Garfield

During the designated break, Garfield slipped into a narrow alleyway near the Colosseum. Each step he took was accompanied by a cautious glance over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the thinning crowds for any signs of a tail. He didn't relax until he reached the shadows of the alley, where an elderly man awaited him.

The man, dressed in the refined attire of a butler, had silvery hair combed back with meticulous care. As Garfield approached, the old servant bowed deeply.

"It is good to see you, young master Garfield," the man said respectfully. "I trust your objective was met?"

Garfield sighed, the usual playfulness in his tone subdued. "How many times must I tell you, Francis? Stop calling me 'master.'"

"My apologies, mas—Sir Garfield," Francis corrected himself with a faint smile.

Francis Walton had served the family of Garfield's father for over forty years. Though he had no children of his own, he treated every member of Garfield's family as his own flesh and blood. Especially Garfield.

Leaning against the cold stone wall of a nearby building, Garfield took a moment to catch his breath. His smile, normally so carefree, faltered.

"How's Veronica?" he asked, concern threading through his voice.

"She's well," Francis replied gently, "but she misses you, Sir."

A regretful smile tugged at Garfield's lips. His emotions betrayed him—raw and exposed. He ran a hand through his golden locks, frustration bleeding into his voice.

"It doesn't matter. I'm just her half-brother. I don't carry true noble blood. Father won't allow me near her."

Francis reached into his coat pocket and produced a folded piece of parchment. He handed it to Garfield with a solemn nod.

"What's this?" Garfield asked.

"I do not presume to question the private affairs of my employers," Francis said softly, "but I know this much—status means nothing to the Young Lady. To her, you are her brother. And that is all that matters. It's a letter. From her."

Garfield unfolded the paper slowly. Neatly written in elegant script was a heartfelt message:

"Brother, I know you're working hard to gain Father's approval—and that of our siblings. I believe in you. I know you'll succeed. With love, Veronica."

A genuine smile returned to Garfield's face, one full of warmth and resolve. He carefully folded the letter and tucked it into his pocket, patting it once before clenching his fist.

"I'm ready now," he said, fire returning to his eyes.

Francis nodded, lifting an enormous briefcase and presenting it to him.

"Here is what you requested, Sir."

Upon learning there would be a combat stage in the exam, Garfield had wasted no time contacting Francis to bring his STAR Weapon. He kneeled, placed the case on the smooth ground, and carefully unlocked it—first the right clasp, then the left.

Inside rested a weapon of legend: a Viking-style battle axe. Its handle was carved from polished oak wood, and its blade forged of obsidian-black steel, gleaming with a deadly edge.

"Thank you, Francis," Garfield said sincerely.

"I simply serve, Sir."

He secured the axe to his back and left the alleyway, checking each corner before heading toward the Colosseum. As he arrived, his eyes locked on the arena—just in time to witness Tristan facing his beast.

He watched as Tristan trembled—racked with fear—but also saw the resolve burning beneath. He witnessed the agility, the training, the courage.

"Nice one, brother," Garfield murmured with a grin.

But the triumph quickly turned to horror as Tristan was flung like a ragdoll into the wall, blood pouring from his face, ribs shattered. Garfield's smile vanished. He looked away, his heart sinking.

"It's over…" he whispered.

But then—

"Wait…" came Tristan's voice, faint but unyielding.

Garfield's head snapped back up. Tristan, bloodied and battered, was still standing—sword in hand, fire in his eyes.

"This fight… isn't over," Tristan panted. "I owe it to myself… to Mr. Kenway… and to everyone who believes in me. Please—don't end this match!"

The Colosseum exploded with cheers—and Garfield roared with them. He watched as his brother carved through the beast's stomach, standing victorious, drenched in blood but unbowed.

"You did it, brother…" Garfield said softly, pride swelling in his chest.

Tristan collapsed moments later, unconscious from sheer exhaustion. He was rushed away for treatment, the crowd reassured of his recovery.

"Damn, brother… you're so cool. I guess it's my turn now," Garfield said aloud, clenching his fist with renewed purpose.

The other examinees turned to him, some with confusion, others with concern. But what they saw wasn't madness—it was confidence incarnate.

Sylvia stepped forward, ready to select the next participant, but a single muscular hand raised high from the crowd interrupted her.

"Yes? Is there something you want?" she asked.

Garfield's voice rang out, bold and unshaken.

"I wish to go next."

The examinees stared at him in disbelief. They thought he had lost his mind.

Sylvia smiled faintly. "It seems we have another promising candidate. Step forward."

Garfield walked confidently to the center of the arena. He rolled his shoulders, stretched his arms, and activated his STAR uniform.

Golden fabric molded to his form, a black muscle cuirass covered his torso, black iron gauntlets gripped his arms, and a gleaming gold helmet with a dark visor concealed his face. Matching black-and-gold boots completed his warrior ensemble.

The cage opened—and like before, the beast charged.

Garfield exhaled. One breath in. One breath out.

He didn't flinch.

With practiced precision, he reached for his axe and drew it from his back. As the beast neared, Garfield slammed the weapon into the earth.

The ground responded.

Stone and soil surged upward, trapping the beast's limbs in place.

"It ended before it even began," he said coldly.

Leaping into the air, Garfield raised his axe high. With a single, thunderous strike, he cleaved the beast's head clean off.

Its body crumpled, blood flooding the ground. Garfield landed gracefully, reattached his axe, and let out a victorious laugh.

The crowd erupted once more. Another champion had emerged. Another soul from the Middle District had made history.

"We have yet another victor," Sylvia announced. "The second student to be admitted into the academy—Garfield Frutia!"