(9 hours, 30 minutes until Apex Trials)

  [ CORAL GATE: Veritas Pacific Facility ]

  22:30 — local time

  The viewing hall was already packed.

  Cadets sat curled in their seats with blankets, pillows tucked behind their heads, some half-asleep, others wide-eyed and jittery. A few still had their uniforms on, others were fully in sleep attire, wrapped in blankets. Trying to stay warm in the overworked AC.

  On the massive screen, the timer glowed:

  [APEX TRIALS: COUNTDOWN BEGINS AT 8 HOURS REMAINING]

  A tired Lieutenant stepped into the hall, rubbing his eyes at the sight. “…You’re all here already?”

  A cadet near the front nodded without lifting her head from her pillow. “If we came later, we’d be stuck in the back.”

  A few cadets mumbled sleepy agreement.

  The Lieutenant sighed, unamused but impressed. He pulled off his cap and handed it to the nearest awake cadet. “Put that on the seat next to you. I’m sitting there.”

  The cadet clutched the hat like a sacred relic. “Yes, sir.”

  Around them, Coral Gate stayed exactly where it was — half-asleep, half-buzzing — saving their front-row view like it was life or death.

  Events didn’t exist in Veritas. Excitement never came easy.

  Until now.

  This tournament was the first real spark of anticipation any Veritas facility had ever offered. A reason to crowd the halls. A reason to stay up. A reason to feel something other than duty.

  If they’d been told the tournament started in two days, they still would have sat in those seats… just for the chance to feel what they’d been denied their whole lives — pure excitement. A glimpse of something that seemed worldly. A moment that felt bigger than training drills and empty dorms.

  A moment they might never feel again.

  ———

  (9 hours, 00 minutes until Apex Trials)

  The conference room of Veritas Prime was quiet, the lights bright enough to reflect in the polished floor.

  Captain Aegis and Kojo stood together. Captain Drift with Nightveil beside him. Lieutenant Marinero with Glacier Fist at his right.

  Behind them, three chairs had been arranged in a small row for the neophytes — Abasi, Bastian, and Marisol.

  President Seraphina Kaelen’s secretary stepped forward.

  “Representatives,” he began. “Thank you for assembling this morning. You are here to show support for Veritas Prime and the upcoming tournament. As guests, you are under the direct authority of President Seraphina Kaelen. While inside this facility, you are expected to follow all Prime directives and protocols. Now—”

  The secretary continued speaking… but in the back of the room the neophytes were getting to know each other.

  Abasi Okoye of Sahara Gate sat perfectly straight, reading a small, worn copy of The Art of War. His posture didn’t shift, his expression didn’t change, and his eyes moved steadily from line to line.

  Bastian leaned over his shoulder until their heads were almost touching. “What’cha reading?”

  Abasi turned the page with precise control. “The Art of War, by the great Sun Tzu.”

  Bastian squinted, unimpressed. “He couldn’t have been that great if the book ain’t even got pictures.”

  Abasi replied calmly. “It does,” as he angled the pages toward him.

  Maps. Formation diagrams. Careful brush-stroked calligraphy.

  Bastian stared blankly, expression full of floating invisible question marks. He twisted around toward Marisol of Coral Gate. “Hey, you.”

  Marisol flinched. “Y-yes?”

  “Is this guy a kid or a geezer?”

  She blinked rapidly. “Is… is that rhetorical?”

  Bastian blinked.

  Tilted his head.

  “…Restorable?”

  Marisol blinked back. “W–what?”

  “You said restorable. Why would I restore anything?” Bastian said, genuinely confused.

  Marisol looked helpless. “I… didn’t… say—uh…”

  Bastian threw his hands up. “Okay. You two are weird.”

  He dug through his bag loudly, still talking to Abasi.“What’s your name again?”

  Abasi replied, as his eyes never left his book. “Abasi.”

  “Hmmm…” Bastian tapped his chin. “Good name. Goes great with sushi.”

  Abasi paused. “…What?”

  Before he could clarify, Bastian pulled a bright orange paperback from his bag and shoved it at him. “Here you go, Wasabi.”

