Ascendants

Raiden Alaric

As I redirected our attention to the ongoing matches, Yuki was already on the mat, poised and ready. She faced her opponent with a calm expression, unfazed by the size of her opponent.

Yuki's opponent was noticeably taller, with a broad stance that suggested a power-based fighting style and potentially a grappler. Yuki, however, remained unfazed, her eyes sharp and calculating. I hate the fact she looked cool as fuck. She gave me a brief glance while adjusting her sleeves. As if telling me, "Watch this match, to understand who you have disrespected."

Oh, I'm watching, don't you worry.

The referee signaled the start. Yuki's calm demeanor held steady against her larger opponent. She didn't flinch or falter; instead, she took a measured step back, her eyes never leaving him.

"Watch her footwork," Chronos murmured beside me, his gaze fixed intently on the match. "Also watch her eyes."

Indeed, Yuki's movements were a blur of precision and grace. Every step she took seemed calculated to align perfectly with her opponent's. When he lunged, she sidestepped with minimal effort, her counterattacks sharp and targeted. She exploited every opening with a surgeon's precision, each strike punctuated by the crowd's gasps.

Her speed was anticipatory rather than just reactive. She seemed to move in sync with her opponent's thoughts, always a beat ahead. When he attempted a heavy grapple, thinking his reach and strength would overpower her. Yuki turned his momentum against him. With a swift pivot, she redirected his energy, sending him stumbling forward from his own failed grab.

"There, see that?" Chronos pointed out as Yuki executed a series of quick jabs that found their mark before her opponent could fully recover his stance. "She uses her speed to control the pace and flow of the fight. It's not about overpowering, it's about outmaneuvering."

Her eyes are also always locked onto any of his moving limbs that extend past a certain point.

I noticed traces of techniques Ryuto had used, but Yuki elevated them. She wove them into her style seamlessly. Enhancing them with rapid-fire executions that Ryuto hadn't managed. Her ability to adapt and integrate different martial arts principles was clear, making her a formidable force in the ring.

She's... incredible.

I couldn't help but marvel at Yuki's mastery over her movements. Each step she took was not just a move, but a calculated decision, positioning her strategically within her opponent's reach, yet always just out of danger. Her eyes, intensely focused, watched his limbs for any extension signaling an incoming grapple, not his face.

Yuki capitalized on her opponent's overcommitment to a grapple, executing a breathtaking move. She feinted high, causing him to raise his arms in defense. Then, with a swift and fluid motion, she ducked low and swept her leg behind his, hooking it with precision. The move toppled him over with such smoothness and speed that it took a moment for the crowd to register what had happened.

As her opponent hit the mat, the arena erupted in applause. Their cheers reverberated with admiration for the skill displayed. Yuki didn't bask in the applause immediately. Instead, she extended a hand to her opponent, helping him to his feet in a gesture of respect and sportsmanship that was met with an even louder applause. The referee's whistle split through the air, ending the first round.

I turned to Chronos, noting the way Yuki used her observations to predict her opponent's next move.

"She's not just reacting, she's expecting based on their body movements, just like what I do, except..." I said, realizing the depth of skill involved.

Chronos chuckled. "Except you need to experience it once. She's reading her opponent on the fly. She's playing chess in a martial arts contest."

Yuki readied herself for the second round. Her opponent, determined to regain some ground, charged at her with a burst of reckless energy as soon as the whistle blew. His approach was straightforward, a desperate attempt to leverage his size. But Yuki elegantly sidestepped his bullish advance, her movements precise and calm. She let her hand glide along his extended arm, subtly redirecting him past her and setting him off-balance.

He spun around, attempting a forceful overhead punch. Yuki prepared to evade; however, the punch was a feint. In a swift pivot, he redirected his momentum into a kick aimed at her stomach, a solid, forceful strike that knocked the wind out of her. Not giving her a moment to recover, he dove in for a low grapple.

Reacting with split-second decision-making, Yuki leaped into the air, executing a forward flip over him. She landed nimbly behind him and, without a pause, delivered a punishing heel kick to his jaw. The impact was audible, a crunch that echoed through the arena as a tooth was sent flying. The opponent's body went limp, collapsing to the mat with a definitive thud, marking a dramatic end to the match.

