The Twist Before the Blade

From the squad stands above, Sora leaned over the railing, arms dangling, her ears twitching with visible irritation.

She squinted at Aoi and muttered, "That's basically cheating."

Tetsu didn't move at first — just stood with his arms folded, adjusting his glasses calmly as if this were all expected.

"Well, yeah," he said. "What did you think this was? Fair?"

Sora snorted. "Still. Bringing him in? That's next-level rigged."

Tetsu's voice remained even. "He's a controlled variable. Lightning versus Water. Precision over unpredictability. They didn't want to see if Kazuo could win — they wanted to see how he loses."

Sora frowned, eyes flicking to the banners — especially the ninth one. "I mean, come on. They even made it nine this year. That's not tradition — that's a setup."

Tetsu glanced sideways at her. "It's politics. The moment Kazuo walked into that arena, the rules bent. But still it is weird to choose an uneven tournament format."

Sora didn't answer. Her gaze drifted back down to Kazuo — standing alone, surrounded by noise, eyes still locked on Aoi.

Her voice dropped. "I wonder how he'll handle it."

Tetsu was silent for a moment.

Then: "That depends."

"On what?"

He adjusted his glasses again.

"On Setsuna."

High above, in the royal balcony, Lady Elyria sat quietly beside her father.

Her blue eyes narrowed, following the movements below — the handshake between Setsuna and Idris, the silent tension between Kazuo and the new arrival.

Then, softly but firmly: "Father… that man. Idris. He's from the Special Unit, isn't he?"

Cedric said nothing.

He merely watched the field, one leg crossed over the other, fingers steepled beneath his chin and a plate of grapes next to him.

Elyria turned slightly toward him. "Does the Council know?"

Still no answer.

Then—

A sharp burst of sound rang out, silencing the crowd.

The announcer's voice returned, more energetic than ever:

"Honored guests, noble houses, and esteemed spectators — a special announcement regarding this year's Tournament of Nobles!"

"As you've seen, nine divisions are present this year — an unusual number, we admit. But worry not! There's a reason for this surprise…"

A pause.

Then, like a thunderclap—

"Before the formal duels begin... we will commence with a Battle Royale Preliminary Match!"

For a second, no one moved.

Then—

BOOM. The entire coliseum erupted. Voices clashed, feet stomped, banners waved furiously as nobles and spectators jolted from their seats in disbelief.

"Battle what?!"

"A prelim?!"

"That's not tradition!"

The voice of the announcer blared over the chaos, louder, more theatrical:

"All nine divisions will unleash their champions into the ring at once — nine enter, only eight advance!"

Gasps surged like waves crashing.

"The battle will occur TODAY."

The captains stood shoulder to shoulder behind their chosen fighters — a living wall of power and politics.

Before them, nine champions waited at the edge of the arena. The air vibrated with rising noise, tension curling like smoke.

Kazuo's heart skipped.

He blinked.

"…Huh?" His voice barely came out. "I have to fight…TODAY?"

Setsuna's pupils shrank. His arms, previously folded, snapped open.

Idris exhaled a stream of smoke, eyes narrowed toward the center. "Well… this is news."

Aoi Seiryu turned slightly, scarf fluttering, his voice still soft and unreadable."What's the meaning of this, Idris?"

Idris clicked his tongue, letting the smoke curl higher. "Hell if I know."

Next to them, Shiranami scoffed under her breath, arms rigid at her sides. Her crystal eyes glinted coldly.

"What a waste of time," she muttered. "This has nothing to do with tradition. Just theater."

Vaskel chuckled, slow and lazy, a snake playing noble."Oh, I don't know," he said, eyeing Kazuo with a glint of mischief. "Sounds fun."

His voice curled like poison. His smile didn't reach his eyes.

No one replied.

Because whatever game they thought they were playing... had just changed.

The announcer wasn't done.

"Rules of engagement: No weapons. No magic. Any use will result in immediate disqualification."

A hush swept the coliseum.

"And the victory condition—only one."

A dramatic pause.

"Once a single fighter is eliminated — forced out of the ring — the match ends. The remaining eight proceed to the official bracket."

"One ring-out… ends it?" Kazuo repeated, stunned.

Behind him, Setsuna exhaled sharply through his nose.

"So that's how he's playing it," he muttered. "I trained you in swordplay. We honed your magic control. And now it's just… a brawl?"

He clicked his tongue.

"Tch. Of course. This is why we are nine! Cedric was never going to risk it. Not with you."

Kazuo glanced over. "Risk what?"

"Your blade. Your spells. Your potential — that's what makes them nervous."Setsuna's voice dropped, steady and cold."But if it's just fists and footwork? Then it's easier to dismiss you as a fluke when you fall."He folded his arms, eyes narrowing."Cedric calls it a Battle Royale… but let's be honest — it's more like a one-versus-eight."

High above, from the royal balcony...

Lady Elyria's gaze sharpened as the crowd erupted. Her fingers curled slightly against the marble railing, eyes never leaving the arena below.

She leaned slightly toward her father."This isn't part of the tradition," she said quietly. "A battle royale? Why now?"

King Cedric didn't answer. He picked up a single grape from the silver plate beside him, rolled it between his fingers, and popped it into his mouth.

A few seconds passed in silence — just the roaring cheers of the arena below.

Then, finally — with his eyes still locked on the field, his voice low but edged like a blade:

"Stay out of this."

The words cut through the noise. Sharp. Final.

Elyria flinched, only slightly — but enough for Cedric to notice.

He exhaled through his nose, the sharpness in his shoulders easing just a little.

Then, softer — still firm, but not cruel:

"I promise you, Elyria… this is for Yurelda's future."

She didn't reply.

But the look in her eyes said she didn't believe him.Not fully.

Cut to: Squad Stands

Sora's tail puffed up, ears standing tall. She practically growled.

"Wait—what?" She pressed against the railing like a cat preparing to leap.

Tetsu blinked once. Then again. His hand moved slowly to adjust his glasses, mouth parting in disbelief.

"…This is certainly new." His tone was too calm to be normal.

Sora's fangs bared in disbelief. "That's not a match. That's bait. It's trapbait!"

Tetsu's glasses glinted. "No weapons. No magic. Sudden ring-out. This isn't a battle… it's a setup."

Sora's golden eyes darted down to Kazuo's lone figure. "…You think they'll all go for him?"

Tetsu didn't answer immediately. Then, softly:

"Of course. He's the anomaly. The one black eye."

Sora's fur prickled. "They'll gang up on him."

Tetsu nodded. Grimly.

The announcer's voice rang out one final time, sharp as a blade:

"All participants now have exactly fifteen minutes to confer with their captains and prepare. Lay down your weapons. Leave behind your magic."

A beat.

"And when you return… step into the ring ."

Silence followed. Heavy. Breathless.

The countdown had begun.And there would be no second chances.