Fourth High – Practice Field Arena – 11:08 JST
The air buzzed with tension—mana sensors ticking, reinforced barriers humming across the perimeter, and dozens of students packed along the viewing rows. The skies above were clear, harsh noon light baking the concrete underfoot.
Every section was present. Every eye was locked on the stage.
The holo-announcer's voice echoed across the field, clear and sharp through the speakers mounted above.
"Now stepping onto the field—representing Section Four—
Salcedo siblings. Celeste Marie Salcedo and Sallie Mae Salcedo."
The crowd shifted. Heads turned. A few students stood up.
From the east gate, Sallie and Celeste walked out side by side.
Celeste's posture was straight, controlled, Grimoire CAD already floating in sync at her side, spell rings cycling silently. She didn't glance at the audience.
Sallie walked with one hand in his coat pocket, the other holding the briefcase CAD loosely at his side. His coat moved with each slow step. He scanned the crowd once—unimpressed, bored, but awake now. Focused.
They reached the midpoint of the arena. The announcer's voice faded.
Behind the crowd barricade, Angela leaned forward on the railing. "Let's goooo, Onii-sama! Celeste, you got this!"
Celeste didn't turn but raised one hand briefly—acknowledging.
Sallie yawned and lifted a lazy peace sign without looking.
In the stands, the other students from Section Four clustered together. Some clapped. Others whispered—casual comments, low speculations.
"They're actually on time for once."
"Look at her face—dead serious. She's in kill mode."
"Sallie doesn't look serious at all."
"That's the scary part."
One student leaned over. "He sleepwalked through the prelims and still dismantled Nakamura."
Another nodded. "If they win this, they're going straight to the top side."
Down on the field, the Salcedo siblings stopped at their starting position. Opposite them, Duarte and Velez stepped out from the west gate.
Four casters. One field.
Ten minutes on the clock. No rewinds. No retries.
The announcer's voice rose again, cutting through the buzz.
"And now—representing Section Five—
Iñigo Tomas Duarte and Janine Rosario Velez."
From the western gate, the two advanced together—Duarte in a heavy combat vest, forearm-mounted CAD already charged and locked, eyes locked dead ahead. Velez moved in light gear, thin but reinforced armor plates along her legs and wrists, her movement sharp and tight, CAD ring glinting faintly on her left hand.
Their steps hit the ground in perfect sync.
Behind the staging barriers, Section Five's students erupted.
"Let's go, Duarte!"
"Velez gonna run circles around them!"
"Shut that lazy bastard down!"
"Break that Salcedo formation!"
There was laughter, loud clapping, confidence rising from the crowd. A few students stood up, waving their hands in the air, yelling over each other.
"They're toast. Duarte doesn't miss when the field's clean."
"Velez'll shred the sister in close quarters—she's too stiff."
Another added, "Lazy guy won't last if he can't sleep through it."
From the stage, Duarte turned briefly toward his section's crowd and gave a slight nod—barely a gesture, but enough to rile them louder. Velez smiled faintly, flexing her wrist, mana cycling through her calves.
Sallie leaned toward Celeste, barely tilting his head.
"You hear that? We're lazy and pushovers now."
Celeste didn't look at him. "Just stay awake."
He smirked. "That's the plan."
The announcer's voice returned, more focused now.
"Match protocol has been loaded. Ten-minute limit. Field boundaries reinforced. Combat conditions active."
"Begin when ready."
The countdown display hovered in the air between both teams—00:57 and ticking.
Sallie rolled his shoulder once, swinging the briefcase in his hand before letting it lock into combat sync. Mana flickered at the seams. Celeste tapped her Grimoire CAD once, its rings expanding, floating near her back like silent orbiting plates.
Sallie cracked his neck.
"You wanna open with your signature this time?" he asked, voice low and casual. "Or should I bait them first like last round?"
Celeste kept her eyes forward. "You always bait first. Just don't go off-script."
He tilted his head. "No fun in that."
She glanced sideways. "We lose this, and you'll find out what else isn't fun."
Sallie smirked, then nodded toward the other side. "They think they've figured us out already."
Celeste replied without blinking, "Then let's give them something to unlearn."
"How touching."
The voice came from across the field—flat, dismissive.
Duarte stepped forward two paces, locking his arm brace into its cast-ready position. "You two always this dramatic before getting wiped?"
Sallie looked over, deadpan. "We usually nap through the pre-match, but the crowd's loud today."
Velez added, stretching one leg back, her movement smooth. "You've got a reputation, Salcedo. Lazy genius, right? Timing spells with sarcasm."
Celeste's voice cut in, calm and cold. "And you're supposed to be the fast one."
Velez grinned. "Fast enough to leave you wondering what happened."
Duarte raised his arm slightly, charging his field suppressor. "Let's see how sharp your sync is when the pressure hits."
Sallie stepped forward just slightly, his tone dropping.
"Try not to blink."
The countdown hit 3...
2...
1...
The mana barrier surged—
Fight start
A sharp pulse of mana erupts from all four competitors the instant the perimeter field drops—like the crack of unseen lightning. The ground quivers with residual pressure, sending a ripple through the thin layer of dust coating the arena floor. It surges upward in curling eddies, veiling the combatants in a shifting haze. From the stands, thousands lean forward in synchronized anticipation, a collective inhale suspended on the edge of chaos.
Sallie moves first.
His briefcase CAD snaps open mid-stride with a series of mechanical clicks, like clockwork shifting into war mode. In the same breath, the frame folds and twists—metal plating sliding and reconfiguring until it locks into a compact revolver. It doesn't stay that way. A pulse of coded mana reshapes it again, elongating into a hybrid rifle-handgun, its surface gleaming with active runes that flicker with every twitch of his trigger finger. Gravel crunches beneath his boots as he slides into a crouch, his weight grounded and steady.
No chant. No theatrics. He fires.
Twin suppression bursts flare from the barrel—short, stuttering flashes of violet-blue mana. The rounds screech low across the battlefield, not aimed to hit but to pressure, to herd. They slam into the dirt just ahead of the others with concussive snaps, sending up twin fountains of dust and rock shards. A psychological prod. A warning. Move or be caught.
Celeste responds immediately, pivoting with practiced grace, her robes fluttering like petals caught in wind. Her Grimoire CAD unfurls behind her—a mechanical tome that opens with a resonant hum. Three circular rings of silver and obsidian rotate into alignment above its spine, each etching glowing runes into the air. The glyphs cycle fast—autocasting protocols aligning spell matrices in a precise, pre-programmed rhythm.
With a flick of her wrist, three glyphs disengage and streak forward—bright as falling stars. They slam into Sallie's back with pinpoint accuracy, not harming but empowering. A shimmer pulses across his body, boosting his mana reflexes and enhancing trace-targeting subroutines. His stance sharpens. His gaze narrows. He doesn't thank her, but he doesn't need to.
Across the field, Velez is already in motion.
Her ankle plates emit a rising whine, then crack—she vanishes in a sonic blink, the air behind her ripping with displaced sound. Dust swirls violently in her wake. Her movement CAD compresses a speed glyph mid-stride, the runes glowing white-hot under her boots. She reappears a split-second later, a blur of motion angled at Sallie from his blindside—five o'clock. Momentum coils in her limbs, timing perfect. She launches, body tucked tight, blade drawn and set for a mid-air strike.
Sallie reacts.