As the referee stepped in to confirm the knockout, the arena burst into a cacophony of cheers and applause. Yuki's poise remained unshaken as she respectfully bowed toward her fallen opponent, acknowledging the fight with solemn dignity.

I watched from the sidelines as adrenaline surged through me, fueled by Yuki's decisive victory. I held a hand over my mouth in an attempt to hide my uncontrollable grin, stirred by the thrill of her clean, aggressive finish.

"Chronos," I said, the excitement clear in my voice, "I need to fight her."

Chronos leaned in as we observed Yuki celebrating. "Notice anything interesting about her, aside from the... aggressive finish?"

I nodded, recalling a detail. "Yeah, she kept fiddling with her left sleeve a lot, both before and during the match. Seemed a bit odd."

Chronos's eyes twinkled with approval. "Good observation. That's not just a nervous tick. She's Awakened. Her bind is concealed under her sleeve on her left wrist. It's subtle, but these details are crucial in understanding your opponent's capabilities."

Surprised, I responded, "She's Awakened? So that means—"

"Yes," he interrupted, nodding solemnly, "she has most likely been training with her awakened abilities in mind. Her body and reflexes have adapted to what a Green rank is capable of."

Flabbergasted, I blurted out, "Isn't that illegal?"

"Not at all," Chronos explained calmly. "At least not while she's Green rank. From the looks of it, she's been awakened for about a year. And since she wears a bind, she's restricted to what a normal human can physically achieve. The difference is that having aura flow through her body means she understands and controls her physical capabilities far beyond the average person, even on her worst days."

He gestured around the arena. "There are about one hundred students here who are awakened. You've faced eight of them yourself."

"I did?"

"Yes, in fact, the first person you faced was one. So remember, being an Ascendant doesn't compensate for a lack of skill. Also, every referee here is an Ascendant."

Huh... who would have thought?

During the match, there was a moment that grabbed my attention. Her opponent pulled quick feints. Yuki hesitated, her normally steady gaze flickered, and her movement paused. It was a minor hiccup, almost imperceptible, but to me, it was like a neon sign. I filed that detail away in my mind.

She usually reacts when her opponent's limbs reach a certain distance. She's reading their body.

I also noticed that after she was caught off guard, she got aggravated and immediately went for a knockout to end the round, thus giving her the win. It wasn't a clear expression on her face, since it was all in her eyes.

She quickly regained her composure and ended the match decisively with a knockout. Watching her recover and clinch the win, I couldn't suppress a huge grin. The prospect of going up against her suddenly seemed even more enticing.

"But doesn't a bind restrict her aura entirely?"

Chronos nodded as I absorbed the implication of Yuki wearing a bind. "Correct. A bind, especially for someone in a competitive setting like this, is used to suppress their aura. This keeps them from accessing their full power inadvertently or unfairly. That she's using one suggests she has her aura well under control, a level of mastery not common among those who've just awakened."

I frowned, trying to piece it together. "So, she's holding back? Using less of her power on purpose?"

"Right," Chronos confirmed. "She's training under restraint, which means when she is able to go all out without her bind, she's even more formidable. Think of it like your weight training with the Anchors. You wear heavier weights during practice. The day I let you take them off, you're going to be much faster and stronger."

"That's kind of intimidating," I admitted, glancing back at the mat where Yuki was now calmly discussing something with someone who seemed to be her instructor. He had a ponytail, so who else could he be?

I looked at my Anchors, and then realized that I'm basically on a limiter as well. I'm kind of hoping I get to take them off soon, but I won't lie. This challenge is too much fun. Will I admit that to Chronos? Absolutely not.

During the intermission, a familiar crowd began forming around me. Contestants, spectators, coaches from various schools, each introduction overlapping the last as they sized me up or offered subtle recruitment pitches.

Jeez, if this is before I awaken, I don't want to think about what it would be like after.

Through the social whirlpool, I spotted a figure cutting through the crowd with purpose. The emblems on his robe marked him as an instructor from the Hidden Leaf school. His black hair, neatly tied back, accentuated sharp features and an intense gaze.

"Mr. Alaric, I presume?" he began, his voice carrying respect mixed with scrutiny. "I'm Master Takahashi. I've been hearing quite a bit about your performance today."

