The quarter-finals officially started.

  “WELCOME BACK, LADIES AND GENTS, TO THE QUARTERFINALS OF THE CRACKED FANG TOURNAMENT!” Mikan yelled. “AND BOY, OH BOY, HAVE WE GOT A BANGER TO KICK US OFF!”

  Kazu kicked at the ground. “And by ‘banger’ do you mean one of these fighters will get totally stomped?”

  “HEY NOW! WE SHOULDN’T COUNT ANYONE OUT JUST YET.”

  The crowd exploded into cheers, Aisho standing at one end of the arena, staring forward. Even though she made it this far, the next matches were not going to be easy. She studied and watched how strong Kaelin's abilities were, but he wasn’t her main focus.

  It was Blade Rin. She figured that Blade Rin would win his match against Caine.

  “Good grief, this tournament has been going by so slowly,” Kazu sighed, then said a bit quieter. “I hope things get interesting.”

  Aisho’s heart thudded harder than she wanted to admit.

  She tried to grin it off, but the gravity of the situation had settled in now. If she won this match, she’d fight Blade Rin next. The guy who killed someone and hospitalized another.

  And here she was, still figuring out how to use her Yogen to its fullest potential.

  Across the arena, Kaelin bowed slightly, his face unreadable.

  Aisho blinked, snapped out of her daze. She took a deep breath, slapping her cheeks lightly with both hands.

  Okay. Focus. You’re not fighting Blade Rin yet. Just gotta beat Kaelin first. One fight at a time. You got this, she thought.

  She paused.

  Okay, that’s a lie, but still.

  The audience counted down, and Aisho burst forward with her Yogen’s speed.

  Kaelin matched her by darting forward, and they met in the middle. Aisho threw a right hook, but it struck nothing as Kaelin ducked beneath it. He tried to sweep her leg, but she jumped into the air.

  Aisho tried for a kick, but he blocked it. She continued throwing kicks, forcing Kaelin to pedal back.

  She landed a precise roundhouse kick—it was blocked, but Kaelin was sent skidding back.

  She took this as her opportunity to end the match quickly.

  She activated her Yogen to blitz forward, her veins pulsing golden. Her momentum carried extra force onto her punch, but it was blocked.

  A sharp clang rang out.

  Instead of connecting with Kaelin, she struck one of his glass walls.

  Her knuckles met the pane. The shock rattled her bones.

  She shuffled back, holding her hand, trying to ease the pain.

  Mikan yelled. “THERE GOES KAELIN’S GLASS WALLS! TOUGH TO SEE, I KNOW!”

  Aisho chuckled to herself. “Ugh–seriously bringing glass walls to a fist fight?”

  Kaelin smirked at her remark. He pushed his palm forward, sending the glass wall sliding towards Aisho.

  She sidestepped out of the way in a golden blur before attacking once again with a flurry of punches.

  Kaelin blocked half of her attacks.

  He swept his hand towards Aisho. His wall slid across the floor, coming directly for Aisho.

  She moved out of the way once again.

  Kaelin wiped the sweat from his brow.

  “Hey! You’re stronger than you look, y’know?” he said.

  Aisho smiled. “What can I say? I train the hardest.”

  She stood ready for another attack before Kaelin interrupted, “Where do you train at?”

  Aisho raised an eyebrow. “Huh? Why do you ask?”

  He paused for a moment, twirling his hands. “Oh, no reason.”

  He threw his hand forward, and four walls of glass slid towards, encapsulating Aisho in a glass cage. A glass ceiling covered the top. She couldn’t avoid them.

  “Hmph. Gotcha,” Kaelin scoffed. “You were too distracted, giving me enough time to trap you.”

  Aisho could barely hear his words.

  “UH OH! THAT’S A GLASS PRISON!” Mikan yelled. “IS THIS FIGHT ALREADY DECIDED?!”

  Aisho’s mind raced; she tried to come up with some way… some way to get out of this glass box. Until she had an idea.

  “You’ll suffocate, y’know,” Kaelin said. “If you choose not to forfeit, you’ll lose any oxygen you have left.”

  She planned to use the Seishinryu Line to increase her abilities for some time. Even though she wanted to save this technique as a surprise attack against Blade Rin, she had no choice. She still wasn’t sure if this would work.

  Aisho tilted her head downward, closed her eyes, and focused on her heartbeat.