He doesn't look—he feels her presence, a pressure in his peripheral awareness amplified by Celeste's earlier support glyphs. His pivot is surgical. One foot plants into the gravel with a grind, and he spins, rifle already reconfigured mid-motion. Gun kata, Form-3. A fluid sequence. He fires the first deflection round directly, then angles the second—ricocheting it off a metal post embedded in the arena edge. The shot whistles past Velez's flank and strikes a pillar behind her, detonating with a pop of kinetic force.
The trajectory is perfect.
Velez's eyes widen—she twists in mid-air to avoid the follow-up burst, her body arching awkwardly as the deflected round changes her landing arc. Her strike loses cohesion.
Sallie doesn't let up.
His CAD shifts again—metal groaning as it compacts and reshapes, the rifle collapsing into a sleek blade form. A short-sword, with a glowing spine of mana threading down its length. He steps into her new landing zone, blade raised and body set into a counter-step stance, feet grounded, weight forward. His eyes lock onto hers, unflinching.
Challenge met.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Dozens of students leaned forward against the railing, eyes locked on the arena floor.
"Was that a ricochet shot?"
"No way he timed that mid-spin—"
"He's actually fighting?!"
From Section Four's side of the stands, the noise spiked.
"That's Salcedo!?"
"He's moving like he trained for this!"
"No way he's the same guy who fell asleep during our mock drills—"
Down below, Velez twisted in mid-air, her balance thrown off by the ricochet. She landed in a skid, knees bent, immediately preparing for a follow-up—
But Sallie was already in motion.
He stepped in low, blade-form CAD drawn out across his forearm, angled for a cross-cut parry, posture grounded—an execution stance lifted from traditional sabersmith kata, but trimmed into urban combat speed.
His left foot slid slightly back. Elbow high. Blade out.
No wasted movement.
He looked like he'd done this a hundred times. Like none of it surprised him.
A voice in the stands whispered, stunned, "That wasn't luck. He planned that."
Celeste stood just outside the immediate clash zone, calm, casting cycle rotating again, glyphs tracing geometric arcs behind her like orbiting command rings.
Even she glanced sideways once.
Not shocked. Not impressed. Just acknowledging:
He was locked in.
And everyone was watching now.
---
Duarte drops into a low stance, one knee nearly touching the earth. With measured precision, he slams his forearm brace-CAD into the ground. It pulses once—deep, resonant—as if syncing with the heartbeat of the arena itself. A slow-charging temporal delay field begins to bloom outward from the contact point. Threads of red mana snake across the dirt in delicate, radial filigree, carving glowing lines into the ground like cracks in molten glass. He's not attacking.
He's seizing control.
Celeste doesn't miss a beat.
Her Grimoire rings adjust with a faint harmonic chime, rotating into a new alignment. She raises both arms, fingers splaying outward as if pulling at invisible harp strings. Mana threads unfurl from her fingertips, tethering to the glyphs with eerie precision.
"Graviton Feedback."
The spell detonates subtly.
Beneath Duarte, the very ground trembles—a slow, deliberate distortion warps his delay field, pushing and pulling against the temporal layering. It begins to oscillate unevenly, flickering at the edges. He grits his teeth, muscle tension threading through his jaw as he resists the destabilizing pressure, fighting to maintain cohesion.
Above this struggle, Velez descends like a missile.
She lands hard—her boots skidding briefly before her fist lashes out, wrapped in a sheath of compressed blue-white mana. She drives it straight toward Sallie's center mass, the air screaming from the sheer velocity of her strike.
Sallie meets her with brutal economy.
He parries her punch with a blade-lined deflection—elbow sliding into wrist, guiding the blow away with a sharp clang of metal-on-metal. Before her second strike fully forms, he's already moving—dropping into a slide beneath her guard, cloak snapping around him.
The CAD reconfigures mid-slide—snapping back into briefcase form for a heartbeat, then expanding with a hiss into a scatter-pulse shotgun. One-handed, he fires point-blank at her feet. The non-lethal mana burst erupts with concussive force, launching her into the air. She crashes backward in a controlled roll, dirt and mana residue trailing her movement.
No pause.
Sallie flips the CAD vertical.
It reshapes again—plates folding into place with practiced familiarity. A compact drone pod launcher emerges, sleek and humming.
"Eyes up," he mutters, voice tight with focus.
Twin disc-shaped drones eject from the pod with twin bursts of air, spiraling upward. They climb fast, locking in on Duarte from above—dual targeting lasers painting red lines across the battlefield.
The Grimoire pulses in response.
"Binding Path: Hexlock Vector," Celeste intones.
Beneath Velez—just as she rises from her roll—the arena floor illuminates with a sharp geometric glyph. It expands outward, then collapses inward with precision, forming a tight magnetic snare around her leg. The moment freezes—her body jerking as the mana binding locks her in place. Her momentum breaks.
Duarte sees it—too late.
He snarls and lifts his brace, firing a kinetic intercept bolt directly at Celeste. The air ripples with its force.
Sallie is already there.
His CAD snaps sideways mid-draw, unfolding into a deflection cannon. The bolt slams into a glyph shield milliseconds from contact—Sallie's burst of mana detonating it into harmless fragments midair.
Celeste doesn't blink.
Malacañang Palace – Imperial Watchroom – 11:17 JST
Gabriella sat in the high-backed chair, her hands clasped behind her back, eyes fixed on the large holo-display. The soft hum of the palace's quiet corridors seemed miles away from the intensity of the arena shown on the screen.
The feed was live—clean, undistorted, every movement crystal clear in high-definition. The Salcedo siblings were dominating the field, moving with precision that Gabriella couldn't deny was impressive, despite Sallie's laid-back demeanor.
The moment Velez made her move—
"Binding Path: Hexlock Vector."
Celeste's voice rang through the speakers in the room, calm, methodical. The geometric field expanded beneath Velez, trapping her with a magnetized snare, slowing her down as she struggled to recover from the last exchange.
Gabriella's sharp gaze stayed on the screen.
"Hexlock Vector. That's… clean," she murmured to herself. Her fingers twitched slightly at her side, tracing the air as though calculating angles.
The display shifted as Duarte fired a kinetic intercept bolt at Celeste from across the field. The shot was fast, calculated, meant to take her out of play.
But before it could reach its mark, Sallie moved.
His CAD shifted in a seamless transition, now locking into a deflection cannon—a quick draw and release of a controlled burst, dissipating the kinetic bolt in mid-air.
Gabriella's eyes narrowed. "he's serious now."
The fight was no longer just a casual exhibition. She could see it—the perfect synchronization between them, like clockwork. Sallie's lazy attitude and Celeste's calm demeanor were two parts of the same machine, clicking into place effortlessly.
Gabriella's lips quirked slightly as she watched the display. "Interesting."
She leaned forward slightly, hands clasped more tightly now.
"They're not pulling punches," she murmured. "No more games."
A soft voice from the corner of the room caught her attention. "Your Highness?"
Gabriella didn't take her eyes off the screen, but she responded. "Yes?"
"Shall we prepare the next report on the candidates?" the aide asked. The sound of papers shuffling could be heard in the background, but Gabriella's focus was still entirely on the fight.
"Not yet," Gabriella replied, her tone sharp, not allowing a hint of distraction. "Keep watching. Let's see how the Salcedo siblings handle this."
---
On screen, Sallie had already moved forward, closing the distance. Velez, still struggling with Celeste's Hexlock Vector, barely had time to react as Sallie moved into his counter-step stance. His blade-form CAD was already out, taking the battle to a more personal level.
The crowd roared in the background.
Gabriella's eyes remained locked on the feed, her lips curling into a slight smile. "This… will be interesting."