Oh sure, you have. Translation: "You defeated one of my students, insulted our star pupil, and on top of that, insulted our grand school."

The crowd quieted as he raised his hand slightly. "Your skills are raw, intriguing, but perhaps a touch fortuitous," he stated, skepticism edging his tone. "We at the Hidden Leaf value the rigorous cultivation of talent, not just the random acquisition of techniques."

His gaze pierced through me. "How exactly did you come to learn techniques that resemble those of the Hidden Leaf?"

I met his gaze squarely, keeping my response calm. "I watch, I learn, and I adapt. Isn't that the essence of martial arts?" I replied, respectful defiance tingeing my voice.

Master Takahashi's lips thinned. "Luck can grant you an occasional victory, but it won't sustain you through a true martial path. I suggest you consider deeper training, rather than relying on chance."

He's here to take a shot at my confidence. His followers nodded along like he was preaching gospel.

I acknowledged his advice without submitting to it. "Thank you, Master Takahashi. Every match is a lesson, isn't it? Today's been full of them. Your disciples mentioned something about teaching students to recognize their shortcomings and learn from their losses. So using luck as an excuse, it's kind of contradictory, isn't it?"

His eyes narrowed slightly, clearly not expecting such a pointed comeback. Around us, the murmurs faded into tense silence.

Come on, give me another one, I dare you.

Master Takahashi gave a curt nod, his expression unreadable. "Well considered," he conceded grudgingly before turning to rejoin his group.

Pussyyyy~

Chronos approached with a wry smile. "You make me so proud," he said, while wiping a fake tear.

Fifteen minutes later, I was called to the mat. The finals had begun, and the crowd had thickened with spectators. I glanced around and wondered if my mom had called in sick from work and was disguised in the crowd. I chuckled at the thought.

Yuki's voice cut through my amusement. "Is this really the time to laugh? At least pretend to be serious."

"I'm sorry, Princess," I quipped with an exaggerated bow. "I didn't realize you needed my undivided attention."

I smiled, carefree. She hadn't exactly made a good first impression, so a little ribbing felt justified. Petty? Maybe a bit.

Her cheeks tinted pink. "Y-you... remember our bet, don't you?"

Oh? Bringing that up again? Interesting.

"Oh, right. What's the stake?" I played along. "Sorry, no hand-holding. I'm saving that for marriage."

"W-what? No, I—" She cleared her throat, gaining composure. "The loser does whatever the winner says."

I gasped theatrically. "How scandalous! You were after my body this whole time?"

She flushed a deeper red. "NO! I—"

The referee stepped forward, cutting off her protest. A hush fell over the crowd.

"Attention competitors and spectators," he began, his voice echoing through the arena. "The rules for the final match have been altered. We will continue until a knockout or surrender. Exiting the ring is no longer a cause for defeat. There will only be one round, and the victor will win the competition."

Surprise flickered across both our faces. Yuki quickly turned to her instructor, speaking rapidly in Japanese. Her expression mixed confusion with concern, clearly asking, "What on earth is going on?"

Her instructor merely shrugged, feigning ignorance that didn't quite reach his eyes.

I shot a glance toward Chronos, searching for some hint about this sudden change, but he too had perfected the art of looking uninformed and curious.

A suspicion gnawed at me that this wasn't spontaneous but well-orchestrated.

"I'll interrogate you later," I muttered under my breath. Turning back to face Yuki, who was still eyeing her instructor with a sense of betrayal.

Her instructor whispered something to her. His words eliciting not only a harsh look from Yuki, but also surprised glances from nearby students. When she spun back around, she wore an expression of reluctance and irritation, her eyes beginning to water.

Don't give me that look. Just because he said something harsh doesn't mean... shit.

In frustration, I scratched the back of my head, clicking my tongue. "Well, it's clear we don't have a choice or a say in any of this. Someone's pride was hurt, and now we have to be the outlet for their frustration."

I looked at her, ready to suggest we forfeit. "Since it's come down to it, we should just—"

The whistle pierced the air, and Yuki burst forward. Her knee aimed for my face in a swift, aggressive start. I leaned back instinctively, but her knee still landed on my left cheek. Using the force of the impact, I propelled myself into a backflip and landed awkwardly on my stomach before scrambling to my feet. I tasted blood as the wound inside my cheek reopened.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

"Hey, what the fuck is wrong with you?" I tried to reason, but she was relentless. Launching forward again with a barrage of attacks. Her fists pummeled my abdomen and chest, each hit tensing my muscles painfully.

