean one. A straight path to end it. But he turned away from it.
Her palm struck his sternum and he fell hard onto his back. The impact knocked the air from his lungs. For a second, all he could see was the sky above the arena, pale and empty.
"Get up!" someone shouted. Harry lay still. He could feel the ground beneath him, the grit in his hair, the dull ache spreading through his body. It would be so easy to roll, to rise, to take control.
But be didn't. The master's count echoed, each number like a slow hammer. Ella stood a few steps away, chest heaving, eyes locked on him as if she didn't quite believe it either.
The count reached ten. "Ella wins," Master Kangfu's voice boomed across the arena. The sound of it was final. Heavy.
Harry stayed down for a moment longer before sitting up. The sand clung to his clothes. His head rang. Somewhere high above, he knew the Masters were looking at him differently now.
He did not look at them. Ella walked past him, her face flushed, her expression a mix of triumph and something like doubt. Harry rose and left the ring.
Up in the stands, the seven Masters leaned toward each other. "The boy is not special," Master Cardwell said at last. "Just a lucky strike six months ago," Master Frederick added, his mouth tight.
Their attention drifted, already moving on. Below, Harry stood among the other fighters as the names were called. "Harry Jones of Astania," a voice rang out. "Proceeds to level two with a condition."
A small smile touched Harry's lips. From the shadows near the edge of the arena, Master Kangfu watched him, unease flickering across his face
He knew what was coming. Out there, without his eyes on him, the game would become much more dangerous. Harry risk being exposed.