He raised his arm high, fire essence spiraling upward from Zoom, merging with Scylla's aura of precise water.

"Burning Surge Nova!"

The cheetah roared, its entire body igniting into a streak of white-hot flame. At the same instant, Scylla's crystalline scales pulsed, gathering essence into its gaping maw. A thin, concentrated beam of compressed water shot forth—but before it could reach its apex, Zoom's infernal aura wrapped around it, transmuting liquid into plasma-steam.

What emerged was no longer a normal hydro-laser.

It was a boiling ray of superheated vapor, cutting through the air with a screech that tore at the ears. The beam sliced across the battlefield, so bright it momentarily outshone the barrier wards around the arena.

The collision of opposing elements—fire and water—should have canceled each other. Instead, under Tristan's direction, they harmonized in perfect ratio, amplifying each other's destructive force.

The blast struck the ground where Gray had stood a heartbeat before, carving a molten trench that hissed and cracked. The earth itself glowed, vapor erupting from fissures like dragon's breath.

The crowd gasped, then erupted into thunderous awe. But among the stands, it was the instructors and veteran observers who went deathly still.

One of the Spirit Combat Division instructors leaned forward, eyes wide. "A Skill Concerto—and between two beasts of opposing elemental alignments?"

Another veteran—broad-shouldered, scarred, with a heavy mantle bearing the crest of a combat strand—nodded grimly. "That isn't coordination. That's synchronization. A dual-beast synergy like that doesn't add their power…"

"…It multiplies it," finished a third, voice low with disbelief. "The output scales exponentially. Even fourth-years can barely manage low-tier fusion maneuvers, and this boy—"

"He's a first-year," the first instructor breathed.

Silence fell across their section, broken only by the hiss of cooling stone.

In the upper bleachers, several division representatives exchanged sharp looks. Notes were scribbled, names underlined. A Spirit Combat talent scout murmured, "Tristan Graves… exceptional affinity synchronization. Flag him for future scion-level recruitment."

Meanwhile, in the audience below, students shouted in disbelief.

"Did you see that? That wasn't just fire—he turned the water beam into steam!"

"It's faster than a hydro laser! That thing could pierce through reinforced stone!"

"Wait, that's a third-year technique! How—how did he even know how to do that?!"

The arena's barrier flickered once from the pressure, and Mirage's distorted halo trembled as she struggled to re-stabilize the space around Aston and Gray.

Aston's boots dug into the heated ground, his breath harsh. Even through Mirage's protective chill, the lingering heat seared at his skin.

He combined two elements that should cancel, Aston realized, eyes narrowing. Not opposites, but complementary extremes—using pressure and essence flow to create acceleration instead of instability.

Across the field, Tristan grinned viciously, like a predator eyeing its prey.

Steam curled off his beasts like banners of victory. "Still standing, Rhyner?" he called. "Then stand tall. I'll crush you at your peak."

The referee's aura flickered briefly to reinforce the melting arena floor, and a low murmur passed through the stands—one of respect, one of unease.

Even the Vice Principal, seated in the shadows of the elevated dais, rested his chin on his hand as he observed quietly. His gaze sharpened when the essence readings on his console spiked red. "A coordinated Skill Concerto, achieved through instinct…"

He allowed a rare smile to form behind his composed mask. "Impressive. But let's see how Kynee responds."

Below, Aston raised his hand to signal Mirage and Gray—his calm in stark contrast to Tristan's blaze of confidence. The crowd leaned forward, sensing the shift.

The shockwave from Boiling Surge Nova rolled across the arena like a molten hurricane, heat rippling against the containment barriers. The audience gasped as the earth hissed and bled light, molten cracks spiderwebbing outward.

Mirage's wings flared wide, summoning a halo of frost that shimmered like shattered glass to shield Aston and Gray—but the incoming beam was too fast, too intense. It would tear straight through them.

Aston didn't hesitate. "Gray—now!"

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The kitten's pupils contracted to slits. The air around him warped, light bending as if reality itself were soft clay. His fur bristled, every strand gleaming like forged obsidian.

Then—he vanished.

A black fissure split open where he had stood, thin as a blade's edge yet impossibly deep. Space screamed.

The Boiling Surge Nova struck the rift head-on and didn't explode. It simply ceased.

The incandescent beam folded inward, devoured by the impossible void. Steam imploded into silence, flame and water unraveling into nothingness. The ground trembled as the spatial seam shuddered, then sealed itself with a whisper like tearing silk.

For a heartbeat, the entire arena fell utterly silent.

Then the shock hit.