She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed again, watching the siblings with growing interest.
The tension in the room, despite the quiet, was palpable.
She wasn't sure what she expected from them, but whatever it was—it was turning out to be much more than just a side show.
___
Imperial Duel Arena — Fourth High School. Marauoy, Batangas
With a sharp breath, she raises her Grimoire high. A mirror-field glyph shimmers into existence above Sallie—a refraction seal that pulses in time with his own mana flow. It begins to channel directly into his next cast, overcharging it.
Sallie doesn't wait. He slides a glyph shell into the CAD's chamber—a violet-rimmed core.
The Breaker Round.
"Celeste—now."
She locks his trajectory instantly, spell-guiding his movement through her Grimoire's feedback loop. Arc lines trace his path forward.
Sallie moves.
He slides low, body compact, under Duarte's return fire—blaster bolts slicing overhead, kicking up dirt. With no hesitation, he braces, plants, and fires the Breaker Round into the very heart of the delay field.
It lands dead center.
The impact is silent—for a second.
Then the anchor point shatters.
The red mana glyphs crack like glass, folding inward before detonating outward in a wave of uncontrolled arc energy. The temporal field collapses on itself with a banshee-like scream, disintegrating into a radial shockwave that rips through the arena.
Duarte stumbles back, shielding his eyes. His CAD powers flicker—mana destabilized.
His casting collapses.
The glyph-snare tightens around Velez's ankle, glowing bright with each desperate tug—but she doesn't stop. Mana surges from her core, limbs trembling with the strain. Her eyes flash with raw intent.
Overclock Burst—short-range, unfiltered.
Her movement CAD screams under the sudden pressure, vents along her spine and calves igniting in bright lines of volatile blue mana. The binding glyph shatters in an instant, fragmenting like brittle glass beneath a surge of kinetic force.
She rockets forward, a blur of speed and fury.
Her fist coils back—mana-loaded and vibrating with suppressed potential—as she zeroes in on Celeste, the momentum of the break turning her into a guided missile of pure aggression.
But she doesn't reach her.
Not even close.
Sallie is already there.
He steps between them without a word, fluid as breath, his CAD mid-transformation—already rotated sideways, braced just below Velez's collarbone. The muzzle rests squarely against her chest, point-blank, unshaking.
His eyes meet hers.
Calm. Certain. Not angry. Just... precise without warning as he flicks the trigger
A low thump echoes outward as the mana discharge fires—compressed energy erupting with focused force. The impact slams into her chest like a thunderclap, detonating across her core. The air ripples around the point of contact, displacing her forward momentum with brutal finality.
Velez's breath catches—body locking for a heartbeat before she's flung backward, crashing into the dust with a muted grunt. Her limbs twitch once, then go still, mana systems temporarily overloaded, non-lethal but Efficient.
Sallie lowers his CAD in silence, already turning back toward Duarte's fallen casting zone.
The arena falls into silence. Then the eruption of the crowd.
Sallie stands casually, rotating his CAD back into briefcase form, slinging it lazily over his shoulder.
Celeste steps beside him, her Grimoire CAD sealing shut in clean, silent layers.
Match End – [VICTORY: SECTION FOUR]
The arena lights shifted from combat red to neutral white. The mana barriers hummed as they began deactivating. Debris from impact zones and mana burns still lingered in the air, heat waves rising off scorched sections of the field.
Then the system voice cut in.
"All targets neutralized. Match Winner: Section Four."
A half-second of stunned silence held the audience in place—
Then it broke.
Shouts, cheers, disbelief.
"Wait—did they actually win?"
"No way—he was napping this morning!"
"I thought it was all hype—how the hell did they pull that off?"
Section Four's seats were filled with students standing now, leaning over the railings, blinking at the final scoreboard.
"That lazy bastard—won?"
"He didn't even warm up!"
Celeste stood quietly at mid-field, her Grimoire CAD sealing shut, rings folding back into the primary plate with mechanical precision. She is keeping her composure without celebrating with the crowd.
Beside her, Sallie yawned and rotated his CAD once before compressing it back into briefcase mode. The panels clicked shut with a soft hiss. He slung it over his shoulder like a school bag.
He gave the stands a glance—half-lidded, casual—then walked toward the exit zone like he just got dismissed from homeroom.
One Section Four student muttered under his breath, "He didn't even look tired."
Another leaned closer. "Are they really… our reps now?"
"Yeah," someone said behind him, voice flat. "That's our representative!?. That's both of them."
A group of students stood gathered just behind the barricade where the Salcedo siblings had exited the arena. Some still had hands on their heads. Others were quiet, arms folded, watching the replay hover over the side holo-screens.
"Yo. They're gonna fight Section One next, right?" a tall student asked, eyes glued to the match brackets updating in real-time.
"Yeah," another replied, pulling up his wristpad. "Semifinals slot just locked in—Section One confirmed. Reyes and Kwon."
That name dropped the tone of the group fast.
"Shit. Those two don't mess around. Did you see what they did to Section Eight?"
"Did I see? They cleared that match in four minutes. Amon Reyes practically caved the field in."
A girl near the back spoke up, biting her thumbnail. "They're the number one class reps for a reason. Top spell efficiency, clean formations, zero infighting. No gimmicks, just power."
One of the support techs from Section Four shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Did you see how the Salcedos worked? Celeste had her Grimoire cycling field geometry like it was coded. And Sallie—he was switching forms mid-movement."
Another student leaned against the railing. "Still… Reyes is a precision striker. He doesn't give you time to cast. And Kwon? She's a reflector. You send something reckless, it comes back twice as fast."
Someone added, "They'll test timing, not strength. Celeste will have to pre-cast around their null zones."
A murmur of agreement passed.
Then, quietly, from one of the quieter boys near the rear:
"…Do you think the Salcedos can actually beat them?"
No one answered immediately.
Then the tall student folded his arms and said, "I don't know."
"Reyes and Kwon… weren't they transfers?"
A girl from the mana engineering stream nodded. "Yeah. USNA exchange program. Brought in after the joint training collapse last semester."
"Thought that was just rumor."
"It was quiet on purpose. High-level placement. Not many students get shipped here on combat transfer status."
One of the older students narrowed his eyes. "Amon Reyes—he was part of the Stars' auxiliary, wasn't he?"
"Unofficially," someone said. "He was in the Pacific backup roster during the Okinawa incidents. Didn't see frontline, but he ran simulation drills against projected Imperial formations. That guy knows our tempo better than most."
"And Kwon?"
"Technical reflector. Specialized in field-bounce theory. Rumor is she cracked a prototype spell designed to reverse mana compression vectors at high velocity."
A whistle cut through the group.
"So… they're not just Section One. They're USNA-trained Section One."
"Exactly."
Someone else added, "And if they beat our representatives, that's going on record."
"But if the Salcedos win…"
No one finished the sentence.
---
Sallie stepped out of the prep wing exit with zero urgency, both arms raised high overhead. His coat slid back off his shoulders as he stretched, spine popping audibly.
"Haaahhh..." A long, loud yawn followed—no shame, no filter.
He dropped his arms, rubbed his eyes, then glanced up at the bright sky. "We done for now? That last one barely counted as cardio."
Beside him, Celeste walked in perfect posture, one hand adjusting her glasses, the other keeping her grimoire tucked neatly under her arm like a file folder.
She didn't look at him when she replied. "You were supposed to be conserving mana, not sleeping on instinct."
Sallie scratched his head. "Can't help it. You do all the thinking, I just shoot things. Symbiotic, really."
