Len finished his cider and stood up.
"Thanks for the conversation," he said, offering a small smile.
"Hopefully we don't end up fighting each other in the tournament. At least not first."
Filia blinked.
"…Huh?"
Parasoul looked up at him, studying him again—this time with a little more interest than before.
"Careful," she said. "That almost sounds like confidence."
Len shrugged, already turning away.
"Or optimism."
He gave a small wave and headed toward the exit of the bar.
Filia watched him go, then leaned toward Parasoul.
"…I like him."
Parasoul took another sip of her drink.
"…So do I," she admitted quietly.
And somewhere far above New Meridian—
The brackets shifted.
Len made his way back to his room.
When he opened the door, Miku was already there, freshly changed after her shower. Her hair was tied up loosely, still a little damp.
She waved at him. "Welcome back."
Len returned the wave and headed straight for the bathroom.
After a quick shower, he stepped out with a towel draped around his waist. Water still clung to his skin, his lean, muscular build visible, abs defined but not exaggerated. His blond hair had fallen flat from the water instead of its usual spikes.
[Insert image here]
Miku glanced over and gave him a thumbs-up.
This was very much not the first time she'd seen him like that.
Len snorted and grabbed the towel to dry his hair properly. Once done, he turned to grab a simple shirt and pants—
And his phone rang.
He paused and checked the screen.
Video call.
He tapped it.
The screen split into two faces.
One was a short, busty girl with salmon-pink hair, fiery pink eyes, and small brown horns. She wore an oversized shirt and thigh-high socks, her dragon tail visible behind her.
[Insert image of Ilulu – Miss Kobayashi's Dragon Maid]
Beside her was a tall woman with black hair and calm blue eyes, dressed in a light-blue hoodie, dark-blue vest, yellow scarf, and olive-green trousers.
[Insert image of Elma – Miss Kobayashi's Dragon Maid]
Both were clearly upset.
That lasted exactly half a second.
Ilulu blinked. Then grinned.
"…Nice."
Elma's face went bright red. She immediately covered the camera with her hand.
"Put on a shirt!"
Len sighed and leaned back against the bed.
"Hi, girls."
Elma peeked through her fingers.
"Don't 'hi' us! Why didn't you tell us you were leaving Japan?! We found out after we got back to the mansion!"
Ilulu crossed her arms.
"Yeah! We thought you got kidnapped or something."
Len blinked.
"…I told IA to inform you two."
Both girls froze.
Ilulu slowly turned toward Elma.
"…She didn't tell us."
Elma's eye twitched.
"She said you were 'temporarily relocating for a cultural exchange.'"
Len stared.
"…That's not wrong, but it's very misleading."
Ilulu laughed. "Classic IA."
Elma lowered her hand fully and sighed.
"So where are you now?"
Len finally pulled on his shirt.
"New Meridian. There's a tournament."
Ilulu leaned closer to the camera.
"Ooo, fighting tournament?"
Elma narrowed her eyes.
"…A dangerous one?"
Len smiled calmly.
"Probably."
Elma groaned and rubbed her temples.
"I leave you alone for one day…"
Miku's voice called from off-screen, cheerful and loud.
"Len, did you forget your charger again?"
Both Ilulu and Elma went completely still.
"…Is that Hatsune Miku?" Elma asked slowly.
Ilulu's grin widened.
"Ohhh. So that's why you didn't tell us."
Len closed his eyes.
"…This is going to be a long week."
Elma spoke up, pointedly ignoring the jealousy creeping into her voice.
"So… when are you coming back?"
Len shrugged.
"Ten days."
Ilulu's grin softened.
"Aww… I'm gonna miss you."
Len gave her a flat look.
"No flying here. Remember Kobayashi's rule—no dragons in public."
Ilulu pouted immediately.
"B–But—"
Len cut her off with a smile.
"No 'buts.' Just hug the plush version of me if you miss me."
Ilulu froze.
"…You left a plush?"
Len nodded. "Top shelf. Next to the hoodie."
Ilulu's eyes lit up.
"…I forgive you."
Elma sighed, rubbing her forehead.
"You really planned for this, didn't you?"
Len smiled calmly.
"Experience."
Miku leaned into frame from the side, cheerful.
"Don't worry, I'll keep him out of trouble!"
Elma stared at her.
"…That is not reassuring."
Ilulu laughed.
"Have fun, Len! Don't die!"
Len waved.
"Can't. Company policy."
The call ended.
Len set his phone down and exhaled.
'Day one,' he thought. 'And I've already survived three conversations.'
Miku glanced at Len.
"So… any idea who you're fighting tomorrow?"
Len shrugged.
"Nope."
Then he smacked his fist into his palm, a sharp thud echoing in the room.
"But I'm ready. I still have my skills."
Miku blinked.
"…That's it?"
Len grinned, eyes sharp now.
"That's always been enough."
