Opening Ceremony II – The Violet Eyes

The runes around the arena flared once more.

A breathless pause followed — deliberate and heavy. The crowd leaned in.

Then, the announcer's voice rose across the coliseum, sharp and clear:

"Captains of the Royal Guard — step forward now with your chosen champions!"

No names.

Not yet.

Just the signal.

The crowd stirred like a living creature — nobles adjusting parasols and craning their necks, enchanted doves scattering from the rafters. All eyes turned to the far side of the arena.

And then, two figures emerged.

From the eastern gate, under the first banner — a deep blue standard emblazoned with the silver emblem of a frost-cloaked serpent coiled around a sword — Captain Setsuna stepped forward.

Beside him, and slightly ahead, walked a single young man.

"From the First Division of the Royal Guard," the announcer boomed, "Led by the one known as the strongest in Yurelda. The Blade of Winter — Captain Setsuna..."

"…we welcome his chosen champion and newcomer: Kazuo."

Gasps erupted. A low wave of murmurs swept across the seats like a rising tide.

Kazuo was trembling.

His every step felt wrong. The marble underfoot might as well have been ice. His navy-blue jacket felt tight. His fingerless gloves were damp with sweat.

And his hands wouldn't stop shaking.

And the noise — the deafening sea of voices above — made his pulse beat somewhere behind his eyes.

Just walk. Don't trip. Don't collapse. And don't throw up…

He didn't dare look up. But he felt the pressure anyway — a million stares crashing into him like waves.

Setsuna walked just behind him. Silent. Watchful. A wall of calm.

"Kazuo — selected under the personal authority of His Majesty, King Cedric of the Inner Crown — enters this year's Tournament of Nobles… with royal approval."

"Let it also be known—his elemental affinity is Water Magic."

A pause.

Then, the arena murmured like a stirred beehive.

"Water Magic?"

"That's rare…"

"There's no way a black-eyed slave could use it."

"Wait, so he is noble…?"

"But look at his other eye…"

"What's Cedric playing at?"

The crowd began to split — murmurs turning to shouts, whispers becoming outrage, support, or confusion.

From the squad stands above, Tetsu muttered under his breath, eyes fixed on the field:

"So that's how he's playing it… Frame Kazuo as a noble through Water Magic. That'll shut up most of them."

He adjusted his glasses.

"But now his magic's exposed. No surprises left. Calming the crowd while giving Kazuo a disadvantage."

Next to him, Sora waved both arms like she was trying to signal a passing airship. Her voice tore through the buzz.

"YOU GOT THIS, KAZUUUUUO!!"

Kazuo took a deep breath.

He stepped into the center of the stone platform — its runes reacting, glowing faintly under his feet.

He was the first. And he felt it.

The silence of the battlefield wrapped around him.

But behind him, Setsuna was not looking at Kazuo.

He was looking up.

At the banners.

One for each division. One for each captain. One for each participant.

That's how it had always been.

Eight.

And yet… there were nine banners this time.

The ninth flew on the far end — visible to all, not hidden or cloaked.

It wasn't unfamiliar. It belonged to one of the 10 Royal Guard Divisions but it was just unexplained.

Something doesn't add up

Setsuna's eyes narrowed.

He said nothing aloud. But in his mind, the thought struck cold:

Eight participants. Eight matches. Smooth numbers. That's how this works.

So why……are there nine banners this year?

While Setsunas mind wanders around, reality struck Kazuo hard.

Thousands of voices. Thousands of eyes. All focused on the same point.

Him.

He kept his head low, but it didn't help. He could feel their stares — curious, amused, doubtful.

Everyone is Watching me. Why does this place feel like it's closing in?

He looked up for only a second — and froze.

High above, on the royal balcony, two figures stood at the edge.

King Cedric.

Watching him. No expression. No movement. Just… stillness.

But Kazuo could tell — the king was staring directly at him.

Beside him, Lady Elyria. Arms folded, face calm. But her eyes were sharp.

