Chapter 11: Meeting Sora

As the echo of Riko's tragic end fades and the arena's shimmering walls return to their usual glow, I stand frozen, still haunted by the events that just unfolded. I try to shake it off, but the weight of her collapse lingers like a shadow, pulling at me.

I walk slowly off the stage, my mind lost in thought, when I hear a soft voice—low and almost soothing, yet carrying a hint of sorrow.

"Not the easiest victory, huh?"

I turn to see a tall man standing there, leaning casually against the wall. His black, slightly messy hair falls over his forehead, and his dark eyes meet mine with an intensity that sends a chill down my spine. He's wearing a leather jacket with skinny black jeans, and there's a faint smirk on his lips.

I blink, unsure of how to respond. "Who are you?"

He pushes off the wall, his expression unreadable. "Sora. I was spectating your battle. Pretty intense. Though, seems like you were more focused on her than the performance."

I felt a flush of embarrassment. "I... I didn't expect it to end like that," I admit.

He nods. "This world's not about expectations. You either get what you need to survive... or you don't."

I swallow hard, I'm not sure if he's trying to comfort me or make me feel worse.

"I don't know if I can get used to this," I say quietly.

 "You'll have to. There's no choice here. You either play or you're played."

For a moment, there was an awkward silence between us. His presence feels unsettling.

"What if I don't want to play?"

Sora gave me a pitiful look. "You're not the first one to think that. But hey, maybe we'll see each other around."

I nod, unsure what to say. I don't know if he's a friend, an enemy, or something even worse, but I have the feeling that he's someone I'll be seeing a lot more of him.

Chapter 12: 

I find Yumi waiting for me in the courtyard. She smiles when she sees me, but her expression changes as I approach. "What's wrong?" she asks.

I hesitate, "I met someone."

 "Oh? Who a friend?"

"Not exactly," I admit. "His name's Sora. He's… unsettling."

Yumi frowns, crossing her arms. "Sora? You mean the tall guy? Yeah, I've seen him. He gives me the creeps." 

"Yeah, he seems so used to this.

" Apparently he does ballet and he's real good ".

"Well, that explains why he moves like a ghost."

 Yumi laughs but her smile fades, and she steps closer. "But seriously, Haruki, be careful around him. I've seen him take out opponents like it's nothing. He's not just talented—he's ruthless."

Before I can respond, a sharp voice cuts through the air.

"Well, well, if it isn't Yumi."

We both turn to see a tall girl approaching. . She has sharp cheekbones, with cold blue eyes, her black hair pulled into a sleek ponytail.

"Akari," Yumi mutters under her breath, her tone surprisingly cold.

Akari smirks, her eyes gleaming with superiority. "Still hanging around with amateurs, I see, you've gotten soft." 

"She's a friend."

I step in front of Yumi. "Who are you?"

"You already know," she says, her voice dripping with superiority. "Rank 9." Not that someone like you would understand what that means."

"Back off," Yumi snaps.

But Akari acts unfazed. "I challenge you, Yumi. Let's settle this once and for all. I'm tired of seeing you acting all sanctimonious while having a rank lower than me."

Before Yumi can answer, I step forward. "No. I'll do it."

"Haruki!" Yumi grabs my arm. "You don't have to—"

"Yes, I do," I interject, giving her a reassuring look. "I won't let her disrespect you like this."

Akari laughs. " Oh wow ,how noble. Are you sure she isn't just more than a friend? Fine, then. I'll take you on instead. But don't cry when you lose."

The arena materializes around us, a vast stage surrounded by shimmering walls. The song selection menu appears, and Amaya doesn't even hesitate before choosing: Koi Suru Fortune Cookie by AKB48.

A wardrobe menu materializes next. I scroll through the options, settling on a sleek black dress with sheer sleeves and a flowing asymmetrical skirt. The bodice is adorned with subtle silver embroidery that glimmers like starlight, and my hair is swept into a loose updo with a delicate silver clip. 

Amaya, on the other hand, wears a dramatic black gown with sharp, angular cuts, and a spiked choker around her neck completes the look.

The music begins, soft and haunting at first. Amaya takes the lead, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. She's technically flawless, her every note sharp and deliberate.

When my turn comes, I close my eyes and let the music guide me. My voice is softer, warmer, carrying the underlying hope and vulnerability of the lyrics. I don't try to match her aggression—instead, I focus on emotion, on the story behind the words.

We alternate verses, the tension between us building with each line. Her voice grows harsher, more desperate, as if trying to drown me out.

Then she snaps.

As I sing my next line, Amaya lunges forward, deliberately trying to trip me. I sidestep just in time, glaring at her.

The Guardians don't intervene. Cheating is part of the game here.

Her frustration boils over. She tries again, this time reaching for my arm mid-note, but I twist away, never breaking the rhythm.

The song's climax approaches, and I pour everything into the final chorus. My voice soars, raw and unwavering, hitting the high notes with a clarity that fills the entire arena. Amaya stumbles, her voice cracking under the pressure.

The music fades, and the scores appear.

Haruki: 50/50

Amaya: 42/50

The gap is staggering. Amaya screams in frustration, throwing a tantrum.

"No! This is rigged! I demand a recount!"

But the light above her head begins to glow. Her protests turn to panicked screams.

"Wait! No, please! I'll do better! Please—"

Her neck explodes, her body crumpling lifelessly to the stage.

I stand there, my chest heaving, as the crowd cheers. The Guardians float overhead, their faceless forms eerily calm.

I walk off the stage, my legs like jelly. Yumi rushes to me, pulling me into a tight hug.

"You're insane," she whispers, her voice shaking.

"Maybe," I reply, resting my forehead against her shoulder. Her warmth is comforting.

For a moment, we just stand there, holding onto each other. Her hand brushes against mine, and I don't pull away. Neither does she.

"Don't scare me like that again," she murmurs.

"I'll try," I say softly, but we both know I can't promise that.

As we part, her gaze lingers on mine, filled with something unspoken. I turn away before I can overthink it, focusing on the path ahead.