Gasping for breath between blows, I tried again. "Why are you playing into their game? We should both just forfeit the match."

Her gaze met mine, and a storm of emotions played across her face. For a moment, her intense, usually unreadable eyes softened, revealing reluctance and sadness. Her fists remained raised, poised to continue, but her expression betrayed inner conflict. A flicker of anger, a silent scream against the recent interaction with Takahashi, overshadowed the calm confidence that defined her presence.

As she paused, her features tightened again, sadness morphing into determined resolve. She was battling not just me, but something internal.

Just what did that bastard say to her?

The barrage continued relentlessly. Yuki's fists were like hammers, her kicks like sledgehammer swings. I blocked and dodged desperately, each move an attempt to protect myself while trying to find an opening to speak, to reason with her.

"Stop, Yuki! We don't have to do this!Above the crowd's noise, the near misses of each blow punctuated my words.

But she was like a storm, unyielding and all-consuming. My thoughts swirled chaotically as I continued fending off her attacks. Amidst the flurry of punches, a competitive fire within me urged me to fully engage.

Why hold back? Isn't this what you wanted? The thrill, the challenge, the raw feeling of fighting?

Each of her movements was a blur, strikes so swift and well-timed that I found myself purely defensive. Her agility was something else. Every time I thought I had her pattern figured out, she switched techniques. Her fluid transitions were testament to her skill and awakened state.

She flowed like water around and through my defenses. Each kick and punch carried finesse that spoke of years of rigorous training and a deep, intrinsic understanding of martial arts. I blocked a high kick aimed precisely at my head. Her foot seemed to graze the air centimeters from the impact. I couldn't help but marvel at her technique.

As another blow landed, this time catching my shoulder and sending pain jolting through my body, I gritted my teeth. The physical pain was sharp, but the inner conflict was agonizing. I stumbled back, narrowly avoiding a swift roundhouse kick that would have surely ended the match.

Gasping for air, I tried again, my voice hoarse. "Yuki, please! Can we just talk for a second?"

But she wasn't listening, or maybe she couldn't hear me over her own relentless determination. As she advanced again, her eyes were a mix of focus and something darker, maybe anger, maybe something pushed onto her by expectations or hidden pressures I couldn't see.

Her intensity increased, strikes coming faster, moves more unpredictable. It was as if my words had stoked a fire within her, and now she was burning brighter, pushing both of us to our limits. I dodged a spinning heel kick by a hair's breadth, feeling the wind from her move rather than contact itself.

In this whirlwind of motion, I struggled to keep up, my responses becoming purely reactionary. Every block, every dodge, was desperate. An attempt to keep pace with her. However, the turmoil only amplified the voice in my head, urging me forward, bringing a smile to my face.

Then she landed an elbow against my jaw, followed swiftly by a roundhouse kick to the side of my head. My ears rang. My head throbbed.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

My heart thundered in my chest, each beat like the drum of war echoing through the caverns of my ribcage. This feeling, this vibrant life force inside intensifying with each interaction, exceeded mere adrenaline. It was a call to arms.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

This... isn't this why I started learning from Chronos? Why I took this path?

These thoughts raced through my mind as Yuki's strikes landed. Each one a reminder of the day it all started. Sitting on the cold ground bloodied and bruised with wet pants.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

With each blow, a spark of exhilaration ignited within me. I inhaled deeply, the air of the arena filling my lungs, fueling my determination. The pain from each hit was there, but a growing excitement, an awakening hunger for the challenge overshadowed it. The taste of blood fueling my desire to fight.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

I could feel it building, the joy of the fight, the sheer thrill of matching wills and skills with someone superior. It wasn't about winning anymore. It was about embracing the raw, untamed spirit of combat that had drawn me to martial arts.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

As another of Yuki's punches cut through the air, narrowly missing my jaw by mere inches, the realization hit me like a bolt of lightning: I was exactly where I needed to be. This was the dance of warriors, and I was fully part of it now.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

I parried another jab, her speed almost overwhelming. I felt a shift within me. It was like a click, a sudden alignment of my senses sharpened by the necessity of survival and the adrenaline coursing wildly through my veins. My Origin was at work, stealing everything she offered.

