Final Life Online

The arena vanished behind a wall of white light.

The shockwave hit first—hard enough to rattle the entire stadium. Barriers flickered. The announcer table flipped. Half the audience grabbed onto anything that wouldn't fly away.

Fate screamed while clinging to Dreamer's coat,

"WHY IS THIS SCHOOL STILL ALLOWED TO OPERATE?! WHO APPROVED THIS LEVEL OF DESTRUCTION?!"

Dreamer calmly held the table in place,

"…This happens every year."

"EVERY YEAR?!" Fate shrieked. "HOW ARE THERE ANY STUDENTS LEFT ALIVE?!"

Inside the smoke—

a second explosion burst out, followed by a shock of red and white light twisting together.

Puddle pressed both hands and face against the barrier,

"MASTER!! I CAN'T SEE YOU!! BLINK IF YOU ARE THERE!! OR GROAN!! OR SAY 'OW'!! ANYTHING!!"

No answer.

The dust slowly started to settle again.

Everyone held their breath.

Dreamer whispered,

"Radiant Judgment versus Ruinous Final Guard… I didn't think he would truly try it."

Fate pointed into the smoke,

"AND LOOK AT THE ARENA FLOOR. IT'S—WAIT. WHERE IS THE FLOOR?! WHO STOLE THE FLOOR?!"

Because yes—

a giant crater now replaced the center of the arena.

Finally, silhouettes appeared.

Two figures.

Zenith…

standing, breathing hard, clothes shredded, aura fading.

And Rhys…

Rhys was lying in the middle of the crater, arms spread, legs spread, looking like someone who had just been slapped by the heavens, the earth, and five different gods taking turns.

His cracked sword was completely broken now—just the hilt remained in his hand.

Puddle screamed,

"MASTER IS FLAT!! HE IS FLAT LIKE PANCAKE!!"

Rhys wheezed,

"…Still… alive… I think…"

Fate started yelling instantly,

"HE'S ALIVE AGAIN?! DOES RHYS HAVE SOME SECRET IMMORTALITY SKILL?! OR IS HE JUST TOO ANNOYED TO DIE?!"

Dreamer pushed up his glasses,

"His Ruinous Final Guard reduced Zenith's ultimate attack by 70%. Any normal fighter would still be vaporized… but Rhys has very abnormal survivability."

Rhys tried to raise his hand,

"…Can someone… please… flip me over…? I can't feel anything except regret…"

Zenith finally spoke.

His voice was soft but steady.

"…You endured my strongest technique. You did well."

Rhys groaned,

"STOP… complimenting… me… every time I almost die…"

Zenith stepped forward, raising his sword—

Puddle shrieked,

"NO MORE ATTACKS!! MASTER ALREADY LOOKS LIKE A CRASHED BIRD!!"

But Zenith lowered the blade into the ground instead.

"I won."

The announcer barrier lit up.

Fate jumped onto the table,

"ZENITH WINS!! BUT RHYS GETS THE 'SHOULD-BE-DEAD-BUT-SOMEHOW-ISN'T' AWARD!! SOMEONE GIVE THIS BOY A MEDAL OR A MEDICAL TEAM—PREFERABLY BOTH!!"

Rhys sighed into the dirt,

"…I hate tournaments…"

Puddle hopped over the barrier, ran to him, and poked his face.

"MASTER ARE YOU ALIVE?"

Rhys whispered,

"Barely…"

She patted his cheek proudly,

"Master is strong. Master did good. Master must now sleep for one thousand years."

Rhys closed his eyes,

"…Yes. That sounds correct…"

And the arena finally calmed as healers rushed in for the tenth time today.

Rhys sat on the audience bench with an ice pack on his head, three healing talismans stuck to his arms, and Puddle wrapped around his shoulders like a worried scarf.

The healers had forcibly removed him from the arena after declaring:

"If he fights again today, we are retiring early."

So now he sat there, slumped, watching the next matches begin.

He exhaled a long, tired sigh.

"Haah… I thought after all those classes I would have more power," he muttered. "But I guess I'm still far behind."

Puddle puffed her cheeks in outrage.

"MASTER IS NOT FAR BEHIND! MASTER IS JUST… UH… SLIGHTLY BEHIND! LIKE ONE AND A HALF STEPS! VERY SMALL DISTANCE!"

Rhys stared at her.

"That's still behind."

Puddle slapped the back of his head lightly.

"NOT WITH GOOD ATTITUDE!!"

Rhys leaned back against the seat, eyes drifting to the battlefield below where the remaining fighters clashed—Aristea's light spears raining down, Rulian spinning her twin blades, Leon tearing through wind barriers like paper.

They looked strong.

Smooth.

Confident.

Rhys looked at his own hands.

"…Feels like I'm fighting on a different difficulty level."

Fate's voice suddenly exploded from the announcer booth.

"And Leon lands a direct hit! WOW! Compared to that blow, I suddenly understand why Rhys was shaped like a flat tortilla earlier!"

Rhys deadpanned at the booth.

"…I can still hear you."

Dreamer answered calmly,

"It means your healing is progressing."

"That is NOT what that means!!" Rhys snapped.

Puddle nodded in agreement.

"Master is not tortilla. Master is more like… slightly stepped-on bread."

"THAT'S NOT BETTER!"

The battle roared below them—magic clashing, swords ringing, the crowd cheering.

Rhys watched quietly.

"…I really thought learning all those skills would push me higher."

Puddle tilted her head.

"Master did go higher."

"Not high enough."

She poked his chest gently.

"Master fought Zenith. Zenith is boss. BIG boss. Boss with extra sparkles."

"I know," Rhys sighed.

"Master survived Zenith," Puddle added softly. "That means Master strong. Maybe not strongest… but strong enough to get stronger."

Rhys blinked.

That… actually reassured him a little.

His shoulders relaxed.

"Yeah… maybe. I'll get there."

Puddle gave a wide smile.

"Master will surpass everyone! Puddle believes! Even if Master is shaped like pancake again!"

"STOP SAYING PANCAKE!!"

Fate shouted from the booth,

"AND WE MOVE TO THE NEXT ROUND! LET'S HOPE NO ONE ELSE BREAKS THE ARENA LIKE RHYS DID—SERIOUSLY, THE REPAIR BILL IS SO BIG THE HEADMASTER IS CRYING!"

Rhys groaned and sank deeper into his seat.

"Perfect. I'm famous for destruction now."

Puddle hugged his arm proudly.

"Yes. Master is famous. Very famous. Even babies know Master now."

"…WHY WOULD BABIES KNOW ME?!"

As the next fighters entered the arena, Rhys watched them closely—not jealous, not frustrated.

Just determined.

"…Next year," he whispered. "Next year, I'm winning."

Rhys stayed seated as the crowd cheered for the next match, but his face slowly shifted from tired… to annoyed.

Because apparently, the world would NOT give him a peaceful break.

Fate shouted from the booth again,

"LOOK AT THAT—RULIAN JUST COPIED RHYS'S MOVE! BUT WITH LESS EXPLOSIONS AND MORE ACTUAL SKILL!!"

Rhys glared at the announcer table.

"…Can he stop saying my name for five minutes?"

Dreamer replied in his calm, polite tone,

"He is increasing your popularity metric."

"That's not a good thing!!" Rhys snapped.

Puddle nodded,

"Yes! Too much popularity leads to people wanting autographs! Master's hand is already broken!"