Students leapt to their feet. Instructors stared, speechless. Even the barrier runes flickered uncertainly, as if the system itself could not process what it had just witnessed.

"D-did he—did that cat just—absorb it?!"

"No, not absorb—he tore space apart! That's not a defense, that's a— a dimensional rupture!"

"Space distortion? And the kitten is not yet cored?! That's impossible!"

The combat veterans in the stands were the first to grasp the truth. One older instructor slammed his palm on the railing. "That wasn't evasion—that was spatial severance! He redirected the energy into a rift and collapsed it!"

Another swore under his breath. "That's a core-grade skill. Not even most cored beasts can maintain a tear without backlash!"

The Vice Principal sat unmoving at first, expression carved from shadow. But as the black rift faded, the faintest curve touched his lips.

"Well now…" he murmured softly, voice barely audible to the elders beside him. "So the kitten has an affinity for space."

The woman beside him frowned. "You've seen that before?"

His gaze lingered on Aston, who stood steady amid the fading frost and steam. "No. But I've seen something like it. Once."

He didn't elaborate. The glimmer in his eyes, however, was unmistakable—part recognition, part intrigue.

Down below, Tristan's smirk faltered for the first time. The blaze around him wavered, heat breaking against the unnatural chill that followed the rift's collapse.

"You blocked that?" he growled.

Aston's answer was silence, but that silence screamed a lot.

Mirage beat her wings once, sending shards of ice spiraling outward, her Fractured Halo activating in a ripple of sigils. Frost circles layered the field, slowing the ground beneath Tristan's beasts, warping the air currents.

Tristan's cheetah, Zoom, hissed as its flames sputtered against the sudden drop in temperature, while Scylla thrashed, the steam around it freezing into glittering shards.

But Tristan only laughed, low and sharp. "You're full of tricks, Rhyner. Let's see if you can match me, not just survive me!"

He slammed his palm forward. "Zoom—reheat! Scylla—pressurize!"

Flame and water twisted together again, one launching into a blur of blazing speed while the other fired bursts of vapor like shrapnel.

Aston moved with precision, calm cutting through chaos. "Gray—use Spatial Rend once more!"

Gray leapt forward, claws slashing downward. The air peeled open like silk once more. His claws struck the ground, sending a thin, gleaming crescent through the air that traced along the cheetah's path.

When it connected, the world seemed to pause.

A thin white line appeared across Zoom's flank—clean, surgical. Then, slowly, blood and heat misted out, the wound too perfect to have been felt before it landed.

The audience gasped.

"Invisible strike!"

"By the gods… what is that thing?"

Up in the dais, the Vice Principal leaned forward slightly, his voice a whisper. "Spatial shearing, compression slicing… and the control to close the rift on impact. That's no ordinary beast."

Elder Erin, seated silently, smiled faintly beneath her veil. "You sound impressed, Vice Principal."

"Perhaps I am," he replied without looking at her. "Or perhaps I'm simply curious. That cat… no… that thing shouldn't exist in this region."

Back in the arena, Mirage's icy sigils pulsed brighter. The circles of frost constricted around Scylla, trapping the serpent in a narrowing halo.

"Now!" Aston commanded.

Gray's claws flared again—not black this time, but silver, light refracting off the edges of space itself. The tiger cub roared, sound splitting like broken metal as he slashed downward—

The strike collided with the serpent's watery barrier. For an instant, both forces seemed to coexist—then the serpent's shield fractured with a crystalline crack. Shards of condensed vapor burst outward, and Scylla screamed as it was hurled across the field, colliding with the edge of the containment barrier.

The crowd erupted again, wild and breathless.

"He cut the serpent's water barrier—in half!"

"What kind of cutting force does that take?!"

"His claws are like dimensional blades!"

Tristan's jaw tightened. His mad facade was shattered—there was no arrogance in his expression—only the gleam of challenge, of recognition.

He raised a hand, and his cheetah, though bloodied, crouched low beside him, flame runes brightening anew.

Across the field, Aston exhaled, brushing dust from his sleeve. "Still think it's just a kitten?"

Tristan smirked despite the tension. "If it is, then I'll make sure it grows up in hell."

Their eyes locked—equal parts rivalry, respect, and something more primal: the instinct to prove who among them stood atop the world.

Above, the sky dome shimmered, light filtering through dust and essence haze, turning the arena into a dream of flickering ice and flame.

And amid the chaos, the Vice Principal leaned back in his seat, fingers steepled before him, that quiet, knowing smile returning.

"Two prodigies," he murmured, "both already defying their limits. Let's see which of them breaks first."

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