These two days, Sol and I are going to focus on training our skills. Cris will be helping his sister most of the day, and Camux is taking advantage of this time to handle as many business meetings and visits as possible—he wants to be free to spend the whole day at the tournament with us.

According to the explanation from the magical device we received, the matches will happen simultaneously to avoid giving any participant a rest-time advantage. The first round starts at 7 a.m., the next at 9, and the last one in the morning at 11. During the break, there will be announcements from the marquis' messenger and some entertainment. In the afternoon, we'll get three hours of rest—the first afternoon match is at 2 p.m., the semifinals at 4, the third-place match at 6, and the final at 6:30.

Since it's the weekend, very few people work all day, and those who finish in the afternoon should have enough time to arrive at the coliseum just before the finals.

Locked in my room, it's time to train. I want to push my offensive skills to Rank III as soon as possible. I'll spend all my time training my Imra to reinforce my weapon, alternating between channeling it through my body and spheres at the same time. That should also help raise my Glacial Focus.

I stayed in my room for two whole days, training nonstop. It reminded me of the old days when I started training with my grandmother—and to think it's been less than two months.

Thanks to my constant efforts, only stopping to eat and occasionally greet Cris and Sol, I've managed to level up all three of my skills twice. It was only by pushing myself to the limit that I advanced this quickly. I never thought I'd say this, but... I want to fight monsters. It's the easiest way to level up my skills.

I slept eight hours to rest my body after so much fatigue, and now all five of us, including our silent bodyguard, are heading to the coliseum. When we arrive, I'm stunned by the number of people gathered to watch the finals. They've set up smaller rooms with some kind of projector to stream the matches on screens for those without seats. Luckily, as participants and nobles, we have reserved seating.

I didn't expect to see this place packed for a rookie tournament. I'll try to put on a good show—at least until the final. Whether I win or lose will depend on how I'm feeling then. This atmosphere reminds me of my previous world. Unconsciously, I roll my neck from side to side as a warm-up, a habit I picked up from my old trainer.

"You can smell the excitement and anticipation in the air," the baron comments, glancing around. "Sol, Maki—whether you win or lose in the first round, I'm proud of both of you for making it to the finals."

"Thank you, Father. I'll try to live up to your expectations," Sol says, trying to hide her nervousness with a smile. But her body language betrays her—she keeps shifting her legs and touching her hair repeatedly. As for me, I'm feeling quite calm.

"Thanks, Uncle Camux. After almost tricking me into coming here, I guess I should at least show who I am," I joke. Everyone gets it right away and bursts into laughter, easing Sol's nerves a little.

"It's time to go." I look at Sol, and we both stand up to head to our platforms.

"No matter how far you get, just give it your all. We'll be cheering from here!" Cris calls out. Camux just smiles slightly and waves in farewell.

"Sol, who's your opponent?" I find it strange to see her so nervous while we walk. From what I've seen during the tournament, she usually controls herself well.

"Bush Bonilla. Second son of Count Bonilla. The Bonilla house is second in importance only to the marquis' family." I try to keep a poker face—I didn't know anything about that family.

"Last year, my father was invited to a party at the Count's place, where he bragged a lot about his son's talents. At first, we thought he was just boasting, but it turns out he wasn't. Bush is impressive. He awakened just before turning 10 and is now nearly 11. With a full year of training and the full support of his family, he's already considered one of the top talents of this generation. I recently heard some rumors about him from friends of the family—he might become a limit-breaker like you, Maki."

Sol continues speaking with her usual clarity and sharpness—she doesn't sound like a 10-year-old at all. Bush Bonilla... I'll remember that name. If we both win our matches, we'll face each other in the semifinals. If Sol loses... I'll make sure he pays.

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I pat Sol on the head, and she looks at me strangely. "Do your best, Sol. If you lose, I'll make sure to beat him." Sol gives me a small smile, and we wish each other luck before splitting up—we have to go through separate doors again.

Now I'm on the platform, facing my opponent. He's a boy who also uses twin swords like me. I want to end this quickly so I can watch Sol's match. Sorry, kid—I'm going all out from the start.

The referee finishes stating the rules, and the match begins. It seems he had a similar idea—he sharpens his swords with wind mana. They feel a bit sharper and more dangerous. Without hesitation, we both move to the center. The fight looked even at first, but our combat experience is worlds apart. He tried to enhance his speed with his wind affinity—his strikes were precise, but none of it was enough. In less than 20 seconds, he's defeated without landing a hit on me. His score is a 15. It's a shame I was your opponent so soon.

