Mr. Jonathan stood before the class, his posture relaxed yet confident, the sunlight glinting off his glasses as he surveyed his students. A faint smile played at the corners of his mouth—pride mixed with something deeper, perhaps relief that they'd made it this far.

"That was quite the performance, everyone," Mr. Jonathan said, his voice carrying warmth that softened the classroom's usual tension. "You all won your matches in style. Now, let me explain your rewards." He paused, letting the anticipation build before continuing. "After this competition, we will officially move up to E Class, while the current E Class will shift to the new F Class. A total of three hundred points will be shared among you—thanks to our representative students, who contributed sixty points each."

Tony shot to his feet, practically vibrating with excitement. His chair scraped loudly against the floor, but he didn't seem to notice or care.

"I can't believe we won!" Tony exclaimed, his voice cracking slightly with emotion. "We're the new E Class! Ah! Ah!" He pumped his fists in the air, his entire body radiating joy.

Kazeem rolled his eyes dramatically, though a hint of amusement tugged at his expression.

"Why are you acting like E Class is the peak?" he asked, leaning back in his chair with practiced nonchalance. "We're aiming way higher."

A classmate spoke through a mouth full of food, crumbs decorating his lips and tumbling onto his desk with each word.

"What? E Class is the last class!" he protested, gesturing wildly with his half-eaten sandwich. "We can't beat D Class—they got better equipment and better techniques!" His eyes widened with genuine concern, as if the very thought of facing D Class terrified him.

Hex crossed his arms with an easy confidence, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to the nervous energy rippling through the room.

"Don't worry about that," he said quietly, his voice steady and reassuring. "We'll win. We're giving it our all." There was no arrogance in his tone—just simple, unshakeable certainty.

The same girl munched loudly beside him, her cheeks bulging as she swallowed hastily to speak.

"Of course you think so," she said, pointing at him with a carrot stick. "You basically won without even lifting a finger. Everyone knows you'd be in A Class if it was a one-on-one." Despite her words, there was admiration in her eyes rather than resentment.

Mr. Jonathan stepped forward, his voice both firm and reassuring, cutting through the scattered conversations with practiced authority.

"It's okay, everyone," he said, raising one hand to quiet the room. "Tomorrow's match will determine everything. The hours of training, the sacrifices you've made—it all comes down to this moment." His expression softened, eyes gliding over their anxious faces, lingering on each student as if committing this moment to memory. "Get a good rest tonight. Prepare yourselves mentally. Win or lose, I'm already proud of how far you've come." The sincerity in his voice made several students sit up straighter, their shoulders squaring with renewed determination.

───

High above, in the VIP observation suite overlooking the arena, the atmosphere shifted to something colder. The temperature seemed to drop despite the climate control, tension thickening the air like fog. The Head Instructor leaned forward, arms folded behind his back, eyes narrowed as he replayed Hex's match footage for the third time.

Around him, several instructors murmured among themselves—some impressed, others confused, all quietly tense. A younger instructor tapped his stylus nervously against a datapad, the rhythmic clicking the only sound breaking the heavy silence. The Head Instructor's gaze remained locked on the screen, studying every subtle movement, every calculated step Hex had taken.

Mr. Pine broke the silence with a sigh, though his eyes gleamed with barely concealed satisfaction.

"This F Class is quite interesting," he said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Do you think they can put on the same show tomorrow?" There was a challenge in his tone, directed at the instructor standing stiffly beside him.

The E Class homeroom teacher scoffed, visibly irritated, his jaw clenched so tightly a muscle twitched in his cheek.

"They handled my class like they were the real F Class," he spat, unable to hide the bitterness in his voice. "Your students don't stand a chance against them." The admission clearly cost him, his face flushing with humiliation.

Mr. Pine smirked, brushing a hand through his thinning hair with exaggerated casualness.

"If you're displeased with the results, direct your frustration toward your own E Class," he suggested, his tone dripping with false sympathy. "Or should I say—your newly demoted F Class." The barb landed precisely where he'd intended.

The Head Instructor's voice cut through the tension like a blade, sharp and cold.

"Enough," he commanded, not even turning from the screen. "The regional ranking approaches, and the inter-family standings are soon after. If we cultivate exceptional talent by then…" He paused, letting the weight settle over the room like a physical presence. "Our institution may rise to unprecedented heights. Consider that before you continue your childish arguments." The rebuke stung both instructors into silence, their petty rivalry suddenly seeming insignificant.

The room fell silent, save for the soft hum of the observation equipment.

───

Morning arrived fast. Too fast. Many of the students moved sluggishly, their bodies aching from yesterday's battles, muscles protesting every movement. Even those who hadn't fought carried a restless tension in their steps, their nerves frayed by anticipation of what lay ahead.

The arena filled gradually, buzzing with anticipation that grew louder with each passing minute. Students, teachers, and spectators leaned forward in their seats as the announcer walked to the center with an electric confidence, his presence commanding immediate attention.

"Okay, we're back!" the announcer shouted, his voice amplified across the vast space. "Yesterday was intense—but today will be even more exciting! Opening the arena, we have A Class versus B Class!"

He switched to a playful tone, grinning at the crowd.

"As we all know, B Class always gives A the pressure they crave," he added with a wink.

Then, sharply serious, his expression transforming in an instant:

"First match: JoJo from A Class versus Toni from B Class!"

An upper class student gasped, gripping his companion's arm.