He let out another short yawn, mouth half-covered by his sleeve this time.
Celeste gave him a side glance. "If you yawn in front of Section One, I'm casting silence on your lungs."
He blinked. "Don't be so mean sis."
She pushed her glasses up higher. "Just shut up Onii-sama."
Celeste kept her pace steady, brushing a leaf off her coat as they walked past the benches.
"Section One has USNA backing them," she said flatly, not bothering to dress it up. "You saw the cast timings. That's not domestic training."
Sallie kept walking. Hands back in his coat pockets. Yawn half-swallowed.
"I saw clean execution," he muttered. "Could've been a private tutor. Doesn't mean Stars agents are moonlighting in interschool brackets."
Celeste adjusted her glasses again. "Reyes was registered as auxiliary during the Okinawa incident. Kwon trained under USNA reflector doctrine. That's more than rumor."
Sallie tilted his head back like he was checking for clouds. "Until I see their old unit patches or a mana tag from a fleet command center, it's just theory. Half these elites lie about where they trained just to sound special."
"They're not lying."
"I didn't say they were," he replied casually. "I'm saying I don't care until someone shows me a logistics file or Kwon speaks with an American accent while punching me in the face."
Celeste stopped walking. Turned to face him, expression unreadable. "You're not taking this seriously."
Sallie stopped too. Looked at her. His posture didn't change, but his tone did. Just slightly.
"I'm always serious when it counts."
"USNA… in our school? In this tournament? Doesn't add up."
Celeste didn't stop walking. "The placement was covert. High-level approval."
"Exactly." He pointed lazily at the air in front of him. "Which means someone's pulling strings to shove foreign-trained operatives into a glorified school bracket match. Why?"
"Field data. Influence testing. Measuring domestic capability against allied outputs," she answered automatically. "Standard strategic reasoning."
Sallie squinted. "If it's so standard, why didn't the Empire announce it? Why isn't anyone calling it what it is? Because if Reyes and Kwon are really Stars—or even just auxiliary—their mana signatures should've flagged somewhere."
"They masked it."
He waved her off. "No such thing as a perfect mask. Not under our sensors."
She stopped at the glass doors, letting them slide open. Then turned slightly.
"You're saying it's a lie?"
"I'm saying," he yawned again, "until I see proof—like a mana frame slip, a formation that doesn't match local doctrine, or a pressure signature only USNA high-speed casters use—I'm not buying the hype."
He stepped past her, hands still in his pockets.
"But if I do see it…"
He slowed, turning his head halfway back toward her, a grin forming slowly.
"If I figure out they really are Stars?"
Celeste raised an eyebrow. "What then?"
The grin sharpened.
"Then I stop treating this like a school tournament. And I start playing for real."
---
Fourth High – East Practice Field – 11:32 JST
Bracket: East Wing Elimination – Sections 9 through 16
While the west bracket buzzed with tension from Section Four's win and the looming clash with Section One, the eastward matches were already underway—raw, brutal, and far less polished.
Dust clouds rolled across the eastern field as teams from Sections 10 and 15 collided head-on. Explosive mid-tier spells lit the edges of the terrain as Section 15's heavyset brawler barreled through three-layered defenses, slamming a mana-pulse gauntlet into a wide shockwave.
Spectators from the other sections flinched as the impact hit.
"Section 15's got brute force, but no formation discipline," one student muttered behind a viewing panel.
Nearby, Section 11 and Section 14's match was nearing its end—one combatant flat on the field, mana reserves depleted, as a precision caster from Section 14 calmly loaded a second seal spell into her disk-CAD and knocked the final glyph into position with a flick of her wrist.
[MATCH END – SECTION 14 VICTORY]
On the far corner of the bracket, Section 13's duel against Section 12 dragged on. Both sides were utility-heavy teams, flooding the arena with visibility obstructions, terrain alterations, and timed traps. Viewers watched on screens, squinting through layer after layer of fog fields and seismic illusions.
"Too slow," a senior instructor muttered. "No kill tempo. They're fighting like this is a ranked simulation."
One analyst leaned forward. "They're burning stamina. Whoever wins this match won't have enough reserves left to challenge Section 13 in the quarters."
As spells flew and cadets hit the ground one after another, it became clear:
The east bracket was chaos.
No clear favorites. No dominant syncs.
Just eight teams clawing through mud, illusion fields, and brute pressure—each desperate to break into the quarterfinals.
All while knowing…
Whoever survived the east side of the bracket—
Would have to face whoever came out of the warzone on the west.
___
Tondo District – Metro Manila – 11:40 JST
Local Street Corner, Barrio del Pilar
The streets buzzed with noise far removed from student protocol or imperial decorum.
In the corner of a small electronics repair shop, four flat screens were mounted above the counter—each one showing a different live match from the Imperial Duel Preliminaries. Below them, a crowd had packed the sidewalk—residents, vendors, uniformed militia on break, old men smoking, children perched on crates.
And bets. Bets everywhere.
A rusted tin cashbox sat on a folding table beside the TV. A laminated bracket sheet was taped to the wall.
Handwritten names.Odds listed in chalk. Scribbled notes in local dialect.
A worn-out sign:
"No Refunds After Cast Activation."
"P'tang ina, five-to-one on Salcedo siblings?" a middle-aged man barked, slapping down a roll of crumpled bills. "All in."
Next to him, a younger woman in high heels and a sleek black coat pulled out a thin tablet and wirelessly logged in a bet—500,000 pesos on Section Four. No hesitation.
Across the alley, a man in a pressed white barong leaned against a Lexus, sipping iced coffee, watching the stream on his car screen.
His driver whispered: "Sir, Kwon's USNA-trained. I advise—"
The man raised a hand. "I know who's trained where. I want to see if the kid really earned that martisl arts techniques coming from a foreign individual."
Further down the street, two boys argued over a battered betting sheet scratched on cardboard.
"Section One's got reflector magic, bro!"
"Yeah? And Salcedo just cooked Duarte with a loadout flip and no chant!"
Even among the back alleys and rooftops, phones were out. Cracked speakers blared commentator audio. The Imperial Duel Preliminaries weren't just sport anymore. They were currency.
Pawnshops paused operations to stream the fights.
Street vendors offered discounts if you named your bet aloud.
Even a few minor aristocrats, dressed in tailored coats, stood quietly at the edge of the crowd—anonymous, watching.
Divisoria – Central Market District – 11:52 JST
Intersection of Soler and Juan Luna Streets
What was usually chaos had gone still.
The rush of shouting vendors, clattering carts, and deal-haggling voices had dimmed. Stalls were open, tarps were drawn—but the selling had paused. People stood shoulder to shoulder between crates of vegetables, knockoff electronics, and high-end contraband.
Every screen was tuned to the Imperial Duel Preliminaries.
Wall-mounted TVs, tablet stands, portable projectors slung across awnings—every business, from bootleg phone shops to gold chain stalls, had streamed the tournament feed.
Holo-brackets glowed in midair. Match stats ticked live.
The fight wasn't just playing in the background—it was the market.
"Section Eleven's casting speed's trash, pare," one vendor said, not looking up from his ledger. "But that sniper from Section Fourtheen? Clean targeting, no wasted mana."
A courier dropped off a box, but the shop owner didn't sign. His eyes were fixed on the holo, watching a slow-motion replay of a Section Ten forward getting tossed across the terrain with a seismic pulse.
"Leave it," the owner muttered. "If Section Ten loses, I'm not paying."
