The metal door had barely closed behind them when the entire tunnel trembled, as if The Gauntlet were taking its first breath after a hundred years of forced sleep.

  The air was thick with the burnt smell of ozone, the stench of aging electronic sensors, and the dusty metallic flakes falling in gray waves from the ceiling.

  “I… really don’t like this place,” Lumina mumbled, her tail shooting upright like a puffed-up static antenna.

  Z-69 didn’t answer.

  He stood still, sensing the vibrations beneath his feet.

  A hot current of air blew out from a narrow vent in the right wall, lifting his hair slightly.

  That tiny breeze alone was enough to tell him—This system did not welcome their presence.

  Then came the sound—tick… tick… tick…

  Like the countdown of a bomb holding its breath.

  Ten swallowed hard.

  “That sound… that’s not normal.”

  “Nothing in this tunnel is normal.”

  John’s voice echoed faintly from the memory still lingering in Z-69’s mind.

  Suddenly—CRASH!

  A deafening explosion hit just three meters in front of them as a metal floor panel tore free and collapsed straight into darkness.

  Chunks of steel fell like a waterfall of broken machines, shattering against something below and echoing endlessly.

  Ten shouted:

  “RIGHT!”

  Z-69 pulled him aside just in time.

  A massive steel beam—the size of a small car—plummeted from the ceiling and speared the exact spot they had been standing a second earlier.

  The ground shook violently.

  Z-69 turned to Ten, eyes cold… yet slightly impressed.

  “You foresaw that?”

  Ten gasped for breath.

  “I… I don’t know. I just felt it.”

  Z-69 nodded once.

  “Good.”

  Just one word.

  But it was enough to make Ten straighten his back—even though his legs were still trembling.

  The hallway ahead was a chain of metal floor plates, connected like broken bridge segments.

  Some shook dangerously, others were charred black as if burned in an ancient fire.

  When they stepped onto the first plate, it creaked like a dying animal.

  “RUN!” Lumina screamed telepathically.

  Z-69 grabbed Ten with one arm and launched himself forward, just as the second plate began to split apart.

  The sound of metal cracking chased them like shattering glass.

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  Ten clung tightly to Z-69’s neck.

  “There! Don’t go in the middle!”

  Z-69 instantly shifted left, landing on the edge of the plate.

  At the same moment, the center section caved in as if something had yanked it down from below.

  “I told you,” Ten panted, “I don’t know how… but something pushes into my head, like—like danger crawling under my skin.”

  “Instinctive premonition?” Z-69 asked.

  “No… it’s like someone standing behind me, pointing at danger and forcing me to notice it.”

  Lumina grimaced.

  “That sounds EXTREMELY creepy.”

  “But useful.” Z-69 replied.

  The next obstacle was an old suspension bridge.

  Rusty chains.

  The platform tilted sharply to one side.

  Below—nothing but an abyss black enough to swallow souls.

  Hot air surged upward in waves.

  Z-69 stepped onto the bridge.

  It groaned like a wounded beast being stepped on.

  Halfway across, a plank suddenly snapped upward, like a spine of some metal creature trying to bite them.

  “Don’t let it bite you!” Lumina yelled.

  Z-69 didn’t dodge.

  He drew the Heaven-Sundering Short Blade with a fluid motion—as if the blade were an extension of his breath.

  Violet lightning flashed.

  A sharp arc of light tore through the darkness.

  The blade cleaved through the metal hinge.

  BOOM!

  A burst of heat surged through the bridge as sparks flew.

  The breaking section crashed down and stabilized.

  Ten stared, wide-eyed.

  “…Beautiful.”

  Z-69 tilted his head.

  “It is only a blade.”

  “No. The way you use it.”

  Lumina murmured with a sigh:

  “And great… another fanboy.”

  They reached a massive cylindrical passage, and a wave of dread washed through the air like rising floodwater.

  Ten squeezed Z-69’s hand.