Miku laughed, shaking her head.
"Wow. No plan, no intel—just vibes and skill."
Len stretched his neck.
"Hey, if it ain't broke."
Somewhere far away, fate quietly started sweating.
Miku folded her arms, studying him.
"You're way too calm for someone walking into a tournament full of monsters."
Len tilted his head.
"I get nervous after the fight. Before that? Waste of energy."
Across the room, the TV flickered to life as the tournament bracket updated.
FIRST MATCH: LEN KAGAMINE vs —
The name lagged for half a second.
Then appeared.
Parasoul Blanc.
Len froze.
"…Huh."
Miku slowly turned to him.
"You said you didn't know."
Len rubbed the back of his neck.
"Yeah. About that."
Miku smirked.
"So the gun-toting umbrella lady from the bar."
Len sighed.
"Please tell me she's not mad I clocked the gun."
Cut to Parasoul's room.
Parasoul stared at the same screen, apple cider in hand.
"Len Kagamine," she murmured.
She took a slow sip, eyes narrowing—not angry, not amused.
"Interesting."
She tapped her umbrella once against the floor.
"Let's see if that awareness of yours is luck… or training."
Somewhere between them, the tournament announcer boomed:
"Fighters, prepare yourselves. Match begins at dawn."
Len let out a slow breath and stretched, arms over his head.
"At least now I know who I'm fighting tomorrow."
He killed the lights and slid into bed like someone who had already made peace with whatever came next. No tossing. No overthinking. Within minutes, his breathing evened out.
Miku stayed up.
She glanced back at the TV, where the bracket glowed softly in the dark room.
OPENING MATCH — LEN KAGAMINE vs PARASOUL BLANC
"…Opening match," she muttered. "Of course."
She looked over at him—already asleep, annoyingly calm.
"Good luck," she said quietly, more to herself than to him.
---
Morning came fast.
The arena was already buzzing—crowds filling the seats, lights sweeping over steel and stone, the kind of atmosphere that made weaker fighters crack before stepping onto the stage.
Backstage, Len rolled his shoulders, loosening up.
Same simple clothes. Same relaxed posture.
No headphones. No music.
Just focus.
An announcer's voice thundered through the corridors.
"Ladies and gentlemen—welcome to the tournament! Our first match will begin shortly!"
Len exhaled once.
"Alright," he murmured. "Let's start things clean."
On the opposite side, Parasoul adjusted her gloves, umbrella resting against her shoulder. Her expression was composed—but her eyes were sharp, calculating.
"So," she thought, "the observant one goes first."
The gates began to rise.
The crowd roared.
Two fighters stepped forward from opposite ends of the arena.
Opening match.
No warm-up.
No room for hesitation.
The tournament had officially begun.
Parasoul studied him as they faced off in the arena.
"Where is your weapon?" she asked coolly.
Len rolled his neck once, bounced lightly on the balls of his feet—then settled into a stance that wasn't any single school, but many.
"I am my weapon."
Parasoul's lips curved just slightly. "Very well."
She snapped her umbrella forward.
The orange, napalm-like liquid hissed through the air.
Len moved before it fully left the barrel.
A sharp sidestep—Taekwondo footwork—his body slipping just outside the line of fire. He surged forward immediately, no hesitation, closing distance before Parasoul could reset.
His fists came fast.
Wide jabs at first—boxing—meant to probe, to herd. Parasoul shifted back, umbrella swinging in a tight arc to keep space.
Len changed gears.
He slipped inside the swing, forearm rolling along the shaft of the umbrella, and suddenly his hands weren't striking—they were locking. A wrist trap, a shoulder check—Kung Fu joint control flowing into close-range pressure.
Parasoul reacted instantly, wrenching free and snapping the umbrella back toward him.
Len was already there.
An elbow came in sharp and brutal—Muay Thai—aimed for her guard. Parasoul barely pulled back in time, the wind of it brushing past her cheek.
Her eyes widened a fraction.
'He's not random. He's chaining.'
She countered, pivoting, trying to create distance.
Len didn't let her.
He caught her wrist mid-motion.
His feet shifted—perfect base, hips turning—and in one smooth movement he swung her, momentum doing the work as he attempted to slam her into the arena floor.
The crowd gasped.
Parasoul twisted mid-air, barely managing to brace before impact, boots skidding hard against the stone as she ripped her arm free.
They separated again.
For the first time, Parasoul smiled.
"…So that's how you fight."
Len straightened, breathing steady, eyes sharp.
"And I'm just getting warmed up."
Parasoul swung again.
Len ducked under it smoothly, the umbrella blade slicing just above his head.
He's too short to get a clean hit, Parasoul noted instantly.
She disengaged, boots sliding back as she reset her stance.
"How tall are you?" she asked, voice calm even as her finger tightened on the trigger.
Len blinked—still moving.
