THE FINAL OUTCOME

As Sylphie stood in the arena, exuding aura beyond reason, the Pacesetters' secondary team—those who were merely understudies to the main group—watched from their reserved section.

And they were shell-shocked.

Guinevere clenched her fists, her usual fiery demeanor replaced with a grim silence.

She wasn't the only one.

Forbes, Eldric, and the others sat rigid in their seats, their eyes glued to the battlefield, feeling the invisible weight pressing upon them.

"This isn't good," Eldric muttered, his expression dark. "I thought she was already going all out, but… this… this feels completely different."

"Sylphie… is actually taking this fight seriously," Forbes added, swallowing hard. "This is—this is bad."

Guinevere, her gaze still fixed on Sylphie, finally exhaled and muttered under her breath.

"This upcoming clash… it's going to be hell."

Meanwhile, back in the VIP section, things were just as tense.