  “WHAT’S THIS?! IS THIS AISHO’S SIGN OF FORFEIT?!”

  “Would you be quiet, Mikan?” said Kazu. “It looks like this golden girl is planning something.”

  Kaelin recognized Kazu’s words. He clicked his tongue and said, “If you’re going to forfeit, just say it. Say you forfeit.”

  Aisho didn’t respond for a moment. She began to glow in a golden hue. Her eyes cracked open—she’d called upon her Seishinryu Line. She squatted down low, winding her right arm back, planning to strike with all the force she had.

  “Hey, hey, wait! What are you doing?!” Kaelin shouted.

  Aisho swung her arm forward, connecting with the glass. Lightning sparks cracked about her fist and body as it shattered the glass into a million pieces.

  Without wasting any time, she approached Kaelin faster than she ever had. Her left fist cut through the air and hit Kaelin’s chest, sending him spiraling out of the arena.

  The crowd erupted at Aisho’s comeback win.

  Mikan yelled. “THERE YOU HAVE IT! NEVER COUNT AISHO OUT, SHE’S THE WINNER!”

  Aisho stood there dazed for a moment, contemplating what she had just done: Was that what Retsin was telling me about? She held up his fist, then clenched it. The Retsin Pulse?

  ***

  In the next match, Caine stood across from Blade Rin. Caine stood poised like he had been studying each of Blade Rin’s matches and planning how to capitalize on his weakness.

  The battle began with Caine dashing at Blade Rin, swinging his arms.

  Blade Rin ducked and weaved his attacks, but after a particular strike, Dragon Vein energy with an orange glow shot out from Caine’s stomach, catching Blade Rin off guard—making a direct hit.

  He tumbled across the stone and then slid to the edge of the arena.

  “Clever trick you did,” he said, slowly standing.

  Caine didn’t smile. “I have you figured out,” he said. “I’ll be the one to win this match.”

  He burst forward, and Blade Rin matched him, drawing his sword.

  Caine shot another orange energy blast from his palm as Blade Rin swung his sword. They collided in a brutal explosion. Dust, rubble, and debris were sent into the air.

  They continued brawling, attacking, and dodging. Despite Caine fighting bare-handed against a sword, he seemed to be doing well..

  They backed off each other for a moment and paused.

  Caine poised himself for battle once more, but Blade Rin stopped.

  He stood there, his ram mask pointed into the sky. He held out his palm face up. The clouds shifted slowly, casting down sunlight onto the arena.

  “The sun…” he murmured. “It favors me.”

  Blade Rin pointed his sword into the sky. It began to gather light particles and absorb them into his sword.

  In that moment, Caine had figured out Blade Rin’s Yogen—it was to gather light and use it as a power source for his Dragon Vein. He held out his palm, shooting a blast directed towards Blade Rin.

  This disrupted Blade Rin’s focus; he was forced to block with the flat of his blade, but he took most of the blow.

  “UH OH! A SURPRISE ATTACK FROM CAINE!” Mikan yelled.

  “Smart move. I wouldn’t let a fighter like Blade Rin get to full power,” said Kazu

  As the dust settled, Blade Rin knelt to one knee. His clothing was tattered from that attack.

  As Blade Rin slowly looked up, a truly powerful Dragon Vein pressure spread throughout the arena and into the bleachers, pressing down on them like weights. Even Aisho could feel it.

  “Did you just interrupt me?” he said, his voice low with malicious intent. “Sunlight shines down upon us. Upon my blade. And you just interrupted me?”

  Caine took a step back and squinted his eyes.

  Blade Rin stood up and raised his sword into the sky, sunlight cast down upon him. His blade’s form began to glow, overflowing with power.

  “You should apologize,” he said. “If you don’t want to be like my first opponent.”

  Blade Rin squatted down low, holding his blade over his shoulder with both hands. He began to channel all of his Dragon Vein energy into his one strike.

  Without moving, he swung his sword in a explosion of light. Caine was thrown backwards, tumbling out of bounds.

  “B-BLADE RIN IS THE WINNER! HE ADVANCES TO THE SEMIFINALS,” Mikan said.

  Blade Rin side-eyed foe and said, “You shouldn’t have interrupted me in my glory.”

  He walked back to the bleachers and took a seat next to Aisho. He gave a small wave.

  Feeling forced to, she waved back.

