Match one: part 1.

The visitors' locker room was sparse compared to the opulence outside. 

Polished benches lined the walls, banners hung from the ceiling—and the air carried a sweet, nauseating scent.

Alexander dropped his gym bag, taking a seat with a thud. 

His heart still raced from his encounter with the woman, his cheeks hit with the memory.

Karl and Jules sat on either side of him, dropping their bags with a grunt.

Raphael stood in the center of the room—arms crossed as everyone took their seats. 

"Listen up," he barked. 

"We've got thirty minutes before warm-ups. An hour before the match." 

He uncrossed his arms—His cold black gaze swept the room with scrutiny. 

"Check your gear, eat something light, stretch out… whatever you need to get your head into the game—do it."

He paced the length of the room. "When this match starts, they'll try to get in your head."

He raised his head, "But while they're playing for pride, we'll play for victory. Stick to your squad leader, move when ordered, and don't get cocky. Understood?"

The team nodded in unison, a chorus of "yes, sir," echoed through the room. 

Raphael gestured toward Aloïs and Lucie, "Squad leaders, on me." 

He turned—heading for an isolated corner.

As the duo followed after him, Alexander felt a weight settle on his shoulders.

This was real. 

He exhaled slowly, leaning forward to unzip his bag. 

Inside lay his wooden spear, polished and sturdy. 

His uniform—consisted of a padded leather jerkin with reinforced shoulders and his red robes. 

He set aside the jerkin, before changing into his robes. 

He then slipped his jerkin over his head—tightening the straps. 

Once dressed, he reached into his bag to retrieve a small pouch of dried fruits and meat.

Karl leaned over, chewing on a piece of jerky. 

"I've looked into Loire's strategy, they're going to blitz the center with everything." 

He whispered—hand over his mouth. 

Jules raised an eyebrow, "That seems foolish, if their center broke who'd protect the back line?"

Karl nodded. 

"It's a gambit, by their captain, Elara." 

He set aside his leather pouch. 

"When it works, it crushes the enemy's center—allowing her to rampage in the back lines."

His eyes narrowed, "And with only first-years guarding the rear… it'll be a massacre."

Alexander swallowed hard, and Jules simply groaned. "And if she fails?" He asked.

Karl continued. 

"If her center collapses she'll have to retreat. That's perfect for Aloïs, he can run her down."

Alexander set aside his leather pouch, his expression thoughtful. 

"So, the round will be decided in the first opening minutes?"

"Exactly," Karl said with a point. 

"Their style is aggressive, but if we weather the storm—we can turn it against them."

"Well then, victory is all but assured." 

Jules popped his knuckles—his grin confident.

"No one is breaking Aloïs."

Alexander found himself nodding in agreement. 

He'd seen Aloïs in training—he's a walking tank. 

Karl's lips pressed together. 

"I'm sure Loire has done their homework, so be prepared for a fight."

He sighed. 

"Just in case."

Karl's words hung thick in the air. 

Alexander could almost hear the crowd's roars from outside, like a storm on the horizon.

Though he was slightly unnerved, he couldn't deny his hype either. 

He loved the thump in his chest, the adrenaline in his veins, and the knot in his stomach. 

After so much fear and uncertainty he was finally given an outlet. 

A battle against Loire, the winner takes all. 

It almost felt like home.

"We'll win," Alexander whispered, tightening his fist. "I know it."

Jules and Karl glanced at Alexander—then at each other.

A smirk crossed their lips.

"Yeah," Karl added. "We have to."

The words were a promise between the trio. 

Alexander clenched his jaw, reaching down to grab his spear. 

This wasn't just a hand to him, but a proving ground. For the team, for Raphael, and himself.

"Form up!" 

Raphael stopped in front of the exit, dressed in his robes and armed with a wooden scythe. 

"We're marching out!"

The team rose from the seats; followed by the sound of wood clacking, leather straps being tightened, and soft murmuring.

Alexander rolled his shoulders as he fell in line, Karl and Jules by his side with hardened expressions. 

Near the front, Lucie stood close to Raphael.

While Aloïs stood off to the side, arms crossed and muscles on full display. 

His jerkin looked comically undersized for his frame. 

Raphael then pushed open the door, and immediately a wave of loud cheering and boos erupted. 

And for a second, Alexander spotted a smirk crossing Ralpheal's lips before he stepped out. 

Outside, the arena was littered with blue and gold confetti as spectators cheered from the upper stands. 

Blue and gold banners dominated the stands, blowing in the chilly wind—and high in a private booth, sat a familiar figure. 

It was Elizabeth, legs crossed as Hinata loomed at her side. 

She wore a crimson dress with gray accents. 

Her hair was pinned in a tight bun and her gaze was focused solely on him.

She gave him a subtle wave, and Alexander returned the gesture with a smile.

She came…

His heart skipped a beat—her presence both thrilled and terrified him.

"Head in the game, Alex." 

Karl tapped his shoulder, gesturing across the field.

Across the field, Loire's team was marching out—greeted by cheers and applause. 

And leading the pack was none other than Elara herself. 

The yellow-eyed captain gripped a trident in one hand and rested the other on her hip.

She oozed confidence—stepping onto the well-trimmed grass with a lazy smirk.

She glanced over Alexander's team, before stopping on Alexander. 

She raised an eyebrow, then winked.

"Welcome, Lords and Ladies—to the second week of the Pathfinder games!" 

A voice boomed through speakers, the announcer brimming with excitement.

"Today we have a battle of the titans! For the home team, we have Loire Academy. Led by Captain Elara du Beaumont! She's a beast on the field, already leading her team to victory once—can she do it again?"

The crowd erupted into cheers.

"Or! Will today's visitors—the François academy, snatch victory from the jaws of defeat? This team's fearsome, hungry, and fresh off a bye–week. Can Captain Raphael pull it off?"

The crowd's response was an overwhelming roar, drowning out what few cheers the team did receive. 

The announcer continued, his voice bouncing off the stone walls as staff rushed on the field with flags. "Teams, take your positions! Get your warm-ups in and prepare to rumble!!!"