The Trials Begin

Moto wakes early.

There's no time to pace, no one to talk to. He heads straight to the waiting area at the Elite School arena—the very grounds where Mukai and Najo once clashed. The place is quieter than expected. The other candidates are already there, silent in their own anticipation.

By royal order, the event is closed to the public. Soldiers stand guard at the gates, ensuring no one enters uninvited. With King Manasseh's arrival approaching, Douglas has demanded precision—and no distractions.

The King sits high above the arena on the royal terrace, Aritri beside him, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

Elsewhere, Sheu and Sukai approach the gates.

They spot a wiry old man with slick, surprisingly glossy red hair arguing with the guards.

"The King said no spectators," one soldier repeats. "We can't let you in. Orders are orders."

Sukai steps closer, prompting the guards to bow slightly. "It's alright," he says. "What's going on?"

The old man blinks behind cloudy eyes. "My grandson's fighting today," he says, voice soft but firm. "Since he was just a little lad, he's dreamed of standing by the King's side. I just… wanted to see him take one step closer to that dream."

Sukai is moved. "I understand." He turns to the guards. "Let him through."

The old man smiles, eyes glinting with gratitude. Sheu walks up and gently takes his arm, helping him toward the stands.

As they walk, her gaze falls on the gold bracelet on his wrist—each link engraved with the number 7.

"Where did you get this?" she asks.

"My brother gave it to me," he says casually, covering it with his other hand.

He insists on sitting alone near the top row. Sheu and Sukai settle a few rows lower. She scans the arena.

There. Moto, standing beside Mukai, Hawa, and Albert at the edge of the battle platform. He spots her and waves with exaggerated energy. She offers a small smile and modest wave in return.

Albert notices too. He winks.

She ignores him.

Across the arena, the King's Hand stand like statues—silent, formidable. Each wears a ring like Douglas's, etched with square orange gems, gleaming faintly under the light.

Mr. Jumbo strides to the podium, robes trailing behind him.

"Greetings," he begins, voice echoing crisply through the air. "The rules are simple: each student will face a member of the King's Hand. Victory is achieved in one of two ways—forcing your opponent to exceed 10% of their strength… or lasting 20 minutes."

He lifts his hand solemnly. "May the worthy succeed."

With that, the Succession Trials officially begin.

There's a moment of quiet.

Albert breaks it. "Man, this year's trials are way too awkward without a crowd, don't you think, Mukai?"

Mukai doesn't blink. "This isn't a show."

Across the arena, King Douglas lifts his hand. The ring on his thumb flashes in the light.

From the opposite gate, Zed, Master of Earth, leaps into the ring. His bare feet slam into the ground with thunderous weight. Muscles carved like stone. A matching ring on his thumb. He stands tall—then remembers. No crowd. No applause.

He hears a chuckle. Albert.

Zed turns toward him.

"Do you think you have what it takes to become the King's strength?" he asks, voice low and steady.

Albert steps onto the platform, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. "Watch."

He twists his fist and stomps. The arena floor beneath him transforms, flattening and hardening into dense stone. He spins and throws a compressed wind ball straight at Zed's face.

Sukai leans toward Sheu. "He's dual-type—earth and wind."

The wind kicks up dust, veiling Zed's vision.

Albert tears the stone from the ground and hurtles it into the cloud of dust.

It never lands.

Zed's arm explodes from the haze, shattering the boulder with a single punch. Shards of rock scatter across the field.

Albert barely has time to raise his arms before Zed charges. Each step cracks the ground beneath him.

Albert summons another slab, trying to form a barrier, but Zed drops into a crouch, punches low—earthquake pulse. The stone shield ripples, fractures, and explodes from beneath.

Albert is launched off his feet, tumbling hard. His wind kicks in just fast enough to stabilize his fall.

He groans.

Zed doesn't move.

The fight ends.

No need for the time limit. No indication Zed used more than a fragment of his power.

The second match begins.

The Master of Wind floats into the arena—robes fluttering unnaturally even in still air. His body language is loose but deceptive. Calculated.

Facing him is Hawa, composed and silent. He walks calmly to his mark, nodding once in respect.

Jumbo lifts his arm. The match begins.

Hawa moves fast—wind spirals form around his limbs as he dashes in, hands outstretched. He leaps, creating a curved arc of water in the air, using his wind to shear it into sharp blades.

The Master dodges effortlessly, twisting midair and releasing a gust that counters the arc. The pressure exchange sends both fighters sliding back.

Hawa doesn't waste time. He follows with a spinning water drill encased in a wind shell, forcing his opponent to block with an air pocket wall.

They clash again and again. Where Albert was impulsive, Hawa is precise. Efficient.

But as the clock ticks down—nineteen minutes—the Master exhales sharply.

His eyes narrow.

A thin spiral of air twists up his arm. In one motion, he vanishes—reappearing above Hawa.

A wind burst slams downward, cracking the floor.

Hawa skids back, blocking with water pressure from his palms.

Just before the match ends, the Master lands behind him and whispers, "Ten percent."

A single strike sends Hawa to his knees, sliding back across the platform.

"Enough!" Jumbo declares. "Ten percent reached."

There's silence. Hawa slowly stands and nods.

He didn't win—but he earned respect.

Back at the platform, Mukai steps forward.

Moto looks at him—quiet, steady.

Mukai doesn't look back.

He steps onto the arena floor without a word.

From the opposite side, the Master of Water rises from a pillar of liquid, standing effortlessly on a swirling tide.

Jumbo steps forward.

"Next match: Mukai versus Aran, Master of Water."

The bell rings.

And the pressure shifts.