  “We get to battle next in the semi-finals,” Blade Rin said. “How fun, right?”

  “Y-Yep, “ she whispered. “It’ll be fun.”

  ***

  The next battle was Trace versus Tova.

  As the countdown ended, Tova’s eyes opened—cold, gray, and not blinking.

  Her fingers drew a shape in the air. A thin beam of silver light lanced toward Trace with a high-pitched tone, like a tuning fork exploding.

  Trace barely rolled to the side in time. The beam scorched the ground, leaving a perfectly clean line where stone had once been.

  Another beam followed. Then another.

  Each harmonic ray vibrated the air, disrupting Dragon Vein energy. Every time they rang out, Trace’s vision quaked.

  He threw up a void-disc with his left hand, but it passed through her beam like it wasn’t even there.

  Then Tova changed tempo.

  She struck her hand through the air—a wide horizontal beam exploded from her like a cymbal crash.

  Trace was hit square in the chest.

  He flew backward, tumbling across the stone.

  Mikan hollered, “AND TRACE JUST GOT TUNED LIKE A BROKEN GUITAR!”

  Kazu crossed his arms. “And here I thought this kid was supposed to be dangerous.”

  Trace coughed, rolling onto his feet. His clothing smoked slightly.

  He blinked slowly, tuning out the ringing in his ears.

  “Disruption,” he muttered.

  His Seishinryu, Shitsugen, stirred within. But he didn’t call on it.

  Not yet.

  Instead, he breathed in and tossed another void-disc, this time from his right hand. He used only a small amount of Dragon Vein energy to avoid giving in fully to Shitsugen.

  He sent it straight to the ground near her feet. Tova sidestepped, letting the disc hit the ground and kick up dust. Trace used his Palm Strike technique. The blast of compressed air sent a ripple through the air to her.

  It hit her and she stumbled. For the first time, her rhythm was off.

  He charged forward, fists raised, and they clashed in hand-to-hand combat.

  Tova blocked with the precision of a dancer. But Trace's right arm, the cursed one, struck faster and stronger than she expected. Each blow disrupted her stance more and more.

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  She tried to call up another beam, but Trace landed a critical hit. She gasped, and her next beam sputtered.

  He spun, ducked, and landed a full-force Palm Strike to her chest.

  She flew backward, skidding across the stone and out of the arena.

  Mikan nearly screamed. “AND THAT’S A WRAP, FOLKS! TRACE COMES BACK WITH A COUNTERMEASURE! HE ADVANCES TO THE SEMIFINALS!”

  Kazu finally smiled. “Guess he does know how to fight. Took him a bit, though.”

  Trace exhaled slowly. Inside, he could still feel Shitsugen rattling against the cage in his domain.

  He looked to the crowd and saw Aisho watching, wide-eyed and cheering.

  Trace gave a faint smile.

  ***

  The air pulsed with anticipation. The crowd roared like a storm as Barry stepped into the arena. He was a mountain of muscle, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders.

  On the opposite end, Yuta walked in with all the urgency of someone late to a nap.

  One hand in her jacket pocket. She glanced at Barry, blinked once, then smirked.

  Mikan practically burst into the mic. “ALRIGHT, PEOPLE! IT’S BARRY VERSUS YUTA!”

  Kazu added lazily, “Yeah, this one might be worth watching. Unless Barry trips and flattens the arena.”

  The countdown hit zero. Barry charged, no hesitation.

  Yuta sidestepped easily—the gust from his punch alone made her bangs flutter.

  “Aw, you missed,” she said sweetly. “Was it my fault for being so tiny, or yours for being so slow?”

  “Is that your attempt to mock me?” Barry responded.

  Yuta launched a trail of ice spikes along the stone, aimed at Barry. He quickly punched through it, causing it to shatter into multiple pieces.

  Each punch he threw came heavier than the last—literally.

  His Yogen was at work: every blow multiplied in mass, landing with gravitational force that cratered the stone.

  “Why don’t you just punch the air around me?” Yuta called mid-dodge. “It’s what you’re best at touching.”

  Barry growled and hammered the ground—a crater exploded beneath Yuta’s feet. She slipped for a second.

  He took that moment.

  A punch weighted like a car came flying.

  It clipped her side, and Yuta was launched, rolling across the stone until she was outside the arena.

  The crowd gasped.

  In that moment, when everyone thought Barry would win this match in that specific moment, Yuta did something unthinkable.

