"What's the matter? Giving up?"
Blackwood taunted Jurgen's pitiful state, his voice low and sharp.
Jurgen, who had regained his vision once more, immediately searched for Jiro. His eyes darted frantically, scanning. He couldn't care less about Blackwood before him; he knew well enough that neither of them was in any condition to clash head-on without a proper strategy. And he knew Jiro was the type to plot something wicked.
It didn't sit right with him. For one, Jiro had simply vanished as if he wasn't part of the fight. He was sure viewers like the emperors and Kimura would have seen when he disappeared, but realistically, who would interfere in the match? Another thing that didn't sit right was the fact that he had tripped twice on concrete ground. That wasn't normal. Blood wasn't slippery enough to disrupt his footing like that.
He decided that whatever had made him lose his footing, Jiro was most definitely behind it.
"It would seem I've been underestimated… to the point you dare ignore me."
Blackwood straightened his posture, having gathered enough strength. He needed to think of a strategy, but Jurgen, on the other hand, had also regained enough strength to continue. So now he had a choice: attack the unpredictable opponent before him, or wait for Jiro to finish whatever he had planned.
The atmosphere tensed once again as they locked eyes. The arena grew eerily quiet with each passing breeze, and evening had begun to settle in.
Suddenly, Jurgen felt a presence at the far edge where Bubbles cowered. His eyes instinctively flicked toward the ominous direction.
JIRO.
He appeared suddenly behind Bubbles, the rest of his body seeming to dissolve into shadow, swallowed by darkness itself, as though the void had taken shape. A wide grin stretched across his face as he lunged toward Bubbles with a vicious punch, completely unrestrained. It was obvious that whatever he had been setting up was now in effect.
"Hey! Fatty! Behind you! Move!" Jurgen shouted, reaching out toward Bubbles, urging him to dodge.
But before Bubbles could react, Jurgen's vision was blocked by Blackwood. The earlier disrespect would not be left unanswered.
"I'm your opponent… aren't I?"
Blackwood's hand coiled back, a devastating punch forming as his broad, muscular chest filled Jurgen's entire view.
Jurgen's heart thudded, each beat loud in his ears. His instincts screamed at him to dodge, counter, or survive — one choice had to be made. He tilted his head just enough for the strike to graze past his ear, the force carrying a violent surge of wind.
The attack he had dodged cracked the concrete, sending splinters outward, but of course Blackwood was impossibly close to him. Without hesitation, Jurgen seized the chance before Blackwood could regain his composure. He twisted himself, then planted a hand firmly on the ground, using the momentum to carry him backward, landing in a crouch with a sharp exhale before locking eyes on Blackwood.
"Heh… give me a break, will ya!" Jurgen muttered, his voice low but laced with defiance. He rested an arm on his crouched knee, his posture settled into a squat, careful not to put pressure on the finger Blackwood had scarred.
Jurgen's gaze slipped past Blackwood again, restless and searching, as though the man before him had already ceased to matter. The level of disrespect he displayed was something else entirely — he didn't even realize how much he was provoking Blackwood. Somewhere beyond, obscured by the shifting tension of the moment, he strained to locate Bubbles.
A sharp voice cut through the air, edged with irritation.
"Do you even realize the situation you're in?"
The warning hung in the air, unanswered.
"That fatso… survived that punch?" The words came low from Jurgen. He had ignored Blackwood completely, almost absentmindedly, as though speaking to himself rather than responding.
Something in Blackwood snapped.
The veins along his temples rose starkly beneath his skin, pulsing with barely restrained fury. He had no intention of tolerating any more insults from the disrespectful brat before him. His jaw tightened, his breathing growing heavier, each exhale carrying the weight of mounting rage. Whatever advantage he had been saving to end the match, he no longer cared about conserving it—now, his focus had shifted. He was going to teach Jurgen a lesson. He would not stand there and be looked down on.
High above the arena, the two emperors observed in measured silence. Nemesio's attention never left Jurgen; he watched, waiting for him to display what he had shown at the ridge. He was willing to ignore everything else just to witness it. His gaze remained anchored to Jurgen, as though dissecting each motion before it fully formed. Nothing escaped him, not the slightest shift in stance, nor the subtle tension coiled beneath restraint.
Beside him, Leonidas' focus strayed.
It settled upon the trembling figure below. He suspected there was more to Bubbles, something indistinct yet insistent. It wasn't fully visible, nor clearly defined, but it was present all the same. It felt as though he already knew what it was, yet refused to acknowledge it, because whatever he suspected—it should have been impossible for the boy to possess.
"Nemey… am I mistaken? Or is that one over there…" The words carried a rare trace of uncertainty. They were unfinished, yet their meaning was unmistakable.
A quiet hum of acknowledgment followed. Nemesio did not look away; all he wanted was to watch Jurgen's match to the very end.
What will you do, Jurgen?
Below, Jiro's clash unfolded with growing imbalance, his composure fracturing with each passing second. Every strike he delivered cut through empty space, never quite reaching its mark. They seemed to halt midair just before reaching Bubbles, as though the very air around him had thickened into an unseen barrier that absorbed intent and denied contact.
Bubbles stood at the center of it, trembling.
Fear gripped him completely, locking his muscles in place, his breath shallow and uneven. Yet beneath that fear, something else stirred. He knew of this power, he could feel it. It wasn't control, nor did he understand it, but it was there, an undeniable presence within him.
The strange part was that it responded only to danger. It protected him, compensating for his cowardice. It awakened whenever harm drew near, shielding him beyond his conscious command. Even now, as Jiro surged forward again, that hidden force stirred once more, subtle, yet unmistakable.
"Dammit! What are you using?"
Frustration sharpened every movement Jiro made as he attacked relentlessly, striking again and again, but it was useless. He had underestimated Bubbles and that assumption had been justified — but being unable to land a single hit made it all the more humiliating and infuriating.
Above, Leonidas' expression hardened, certainty replacing doubt.
"Nemesio… that one has awakened an Obscium."
At last, Nemesio's gaze shifted.
It fell upon the boy, and for the briefest moment, something like intrigue flickered beneath his composure, followed by a faint smile. Even so, there was a trace of shock, awakening an Obscium Nexus was no trivial matter. Yet his response came almost casually, as though he was already eager to return his focus to what he deemed more important — Jurgen's battle.
"Amazing… truly remarkable."
"These year's contenders have no intention of holding back."
BOOM.
The detonation rolled across the arena in violent succession, snapping everyone's attention back to the main fight. Explosions overlapped one after another until the very air itself seemed to fracture under the strain of what was unfolding below.
Above, Nemesio's focus returned to Jurgen instantly. He would not allow himself to be distracted again, not even by something of such significance. It hadn't been fully confirmed yet, and until it was, it did not warrant his full attention — or so he convinced himself.
Below, chaos reigned.