A palm strike shot toward her stomach. Parasoul shifted, the umbrella snapping down to block as she answered herself with a smirk.
"Five-one."
The crowd murmured.
Parasoul's expression sharpened.
Then I won't fight him vertically.
She slammed the tip of her umbrella into the ground.
—BOOM
The arena floor erupted in controlled blasts, orange detonations ripping across the stone in a spreading pattern. Not random. Zoned. Firewalls forced movement, cutting off Len's angles and shrinking his safe space.
Up in the stands—
Filia leaned forward, eyes wide.
"She's… controlling the floor?"
The announcer swallowed audibly.
"Parasoul is turning the battlefield itself into a weapon—she's herding her opponent!"
Len skidded to a stop just before a blast went off beneath his feet.
"…Tch."
Parasoul advanced, umbrella raised, explosions popping in rhythmic intervals—step, step, detonate. She wasn't chasing him.
She was cornering him.
Len exhaled slowly.
Then he smiled.
"So that's how it is."
He ran straight at her.
Gasps rang out.
Parasoul fired—too late.
Len planted one foot, then launched.
A Taekwondo spin kick carried him high into the air, clearing the explosion zone entirely. His body twisted mid-flight—
—Axe kick downward, forcing Parasoul to block overhead.
He didn't stop.
He rebounded off the umbrella, flipping backward into a second rotation—
—Roundhouse, then a mid-air back kick, chaining momentum like a dancer suspended in gravity that had briefly forgotten him.
The crowd lost it.
"HE'S AIRBORNE—MULTIPLE STRIKES—!"
Parasoul was driven back, boots grinding into the stone as she absorbed and redirected, her umbrella screaming under the impact.
He's using the explosions as launch points… she realized.
He's turned my terrain into his runway.
Filia shot to her feet.
"That's not just martial arts—he's reading the fight in real time!"
Len landed lightly, one knee bent, one foot forward.
The fire around them hissed and died down.
He rolled his shoulders.
"Still think height matters?"
Parasoul straightened slowly.
Her smile this time was unmistakable.
"No," she said.
"I think I've found my problem."
Parasoul exhaled slowly.
Then she raised her umbrella straight into the air.
"Formation."
The response was immediate.
Explosive sigils flared across the arena floor—tight, disciplined, military. Controlled detonations snapped into existence, not wild blasts but precision fire, cutting lanes, sealing exits, forcing engagement angles.
The battlefield became a grid.
Parasoul stepped forward, voice calm, commanding, absolute.
"Advance pattern. Suppression."
The explosions came in staggered waves—left, right, center—driving Len exactly where she wanted him.
In the stands, the announcer's voice wavered.
"Parasoul is no longer fighting as a duelist—she's operating as a commander!"
Filia swallowed.
"This… this is war doctrine."
Len stopped moving.
Not because he was trapped.
Because he was done playing.
The cheers faded.
The flames reflected off his face as he lifted his head.
His eyes—once bright and playful—
glowed red.
Miku's breath caught.
"…Len."
She gripped the railing.
"I've seen that look," she whispered.
"He's serious."
Down below, Parasoul felt it.
The shift wasn't flashy.
No aura. No pose.
Just pressure.
Len rolled his neck once.
Cracked his knuckles.
His stance changed.
No bouncing.
No flourish.
Feet grounded. Center low.
Every motion minimized, efficient, predatory.
Parasoul narrowed her eye.
"…So that's your real face."
She fired.
A pinpoint shot—detonation timed to intercept, calculated to explode the moment Len entered its radius.
He didn't dodge.
He stepped through it.
The blast went off behind him as he slipped into the dead zone, his body turning just enough to let the shockwave roll past his shoulder.
The crowd gasped.
Parasoul's finger twitched.
Impossible timing.
Len closed the distance in three steps.
Not fast.
Certain.
His strike wasn't a kick.
It was a straight punch—short, compact—aimed not at Parasoul, but at the umbrella's hinge.
—CRACK
Metal screamed.
Parasoul was forced back, boots skidding, her formation disrupted as she raised her weapon defensively.
Len followed.
Elbow.
Knee.
Low sweep.
Each strike targeted joints, balance, control—no wasted movement, no theatrics.
This wasn't performance.
This was elimination.
Parasoul barely blocked in time, her umbrella snapping open as a shield, detonations erupting at point-blank range to force separation.
She landed in a crouch, breathing heavier now.
"…You're not an idol," she said quietly.
Len straightened.
Red eyes locked on her.
"No," he replied evenly.
"I'm a survivor."
Up in the stands, Miku covered her mouth—not in fear.
In understanding.
"He's holding back," she murmured.
"…even now."
Parasoul stood fully, wiping dust from her sleeve.
Her smile returned—but sharper.
"Then let's see," she said, umbrella rising once more,
"how long restraint lasts on a battlefield."
To be continued
Hope people like this ch and give me power stones and enjoy