Fine... Let's dance.

Yuki launched a rapid succession of jabs, each one aimed with precision and speed. I took a deep breath and focused. Her technique was flawless. Yuki's beautifully orchestrated, innate rhythm made her fast jabs hard to predict. As she extended her arm, I noted the slight rotation at her wrist, a subtle but effective way to increase impact. With each jab, she slightly shifted her weight from her back foot to her front, optimizing her body's momentum.

Her footwork was a dance, almost poetic. She moved like water, her steps flowing into each other, making her incredibly difficult to pin down. As she pivoted on her heel for a hook kick, I observed the way her other foot barely touched the ground before it snapped up. The kick whistling through the air. It was a move of stunning agility and control. While ducking under it, I couldn't help but admire the finesse.

Mom would want me to be a gentleman and end this game. No... fight...

I countered instinctively, borrowing the fluidity of her movements. My kick mirrored hers, not just in trajectory, but in the way I balanced my weight. How I turned my body to follow through. It felt like a shadow of her technique, yet distinctly mine as I adapted it on the fly.

"I see now," I murmured as she reset, a slight frown creasing her brow as she noticed the technique.

She changed tactics, launching a series of low sweeps aimed to knock me off balance. She calculated each sweep to lower her profile, aiming for a smaller target area. By mimicking her movements, I felt the tension and release in her muscles. Recognizing the timing and physical basis behind each decision.

The fight turned into a conversation, a back-and-forth dialogue in the shared language of martial arts. Her strikes became my strikes. Her defenses informed my defenses. With every move she made, I absorbed and redirected, learning and applying in real-time. The thrill of this learning, of seeing her techniques unfold and making them my own, was exhilarating. My grin not fading in the slightest.

She's got her reasons, right? Easy on her. FIGHT!

Finally, I anticipated her next high kick, stepping inside her range and using her momentum against her. I grasped her kicking leg, channeling my understanding of her balance and force, and gently, yet firmly, redirected her into a controlled fall. As she landed safely but firmly out of position, the realization of the technique's adoption flashed across her face, a mix of surprise and respect evident in her expression.

The crowd, having followed every move, every counter, every adaptation, erupted into applause, appreciating the display.

Yuki quickly got to her feet and continued her pursuit. I shifted from defense to offense, testing Yuki's reactions to my advances. Her sharp, focused eyes intensely tracked my limbs, giving her an edge in predicting my moves; I focused on them. Her gaze seemed to latch onto every extension I made, allowing her to adapt swiftly.

With this in mind, I experimented with my reach, adjusting the speed and trajectory of my attacks to see how she'd respond. I extended a punch. I watched her eyes flick to my shoulder, then to my elbow, reading my intent before the move was complete. Her silent questioning of my next move was a constant, subtle reading of my posture and muscle tension.

This was enlightening. Her method was meticulous, mirroring the way I absorbed and adapted techniques, but she did it through visual cues and predictive reasoning. Her ability to anticipate and react was akin to my own, yet it was clear she honed this skill to an almost instinctive level.

Seizing an opportunity, I feigned a left jab, watching her body tense in preparation to counter. Instead of following through, I switched to a low sweep, aiming to catch her off-guard. As she adjusted to block the sweep, I noticed a slight delay in her reaction, a telltale sign that my mix-up had sown a seed of doubt.

So you are vulnerable to feints~

Encouraged by this small victory, I ramped up the complexity of my combinations. Weaving together sequences that blurred the line between feints and actual strikes. Each move was a test, a question posed to her defenses, and with each response. I learned more about her technique and timing.

I quickly mirrored one of her earlier moves: a swift, angular kick and a deceptive pivot. As she moved to counter, expecting a repeat of my previous pattern, I broke the rhythm. Instead, closing the distance and aiming a controlled, precise strike toward her midsection. This time, she couldn't adjust in time, and the impact pushed her back, her footing disrupted. Her calm expression fractured.

I figured you out~

I kept the memory of her previous match's misstep fresh in my mind, the moment she faltered under a well-timed feint. I was determined to use this to my advantage, crafting a strategy around her slight hesitation when faced with unexpected moves.

