Avenger woke at 6:30. Not to an alarm, but to the silent clockwork of habit. His body knew the rhythm: rise, prepare, contribute. Usually, it was for school or the community center—building connections, strengthening the fabric of Sector 7, one lesson or repaired fence at a time.
Today was different. Today, the rhythm was a war drum.
He was in a private room within the tournament complex in Neutral Territory. The air hummed with a sterile, recycled chill. Today, he wasn't just building community. He was preparing to defend its honor and fund its very bones.
The African territory of Sector 7 was structured in three levels:
· Level 1 - The Apex: Home to the central government, the military headquarters, the Resonator Academy, and the residences of elites like Oyá, Iansã, the territory's champion and ruler.
· Level 2 - The Heart: Where most people lived. The most developed, community-focused area in all of Aresia. This was where Avenger had lived since age five, in a spacious three-bedroom apartment provided by the state.
· Level 3 - The Foundation: The developing outskirts, making up 15% of the territory. Here, the orphanage that raised him and the Iron Chimera Gym stood among construction sites and raw infrastructure. In five years, it would be fully integrated into Level 2. There was no stigma in living here—only the understood momentum of progress, slightly delayed.
That momentum was why he was here. His prize money wouldn't be for himself. It was fuel for the engines of development in Level 3. To speed up the projects. To bring his first home fully into the fold.
He had been raised in that Level 3 orphanage. When he was found out to be a enhanced human he wax tested and his potential as a Resonant was detected at age five, the state moved him to Level 2 for specialized schooling. At twelve, he'd volunteered to transfer to a Sector 2 school—a political move whose full weight he was still learning to carry. But every weekend, he returned to Level 3. To help, to teach, to rebuild. It was the core lesson from the Black liberation ideology recited to him since he could understand words: when the people are united they will build their own tomorrow.
Today, in this ring, he would build it with his fists.
The door hissed open. Coach Isaac entered, a solid silhouette against the bright hallway.
"You're awake,"Isaac said, his voice a low rumble of pride. "Thought you'd be sleeping in, storing energy for the war ahead."
"Just woke up,"Avenger replied, a familiar, focused cockiness threading his tone. He wasn't lacing his gloves yet; he was staring at a wall as if it were a blueprint. "Just calculating how many more months faster the new water reclamation plant gets finished once my investment hits the Development Department."
Isaac watched him,a deep, unshakeable joy in his eyes. He saw the discipline, the fire, the purpose. "Whoever your parents were," he said, the words deliberate and heavy, "they would be as proud of you as I am."
The sentence hit Avenger like a physical thing. He froze, the mental calculations shattering. His breath caught. He had no memory of them—just ghosts and a one-year-old's survival story. He never expected… this. Not today.
A warmth flooded his chest, tight and overwhelming. After a few heartbeats, it broke into a smile—a real one, rare and unguarded.
"Thank you, Isaac," he said, his voice firmer now, steel wrapped in that warmth. "I promise. I won't let you down. I won't let them down. I won't let our people down. That money is ours."
Isaac said nothing.He just nodded, his own smile answer enough, and left him to his final preparations.
Alone again, Avenger finished gearing up. Last, he took his necklace from the small table. The pendant was a stylized African continent, rendered in black, red, gold, and green. He clasped it around his neck. It felt heavier than any glove, denser than any memory. It was the weight of a promise.
He left the room, the pendant cool against his skin, and walked toward the roaring sound of the crowd. Toward Viktor Chen. Toward the first step of a future he was determined to carve out, with a victory.