Across the street, an upscale boot stall had shut its register down, now doubling as a betting table. A digital display listed current odds—constantly shifting—based on real-time bracket movements.
The crowd favored Section One, but Section Four's odds were tightening fast. After the Salcedo siblings' last match, word had spread across Divisoria in minutes.
Even the old schools—those with legacy names, the kind that once ruled student tournaments—had their corners of support. Former powerhouse institutions, now absorbed into the imperial system, each had a cluster of backers in stalls, whispering spells, scribbling notes, calling bets.
"Three thousand on that girl from Section Nine—she's got formation training from the south."
"Nah. Section Thirteen has brute casters. They'll burn through those setups."
"You seen that grimoire type from Section Four? She's got full-cycle sync. That's Imperial family-tier prep."
Kids in torn uniforms mimicked duel stances in the alleys. Adults debated CAD configurations while eating grilled isaw. A street priest even crossed himself while watching a replay of a knockout spell.
New Bilibid Prison – Maximum Security Zone – 12:10 JST
Cellblock Gamma, Guard Platform 02
The prison echoed with distant noise—shuffling chains, low voices behind reinforced doors, the hum of surveillance drones gliding along the rails overhead.
Inside the concrete walls of Cellblock Gamma, where the worst offenders in the empire's holdings were caged—rapists, traffickers, murderers, child abusers, and dealers—the cell doors stayed shut.
Mana suppressors buzzed at ankle-level. Nobody moved without permission.
Up on a steel platform above the cells, two Imperial Cadet Officers stood watch in full gear—standard issue dark-blue Imperial cadet uniforms, wrist-mounted CADs strapped tight, and salakot-style headgear glinting under the flickering LED strips.
One leaned against the rail, chewing on a betel wrap.
"You watching the duels?" he asked, eyes still scanning the walkway.
"Yeah," the other muttered, thumbing through his wristpad. "They've been replaying that Salcedo fight all morning."
"Section Four?"
"Mm. Celeste and her brother. Sliced through Section Five like it was mock drills."
The first officer spat to the side. "Figures. Japan's schools never run brackets that raw. They still train like it's sport. Imperial brackets? They train for combat and consequence."
The second one nodded slowly. "Back in Japan, a clean fight's something to applaud. Here, it's something to exploit."
They both looked down over the rails. A few prisoners sat in corners of their cells, eyes dark, heads down. Not a single sound from them.
The first officer muttered, "Half of these bastards wouldn't last sixty seconds in a controlled duel. That Salcedo kid? He'd wipe out a cellblock without breaking stride."
"Probably dreamin' of it," the second replied. "You see his mid-combat loadout flip? Who the hell programs eight weapon trees on the fly?"
"Someone not interested in sportsmanship."
They fell silent a moment, watching the cells.
Then the first officer spoke again, tapping his CAD idly.
"Between our cadets and theirs, Japan's still playing games. We train ours to finish."
The second one smirked. "And when they don't finish fast, the crowd gets bored."
He looked back at the screen. The bracket was shifting again.
"Sallie and Celeste are up against Section One next. USNA-blood."
The first officer's eyes narrowed.
"Good. Maybe we'll finally see what happens when the Empire breaks another foreign backbone."
Below them, the prisoners said nothing. Because even monsters knew when to keep quiet.
___
Malacañang Palace – War Hall Chamber – 12:17 JST
Northern Wing, Secured Level
The thick, reinforced doors of the War Hall opened with a hydraulic hiss, cold air pouring into the chamber like smoke from a sealed vault. The room beyond was vast—black granite floors, brass-trimmed command tables, walls lined with strategic displays and surveillance projectors. Above, the Imperial Seal of the IFRP burned faintly behind the throne.
At the center, seated on the elevated chair of command, was Emperor Aurelio Mendez III, draped in his reinforced imperial uniform—pressed sharp, lined with spell-dampening plates and woven mana channels. His hands rested calmly on the carved obsidian arms of the throne.
He did not blink when the doors parted again.
Gabriella Aurelia Mendez appeared between the twin guards posted at the chamber entrance, stepping into the room with no hesitation, her uniform coat fastened tight, teleportation glyphs still fading from her boots. Her posture was crisp, eyes forward.
She stopped six steps from the throne.
"Father."
Aurelio's voice was low and measured. "You're late."
Gabriella bowed slightly. "My previous link with the surveillance mesh over the Eastern theater was delayed by noise from Okinawa. I didn't authorize a jump blind."
A pause. Then a slight nod from the Emperor.
"Report."
Gabriella straightened. Her voice was clinical.
"USNA forward elements remain positioned along the Okinawa defensive perimeter. As of 0600 JST, no units have crossed into Japanese-controlled airspace or waters. However—three long-range surveillance pings were traced back to Stars-grade sensor nets, tethered to Pacific relay buoys."
Aurelio's hands flexed slightly.
"Are they aware?"
Gabriella shook her head once. "They haven't confirmed our tournament structure. But they're watching. Closely."
"And Japan?"
"Still fractured internally. Civilian broadcasts continue the charade of peace, but their capital defense network has tripled mana loadouts in the last seventy-two hours. Yotsuba activity has spiked. Naval deployments suggest preemptive staging, not reaction."
Aurelio leaned forward slightly. "They expect the strike."
Gabriella nodded. "But they don't know when. Or where."
The Emperor looked past her, toward the long-range battle table at his right—ghost images of duel brackets, school records, and synchronized movement logs from across the archipelago flickered.
Aurelio's gaze lingered on the holo-table, eyes narrowing as the bracket highlights cycled through—Section One's name pulsing with priority markers. Reyes. Kwon. Top-seeded. No official foreign tag in the registry.
He spoke without looking at Gabriella.
"Those USNA units, fight under our banner."
Gabriella's jaw tensed slightly. "Yes."
"But they are not ours."
"No, Father."
He turned his head slowly toward her.
"The United States of North America sends their trained agents under the guise of academic exchange. Their Stars auxiliaries masquerading as students. Groomed with federal doctrine, implanted in our institutions, paraded in our tournaments."
His voice grew colder, harder.
"They think subtlety gives them the right to test us on our own soil."
Gabriella didn't interrupt.
Aurelio gestured toward the table—Section One's profile zoomed in. Amon Reyes, top of his section. Combat scores well above average. Known precision caster. Field leadership experience logged anonymously. The other—Cassandra Kwon—listed under a "technical background." Her entire casting record redacted in the official release.
He tapped the edge of the table with two fingers. The sound echoed in the chamber like a clock tick.
"They want to see how far our youth have come."
"They want to measure us. Quietly. Without declaring it."
Gabriella responded, her tone steady. "They've underestimated our response."
"They always do."
Gabriella didn't speak. She only nodded—once, sharply—and turned to carry out the order.
The bracket on the table glowed brighter.
Section Four vs. Section One.
___
Two hours before the quarterfinals, the corridor buzzed with a low hum—students and staff moving in measured, anticipatory steps. The polished floor reflected the overhead lights in a blur of muted gold. Sallie and Celeste, shoulders squared in their Salcedo uniforms, walked side by side toward the cafeteria. Angela was due to meet them there, and they had a few minutes to run through last-minute strategy.
As they turned the corner, the siblings slowed. Leaning casually against the lockers stood two figures in crisp uniforms bearing the unmistakable aura of precision. Reyes and Kwon from Section One were in the hallway, their eyes fixed on a holoprojector displaying tactical data. Reyes adjusted the collar of his forearm brace, while Kwon scanned through the feed on her wrist CAD with a quiet intensity.