I feigned aggressive attacks. Throwing punches and kicks that aimed just shy of making contact, closely watching her reactions. Each time I faked a move, her eyes darted to the feigned attack, her body tensing in anticipation. This split-second of hesitation was all I needed.

Maybe just fake a knockout. Make it— NO! BREAK THROUGH!

I built upon this pattern, establishing a rhythm designed to draw her in. Then, at a critical moment, I launched a complex feint, a high kick aimed directly at her head, which was nothing more than a bluff. As she instinctively raised her arms to block the nonexistent threat, I shifted my weight and redirected my motion into a sweeping leg kick aimed at her ankles, an area she'd left unguarded.

I should be considerate— FUCK THAT, WIN!

Her response was a fraction slower, her body conditioned to expect another high strike. The sweep took her by surprise, knocking her balance just enough to send her stumbling backward. Quickly capitalizing on her disarray, I moved in, closing the distance as she struggled to regain her footing.

What if I just step back and— SHE'S OPEN! ATTACK! DON'T LET HER REST!

With her defenses momentarily compromised, I executed a rapid series of strikes, each one calculated to keep her off balance and reactive rather than proactive. I connected a particularly sharp jab to her midsection. The crowd gasped, sensing the shift in control. I could see the realization in her eyes as she began to understand the depth of her vulnerability to feints, a flaw in her otherwise impeccable defense.

I should have continued my assault, but I paused, stepping back slightly. I waited for Yuki to regain her composure, watching as she straightened, her breath steady despite the intensity of our exchange.

The pause was a moment of mutual recognition, a silent acknowledgment of the shift in our battle. She eyed me warily, uncertainty flickering in her expression. I wiped a trickle of blood from my lip with my thumb, the taste metallic and invigorating, and flashed her a maniacal grin.

She's struggling too. Maybe I should— NOW IS YOUR CHANCE! NO MERCY!

Yuki launched herself forward again, her movements a blur of speed and precision, her expression of calmness faltering once again. But this time, I was ready. Using the technique I had just stolen, I focused on the subtleties of her approach: the slight tension in her shoulders, the way her eyes narrowed just before a strike, the minor shifts in her footing that telegraphed her next move.

What if— DON'T STOP!

With each attack she made, I sidestepped or ducked effortlessly. My body moving in sync with the rhythm I had decoded. Her frustration mounted with every miss, her strikes growing more forceful yet predictably erratic. I could see her trying to adjust, to find a new angle or a new trick that I hadn't already countered. Irritation was clear on her face as she tried one thing after another, constantly grunting and shouting.

I— WIN!

Every dodge and weave showcased the battle's evolution, reflecting both physical skill and mental sharpness.

"I understand it now," I cackled. Not just to her, but to myself, affirming the breakthrough in my ability to read and expect my opponent's intentions.

As her last punch sailed harmlessly past my ear, I stepped closer, our faces mere inches apart. My smile never wavered, even as I spoke, my voice low and steady. "Your technique, it's incredible. Now it's mine."

WIN!

The crowd was silent for a moment, the tension palpable, before erupting into cheers and shouts.

Yuki stepped back, regaining her posture, her eyes wide with a mix of respect. Her initially aggravated expression faded. The match was far from over, but a new understanding had settled between us, a mutual recognition.

Yuki's acknowledgment came silently but profoundly. She bowed deeply before me, a gesture of respect and perhaps concession, but there was something more in her eyes. Determination mixed with resignation. As she straightened up, her fingers moved to her left sleeve with deliberate purpose.

My eyes widened as I recognized what she was about to do. Oh, you've got to be kidding me. She's actually going to—

But she had already begun rolling up her sleeve, revealing the bind Chronos had mentioned earlier. The intricate metallic bracelet caught the arena lights, its surface etched with complex patterns that seemed to shift and pulse with contained energy. At its center, a crystal glowed with a soft, steady light, the visual indicator of the aura suppression field it maintained.

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd as they recognized what they were seeing. Murmurs spread like wildfire through the stands:

"Wait, is she taking it off?"

"You can't remove your bind during competition!"

"That's against the rules!"

