As the tournament began and the rounds went on, the coliseum never truly quieted.
Even between matches, the air buzzed — conversations overlapping, feet shifting on stone, the distant echo of metal being dragged across the arena floor.
Hina sat stiffly in her seat, eyes locked downward as fight after fight unfolded.
She watched each round go.
She watched how people fought — how differently everyone moved, how differently power manifested.
Flashes of light split the arena.
Shadows warped and twisted unnaturally.
Some fighters barely touched the ground. Others shattered it.
It shook her.
Not fear — something colder.
A realization of distance.
Of how far away this level of strength still was.
As the rounds continued, the noise grew louder, rougher, anticipation stacking on itself.
Then it came.
Asim stepped out into the arena.
Hina felt it before she processed it — a tightening in her chest.
Another opponent emerged from the opposite side.
Not Leon.
The announcer's voice boomed, rolling across the coliseum like thunder.
"The fighters of this round will be. The Crowned Mirage, Selam, and… Asim!"
The crowd exploded.
The cheers hit Hina physically — vibrating through the stone beneath her, rattling in her ribs.
She leaned forward without realizing it.
Asim groaned lightly as he entered the arena, stretching his shoulders, rolling his neck.
He glanced up at the crowd — thousands of eyes staring down — before lowering his gaze to Selam.
"Asim. How odd seeing you here."
Selam's voice was firm, hardened by experience.
Her figure was slim, steady, unmoving despite the wind sweeping through the open arena.
Her clothes swayed softly.
The crown-shaped visor over her eyes reflected the overhead lights, hiding her gaze completely.
Asim summoned his curved sword.
The weapon shimmered into existence, its familiar weight grounding him.
"Hopefully you've improved since the last time we sparred, Selam."
Selam's expression didn't waver.
"Tell me your true intentions, Asim," she said.
"I've known you long enough. You didn't come here for fame. For a name."
She summoned her rapier — thin, precise, deadly.
"You're here for a reason," she continued.
"And I'm worried to know what it is."
Asim shrugged.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Selam adjusted her crowned visor.
"I won't go easy on you."
"Come at me with what you've got."
The round began.
The moment the signal sounded, the atmosphere shifted.
Asim took his stance.
Selam mirrored him.
She struck first.
Her rapier flashed forward, sharp and fast.
Asim blocked — steel screaming as it collided.
He countered.
She deflected.
Strike after strike echoed through the arena, each clash ringing sharp and clean.
Their movements were tight, disciplined, controlled — no wasted motion.
As Asim's strikes began landing harder, Selam was pushed back, her feet skidding across the stone.
Annoyance flickered across her face.
Then she reached up and removed her crowned visor.
The crowd roared louder.
Hina's breath caught.
Selam's eyes were white, completely, unnaturally white, like polished marble.
The air warped.
Five Selams appeared.
Then more.
Mirages flooded the arena, surrounding Asim.
They rushed him all at once.
Asim stayed defensive, blade moving in smooth arcs as he blocked, dodged, cut through illusions that shattered the instant he struck them.
Above, Mera sighed.
Hina glanced at her.
"Asim is having trouble, huh?"
"Doubt."
Mera answered instantly.
Hina turned fully toward her.
Behind the veil, Mera's eyes were sharp — serious in a way Hina had never seen before.
The warmth was gone.
The cheer was gone.
It unsettled her.
"This isn't his full power," Mera said quietly, leaning back.
Hina looked down again.
She saw it now.
Every movement Asim made was deliberate.
Measured.
He wasn't fighting like he did against Veynar. He wasn't aggressive.
"What is his true power?" Hina asked.
Mera didn't look away from the arena.
"His true power… is hidden," she said.
"His fullest abilities are buried beneath true consensus."
Her voice trembled faintly.
"The devil enjoys tormenting a kind heart."
A chill crawled up Hina's spine.
She glanced at Mera — even without seeing her face, she could feel it.
Worry.
Fear, maybe.
Below them, Asim fought through endless mirages.
Fifty.
Then more.
It looked impossible.
How could anyone find the real Selam in this chaos?
Mirages shattered under Asim's blade — only to be replaced again and again.
A cycle that never ended.
Then Asim stopped.
Just for a moment.
He scanned the battlefield.
One Selam stayed back.
Always distant.
Always watching.
Asim smiled.
"I see you, Selam."
Selam's eyes widened.
Fear surfaced — raw and familiar.
All the mirages rushed him at once.
Asim cut through them effortlessly.
He ran.
Selam panicked, pulling all her mirages back into herself and forcing a direct fight.
Steel clashed violently.
Asim's strikes grew heavier. Faster.
More aggressive.
Until—
Her rapier flew from her hand, skidding across the stone.
Asim's blade stopped at her neck.
The coliseum erupted.
Hina barely registered the sound.
Ivan was on his feet, cheering wildly.
Mera clapped, slow and deliberate.
Hina looked at the crowd of people cheering, her eyes laid on one person
Aiko.
Her face was completely stoic — unmoved, unreadable — as she watched.
Selam exhaled.
"yeesh… can't let me win for once?"
Asim unsummoning his sword.
"You've gotten stronger."
He turned to leave.
"Asim."
Selam called out.
"At least tell me why you're here."
Asim glanced back.
"A built-up grudge."
He walked away.
Selam sighed, unsummoning her rapier as it faded into nothing.
"Grudge… huh."
She watched him disappear.
How big is the grudge?
Selam wondered.