Eastern District Gate Challenge (4)

Theodore sat alone on a low concrete step near the prep area, the thin strip of quiet squeezed in behind the main plaza's makeshift stagVIT

e had his duffel bag open by his side, one foot up on the step as he bent over to tighten the laces on his boots, pulling each knot firm enough that they'd hold through whatever the Gate decided to throw at him today.

The overhead PA system blared on repeat, the same announcer's voice swinging from forced drama to thinly veiled desperation as he hyped up the growing prize pot. "One thousand credits, folks! Don't blink, you might miss the next highlight!" The words bounced around the plaza like stray firecrackers.

He took a cloth to the edge of his blade, methodical strokes moving up the length in slow, sure passes.

The steel wasn't fancy, just a standard, well-balanced short blade, the kind that wouldn't fail him so long as he didn't fail it first.

He wiped a thumb carefully along the edge to test it, felt the sharpness against his skin, then turned the cloth over and cleaned the flat side again for good measure.

Voices rose and fell around him, some cocky, some genuinely nervous.

He didn't tune them out entirely, because that would be careless, but he didn't let any of it settle under his skin either.

One guy, standing with his gang of hype-men near the registration board, was busy bragging that he'd finish the first wave in under two minutes.

Another kid barked back that he'd do it one-handed for the stream.

Theodore didn't look up, he'd heard that same bark a dozen times before, and it always ended the same way, either you could back it up, or you went home with a bruised ego and half your travel fare gone to medical fees.

He rested the blade across his knees, gloved hands still for a second as he let his eyes drift across the plaza.

Out here, in this cramped staging area just behind the bright lights, it was easier to see how thin the glamour really was.

The cheap plastic banners fluttered against poles that were barely wired into place, a thin ring of concrete barricades corralled the rookies in like livestock.

And beyond all that, past the Gate's faint ripple in the air, the real stakes waited, the monsters, the environment shifts, the cold truth that the System didn't care if your highlight clip was going to hit ten thousand views tomorrow.

Theodore exhaled, slow and deep.

He pictured the Gate's probable layout: the spawn points, the shallow ridges in the floor that would either funnel the beasts straight to him or split them into flanking waves if he didn't move fast enough.

He thought about terrain, sightlines, fallback positions. About how much ground he'd have to cover without wasting energy on flourishes he couldn't afford.

And through it all, he kept seeing his sister's handwriting on that crumpled clinic note tucked in his pocket.

Lea's tiny, careful loops: "Be safe. Love, Lea." It always looked so much softer than he felt.

He saw her sitting up on that narrow clinic bed, the blanket too thin for how cold her feet always were, the way she'd squeezed his hand last week when he promised the next treatment was already paid for.

He could still hear her voice, all the worry in it she thought she'd hidden.

She didn't want a hero. She'd said it herself when he was younger, back when he used to talk big about clearing the biggest Gates. "You don't need to be famous," she'd told him, half-laughing into her hands. "I don't need a hero. I just need my brother to come back every time."

So he would. That was the promise he didn't write down but carried all the same: Lea doesn't need a hero. She needs a provider, so that's what I'll be.

A sudden bark of laughter jerked him back to the present. Two guys near the check-in table were sizing him up, elbows digging into each other's sides like he was a new novelty to poke at.

One of them, a broad-shouldered kid with way too many neon armor patches sewn onto a cheap vest, jerked his chin in Theodore's direction and muttered, loud enough to carry, "Hey, Mr. Lone Wolf, better pray you don't get my spawn wave. You'll be out in the first round."

The other snorted like he'd just heard a new joke. "Yeah, man. What, you think he's gonna stand there and look serious at the goblins until they drop dead?"

Theodore didn't look away from his blade. He pressed the cloth to the edge one last time, then flipped the strap on his duffel closed.

His voice, when it came, was so calm it might have passed for kindness if you didn't hear the faint echo of finality underneath.

"Good luck," he said.

It landed heavier than any insult could've, because he meant it, and because the complete lack of bite in his tone made it clear that he didn't see them as a threat, not at all.

They didn't know enough to feel insulted by that yet, but they would when they stepped through the Gate and realized there was a line between being loud and being ready.

He slipped the folded paper back into his pocket, tucking it under the worn inner flap of his jacket like a talisman.

The announcer's voice boomed again overhead, calling the next set of numbers. He didn't flinch when his came up, didn't even blink.

When Theodore rose to his feet, blade resting light against his leg, he didn't do anything flashy.

He just did a steady exhale through his nose and a quiet tilt of his head, as if to tell the Gate itself: You don't get to choose how today goes. I do.

Then he stepped forward, the clamor of the plaza was starting to slowly fade away behind him as the real work finally began.

End of Chapter 23.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

ALT SYSTEM — USER PROFILE: ZERO

Level: 10

EXP: 2 / 100

Next Unlock: Skill — Crimson Slash

Global System Tracking: DISABLED

World Rank Association: UNLINKED

Stats:

STR: 8 | AGI: 8 (Affinity) | VIT: 3 | DEX: 1 | INT: 7 | WIS: 0

[Available Stat Points: 0]

[Derived Stat — MANA: 35 / 35]

Skills:

[Phantom Stride Lv.1] (Active Skill)

[Blade Control Lv.1]

[Parry Timing Lv.1]

[Reflex Sync Lv.1] (Passive Skill)

[Combat Awareness Lv.2] (Passive Skill)

[Skill Fusion Menu: Active]

[Dev Tree: Tier 0 Access Granted]

[Developer Node – Fusion Core Anchor: Active]

[Skill Slot Available — Unassigned]

Equipment:

Aged Blade Fragment (??? Rarity) (Bound)

Goblin Dagger

Spiked Boar Tusk Shard

Lightweight Chest Padding

Boots of Basic Mobility

Fingerless Gloves (Basic)

Starter Cloak: Faded Black

Training Ring (+1 VIT)