After an hour of rest, the arena buzzed again, the crowd shifting in anticipation. The announcer raised his crystal microphone, his voice booming across the yard.

"Attention! Attention! F-Class will now face E-Class in the next match!" His words echoed off the stone walls. "Points are awarded per victory, with bonuses for match wins—and the top class of the year receives two thousand points!"

Upper-class students cheered, already placing bets. Money and point slips changed hands rapidly.

"I'll put ten points on E-Class sweeping them," a second-year declared smugly, leaning back with crossed arms.

"Make it twenty for me," another added with a dismissive wave. "F-Class is just fodder. They always have been."

Tony leaned forward among his classmates, his jaw tight with determination. "They don't know… we've been grinding like beasts," he said, his voice carrying a defensive edge that barely masked his pride. "Just wait—they'll eat their words before the day's done."

---

F-Class took their places on the arena floor. Hex, Kazeem, Jennifer, Bob, and Omega exchanged quiet glances, tension and determination etched clearly on their faces. Each carried the weight of their class's reputation—or lack thereof.

The hour passed quickly, filled with last-minute strategy sessions, stretching exercises, and controlled breathing to calm racing hearts. Then the fights began, one after another:

Bob used his Body Technique with devastating effect, absorbing hits that would have felled lesser fighters. Each blow made him stronger, his muscles swelling with accumulated power until he ended the match with a single thunderous strike that left his opponent unconscious and the crowd stunned into silence.

Jennifer moved like a shadow given form, her arrows precise and deadly. She outsmarted her brawler opponent completely, leading him into traps of her own making until he surrendered, bleeding from a dozen shallow wounds.

Kazeem controlled the battlefield with his telekinetic prowess, his eyes glowing faintly as he sent projectiles and the E-Class striker tumbling through the air like leaves in a storm. His opponent never even got close.

Hex danced through a lightning duel, his skill and speed overwhelming his opponent's raw power. Electricity crackled around them both, but Hex's precision made the difference.

Finally, Omega faced the E-Class captain—a veteran fighter with no flashy powers, only mastery and strategy. Step by calculated step, Omega wore him down, reading every feint and counter until the captain, breathing hard and bleeding from multiple cuts, raised his hand in surrender.

---

Each match ended with a roar from F-Class supporters. Shock and disbelief rippled through the audience like a physical wave. Betting slips were crumpled in frustrated fists, smug smiles wiped clean from faces that had been so certain moments before.

"F-Class… undefeated?" a Class A student whispered, his voice hollow with disbelief. "How is that even possible?"

Tony leapt to his feet, fists pumping triumphantly. "That's my class!" he shouted, his voice cracking with emotion. "That's what I've been saying all along!"

Omega lowered his dagger, his chest heaving as he scanned the arena with sharp, calculating eyes. His expression remained stoic, but his mind raced ahead.

*This is only the beginning. The real battle is coming. Someone stronger is waiting… watching… judging. Next match, I'll need everything I have and more.*

The announcer's voice boomed again, cutting through the murmuring crowd. "F-Class has done the impossible! But the day is not over! Who will rise next? Who will fall? Prepare yourselves for the trials ahead!"

The crowd's excitement surged, an electric wave sweeping through the stands. Students who had dismissed F-Class now leaned forward, suddenly interested.

And somewhere in the shadows beyond the arena lights, Omega sensed it… a presence, a force far beyond even E-Class. Someone was watching, evaluating, waiting.

---

The announcer raised his voice with practiced enthusiasm, though his surprise at F-Class's performance still colored his tone.

"And now, we have Omega from F-Class facing off against Nikki from E-Class!"

Nikki stepped onto the stage with calm confidence, her long sword resting lightly against her shoulder. Sunlight caught the blade's edge, making it gleam. Her eyes fixed on Omega as if he were a puzzle she already knew the solution to—interesting, perhaps, but ultimately solvable.

Omega rose from the bench, his movements economical and precise. Hex gave him a solid pat on the back, the impact making a satisfying thud.

"I believe in you, man. Go wipe the floor with her," Hex said, his eyes gleaming with genuine encouragement and the thrill of watching his friend fight.

Omega nodded once, gripping his dagger tightly. His sister's memory pulsed through him like a heartbeat, steady and strong. *For you. Always for you.*

Nikki smirked, tilting her chin up in a gesture of casual superiority. "Aren't you scared?" she asked, her tone teasing but edged with genuine curiosity. "I'm ranked higher than you—and top two in E-Class. You're barely on the charts."

Omega's expression didn't change. "It doesn't matter," he said firmly, his voice carrying across the arena. "I'll use you as a stepping stone."

The announcer thrust his hand into the air dramatically. "Let the match begin!"

