Bai Shaoyue walked toward the center of the arena with unhurried grace, her pace measured and unforced . The platform beneath her feet was familiar, worn smooth by years of competition, and she adjusted instinctively without looking down. Her posture remained relaxed—shoulders loose, spine straight—balanced in a way that spoke of repetition rather than effort.
Her robes followed her movements naturally, settling instead of fluttering. There was no attempt at display, no sharp gestures meant to draw attention. And yet, wherever her gaze passed, the noise of the stands dulled by a fraction, breaths slowing without conscious command. It wasn't beauty that caused it, nor excitement. It was certainty—the kind that suggested the result had already been decided somewhere beyond the arena.
"She's going to win," someone said quietly.
