Yuki returned to the fighters' line without a word.
From a distance, he looked composed. Calm. Unbothered.
The crowd still thundered his name in waves, their voices rolling through the coliseum like surf crashing against stone.
But up close, the cracks were visible.
Derek glanced sideways at him.
Yuki's shoulders trembled faintly. His breathing came rough and uneven, though he kept his head slightly bowed to hide it. The faint scent of scorched fabric still clung to him, smoke threading from singed cloth near his collar.
Derek's eyes narrowed.
So he's close.
Not broken. Not finished.
But close.
Yuki inhaled slowly through his nose. His hands flexed once at his sides. Steady. He could not afford to collapse now. Not with the semifinals approaching.
The commentator's voice boomed overhead, dragging the arena's focus away from the fighters' line.
"The next duel is about to begin!"
Two names rang out. Two figures entered the cube.
Their fight was respectable. Clean exchanges. Careful footwork. Solid technique.
But it lacked something.
The feral edge.
The desperation.
The spark that had ignited when Yuki faced Renjiro.
The audience responded politely at first. Then quieter. Then with restless murmurs.
They wanted fire.
They wanted impact that rattled ribs.
They wanted the anomaly.
Soon enough, chants began to ripple through the crowd.
"Kinatarou!"
"No— the Hidden Kinatarou!"
"The Nameless Kinatarou!"
"The Phantom Kinatarou!"
"Shadow of the Kinatarou!"
Titles bloomed like wildflowers in the stands.
The Unknown Kinatarou.
The Hidden Heir of Kinatarou.
The Phantom of Kinatarou.
The Nameless Kinatarou.
Each nickname born from the same curiosity.
He bore the name of a distinguished lineage. And yet no one had heard of him.
A ghost in a famous house.
Yuki blinked when he heard them.
Phantom of Kinatarou.
He almost laughed.
The match in the cube ended with a modest strike and a ring-out. Applause followed, but it felt like rain tapping on a roof compared to the earlier storm.
Then the commentator's tone sharpened.
"Next up— Derek Uzushi!"
A hum spread through the audience.
Derek stepped forward with that same detached expression, as though the arena were a mildly inconvenient errand.
His opponent hesitated at the cube's threshold.
Fear radiated off him in waves.
When the signal rang out, he lunged anyway, letting adrenaline override common sense. His fist cut through the air toward Derek's face.
Derek didn't retreat.
He simply shifted.
A subtle adjustment of his stance. A fraction of weight redistribution.
The punch missed by inches.
And in the same heartbeat, light bloomed.
It didn't flicker.
It didn't gather.
It simply existed.
A beam erupted from Derek's palm, pure white and blinding. It struck his opponent square in the chest.
The explosion came an instant later.
The sound cracked across the arena like a divine reprimand.
Smoke swallowed the center of the cube.
The crowd gasped, shielding their eyes.
When the haze cleared, Derek's opponent lay unconscious, shirt charred black at the impact point. Steam curled faintly from the ground around him.
Silence hung for half a breath.
Then the arena roared.
Yuki stared, eyes wide.
"So that's how he fights," he murmured. "Looks like he's been holding back."
He had always known Derek was strong. But this?
There was no wasted motion. No buildup. No dramatics.
Just overwhelming certainty.
Derek turned away before the applause peaked, already bored. He had already won.
As he passed Yuki, he spoke quietly, almost lazily.
"If that had been you… it would've been more fun."
Yuki grinned despite the ache in his ribs.
"I'll try not to disappoint you."
Derek's lips twitched.
The crowd, meanwhile, whispered uneasily.
If Derek could end someone that quickly…
Could their beloved Phantom of Kinatarou withstand that kind of power?
The commentator's voice surged again.
"Ren Kyorin!"
Ren entered the cube as though it were a throne room.
His opponent possessed a body enhancement kizo. Muscles bulged. Veins pulsed. He exhaled sharply, preparing to overwhelm Ren with sheer physicality.
The match began.
The enhanced fighter charged, ground splintering under each step.
Ren didn't step back.
He pivoted.
The punch whistled past his ear.
Ren's elbow snapped into the opponent's ribs with surgical accuracy. The impact folded the boy slightly.
A thunderbolt followed.
Not wild lightning. Not chaotic.
A precise lance of crackling energy that struck the opponent's shoulder and detonated, sending sparks skidding across the barrier.
The crowd roared.
The enhanced fighter roared back and swung again.
Ren ducked, stepped inside the guard, and drove his palm into the opponent's sternum. Another surge of thunder erupted.
The sound boomed like a drum of judgment.
The enhanced fighter staggered, fell to one knee.
Ren moved behind him.
In one smooth motion, he forced him down completely.
The arena quieted.
Ren placed his foot on the defeated man's head.
"You don't deserve to stand on the same ground as me," he said evenly. "Filthy dog. You're not worth my time."
The humiliation landed heavier than the lightning.
The opponent's hands trembled against the floor. His face twisted with anguish, not from pain alone but from the stripping of pride.
Some in the crowd cheered.
Others shifted uncomfortably.
Ren withdrew his foot and exited without acknowledging either.
Four fighters had fallen now.
Renjiro among them.
The semifinals had begun.
The first semifinal paired Derek against a competitor whose kizo granted extreme speed.
The tension returned.
The signal rang.
The speed user vanished.
Gasps erupted as afterimages rippled around Derek, each one throwing strikes at angles that defied prediction.
Blows cracked against Derek's guard. Wind whipped violently inside the cube.
But Derek's expression didn't change.
Light gathered at his heels.
And then—
He disappeared.
Not vanished.
He became a streak. A blade of radiance slicing across the arena.
The speed user faltered.
Derek wasn't matching him.
He was exceeding him.
Each flash of light repositioned Derek effortlessly. A kick landed square against the speed user's side, launching him across the cube.
He rebounded off the barrier.
Before he could regain footing, a column of light dropped from above, striking the ground beside him and exploding in brilliance.
The arena filled with white.
When vision returned, the speed user lay motionless.
The crowd erupted into thunderous applause, many standing.
Derek qualified for the finals.
He brushed nonexistent dust from his sleeve and glanced toward Yuki.
Still bored.
Still waiting.
It was now the second semifinal.
Yuki Kinatarou Versus Ren Kyorin.
The cube reopened.
Yuki stepped forward first.
He felt the weight in his limbs now. The heaviness behind his eyes. His ribs protested with each breath. Burns along his torso stung where fabric brushed skin.
Ren noticed.
Derek noticed.
No one else did.
To the crowd, he still looked like the Phantom of Kinatarou.
The Nameless Heir.
The Hidden Flame without flame.
Ren entered after him, posture immaculate.
The barrier sealed shut.
Silence fell like snowfall.
Even the royals leaned forward.
All except Haruki, who remained sprawled across a couch, asleep, mouth slightly open in total disrespect to the atmosphere.
Yuki rolled his shoulders once.
The official raised a hand.
The signal dropped.
And the storm began to gather.
The crowd held its breath.
Because this time, it was not spectacle they anticipated.
It was collision.