  “Don’t stand here… the ceiling… it’s… it’s moving…”

  Z-69 looked up.

  Right at that moment—THE ENTIRE CEILING DROPPED.

  A metal sheet the size of a room came crashing down.

  “MOVE!” Lumina screamed into both their minds.

  Z-69 darted left—left collapsed.

  He twisted right—right cracked.

  Lumina’s telepathic voice screamed:

  “UP! CLIMB!”

  Z-69 kicked off the wall, vaulting into a narrow gap between two steel beams.

  The ceiling plate slammed down just as he pulled both himself and Ten into the crevice.

  WHAM!!!

  The impact blasted a shockwave through the hall, lifting Z-69 off his feet for a split second.

  Ten trembled violently, face pale as paper.

  “S-so close… we almost got crushed…”

  Z-69 brushed dust off Ten’s hair calmly.

  “I maintained distance.”

  “No you didn’t!! Two centimeters is NOT distance!!!”

  “In the end, you lived.”

  Ten almost cried.

  They exited the beam gap and reached the intersection where two teams usually met.

  Another team was there—but only three remained instead of four.

  They were leaning against the wall, drenched in sweat and blood.

  “Don’t come closer,” the front man warned, voice firm but trembling.

  “It collapsed ahead. We’re stuck. Turn back.”

  Ten frowned.

  “Don’t trust them.”

  Lumina’s tail puffed up.

  “I smell something nasty!”

  Z-69 observed.

  Left eye twitching — lying.

  Right knee bent — preparing to lunge.

  Breathing pattern off — especially when saying “stuck.”

  “You are lying.” Z-69 declared.

  The man’s expression changed instantly.

  He drew a knife and lunged.

  “He’s weak! Take him down and exchange his corpse for points—!!”

  Z-69 didn’t even use his blade.

  He simply punched.

  The attacker dropped like an empty sack.

  His two companions panicked and fled.

  Ten stared at the unconscious body.

  “…They really wanted to kill you.”

  “I know.” Z-69 replied, “The way he stood was wrong.”

  “Wrong… stance?” Ten blinked.

  “Yes. A person planning to attack always puts more weight on the right foot. Learn that.”

  “…Can you teach me?”

  “If you survive this, I will consider it.”

  Lumina sputtered:

  “Is this seriously a recruitment session in the middle of a death trap?!”

  Z-69 was about to move on when Ten grabbed his sleeve:

  “Wait… you’re standing on something…”

  Z-69 looked down.

  A metal tile.

  Engraved with the number 02.

  Lumina shrieked:

  “OH SHIT! A DELAYED TRAP!!!”

  The floor clicked.

  Z-69 lifted Ten and spun backward—and not a moment too soon.

  The floor exploded upward like a piston.

  A steel column blasted through the air.

  Ten clung to Z-69’s shoulder, shaking like a leaf but silent.

  That kind of fear—real fear—yet still under control.

  Z-69 found himself… respecting it.

  At the end of the corridor stood a round steel door.

  Rusty, ancient… yet still alive.

  Z-69 pushed it open.

  A burst of white light shot out through hundreds of tiny holes, flickering like a rain of glowing blades.

  Ten shielded his eyes.

  Lumina’s fur stood on end.

  Z-69 stared forward.

  The room ahead was a maze of laser beams—intersecting at chaotic angles, twisting like the blueprints of a deranged architect.

  A speaker on the wall activated:

  “Segment Two: Light-Sensor System. Precision: 0.02 seconds. One wrong step… means death.”

  Ten inhaled sharply, trying to steady his shaking legs.

  “I… I’m scared.”

  Z-69 placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “I am here.”

  Ten swallowed.

  “Then I’ll survive.”

  Z-69 stepped forward, the purple reflection of the Heaven-Sundering Short Blade shimmering across the trembling laser beams.

  The door behind them slammed shut—burying all three inside the maze of light.

  The Gauntlet’s second trial began.