Not judging. Just… observing.

Kazuo's heart thudded harder. He forced himself to look away, focus on the stone beneath his feet.

The platform offered nowhere to hide. Not from their gaze. Not from this world.

The announcer's voice rang out once more, now with a dramatic flair.

"Representing the Royal Guard's Second Division — the Amethyst Gale herself, Captain Shiranami — and her chosen fighter, Lyria of the Thorn!"

This time, the cheers weren't just loud — they were thunderous, almost reverent.

The doors of Room Two opened.

From the northwestern gate, beneath a regal banner of deep violet emblazoned with a silver rapier piercing a falling petal emblem, Captain Shiranami emerged.

She was tall, statuesque, wrapped in a long military coat of pale violet and white trim. Her hair flowed in long wavy strands of silver-white, almost glowing in the sunlight, reaching a length to her breasts. And her violet eyes — sharp, cold, and ancient — swept across the crowd like a queen surveying her court.

At her side walked her participant — a younger girl with silky black hair, tied into a neat ribboned ponytail, and a composed, almost doll-like expression. Her violet eyes mirrored Shiranami's exactly. She wore a battle dress laced with petal motifs, and her boots left no sound on the stone.

Flower Magic, Kazuo realized as he saw the faint trail of glowing pollen drifting behind her feet — too subtle for common eyes to notice, but clear to any mage.

The crowd roared as they made their way down the path — and just before the central platform, they stopped to follow protocol.

A handshake with the prior entrants.

Shiranami extended her hand, her eyes never leaving Setsuna's. Her fingers were pale, cold, and precise — like everything else about her.

Setsuna clasped it lazily, his smirk more mocking than polite.

"You still never change your hair," he said. "Always the dramatic wind-blown look."

"And you still refuse to act like a captain," she replied icily. "Or a man."

Kazuo awkwardly reached out to Lyria. She took his hand gently — but didn't speak. She only tilted her head slightly, examining him with eerie calm.

That's when he noticed her eyes.

Violet. Just like Gramps!

Wait… she has them too?

Then his gaze drifted upward — to Captain Shiranami. And there they were again. The same violet hue. Cold. Ancient. Piercing.

Not just a coincidence. Not at all.

They both have them…

"Your eyes… they look just like—"

"Shh—"

Setsuna cut in smoothly, placing a firm hand over Kazuo's mouth.

Kazuo blinked, caught off guard.

Shiranami raised a single eyebrow, expression unreadable. "Hiding something, Setsuna?"

"Always," he replied with a casual grin. "Keeps things interesting."

She ignored him, shifting her gaze to Kazuo.

Her voice was calm — not hostile, but distant and sharp like glass.

"Don't assume you're special," she said. "Just because he is the strongest doesn't mean he is the smartest."

Kazuo nodded quietly, unsure how to respond.

With that, she turned — her long white hair flowing like a curtain behind her.

Lyria followed, elegant and silent. The two stepped onto the arena platform like synchronized crystal blades, catching the sun as they moved.

Kazuo let out a breath and pulled Setsuna's hand off his mouth.

Then Setsuna added, more quietly:

"That squad… they're the only all-female unit in the Royal Guard. The only ones with violet eyes. Even among nobles, that color's impossibly rare — some say it's a sign of purity… or something older."

Kazuo didn't respond.

He just stood there, watching the light shimmer where they had vanished.

So it's true… Gramps really was a noble.

And if their eyes matched his…

Are they… somehow related to him?

The question hung in his chest like a stone — heavy, cold, and far too dangerous to pull free.

Then, a voice cut through his thoughts.

"Now's not the time for that, Kazuo."

Setsuna.

Calm. Firm. Eyes forward, but clearly aware.

Kazuo flinched slightly, but nodded.

He swallowed the thought, pushed it down.

Later, he told himself.

Ask later.

The distant rumble of another gate shook the arena — and a new presence stepped forward.