  Mikan and Kazu looked to see what the call would be, but Yuta didn’t land outside the ring.

  She lay on her back on top of an ice bridge she constructed connecting to the ring and the grass outside the arena.

  “I TAKE IT BACK!” Mikan yelled. “YUTA TECHNICALLY DID NOT LAND OUTSIDE THE ARENA.”

  The crowd cheered at Yuta’s remarkable play. She coughed, wincing as she stood up.

  Then she smiled as she slowly walked back into the arena. “Okay. That’s your one. I guess you kinda hurt me. Write it in your journal.”

  “Clever trick,” Barry remarked. “But you should’ve just given up. Now I'll leave no mercy.”

  He dashed at Yuta.

  As Yuta dodged Barry’s swings, she created small walls of ice around him

  Barry was too focused on trying to smash through the walls to get to her.

  Until he punched a wall, she ducked behind—and it exploded with a piercing crack. Ice shards flew backward into his eyes.

  A Shatter Trap.

  He stumbled, eyes squinting, and another one went off behind him as he thrashed at another Shatter Trap wall.

  Yuta walked calmly back into view, flicking her wrist. “You didn’t think I was just freezing stuff for fun, did you?”

  Barry roared and swung again—but his feet were now stuck in place by a rapidly freezing puddle of his sweat that had dripped and been weaponized.

  He tore free, but Yuta had moved. She stood to his side now, hand outstretched.

  Her limbs shimmered faintly—she launched a precise strike, a delay-rippling palm into his ribs.

  His knees buckled, vision blurred. He staggered forward and fell face-first into the stone and was out cold.

  Mikan’s jaw dropped. “YUTA WINS! YUTA WINS! A FROSTBITTEN MASTERCLASS!”

  Kazu adjusted his microphone. “That was mean. I like it.”

  Yuta stood over Barry’s unconscious body, breathing just a little heavier now. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, turned and walked off the arena floor as the crowd cheered.

  “THAT CONCLUDES THE QUARTER-FINALS!” Mikan exclaimed. “HERE IS OUR BRACKET!”

  It was displayed on the big screen.

  Bracket 1:

  Aisho vs Blade Rin

  Bracket 2:

  Trace vs Yuta

  ***

  “I THINK OUR FIGHTERS HAD ENOUGH TIME TO REST. LET'S GET STRAIGHT TO THE ACTION!” Mikan yelled. “GIVE IT UP FOR AISHO VERSUS BLADE RIN!”

  As they both walked down into the arena, Aisho could feel her heart thud in her chest like a drum.

  After seeing what Blade Rin did to Thorne, Shin, and Caine, she didn’t want to be next to be killed or hospitalized. She honestly considered walking out of bounds to save her own life.

  As Aisho stood across from Blade Rin and the countdown ticked, her hands began to tremble.

  Her breathing became shallow, but she tried to concentrate.

  The fight began, and they stood for a moment, sizing each other up.

  “Don’t go easy on me,” Blade Rin called out. “Try your hardest.”

  Aisho slowly inhaled and exhaled, then clenched her fists. “Do your best too,” she said, even though she didn’t mean it.

  She chose to attack first, powering up her Yogen and bursting forward with a punch.

  Blade Rin dodged out of the way, not unsheathing his sword.

  They continued to fight in hand-to-hand combat. Blade Rin was more skilled, but Aisho used her Yogen to continue to reposition after an attack, keeping Blade Rin on edge.

  “You’re quicker than I thought!” Blade Rin called out. “I should get serious.”

  He drew his sword from its sheath and dashed towards Aisho.

  Blade Rin swung his sword, aimed for her, but she dodged each strike with precision. Aisho noticed that he seemed slower than in his other matches he fought in.

  Once he was open, she landed a deadly punch to his chest, causing him to slide across the stone.

  He wheezed and doubled over slightly.

  Aisho's eyes widened. She had just realized what she’d done. Dang it, dang it, dang it. Aisho, you idiot. Now he’ll for sure kill me.

  The last thing Aisho expected happened. Blade Rin began to laugh.

  “Aisho, I’m excited!” Blade Rin shouted. “You're stronger than you look. That punch knocked the wind out of me.”

  He cleared his throat. “Anyways, I believe I overstayed my welcome here in Nisim. I’ll see ya now, Aisho.”

