In the days following the end of the first round of the Tatum-Deru, no one outside the tournament was permitted to meet with the trainees who had advanced.
To the public, the reason was simple.
Recovery.
Some believed the survivors of the first round were undergoing brutal retraining to prepare for what was to come. Others assumed they were being isolated to prevent espionage between academies. A few even whispered about secret evaluations, hidden punishments, or special conditioning meant only for those who had proven themselves worthy.
The truth, however, was far less dramatic.
They were at a secluded hot springs resort located on the outskirts of Lestrel City, tucked away between forested hills and natural stone cliffs—far from the noise of the capital and even farther from the eyes of curious spectators.
Out of the forty-five trainees who had participated in the first round of the tournament, only thirty remained.
They were the ones who had advanced.
Not all of them had won cleanly.
Some had lost individual battles yet succeeded as a group. Airzel and his team were the clearest example of this. They had been completely outmatched by Itoyea Pilton and Bukanami Ao, losing decisively on all fronts. But a single mistake—whether one called it luck, chance, or accident—had shifted the outcome.
They had protected their flag until the final moment.
By the rules of the tournament, that was enough.
And so, they advanced.
Others were far worse off.
Several trainees were still in intensive care, their participation in the next round uncertain. Kutote remained under constant supervision, the bone spear Xvian had impaled him with having torn through multiple internal organs. Even with immediate medical intervention, his condition had been described as critical.
Jokovik Martennel had fared slightly better—but only slightly. Though Viktor had used a blunt-ended weapon, the sheer force of the impact had left Jokovik unconscious for the remainder of the day. He had yet to wake, though his condition was now stable.
There were also those who had survived physically, yet suffered elsewhere.
Some trainees from Marcellonia Academy had retreated into near-complete seclusion. Their loss had not merely eliminated them—it had humiliated their academy. At the center of that shame stood Arizel.
Despite his loud declarations and his confidence in defeating Itekan Lie, he had failed to even surpass Itoyea.
He felt stripped of his title.
Unworthy of the name Prince of Frost.
And then—
There were those who chose to let it all go.
To stop thinking.
To breathe.
To simply enjoy the moment for what it was.
Steam rolled lazily over the surface of the hot springs, the water shimmering under the open sky as laughter echoed between the stone walls.
The male trainees of Four Stars Academy who had advanced were gathered together, submerged up to their shoulders, looking far less like elite fighters and far more like what they actually were.
Teenagers.
Itekan Lie, Itoyea Pilton, Korimer Ransthrol, Bukanami Ao, Binturu Binturu, Great Man, Tendo Kech, Illiopo Sengares, and Jokovik Martennel—the last resting with his arms on the edge, still clearly recovering.
"First to leave buys dinner for everyone."
Korimer's voice cut through the steam.
Everyone turned toward him.
Of all people, it was Korimer—the most senior among them, the one who should have shut down nonsense like this—who had suggested it.
No one moved.
The water rippled softly.
Binturu slowly leaned his head back. "You're sick," he muttered.
Korimer grinned. "You're just scared."
"I'm injured," Jokovik added flatly.
"That's an excuse," Korimer replied immediately.
Itoyea snorted despite himself, sinking a little deeper into the water. For the first time since the tournament began, the tension in his shoulders eased.
This… this was nice.
Then—
Footsteps.
Light. Unhurried.
The sound came from the stone path leading toward the springs.
Korimer's eyes narrowed. "Do you hear that?"
Bukanami tilted his head. "Yeah."
Before anyone could react further, several figures emerged through the rising steam.
The girls had arrived.
For half a second, the entire spring went dead silent.
Candice Laīde stepped in first, wearing a neatly fitted bikini, entirely unbothered by the sudden attention. Her gaze swept the group once before she smirked. "Wow. You all look alive. That's disappointing."
Behind her, Nuelle Ness followed, dressed in a simple school swimsuit, hands folded calmly in front of her. She gave a small nod in greeting, cheeks faintly pink.
Chiem Nell walked in beside her, stretching her arms lazily, her swimsuit practical yet flattering. Her eyes landed on Itoyea almost immediately.
"Oh," she said, smiling. "You survived."
Itoyea blinked. "…Barely?"
She laughed and moved closer, settling into the water a short distance away from him.