"Thanks for the match." I give him and the referee a small bow, then dash off the platform to find a screen showing Sol's match. My manners were terrible, but I don't care right now.

I find a screen focused on Sol's fight. My first impression: she's going to lose. The white-haired, blue-eyed boy with soft princely features moves with impressive agility, dodging arrows. His battle awareness is exceptional—he positions himself where he has the best advantage to attack or dodge. His sword moves smoothly to slice the arrows he can't avoid.

His sword begins to glow—Light attribute? He reminds me of my grandmother. He charges toward Sol in a flash of light. She tries to flee while shooting arrows, but Bush doesn't relent, constantly chasing her until he catches up.

The cat-and-mouse game ends when Bush finally reaches her. To my surprise, Sol dodges some strikes and uses sand mana to withstand others. Unfortunately, some sword hits connect. She desperately tries to defend herself while preparing a focused arrow, which she fires point-blank.

Bush merely widens his eyes slightly as the arrow hits a light shield. The shield breaks, but it did its job. The arrow lacked force, and Bush stabs Sol in the stomach, activating her necklace. In the end, she landed a hit, but it didn't matter.

Sol lies on the ground, breathing heavily, her face covered by her left arm. Bush looks down at her, barely changing his expression.

"Weak. That last attack was useless. Pathetic."

What? Did I hear that right? Those words made my blood boil. Did he just mock Sol? A wave of fury surged through me like never before. Sol is family—and someone's disrespecting her.

At that moment, I just wanted to go and beat the crap out of him. I forced myself to activate my mental skill—I need to calm down. I can't lose control. But I swear—I'll make this kid eat dirt. He'll regret his words.

I can't go to where Camux and Cris are. They must be just as angry as I am. I need to clear my head first.

I walk around, looking for food and watching people performing juggling acts or showing off pets. After a few minutes, I've bottled up my anger enough to think clearly. Time to head back.

When I return to our group, I can feel the heavy mood. They're happy to see me and congratulate me on my win, but remembering the fight makes Sol clench her fists in anger.

"How are you, Sol?" I know it's a bit of an insensitive question—I want to hear how she feels so I can beat that bastard even harder.

"I knew what kind of person he was. I expected him to say something hurtful at the end, and I tried to mentally prepare myself—but it still hurts. I'm much calmer now, though."

She tries to play it down with kind words, but I can feel a hint of rage in her Imra. It's usually rude to touch someone else's Imra without asking, but I didn't care just now.

We enjoy a bit of the cheerful tournament atmosphere. We find a small fair, eat some delicious food, and watch nice shows. The whole time, Cris barely says a word. When I touched his Imra, I felt frustration, anger, and a mix of other emotions. I didn't try anything with my uncle—he'd notice instantly. He probably already knows what I'm doing anyway.

The day goes on. I win my next two matches and I'm ready for my last fight before I get to face Bush—who also won his matches easily. I faced two girls, both daughters of viscounts, both inclined toward magic. One had a plant affinity, the other water. I wasn't fully focused, but they each earned a solid 15 or 16.

My next match is against a non-noble boy who fights with bare fists. He's the first non-noble I've faced in the finals. I slow the fight a little to let him shine—he deserves some recognition.

The boy is certainly talented. Without the support of a noble house, he's achieved this level on his own. According to Uncle Camux, talents like him are often recruited early by noble families or groups to help them grow and gain better opportunities.

"It's time to go." I check the clock—10 minutes until the semifinal.

"Good luck, Maki. You know what to do, right?" Camux says it with a smile, but he doesn't look happy. I catch the hidden message instantly and nod.

"Maki." It's the first time Cris speaks directly to me since Sol's loss. I look at him—he's still staring at the platform. "Humiliate that arrogant brat. You must win, no matter what."

"Don't worry, Cris. I'll make him eat dirt." His words reignite the fire I've kept inside.

Sol gives me a timid smile and wishes me luck. She understands how we all feel.

I walk toward the platform. My mind tries to stay calm, but my heart burns with rage. As a former pro, I know what to do—keep a cool head and move my body with the fire of emotion. I wouldn't care if someone mocked me—but I won't accept it if it's someone I care about.

Bush stands across from me, paying no attention, just staring at his sword, waiting for the match to start. What—am I not even worth looking at?

LET THE MATCH BEGIN!

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