Sallie's eyes flicked from one to the other; his usual lazy grin was replaced with a measured calm. "Well, if it isn't the Stars," he muttered under his breath.
Celeste's gaze hardened as she took in the unexpected sight. "They're here. Right in our path," she said. Her tone was neutral but edged with caution.
Reyes noticed them and straightened, his expression unreadable. "Section Four," he said, nodding briefly. "I didn't expect you in this corridor."
Kwon's eyes flicked toward Celeste and then back to her data feed. "Are you on your way to the cafeteria?" she asked coolly. There was a slight glint in her eyes that betrayed her focus.
Sallie stepped forward, his voice casual yet laced with a challenge. "Yeah, Angela's waiting. We were just heading there. I guess we're all crossing paths before the quarterfinals."
Celeste stayed close to her brother, arms folded. "You came here ahead of schedule?"
Reyes shrugged, a gesture that was neither hostile nor welcoming. "Our training schedule allowed an early break. We're catching up on updates."
A murmur passed between them, a momentary pause that felt like a test of wills. The hallway seemed to hold its breath as the two sides sized each other up.
Sallie tilted his head, a smirk forming as he replied, "I heard rumors that Section One's a USNA-backed team. I suppose you're here to show us how 'elite' you really are."
Kwon's lips tightened at the remark, but her voice remained cool. "We're here to do what we do—fight clean, precise, and with discipline. No gimmicks."
Celeste's eyes flashed. "And no secrets. You're in the open, right now. I wonder if your performance in the prelims was as 'precise' as you claim."
Reyes's gaze was steady. "We let our actions speak for themselves. Our duel last week was… telling."
Sallie folded his arms and shrugged nonchalantly. "Telling, or over-hyped? I've seen plenty of tactics that don't hold up when the pressure's on. If you're truly Stars-trained, prove it in the quarterfinals."
A brief silence followed, the tension palpable yet contained. Then Kwon's tone softened slightly, as if she were offering a truce rather than a challenge. "We're not here to make enemies before the match. Consider this a courtesy—an early chance to gauge the competition."
Celeste exchanged a look with Sallie—a silent acknowledgment of the rivalry and respect that simmered beneath the surface. "Courtesy noted," Celeste said. "We'll see whose courtesy holds up when the quarterfinals start."
Sallie shifted his weight, eyes drifting toward the ceiling like the conversation already bored him. His tone dropped—flat, dismissive.
"Stars, huh..." he muttered, almost to himself. "Still not buying it."
Kwon raised an eyebrow. "You think we're lying?"
He glanced back at her, one hand in his coat pocket, the other loosely swinging his briefcase CAD. "I think everyone loves a good imported label. But badges and titles don't mean much when you're flat on your back."
Reyes narrowed his eyes. "You think we're all talk."
Sallie smirked, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I think I've already seen this show. We cracked a Japanese exchange student wide open last round—top-ranked in her year, full national spell certification. Didn't speak a word of English. Still left the field half-dressed and zero mana."
Kwon's expression sharpened.
Celeste didn't blink. She tilted her head slightly. "You're saying Section One's better than her?"
Reyes answered, calm but edged. "I'm saying we don't fold when pressure hits."
Sallie laughed once, dry and short.
"That's cute," he said. "So was Duarte, five seconds before we turned his anchor spell into mulch."
Reyes didn't respond immediately. His jaw flexed once. Kwon's fingers curled slightly around the edge of her CAD.
Celeste spoke next—quiet, measured. "We'll settle it soon enough. No point talking before the field decides."
Sallie gave Reyes a lazy nod, stepping past. "Save the Stars branding for the camera. We're not impressed until something snaps."
"Talk's cheap," he said flatly. "Even cheaper when it's dressed up in foreign doctrine."
He tilted his head slightly, just enough to glance back with that tired smirk.
"Even imports have to bark when they don't have the bite to back it up."
Kwon's eyes narrowed. Reyes took half a step forward, shoulders tight.
"You'll regret underestimating us," Reyes said, voice clipped, not raised—but cold.
Sallie kept walking. "I'm not underestimating anyone. I'm just not impressed by people who need a second flag to get noticed."
Reyes didn't move, but his eyes followed Sallie's back with a hard, controlled stare. The muscles in his jaw shifted once.
Kwon's voice was low but pointed. "That 'second flag' kept this region from collapsing before your empire crawled out of its hole."
Sallie didn't stop walking.
He just raised a hand, fingers flicking lazily in the air as if brushing dust off a shoulder.
"Right," he muttered. "Kept it safe so long you forgot what consequences look like."
Celeste didn't turn, but her next words hit like stone.
"You came here to learn, didn't you?" she asked. "Try not to flinch when the learning hurts."
Reyes' hands tightened at his sides.
Kwon's voice sharpened. "You think this is just another round to farm glory? You don't even understand the kind of battlefield you're walking into."
Sallie slowed slightly. Not enough to stop—just enough to speak without raising his voice.
"Sure I do," he said. "It's the one where you're not the best anymore."
Then he kept going. No hesitation. No glance back.
Celeste walked with him in silence.
Reyes exhaled slowly through his nose. Kwon stared at the empty hallway where the siblings vanished, her fingers still hovering near her CAD.
No more words. Just tension and the weight of what was coming.
The hallway grew quieter as they left the last corner behind. Footsteps echoed in sync—Celeste's sharp and measured, Sallie's slow but steady, no longer dragging. The weight of the encounter lingered between them like smoke.
Celeste finally broke the silence. "You didn't have to goad them that hard."
Sallie kept his gaze forward, hands still in his coat pockets. "Didn't have to. But it helped."
"Helped what?" she asked flatly.
"Cleared the air. They're not hiding it anymore," he said. "The posture, the tone, the way Kwon braced like I triggered a protocol word—Reyes wouldn't've twitched if he wasn't trained to recognize threats."
Celeste's grip on her Grimoire CAD tightened slightly under her arm.
"They're going to fight seriously now."
"Good," Sallie said without pause. "I'd rather see their real form before we rip it apart."
She shot him a sidelong glance. "And what if they're more than talk? If they are Stars—if they've got combat experience beyond school protocol?"
Sallie's voice was calm, but the edge had returned. Not sarcasm. Not boredom. Just certainty.
"Then we don't hold back."
Celeste looked at him carefully now. "You weren't just provoking them."
"I was reading them," he said. "Reyes postures. Kwon flinches at silence. They're synced, but not telepathic. They rely on clean reads and pre-established routines."
"You think they'll break under disruption?"
"I think they're used to fights that go how they're supposed to go. This one won't."
She stared ahead again, expression unreadable.
Then, quietly, "So you're serious."
Sallie gave a faint nod.
"Dead serious."
Sallie stopped just short of the cafeteria doors, one hand pressed against the frame, eyes locked ahead—but not looking at anything in the room. His voice came low, steady.
"If they prove it mid-combat," he said, "if Reyes or Kwon show even a glimpse that they're Stars-trained… I'm going all out."
Celeste paused beside him, brows narrowing slightly.
"No holding back?"
He shook his head once. "None."
She studied him, scanning past the usual slouch, the layered sarcasm, the worn-out cadence of someone who rarely took anything seriously.
But now he was sharp. Quiet. Focused.
Sallie continued, voice steady. "I don't care what their badge says, or which flag they pretend not to carry. If they've got that kind of training, that pedigree—then they're fair game."
Celeste's grip on her Grimoire tightened slightly. "You've wanted this kind of fight."
