The space ahead seemed as if it had been forcibly torn open.
It was not something slowly revealed.
Rather, it felt like a massive structure that had always existed, now violently exposed to everyone at once.
Lights ignited in an instant. Cold white beams poured down from above, bleaching the air of any warmth.
A colossal arena unfolded fully before their eyes.
It was not a venue for entertainment.
Nor was it merely a competitive facility.
This was a space designed for suppression, adjudication, and the confirmation of power levels.
The ground sank inward in a circular formation. Black alloy plates were laid seamlessly, like a single polished mirror—cold, hard, and silent. Any footstep landing upon it would be instantly amplified, then echoed back, as if the arena itself were monitoring every movement at its center.
The spectator stands rose in layers, resembling an ancient coliseum, yet also the interior of a military installation. There were no decorations, no colors—only function and efficiency remained.
Seven stood at the entrance.
He did not pause to observe.
He did not glance at the audience.
He simply stepped forward.
One step.
His foot struck the alloy floor, producing a sharp, distinct sound.
A second step.
The echo returned a fraction of a second later, as if the space itself were confirming his presence.
He walked unhurriedly toward the center of the arena.
Stopped.
At the very moment he came to a halt—
Rumble.
Directly ahead, a massive gate began to rise.
It did not open sideways. Instead, like an ancient city gate, it slowly rolled upward from the ground. Thick metal panels scraped against their tracks, producing a deep, continuous groan. The vibration spread through the floor, strong enough for even the spectators to feel the pressure.
The gate was enormous.
Far too large to be meant for a human opponent.
Before it was fully raised, a heavy, primal pressure spilled from the darkness beyond.
Then—
A low roar emerged.
It was not merely a mechanical sound. It had been deliberately engineered to resemble beastly ferocity. The roar of engines overlapped with the resonance of metal structures, like a monster long locked in a cage, now being released.
The commentary booth fell silent for a brief moment.
"...What is that?"
Jackson instinctively leaned forward.
"With a gate that big, whatever comes out isn't going to be small."
Before his words even settled—
The sound of iron hooves echoed.
The first step was distant.
The second was already halfway closer.
Each impact transmitted clearly through the alloy floor. These were not probing steps, but deliberate ones—testing weight and stability.
A stir rippled through the stands.
Not cheers, but something closer to instinctive caution.
Finally—
A massive silhouette slowly emerged from the shadows beyond the gate.
First came the legs.
Long and thick, proportions closer to a beastman than a machine. Complex metal joints reflected cold light, each movement precise and restrained, with no unnecessary structures.
Then the torso.
Heavy armor layered densely, the power core completely concealed, leaving only an indifferent outer shell.
And at last—the full form stood exposed under the lights.
"...That's a Centaur-type Giant Robot!"
Jackson's voice rose noticeably.
"Did the genre just change?!"
This was no exaggeration.
This machine existed solely for the suppression of ability users.
A centaur configuration, yet it had completely abandoned human-style arms.
On the left—
The entire arm was removed, replaced by an integrated machine-gun port. The barrel was embedded directly into the armor, as if it had always belonged there.
On the right—
A massive lance fused with the body itself, extending down from the shoulder. The shaft was thick and heavy, its tip not designed for sharp precision, but for frontal annihilation.
It merely stood there.
And yet it made one thing unmistakably clear—
This was a presence meant to crush frontal combat power.
"Oh—wait."
Jackson suddenly raised a hand, his gaze briefly leaving the main screen.
"I'm receiving some information right now."
He glanced down.
His expression shifted in an instant.
Not excitement. Not shock.
But instinctive restraint.
A pause.
One beat longer than any normal commentary silence.
"...This information has a very high clearance level,"
his voice dropped noticeably.
"I can't disclose it publicly."
Jackson looked up, forcibly restoring his professional composure.
"I can only say one thing."
"This centaur-type giant robot represents the entirety of Free Town's currently 공개able technological achievements."
He paused.
"If someone can defeat it head-on—
that proves they possess S-rank combat power."
The statement ended there.
No elaboration.
But the livestream was already boiling over.
Inside the arena—
Seven raised his hand.
He sheathed the short blade.
The motion was clean, decisive, without hesitation.
"Oh."
Jackson immediately caught it.
"Seven has judged that a short blade can no longer pose any threat to the centaur robot."
"So here's the question."
"How will he attack?"
Seven did not respond to any sound.
He slowly walked to the exact center of the arena.
And then—
He sat down.
Not in a deliberate meditative pose.
He simply sat, as if temporarily setting aside the concept of battle itself.
"...Seven sat down,"
the commentator was visibly taken aback.
"He seems to be... saying something?"
The amplification system captured his voice.
Not loud, but unnervingly clear.
"Ability users don't lose control because of power,"
Seven said calmly.
"It's because of inner fragility."
"The more afraid you are, the easier it is to lose control."
"Abilities are not a curse."
"They are more like companions that exist alongside us."
He paused slightly.
"But this world doesn't trust ability users."
"It constantly emphasizes that ability users can lose control at any moment."
"Over time, even ability users themselves begin to distrust who they are."
The arena was completely silent.
This was not a declaration.
Nor was it a speech.
It was closer to a statement of fact.
This was the first time Seven had spoken in such a setting.
But he was not speaking to the audience.
Nor to Free Town.
He was speaking to all those who had ever been labeled
'dangerous individuals.'