  After that, he turned on his heel and stepped out of the arena.

  Mikan hesitated, “THAT WAS AN ODD TURN OF EVENTS! IT SEEMS LIKE BLADE RIN VOLUNTARILY DISQUALIFIES HIMSELF—MAKING AISHO THE WINNER!”

  “Blade Rin,” Kazu whispered. “Strange guy.

  Blade Rin continued to walk out of the tournament site.

  Aisho didn’t feel satisfied with that win at all. Blade Rin was a strong opponent, but he just decided to up and leave. She thought: At least, he didn’t kill me, but why was he acting so strangely?

  That’s when Aisho got an idea.

  “Hey Mikan, Kazu!” she exclaimed. “I have an idea.”

  “WHAT’S UP!” Mikan said.

  “How about a three-way battle for the finals?” Aisho asked.

  Mikan and Kazu looked at each other and smiled.

  “GREAT IDEA, GOLDEN GIRL! FOR THE FINALS, WE’LL HAVE A THREE-WAY FIGHT BETWEEN TRACE, YUTA, AND AISHO!” he shouted. “WE’LL START RIGHT NOW! THE FINALS OF THE CRACKED FANG TOURNAMENT!”

  A three-way final.

  Aisho stood in the center of the stone battlefield, bouncing on her heels.

  From the right entrance, Yuta sauntered in, hands in her pockets. Her expression looked somewhere between mocking and bored. She gave Aisho a once-over.

  “You’re still upright, huh?” she said, smirking. “Thought Rin would’ve folded you like a blanket, I’m not saying I didn’t have faith in you though.”

  “Aw, thanks for the concern,” Aisho shot back with a grin. “Remind me to repay it by knocking your smug head off in this battle!”

  “You can try,” Yuta said, glancing toward the Trace now stepping into the arena.

  Trace entered in silence.

  His eyes scanned the arena and the two girls waiting there—his friends, his rivals—and he sighed softly.

  “Guess we’re doing this,” he said, mostly to himself.

  He stood with his arms at his sides, his cursed right hand still wrapped in bandages. The purple hue of his skin peeked through the fabric near the wrist.

  Yuta raised an eyebrow. “Still hiding the arm, huh?”

  Trace didn’t answer.

  Mikan shouted over the mic, “YOU KNOW THE RULES! THIS IS A FREE-FOR-ALL! LAST ONE STANDING TAKES IT ALL!”

  Kazu followed, “Try not to die, kids.”

  The crowd leaned forward.

  They counted down.

  Aisho moved first—of course she did.

  She darted straight at Yuta with a bold punch, a burst of wind trailing her fist.

  Yuta leaned away from the strike and ducked under the next, replying with a quick Palm Strike aimed for Aisho’s midsection. Aisho blocked just in time, her arm shaking from the pressure.

  “Ow—okay,” Aisho muttered.

  “Maybe if you had patience, you’d react faster,” Yuta teased, sliding away.

  Trace didn’t move.

  Not until both girls turned toward him.

  Then, he stepped forward and raised his left hand—a void-disc flickered to life and spun lazily in the air before shooting forward like a bullet. Heading straight for Yuta.

  Yuta maneuvered to the side, feeling the heatless void rush past her ear.

  “That one was real cute, Tracey. Gonna start trying now?”

  Trace smirked and moved forward, and collided in the center.

  Aisho, Trace, and Yuta in a chaotic triangle—strike, parry, counter, dodge.

  Aisho aimed another punch at Trace’s head; he ducked and swept her legs. She rolled mid-fall and caught herself with a flip, grinning like a maniac.

  Yuta slid in with a spinning kick toward Trace’s ribs. He blocked with his left arm and sent her skidding back with a Palm Strike. Yuta blocked it just in time.

  They paused—panting, bruised, sweating.

  “Not bad,” Trace said softly.

  “You flatter me,” Yuta said with mock sweetness. “I’m the one who’ll win here.”

  Aisho groaned. “Ugh, can we save the talking after the fight?”

  Yuta pointed. “Big talk for someone who nearly got turned into minced meat by a guy in a ram mask.”

  Trace stepped forward, voice calm. “Aisho. Yuta. Just so you know… I don’t want to hurt either of you.”

  Aisho narrowed her eyes. “You think we’re weak?”

  “No,” he said, his lips trembled. “I think I might lose control.”

  For a split second, silence hovered.