"Wow, it's JoJo—the City Lord's son!" he breathed, eyes wide with excitement. "He's insanely strong. Plus, he has the Earth ability." His voice dropped to an awed whisper, as if speaking of a legend.

Another student gasped, practically bouncing in their seat.

"Wait—that's Terranova!" they exclaimed, recognizing Toni's family technique. "This is going to be good. I'm betting on JoJo." They fumbled for their betting slip, hands trembling slightly.

Clark leaned forward in the stands, the glint of a gambler still in his eyes, though his expression remained thoughtfully neutral.

"JoJo may be the City Lord's son, but Toni is also an Earth user," he observed, rubbing his chin. "This'll be tough." Despite his casual tone, his gaze tracked every detail of the fighters below.

Nearby, another student groaned in frustration, holding his head in his hands.

"I can't decide!" he moaned, staring at his blank betting slip. "My luck has been terrible since this started!" Desperation colored his voice, as if one more loss might break him entirely.

On the stage, JoJo and Toni faced each other, both armored in rare-rank gear that gleamed under the arena lights. Toni's long axe gleamed ominously, its edge catching the light with deadly promise, while JoJo carried no weapon at all—only a quiet, unshakeable confidence that somehow seemed more threatening than any blade.

Toni grumbled, hefting his enormous axe with both hands, the muscles in his arms straining.

"What? You won't even use a sword?" he demanded, his voice rough with indignation. "Do you think I'm weaker than you?" The question hung between them, heavy with wounded pride.

JoJo shrugged, eyes half-lidded with boredom, as if this conversation had already wasted too much of his time.

"I don't like long talks," he said flatly, his voice devoid of emotion. "You're wasting everyone's time. For all I know, you might be just a support character." The insult was delivered so casually it took a moment to register.

Toni's grip tightened on his axe, knuckles whitening, his face flushing with anger.

"I'll make you pay for that," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

The announcer raised his hand, the gesture cutting through the mounting tension.

"Match… begin!" he shouted, dropping his arm.

Toni slammed his axe into the ground with explosive force. The arena trembled as cracks spider-webbed beneath JoJo's feet, spreading outward like lightning. Rocks erupted upward, flying toward him in a barrage that whistled through the air with deadly velocity.

JoJo stood perfectly still, his expression unchanged, almost meditative. Then—at the last second—he shifted sideways, the ground bending subtly under his feet. He had used Earth manipulation to move himself at the perfect moment, the technique so refined it appeared effortless.

Gasps echoed across the stands, rippling through the crowd like a wave.

"JoJo dodges with ease!" the announcer shouted, his voice rising with excitement. "What's next?"

Toni snarled, frustration twisting his features into something almost feral.

"You have skills… but that's all," he spat, raising his axe again. "I'll crush you like my dad crushes your father." The political jab was meant to wound, to break JoJo's composure.

JoJo didn't respond. His silence was sharper than any insult, more cutting than any retort. His eyes remained fixed on Toni with the patience of someone waiting for an inevitable conclusion.

An upper class student whispered urgently, leaning toward Clark.

"Clark, you said Toni would win but—JoJo isn't even trying," they murmured, confusion evident in their furrowed brow.

Clark smirked, never taking his eyes off the match.

"I never said Toni would win," he corrected softly. "I just said it won't be easy." His knowing tone suggested he'd seen something others had missed.

Toni leapt forward, crossing five meters in a single bound, his axe arcing downward in a brutal strike that could have split stone. The air whistled with the force of his swing.

JoJo raised an Earth wall, the barrier erupting from the ground in an instant. The impact cracked it within seconds, fissures spreading across its surface—but JoJo was already gone, having moved behind Toni with fluid grace.

JoJo lifted his hand, and six massive Earth pillars shot upward, rushing toward Toni from different angles. Toni swung wildly, shattering the first few with raw strength, chunks of earth exploding in all directions—but JoJo reinforced the last one, making it unbreakable, its surface hardening to diamond density.

The pillar slammed into Toni, forcing him back several steps, his boots scraping against the arena floor. Toni jumped away, gasping for breath, sweat beading on his forehead—but another Earth wall rose behind him and crashed down like a hammer, giving him no respite.

Toni grabbed it, his hands glowing with Earth energy as he tried desperately to manipulate the earth inside, to turn JoJo's technique against him—but JoJo had already summoned six more walls, each one positioned with strategic precision.

They fell in sequence, a cascade of overwhelming force.

Toni was launched out of the ring, hitting the ground with a heavy thud that echoed through the suddenly silent arena. Dust rose around his prone form as he struggled to catch his breath.

"The winner is JoJo from A Class!" the announcer shouted, breaking the stunned silence. His voice brightened instantly, shifting gears with practiced ease. "Next up—Pony from A Class versus Jemima from B Class!"

In the stands, Luke groaned loudly, slumping in his seat with theatrical despair.

"Why am I so unlucky?!" he wailed, throwing his hands up. "I haven't won a single bet! Clark, are you cheating or what?" Accusation and admiration warred in his voice.

Clark laughed softly, the sound rich with amusement.

"It's perception," he explained, tapping his temple. "I just look at the odds." His eyes sparkled with the satisfaction of someone who understood patterns others couldn't see.

Luke leaned closer, desperate, his voice dropping to a pleading whisper.

"So who do you think will win between the girls?" he asked, already pulling out another betting slip with trembling fingers.