The referee started forward, his eyes widening as he realized what was happening. "Competitor, stop! You cannot—"

Yuki's eyes met mine, intense and unwavering. There was an apology there, but also a fierce determination. She gave a slight nod, as if signaling the true beginning of our confrontation. An acknowledgment that she was about to cross a line she couldn't uncross.

"Finally," I muttered under my breath, unable to suppress a grin despite the gravity of the situation. This is what I wanted all along.

With a decisive flick of her finger, she tapped the central gem.

The effect was immediate and overwhelming. Intricate patterns on the bind's surface rotated and shifted, its mechanisms whirring and clicking as a complex puzzle unlocked itself. The gentle glow intensified for a moment before fading entirely, and the bracelet opened, clattering to the mat with a metallic ring that echoed through the suddenly silent arena.

The change in the air was instantaneous and electric. Yuki's aura, no longer restrained, flooded the space around us like a dam bursting. The sudden release of energy was palpable and crushing. The pressure pressed against my own senses with an almost physical force, making the hair on my arms stand on end and my chest tighten with each breath.

Holy shit.

The crowd's gasps turned to stunned silence, then excited whispers. I could feel their collective intake of breath as they sensed the shift in power. Even those like me who aren't Awakened could feel something had changed in the arena.

Yuki straightened, and for a moment, she looked different. Her eyes glowed. She appeared stronger and more complete. Like she had been holding her breath for months and could finally exhale. Her posture was more confident, her movements more fluid, and when she looked at me again, there was something predatory in her gaze that hadn't been there before.

The referee, now fully understanding the situation, was shouting something about rules and disqualification, but his voice seemed distant, overwhelmed by the sheer presence radiating from Yuki.

"Now," she said, her voice carrying a new weight, a new authority. "Let me show you what I'm really capable of."

And then, in a flash of movement too quick to follow, she was right in front of me.

I had been watching her the entire time. I had been analyzing her movements, memorizing her patterns, and adapting to her style. But this... this was something else entirely. The speed wasn't just faster; it was on a completely different level. It was like she had been moving through water before and was now cutting through air.

Her fist connected with my chest. A solid, precise strike that felt like being hit by a sledgehammer wrapped in silk. The impact carried the weight of her awakened aura, which crashed into me like a tidal wave, overwhelming my senses and short-circuiting my ability to react.

This is Aura?

The force of the blow lifted me off my feet and sent me flying backward. I felt the world blur around me as I sailed through the air, my body completely out of my control. The edge of the ring rushed up to meet me, and then I was beyond it. Tumbling through space until I hit the floor outside with a bone-jarring impact.

As I lay there, struggling to catch my breath and process what had just happened, the arena erupted into chaos. Some spectators were cheering, others were shouting protests, and I could hear the referee's whistle piercing through it all like an alarm.

My vision blurred, but I could make out the referee rushing toward Yuki with movements that were swift and practiced. The fluid efficiency of an Ascendant in action. His approach was neither hurried nor panicked.

You asshole, why didn't you intervene when she was taking off the bind?

With swift, practiced movements, he restrained her, his hands finding pressure points that immediately locked her movement. Yuki, caught in the referee's firm grasp, couldn't move. Her earlier fluidity and freedom abruptly curtailed. The technique was so smooth, so effortless, that it was clear this referee had significant training in subduing awakened individuals.

Through the haze of my disorientation and the creeping blackness edging my vision, I saw her turn to look at me. Despite being restrained, despite knowing what was coming, she managed a small smile that was soft rather than triumphant or mocking. Maybe an apology, maybe regret for how things had ended, or maybe an acknowledgment of what we had shared in those last moments of actual combat.

The crowd's noise crescendoed into a cacophony of voices, some calling for disqualification, others arguing about fairness, and still others simply cheering for the spectacle they had witnessed. But through it all, one voice cut through with official authority:

"DISQUALIFIED FOR UNAUTHORIZED USE OF AURA IN NON-AWAKENED COMPETITION!"

The announcement rang through the arena with finality, the referee's voice amplified to reach every corner of the space. The words echoed oddly in my ears as consciousness began to slip away from me, the adrenaline crash combining with the impact to pull me toward darkness.

But even as everything faded, I couldn't shake the memory of that final exchange. The raw power, the overwhelming presence, the glimpse of what lay beyond the threshold I hadn't yet crossed.

Damn it... did I just win by default?