  Then Aisho grinned. “Then don’t. Just fight.”

  Yuta smirked. “We’ll stop you if you lose it. Probably. Maybe. Okay, not really, but hey—it’ll be fun.”

  Trace looked at them both. His friends. His chaos. His rivals.

  And his eyes—usually calm—flashed with a sudden sharpness.

  Trace held out his palm face up, like he was contemplating something, then shook his head.

  At this point, the arena was unrecognizable.

  The bleachers—once echoing with minor cheers—were ecstatic.

  “THIS IS GETTING CRAZY!” Mikan yelled. “THESE THREE ARE REALLY GIVING IT ALL THEY’VE GOT!”

  Aisho, Trace, and Yuta stood in a loose triangle, each bruised.

  “This is it,” Aisho muttered, her eyes locked onto the others. “One last push.”

  Yuta rolled her shoulders. “Then let’s stop talking.”

  Trace didn’t speak. He was already listening. Not to them. But to something within.

  Each of them focused on their heartbeat, channeling their Dragon Vein energy. Ten seconds. Ten seconds is how long they could hold this technique. Ten seconds of perfect resonance with their Seishinryu. But in those ten seconds, they would fight at their peak potential.

  A golden thrum of light exploded around Aisho as her Seishinryu surged through her limbs.

  Yuta’s aura spiked into a blizzard, her Seishinryu howling like a frozen gale.

  A shadow swirled around Trace as it began to deepen. Aisho and Yuta sensed this. He wasn’t himself anymore; Shitsugen was in control. The bandages around his arm unraveled, and his arm transformed into a purple draconic claw.

  Kazu smiled slightly. “I’ve got to admit, sitting through those other boring battles was worth it to see these three duke it out for the prize.”

  Trace—no, Shitsugen—rolled his shoulders. “About that time already?” he said with a grim, dark voice. “Seems like Trace is being more lenient when it comes to my ‘free time.’”

  Another lock within Trace opened.

  Two left.

  Time was running out on their Seishinryu Line technique, so they each channeled all their energy into one final punch. They each squatted low and dashed towards the center of the arena, planning to unleash all their strength.

  Three streaks of light—golden, ice-blue, and deep violet—converged at the center of the Cracked Fang arena. The collision sent shockwaves rippling through the air, cracking the stone platform beneath them. The crowd's roar died in an instant as the pressure wave hit them.

  Mikan’s eyes glowed at the sight. “WHOA! THIS THING IS GETTING OUT OF CONTROL!” Mikan’s voice boomed. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THIS IS GETTING INTENSE! THE FINALISTS ARE PUTTING EVERYTHING ON THE LINE!"

  Kazu's voice followed. "Yeah, maybe a bit too much on the line. Those aren't regular Yogen manifestations anymore."

  More debris flew as the platform continued to crumble under the pressure of the three-way clash. The people in the audience began to evacuate to avoid being struck by pieces of debris.

  "THAT'S ENOUGH!" Mikan shouted, no longer using the microphone but his natural voice. "STOP THE MATCH!"

  Quickly, a cloud of thick, tangible grey smoke enveloped Yuta, Aisho, and Trace. Their exploding energy gradually became smaller and smaller until they were no longer in the effect by their Seishinryu Line technique.

  A figure appeared between them in a blur of motion, one hand grasping Shitsugen's wrist with casual strength. Smoke rose from a lit cigarette dangling from his lips. Gold rings glinted on his fingers as he tightened his grip. It was Shoji, the bartender.

  "That's quite enough of that," Shoji said. "Stand down, Shitsugen."

  "Who do you think—" Shitsugen began, but was cut short when another figure appeared behind him. He looked over and saw Daryl. “Tch. Old man Daryl, you knocked me out that first time.”

  Shitsugen easily snatched his arm from Shoji. “I’ve been itching for some pay back old man,” he said as he charged a void-disc in his right claw.

  “If you’re planning to fight me, I’d advise you not to. You won’t win.” Daryl said.

  Shitsugen looked towards Shoji, then back at Daryl. The void-disc in his palm fizzled out. “Alright, fine, you old man.” he closed his eyes and turned away.

  Just when Daryl loosened up, Shitsugen charged at him, aiming to cut Daryl with his claw. “YEAH, RIGHT OLD MAN!” Shitsugen snarled. “I’M NOT LOSING THIS OPPORTUNITY!”