Omega exploded forward, a dash that sliced the distance in an instant. Nikki barely had time to adjust, her eyes widening slightly as she formed an ice barrier with practiced precision—perfect form, perfect technique, almost perfect timing.

Almost.

Omega flicked his dagger with lethal efficiency, his eyes having already identified the weak point in the half-formed shield. The blade pierced through, and a thin arc of blood streaked across Nikki's shoulder. She stumbled back, her expression shifting from confidence to shock.

"Damn it… this isn't going as easy as I thought!" Nikki hissed, frustration bleeding into her voice as she pressed her free hand against the wound.

The crowd gasped collectively. Students whispered loudly, leaning forward in disbelief at seeing one of E-Class's top fighters injured so quickly.

Omega didn't stop. His eyes sharpened—predatory, calculating, reading her every micro-expression and shift in stance.

"You cheated!" Nikki shouted, anger flashing hot in her eyes. "You caught me off guard last time. It won't happen again!"

Dozens of ice arrows materialized behind her in a glittering array, each one sharp enough to pierce armor. She launched them in a dense barrage that filled the air with deadly projectiles.

Omega vanished, his movement technique making him seem to slip from reality itself. He reappeared behind her like a shadow given substance, his dagger already moving. He tapped precise pressure points—hands, legs, delicate joints where nerves clustered close to the surface.

A Vein Strike. Nikki's limbs stiffened instantly, her breath catching as her own body betrayed her. The ice arrows she'd been preparing dissolved into mist.

A D-Class student in the stands whispered, his voice carrying in the sudden silence, "What? It's over already? Nikki didn't even land a hit on him."

Hex nodded proudly, crossing his arms with satisfaction. "I knew he'd give her a run for her money," he said, though his tone suggested he'd expected exactly this outcome. "Omega doesn't waste movements."

The announcer cleared his throat loudly, recovering from his own surprise. "The winner is Omega from F-Class!"

Medics rushed forward, lifting Nikki carefully onto a stretcher. Her face twisted with pain and frustration, tears of humiliation gathering at the corners of her eyes. She'd been so certain, so confident, and it had ended in seconds.

The announcer wiped sweat from his forehead and forced cheerfulness back into his voice. "Okay! Moving on! Next match: Hex from F-Class versus Peter from E-Class!"

Hex walked onto the stage confidently, his stride easy and relaxed. Female students throughout the stands whispered to each other, eyes practically glued to him. His reputation preceded him in more ways than one.

"The other guy won? Then this monster will definitely win," an Upper-Class student scoffed, shaking his head. "What's wrong with E-Class today? Are they even trying?"

"Good for me. I'll be taking home a bag full of winnings," another Upper-Class student laughed enthusiastically, already counting his anticipated profits.

Peter stepped forward—tall, muscular, dual short swords strapped to his back in well-worn leather sheaths. But his expression was resigned rather than fierce, his shoulders already slumping in defeat.

The announcer raised his hand, though he seemed to sense something was off. "Let the match begin!"

Peter took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling heavily. "I forfeit," he said quietly, his voice carrying a note of resignation that spoke of careful calculation rather than cowardice. "I know you'll win. My abilities aren't enough to face someone like you. There's no point in getting injured for nothing."

One of his classmates whispered urgently, "He's a water user…"

Another shouted from the E-Class section, "What a wimp! At least try to fight. How can someone forfeit before even swinging? You're embarrassing us!"

Hex and Peter walked off the stage together, an odd pair. Hex dropped onto the bench between Omega and Kazeem, stretching his arms above his head.

"That was mind-blowing!" Kazeem said, his eyes wide with genuine amazement. "How did you make him surrender so easily? Did you threaten him or something?"

Hex grinned, his expression insufferably smug. "I rely on natural charm and good looks," he said with a theatrical sigh. "Maybe try it sometime—though it only works for the naturally gifted, I'm afraid."

Jennifer scoffed sharply from her seat, her voice cutting through his self-satisfaction. "Mr. Jonathan is far more handsome than you," she said dismissively, not even looking at him.

Hex smirked, sensing an opportunity. "Why won't you admit it?" he asked, leaning closer with exaggerated curiosity. "You're into older men, aren't you? That's why someone like me isn't your type. It all makes sense now."

Jennifer's cheeks flushed instantly, color spreading from her neck to her hairline. Rage trembled through her clenched fists, but she said nothing. She'd learned the hard way that arguing with Hex only ended in humiliation—he always had another quip ready, another angle to exploit.

The announcer cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention back to the center stage. "That's enough for today," he said brightly, his voice carrying renewed energy. "The next matches begin tomorrow morning: A-Class versus B-Class, and D-Class versus F-Class. After that, the winning classes will face off in the semi-finals. This year's inter-class rank competition is just getting started! Rest well, fighters—you'll need it!"