"Yeah," he muttered. "Ever since we rolled over the Japanese exchange cadets, I've been waiting for someone real. USNA. Europe. Doesn't matter. I want someone who won't fold when the field shifts. Someone who hits back hard enough to make it count."
His fingers flexed slowly at his side. "And if Section One's been hiding that kind of pressure behind a school uniform… then they're exactly the kind of problem I've been hoping to solve."
Celeste didn't answer right away.
She just nodded once, then stepped ahead of him.
"I'll anchor your mana flow. If you're going to break them, do it clean."
Sallie followed her in, voice low and sure. "Clean and loud."
"Let's see what Stars are made of."
Inside the cafeteria, the midday crowd had thinned, but the air still held the usual din of murmured conversations, shifting trays, and clinking utensils. The overhead lights cast a sharp white glow across the long steel tables, most of which were occupied by scattered groups of cadets reviewing duel footage or whispering about bracket updates.
Near the far corner, by the window overlooking the field, Angela Castillo sat alone—coat folded neatly over the back of her chair, lunch tray untouched. Her short blue hair framed a tired but alert expression as she watched the door, one leg bouncing absently beneath the table.
The moment she saw them—Celeste in stride, Sallie just behind—her hand lifted in a short, deliberate wave.
Sallie spotted her first, returning the gesture with a slow, lazy half-wave, hand still in his coat pocket.
Celeste lifted her own hand in a cleaner, more formal wave before adjusting the grimoire under her arm.
Angela smiled faintly. Relief. Familiarity.
"Took you long enough," she called out as they approached.
Sallie shrugged, stepping around the bench and slumping into the seat across from her.
"We made a few pit stops," he muttered. "Met Section One in the hallway. Nothing fatal."
Angela leaned forward, her voice quiet. "So it was them?"
Sallie nodded once, eyes half-lidded. "Yep. Reyes and Kwon. Parked like statues near the lockers. No surprise ambush, no trash talk—just that weird polite tension people have when they know they're carrying someone else's expectations."
Celeste didn't speak. She just crossed her legs and rested her elbows on the table, watching Sallie carefully.
Angela glanced between them. "Do you think they're really USNA?"
Sallie exhaled through his nose, pulled his briefcase CAD off his back, and set it on the bench beside him.
"Still no proof. They move sharp, they hold formation tight, they don't break eye contact. But that could be any high-tier training program. Nothing screams Stars... not yet."
Angela hesitated. "You heard the rumors, though. Imperial Joint Cadet Exchange. Japan and the USNA both sent units for 'neutral integration'—whatever that means."
"Yeah, I heard," Sallie muttered. "And I still think it's a shell game. If USNA wants to test our system, they'd bury agents under a clean student record and call it 'transfer reinforcement.'"
Angela folded her arms, tone cautious. "Same with the Japanese girl you fought last round."
Sallie cracked his neck, glancing up at the ceiling. "Fuyumi? She was textbook. Too clean. Built for defense, layered with tournament-legal limitations. Could've been a political plant to test if we'd break the format."
Celeste finally spoke. "We did break it."
Sallie smiled faintly. "Yeah. That's why everyone's watching now."
Angela looked down at her untouched tray, brows furrowed.
"If Section One really is carrying foreign doctrine… do we report it?"
Sallie leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "No need."
Sallie let out a long breath and slumped forward without warning, his cheek smacking the cold metal surface of the cafeteria table with a dull thud.
"Ughh... pit stop took more out of me than I thought," he muttered, voice muffled.
Angela blinked. "Are you—seriously?"
Celeste didn't even look surprised. She shifted her tray an inch away from his head and pulled her grimoire closer. "Don't drool on school property."
Sallie raised one hand lazily, palm up. "Consider it energy conservation."
"You were the one poking the hornet's nest," Celeste said flatly.
"Didn't poke," he yawned. "Just tapped the hive to see who buzzed."
Angela leaned forward, whispering, "You're about to fight possible Stars agents, and you're... napping?"
Sallie grunted, not moving. "Power nap. Tactical. Builds suspense."
Celeste shook her head once. "You're impossible."
Sallie raised a thumbs-up from the table, still face-down.
"Mmhmm. But functional."
The cafeteria buzzed around them, but at their table, the calm before the storm had settled—quiet, tense, and laced with the rhythm of a slouching prodigy with one eye still half open for the fight ahead.
Angela glanced at Sallie's collapsed form, then at Celeste, eyebrows raised. "Does he do this before every important match?"
Celeste didn't even blink. "He does this before everything. Mid-briefing, pre-exam, post-debrief, once during a moving train."
Angela stifled a laugh. "I don't know if that's reckless or... terrifyingly consistent."
"Both," Celeste said dryly, adjusting the strap of her Grimoire CAD. "But he'll get up when it matters. Like some kind of cursed alarm clock with a built-in kill switch."
Angela poked at her tray. "So… weird question," she started, "have you ever considered how quiet this place would be if every CAD made a different sound?"
Celeste looked up, mildly surprised by the shift. "Like sound-coded casting?"
Angela nodded, mock-serious. "Yeah. Imagine your Grimoire makes a bell chime every time you cast. Sallie's briefcase CAD probably sounds like an old car starting."
Celeste considered it for half a second. "More like a vending machine getting kicked."
Angela snorted. "Scratch that." She waved her hand like erasing a chalkboard. "More like that one Filipino celebrity trying to sing that weird song from the USNA—the one with the barking chorus and random banjo solo."
Celeste blinked. "You mean that viral clip? The one where he wore sunglasses indoors and stood in a kiddie pool while singing?"
Angela nodded, grinning. "Yes! That one! It was supposed to be a serious acoustic version, but he kept howling like a stray dog."
Celeste's eyes narrowed slightly. "You showed me that last week. I regretted it immediately."
"Regret?" Angela leaned back, arms behind her head. "That was culture. National identity through poorly translated lyrics and questionable musical choices."
Celeste shook her head. "He was off-beat, out of key, and possibly drunk."
"Art has no rules," Angela said, mock-defensive. "Besides, it united both sides of the internet. Even the meme editors were confused."
Celeste almost smiled. "Confusion doesn't equal impact."
Angela leaned forward again. "Says the girl who once made a spell combo video and layered it with lo-fi elevator jazz."
Celeste raised a brow. "It was mathematically timed."
"It was weird," Angela shot back. "Weird and strangely relaxing. Like ASMR."
Celeste tilted her head. "Is that a compliment or slander?"
Angela grinned. "Both."
Celeste leaned back in her seat, fingers lightly drumming the spine of her Grimoire. Her eyes drifted toward Sallie's sleeping form, then back to Angela.
"I still don't get how he slept last night after that wager match," she muttered.
Angela raised an eyebrow. "He played again?"
Celeste gave a short nod. "High-stakes FPS. Some player from the USNA. Trash-talked him in global chat. Sallie accepted the wager and cleaned him out."
Angela blinked. "How much?"
"Hundred grand." Celeste said it like she was reading an itemized receipt. "In-game currency, plus their rare mythic weapon skin. The guy screamed so hard through the mic it echoed through Sallie's headset. I heard it from the next room."
Angela let out a whistle. "Ouch."
Celeste rested her chin on one hand. "He had elemental sight active the whole match. Tracked them through smokes, walls, terrain glitches. They thought he was cheating."
Angela's expression twisted between disbelief and admiration. "So he just... swept the match with pure vision hacks?"
Celeste gave a dry shrug. "He called it 'tactical foresight.' I call it the reason half our neighbors filed noise complaints."