  Daryl ducked under the strike and struck Shitsugen’s chest, causing him to stumble back and cough slightly.

  “Foolish,” said Daryl.

  “Y-You’re lucky this vessel isn’t strong enough to handle my full power. I’m merely holding back.”

  In a burst of motion, Daryl appeared behind Shitsugen and struck the back of his neck. He was put out of consciousness.

  Trace's body went limp, caught deftly by Daryl before he could hit the ground.

  "WELL, FOLKS, THAT WAS CERTAINLY UNEXPECTED!" Mikan tried to regain control of the situation, his voice echoing through the silent arena. "WE HAVE A... TECHNICAL INTERRUPTION!"

  "What he means," Kazu drawled into his microphone, "is that we nearly had three dead finalists and a crowd casualty count. Great."

  In the center of the destroyed platform, Aisho and Yuta dropped to their knees, their Seishinryu Line connections broken and exhaustion washing over them. Aisho's golden glow faded while the ice around Yuta's hands melted away into puddles.

  "Is he..." Aisho started, looking at Trace's unconscious form.

  "He'll be fine," Daryl said gruffly. "He just needs rest. And better control."

  Spectators began to evacuate the stands, some casting worried glances back at the arena, others simply eager to escape. Medical teams rushed to tend to anyone injured by flying debris.

  Shoji sighed, taking a long drag from his cigarette before extinguishing it. "Well, that's the end of this town’s first Cracked Fang Tournament, I suppose."

  "But who won?" Aisho asked, still thinking about the prize. "I need to get to Kaizuron for the Lancer Trials!"

  Yuta gave a weak laugh. "Still focused on that, even after we nearly got ourselves killed? That's Aisho."

  "There's no winner," Daryl said firmly. "The match was called off."

  Aisho's face fell, the reality of her situation crashing down on her. Without the tournament prize, she had no way to reach Kaizuron, no way to become a Lancer. After everything she'd sacrificed—leaving her home island, hiding away on a ship, fighting her way through the preliminary rounds. Was it all for nothing?

  "Actually," Shoji said. "I think we can make an exception this time." He looked at Kazu and Mikan, who had joined them on what remained of the platform.

  "EXCEPTIONAL CIRCUMSTANCES CALL FOR EXCEPTIONAL MEASURES!" Mikan agreed enthusiastically.

  Kazu shrugged. "Sure, why not bend the rules a little more. It's not like this tournament hasn't already become a complete disaster."

  Shoji smiled. "The three of you fought well. Recklessly, dangerously well, but well nonetheless. I’ll give you a ride to Kaizuron."

  He ran a hand through his hair. "Gold Lancer Shoji, at your service. I started this tournament this year to find promising talent in this hopeless town. Official Lancer recruitment doesn't often reach small towns like Nisim."

  “That's why you can control smoke like that. You lied when you said you weren't a Lancer,” Yuta said.

  "You were scouting us?" Aisho realized, her excitement returning. "This whole time?!"

  "Testing you," Daryl corrected.

  "But what about Trace?" Yuta asked. "We knew about it, but I never got to see him like that.”

  "Shitsugen," Daryl said. "A parasitic Seishinryu."

  Aisho asked, still sitting on the ground. "When do we leave?"

  Shoji nodded. "I have a transport leaving for Kaizuron tomorrow morning. As the organizer of this tournament."

  "BUT!" Mikan interrupted. "YOU MUST PROMISE TO CONTROL YOUR POWERS BETTER! NO MORE ENDANGERING CIVILIANS!"

  "What he said," Kazu drawled. "Though personally, I'd recommend you all take up knitting instead. Safer hobby."

  Aisho jumped to her feet despite her exhaustion, punching the air with renewed vigor. "We're going to be Lancers! We're going to Kaizuron!"

  "You're going to try to become Lancers," Daryl emphasized. "The trials are no joke; they’ll be stronger than the people you fought here, and you can still die at any moment."

  "We'll be ready," Yuta said, rising to her feet and dusting herself off. "At least, I’ll be."

  Shoji looked between the three young fighters. "Meet me at the East Ward at dawn," he said finally. "You won’t need any luggage or bags for the Lancer Trials."

  He took out a cigarette, lighting it with a flick from his lighter. "Dawn," he repeated. "Don't be late."

  “Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.”

  — Ecclesiastes 4:12 (NIV)