Itoyea was midway through a question when a shadow slid across the water between them.
"Wow," Itekan's voice cut in lazily, "so this is what happens when I almost die, huh?"
Itoyea stiffened. "What are you—"
Itekan leaned forward, elbows resting on the stone edge, chin in his palms. His eyes flicked between them once.
"…Am I interrupting something important?"
Chiem blinked.
Itoyea's ears went red. "No."
"That wasn't convincing," Itekan said immediately. "At all."
Bukanami snorted from nearby.
Korimer didn't even try to hide his grin.
Itekan tilted his head, studying Chiem with exaggerated seriousness. "So," he continued, "are you the reason he's been walking around all tense, or is that just his natural state?"
Itoyea splashed water at him. "Shut up."
"Oh, so we're splashing now?" Itekan laughed, dodging easily. "That's bold. Very bold. Especially when you're half-naked and vulnerable."
"ITH—!"
Chiem covered her mouth, shoulders shaking. "Is he always like this?"
"Unfortunately," Itoyea muttered.
"Hey," Itekan said, offended. "I'm charming."
He leaned closer, lowering his voice just enough to be conspiratorial.
"You should know—he pretends to be calm, but he panics internally over everything."
Itoyea grabbed a towel and flung it at his face.
Itekan caught it.
Grinned.
"See?" he said. "Violent. Red flag."
Even through the steam, the tension around the springs loosened.
For the first time since the tournament ended, Itekan wasn't a weapon.
He was just… himself.
Further back, Ronga entered without hesitation, dressed in dark swimming tights, expression unreadable as ever. He lowered himself into the water with controlled ease, choosing a spot away from most of the group.
Last came Edward Blooms.
He glanced around once, spotted Korimer, and without a word settled into the hot spring right beside him.
Korimer sighed. "Of course you'd sit there."
Edward smiled faintly. "You look tense."
"I wonder why."
Laughter rippled through the springs as conversations overlapped, rivalries softened, and for the first time since the Tatum-Deru began, the weight of competition loosened its grip.
Steam drifted higher as the conversations slowly split into smaller pockets.
Near the far edge of the spring, two trainees from a western academy spoke in hushed tones, their voices barely carrying over the water.
"…heard the next round won't be dungeon-based."
"No terrain advantage then?"
A pause.
"None that matters."
Closer to the stone steps, Candice leaned back against the rock, eyes half-lidded. "If the organizers are smart," she said casually, "they'll stop rewarding teamwork."
Nuelle glanced at her. "You think they will?"
Candice smiled. "They have to. Too many people slipped through the first round."
A few feet away, Bukanami caught part of that and exhaled slowly through his nose.
"So it's coming," he muttered.
Itoyea didn't look at him. "Yeah."
Across the spring, Edward Blooms spoke quietly, his tone thoughtful rather than confident.
"Direct confrontation favors monsters," he said. "People like him."
Korimer didn't ask who he meant.
On the opposite side, Ronga remained silent, eyes closed, but his fingers flexed once beneath the water.
Someone laughed too loudly near the entrance.
"I'm telling you, Shzekcl withdrawing changes everything."
"Does it?"
"Of course it does. That power gap just disappeared."
A different voice answered, sharper. "Or it revealed who's been hiding."
The words lingered longer than they should have.
Itoyea felt it then.
Not danger.
Expectation.
Chiem glanced sideways at him. "You're thinking again."
He blinked. "Was I?"
She nodded. "Your face does that thing."
"…That's unfortunate."
She smiled, then lowered her voice. "Whatever the next round is, they won't let you fight the same way."
Itoyea stared at the steam rising in front of him.
"I know."
From somewhere beyond the springs, a bell rang—soft, distant, ceremonial.
A reminder.
Rest was temporary.
Silence followed, heavier this time.
Not uncomfortable.
Just aware.
Because even here, surrounded by warmth and laughter, every trainee who had advanced could feel it:
The second round wouldn't test survival.
It would test truth.
And some of them wouldn't like what was revealed.
However for now—
There were no flags.
No domains.
No titles.
Just steam, voices, and the quiet understanding that tomorrow, everything would begin again.
But tonight?
Tonight, they were allowed to be young.
.
.
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Spiritual Sea (SS)
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