Angela snorted. "Let me guess—he recorded it?"
Celeste nodded once. "Uploaded the whole thing. Put a slow-mo overlay when the last player rage-quit mid-jump."
Angela tried to hold back laughter, but failed. "And he still woke up today like nothing happened?"
Celeste looked down at her sleeping brother, face still buried in the cold steel of the table.
"Exactly like nothing happened."
Angela just shook her head. "Slacker-sama's a menace."
Celeste folded her arms, eyes sharp. "And we have to drag that menace into a real match in under two hours."
Angela leaned back slightly, her grin fading. "Section One… they really do have USNA backing, don't they?"
Celeste didn't answer right away. Her arms stayed folded, her gaze fixed somewhere past the table—calculating, controlled.
"I know."
Angela exhaled slowly. "And no one's saying it out loud."
Celeste shifted her weight, voice clipped. "Because it's unofficial. Strategic deniability. They're placed under 'exchange program' status. On paper, just cadets. In truth—trial embeds. Observation assets."
Angela glanced around the cafeteria, checking to see if anyone nearby was listening. The background chatter covered them for now.
"So they're not just testing our brackets," she said quietly. "They're testing us."
Celeste nodded once. "They want to see how we handle imported pressure. If we fold. If we copy. If we break."
Angela frowned. "And the higher-ups are letting it happen?"
Celeste's tone sharpened. "Of course they are. That's the point. If we win, it proves imperial doctrine outpaces foreign doctrine. If we lose, they revise the training framework. Either way, it's data."
Angela looked at Sallie, still face-first on the table, softly snoring like the stakes were imaginary.
"And he's sleeping through this?"
Celeste stared at him a second longer.
Then: "He's not sleeping. He's waiting."
Angela's brow furrowed. "Waiting for what?"
Celeste adjusted the strap on her Grimoire, resting it against her leg. Her voice dropped a bit, not for secrecy—just the weight behind it.
"He doesn't like fighting ASEAN competitors."
Angela looked up. "Your brother?"
Celeste nodded. "He doesn't say it directly, but it shows. The way he holds back, the way he treats every match like it's a formality."
Angela tilted her head. "Why?"
Celeste didn't answer immediately. She glanced down at Sallie, still sprawled across the table like the pressure didn't reach him.
Then, flatly: "Because he already knows how they fight. He's seen it. Read it. Broke it down a hundred times. He doesn't enjoy predictable fights."
Angela frowned. "But the tournaments aren't all predictable."
Celeste looked her in the eye. "No. But they are to him. He studies loadouts, movement cadence, cast delays, mana signatures. Most competitors in ASEAN follow training manuals built by the same three academies. Slight variations, different coats of paint—but the same bones."
Angela leaned back. "So he treats them like recycled targets."
Celeste didn't correct her.
"He only switches on," she said, "when something unfamiliar shows up. Something foreign. Or dangerous."
Her gaze turned back to Sallie.
"If Section One is backed by USNA, they'll see that switch for the first time."
Angela looked between them both—Celeste, sharp as ever, and the slouching form of her brother beside her.
"I almost feel bad for them," she muttered.
Celeste's tone didn't waver. "Don't."
---
Yotsuba Residence – Private Room, Tokyo Suburbs – 12:31 JST, Shiba Residence, Secured Line
The room was silent, save for the faint hum of the holographic monitor.
Tatsuya and Miyuki knelt side by side on the tatami floor, backs straight, hands resting calmly on their thighs. The light from the holo-display cast a cold glow across the polished wood and minimalist walls.
Before them, projected at full scale and seated in her own command chair, was Maya Yotsuba—poised, elegant, unreadable.
Her eyes, sharp and precise, shifted from one sibling to the other. No pleasantries. No wasted breath.
"The USNA has increased patrol density in the Pacific theater," Maya said. "Twenty-seven drone sweeps logged in the past seventy-two hours. Twelve of them within proximity of our southern surveillance net."
Tatsuya didn't blink. "Active recon?"
"Passive, but deliberate," Maya answered. "Their flight paths are slow and consistent. No data collection overlap—meaning they're watching movement patterns, not terrain."
Miyuki's voice was soft but clear. "Are they tracking maritime cargo?"
Maya's eyes narrowed faintly. "More than that. They've rerouted two auxiliary vessels east of Guam. No declared destination. No electronic transponders. But we've confirmed reactor signatures—military-grade."
Tatsuya's hand flexed slightly against his thigh.
"Troop carriers?"
"Possibly," Maya said. "Or signal ships. Worst case—suborbital staging for rapid deployment."
Miyuki's tone shifted. "Do they expect a confrontation?"
Maya didn't answer immediately. Then, measured:
"They expect something. But they don't know from who."
Tatsuya spoke again, voice neutral. "Do we move to intercept?"
Maya stared directly at him. "No. Not yet."
She leaned forward slightly, folding her hands in her lap.
"The USNA is playing a long game. Pressure without engagement. They want to see which side breaks protocol first. If we react now, we hand them leverage."
Tatsuya nodded. "Understood."
Maya's gaze lingered on him for a beat longer.
Maya's gaze lingered on Tatsuya for a breath longer—eyes narrow, thoughtful.
Then, in that calm, silken tone laced with ice:
"…And on a more vulgar note—"
She leaned back slightly in her chair, folding one hand atop the other.
"—the Imperial Federal Republic's common populace has turned their attention to spectacle. Betting, wagering, and cheering for their little duelists like street dogs around a blood pit. Even the aristocrats are involved. Crediting youth violence as national pride."
She let the words hang.
"A distraction, yes. But one that garners data. Not all of their surveillance networks are focused on foreign movement. Some… are aimed inward. Watching which names rise. Which ones falter. Which families are worth grooming—and which ones are expendable."
Her eyes flicked to Miyuki.
"They turn every match into a referendum. Not unlike our own history, wouldn't you say?"
Tatsuya remained motionless, eyes steady.
Miyuki lowered her gaze. "They're engineering loyalty," she said softly.
Maya offered the faintest smile. "No. They're measuring it."
A pause.
Then she exhaled—a soft, deliberate sigh. Not from weariness. From something else. Amusement laced with disdain.
"How quaint," she murmured, folding her fingers together. "Once upon a time, we had our Nine Schools Competition. A festival of talent. Formal. Controlled. A showcase of precision and innovation."
Her voice cooled, dropping into something darker.
"And yet, the Imperial Federal Republic has repurposed the idea. Not as tradition—but as doctrine. Their tournaments aren't academic. They're refined bloodsport. Military simulations dressed in school colors. Every round is a weapons test. Every student, a prototype."
She glanced off-screen, as if picturing it vividly.
"No thesis presentations. No engineering showcases. No pure research."
Her smile sharpened at the corners.
"Only one event awaits their most promising cadets. Not a symposium. Not a paper."
She paused.
"The Imperial War Games."
The name lingered in the air like a blade unsheathed.
Maya's tone was smooth again—but clipped, almost surgical.
"Where tactical killing is refined into entertainment. Where a generation is taught that slaughter is merit. That 'victory' is not judged by survival—but by how efficiently you erase the opponent's existence."
Miyuki sat frozen.
Tatsuya spoke, voice low. "And the world lets them."
Maya tilted her head.
"No. The world watches them."
Another pause. Then a soft click from her end, a finger tapping once against the table.
"They are not hiding what they are. That… is what makes them dangerous."
Her gaze sharpened.
"They've weaponized the illusion of youth."