"......"

  A heavy silence hung in the air for a moment.

  Then, Bars spoke slowly, his voice steady: "It’s not your fault. You did more than enough. Rest easy these next two days and focus on recovering."

  "But, Father......"

  "That’s enough. Do as I say."

  "......No, I was talking about the match we were supposed to have......"

  "......"

  Bars froze for a brief second.

  He shook his head gently.

  "......We’ll call it off this time."

  "Huh——!?"

  "Why the surprise? Did you really want to test your skills against me that badly?"

  "Uh, no, that’s not it......"

  "Then that’s settled."

  "After all......" Bars explained further, his tone softening slightly, "the only reason I said that was to see how far you’ve come. And you’ve proven yourself more than sufficiently. There’s no point in us fighting now."

  "R-Really......?"

  Miko lowered her head slowly.

  "I’m sorry, Father......"

  "......Get some rest. We’ll leave you be."

  "Okay."

  Miko nodded faintly.

  "Good night, Miko."

  "Good night, Sister!"

  "Good night......"

  As Hulim, Bars, and Mirei left the room, the lights dimmed to darkness.

  Lying in bed, Miko pulled the covers tighter around herself. Under the blankets, she couldn’t help gritting her teeth, her hands clutching the sheets in a tight grip.

  "Damn it......"

  ......

  Deep into the night,

  in a hidden location somewhere in Helinks.

  "Oh, so your master has finally made up his mind~?"

  "My lord is willing to consider your proposal—but there’s one condition you must fulfill first."

  "Heh~, a condition?"

  The hooded figure on the opposite side let out a sneering laugh.

  "We’re helping you seize power, and all we ask for is a small favor in return. That’s already an enormous concession! And now you’re telling me we have to do another thing first? Do you really think we’re that patient!?"

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  "......It’s not a difficult task. We just want to see if you possess the power you claim. After all, cooperation requires a foundation of trust, doesn’t it?"

  "Hmph!"

  The hooded figure snorted coldly.

  After a moment of silence, he spoke again, his voice low and deliberate:

  "......What’s the condition? Out with it."

  "......Here’s the thing. We want you to arrange a match for someone to face Boguna tomorrow."

  "Boguna?"

  The hooded figure froze in surprise, then immediately rejected the idea.

  "That’s impossible. We can help you rig other matches if you want, but Boguna is off-limits. Choose someone else."

  "Why can’t it be Boguna?"

  "That’s none of your business. Don’t ask questions you’re not meant to!"

  "......"

  "If you can’t make this decision, go back and consult your master. Tell him we can get the job done—but you’ll have to pick a different target."

  "......Very well. I’ll return shortly."

  "Make it quick. Once dawn breaks, it’ll be too late."

  Some time later,

  at the Black Wolf Clan’s mansion.

  "What? Boguna is off-limits?"

  Abak frowned deeply. Without targeting Boguna, he couldn’t be certain of success......

  "Yes, Lord Abak. They want you to choose someone else quickly, and you must give them your answer at once. It’ll be impossible to pull off after sunrise."

  "Enough, enough! I get it!"

  Abak looked thoroughly annoyed.

  "What a bunch of troublesome people......"

  He paced back and forth in the room, his brow furrowed as he weighed the options carefully.

  "Sigh...... This is infuriating! Why does that other nuisance have to compete on a different day!"

  The Round of 32 matches were split over two days. Following tournament tradition, contestants from two of the sub-arenas were scheduled to compete on the same day—with repechage winners being arranged separately. This schedule had been finalized immediately after today’s matches, so there was no way to change it.

  Only the specific matchups remained open to manipulation.

  And in the current lineup,

  the tournament favorite Boguna was set to compete on the same day as Hulim. The other dark horse—who’d unexpectedly defeated Volk—was scheduled for the following day.

  Now that Boguna was out of the question, the next best candidate was unavailable.

  Abak felt a surge of frustration welling up inside him.

  "These people! They’re deliberately making things difficult for me! If they can rig matches, why is Boguna such a problem! Could it be that they’re just trying to squeeze more concessions out of me?"

  "Uh......"

  At that moment, his subordinate ventured to offer his opinion.

  "My lord, perhaps Boguna is off-limits because he’s under too much scrutiny. Rigging a match involving him might lead to unwanted trouble......"

  Abak shot a sharp glance at his trusted subordinate, his frown softening slightly.

  "There’s some truth to that......"

  "I have no choice......"

  "We’ll have to send Volk in!"

  If he couldn’t target the current favorite, Abak had no absolute confidence in pitting anyone else against Hulim.

  After all, strength rankings were just analyses—no one knew the true state of affairs. Rather than pinning his hopes on someone with unknown capabilities, it was better to rely on someone he could gauge.

  At the very least, in his eyes, Volk was powerful enough to have a shot at making it to the top four.

  "Go. Inform them of our decision!"

  "Yes, my lord!"

  Soon, Abak’s subordinate returned to the hidden location.

  "It seems you’ve reached a decision."

  "That’s right. My lord wants you to arrange a match between Volk and Hulim Hayelar tomorrow."

  "Are you certain about these two?"

  "Absolutely."

  "Very well. Go back and tell your master we’ll make the arrangements. But remind him—we expect good faith in return for our help."

  "U-Understood......"

  ......

  "Ladies and gentlemen! We meet again! That’s right—it’s me, George Glewyn! I’ll be your official host for the upcoming matches!"

  Inside the Grand Arena’s Main Arena,

  the stands were packed to the brim with a sea of spectators, stretching as far as the eye could see.

  Cheers and chants mingled together, creating a deafening, roaring tide of excitement.

  "Thank you! Thank you all! I can feel your passion!"

  "And now!"

  "It’s my great honor to introduce our two tournament commentators! They’ll be providing live commentary throughout the matches. Please put your hands together for——"

  "Lorelle Klein——!!!"

  The venue erupted into a thunderous roar from nearly 100,000 spectators.

  "And——"

  "Radley Weil——!!!"

  "Let’s give a warm round of applause to our two guests!!!"

  A tidal wave of applause swept across the arena.

  Amidst the cheering, Radley and Lorelle—who’d appeared in the opening exhibition match—stepped onto the commentary desk.

  This was a long-standing tradition of the Royal Martial Arts Festival: inviting exhibition match participants to serve as commentators.

  For one, these guests were usually highly skilled and discerning individuals, far from ordinary. For another, the audience had already witnessed their strength and thus trusted their insights. Their commentary was far more effective at rousing the crowd’s enthusiasm.

  "Now, let’s start with a quick interview with our two commentators."

  "Ms. Lorelle, what are your thoughts on this year’s contestants?"