  Abasi inhaled to correct him—

  —but froze.

  The cover.

  The colors.

  The energy.

  A boy in an orange jacket with spiked yellow hair, frozen mid-motion.

  “What is this?”

  “Manga!” Bastian declared proudly.

  Nightveil turned her head towards Bastian with a familiar annoyance. “Shhh.”

  Bastian pulled the bottom of his eye down and stuck out his tongue before he continued, a bit quieter now.

  “Dude, how have you not read manga? It’s got battles, chakra, crazy powers—everything. You read it in reverse. Compared to that no picture book you have, this is like Gold or something.”

  Abasi’s eyes never left the cover of the book as he talked in awe. “I’ve never read a book that wasn’t about warfare or strategy.”

  “Well, this one has both,” Bastian said. “The main guy talks too much and all over the place but you’ll get used to him. Finish that one and I’ll give you the next. I brought the whole series.”

  Abasi didn’t smile often.

  But now—a small, uncontrolled smile crept across his face as he opened the first page.

  Before Bastian even noticed, Abasi had already consumed a third of the volume. He flipped through the pages with effortless speed.

  A boy who lived like a machine — suddenly looked exactly his age.

  Captain Aegis glanced back.

  For a brief moment, her expression softened into a quiet, proud smile.

  ———

  The corridor outside the conference room quieted as three cadets made their way down it —

  Kojo of Sahara Gate, Nightveil of Kuro Gate, and Glacier Fist of Coral Gate.

  Kojo exhaled softly, hands behind his back in that calm Sahara posture. “This tournament should be impressive, Veritas Prime has prepared heavily.”

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  Glacier Fist snorted. “Impressive? Man, I just can’t wait to see that Lior kid get destroyed so all this prophecy nonsense can finally shut up for good.”

  Kojo stopped walking, posture sharpening instantly. “The prophecy isn’t nonsense, Lior is real.”

  Glacier Fist turned toward him with a lazy smirk, hands in his pockets. “Bro, only a weak-minded person believes some ‘chosen one’ is coming to save the world. That’s fairy-tale stuff.”

  Kojo took one step forward. “And only a weak-minded person allows himself to never see beyond himself. Hope has ended wars and created great civilizations. Your mindstate is juvenile.”

  “Oh please,” Glacier Fist scoffed. “Save the sermon. You sound like you worship the guy.”

  Kojo’s jaw tightened. “I respect what he stands for.”

  Glacier shot back. “And I don’t respect anyone who gets special treatment for a bedtime story.”

  The tension snapped tight — the space between their faces charged with a low, coiled spark that neither seemed willing to break.

  Nightveil finally slid between them, one palm on each chest. “That’s enough.”

  Both froze.

  “You two are acting like neophytes.”

  She stepped back and turned, muttering under her breath: “…boys are the same no matter what gate they’re from.”

  Kojo and Glacier Fist glared at each other, the pressure settling in the hallway like even the floor didn’t want to get between them.

  Nightveil never looked back.

  “Hurry up,” she said. “You’re embarrassing yourselves.”

  The boys clicked their tongues in unison and followed, still side-eyeing each other like rivals forced into a group photo.

  ———

  (8 hours, 45 minutes until Apex Trials)

  Morning crept over the cadet’s dorm without mercy.

  A night that should’ve been spent resting — preserving energy, sharpening focus — became the same story across every team:

  no sleep, no calm, no chance.

  Excitement.

  Adrenaline.

  Stress that sat on the chest like a weight.

  The entire facility felt wound tight, like the air itself understood what today meant. Across the halls, behind dorm doors, every team handled the morning in their own way…

  Inside Team Vitalis’s dorm, one person slept through it all like he was immune to the universe.

  Grid.

  The boy could sleep through a hurricane, a stampede, or Silverline shouting his name right next to his ear. Today was no different. He lay sprawled across his bunk — blanket half-off, hair pointing in ten directions, light snoring like nothing in the world could bother him.

  Thorn stood over him with his fingers laced behind his head, leaning back like he was studying an animal in its natural habitat.

  Silverline stood to his right, one hip popped, one hand resting on it, the other pressed to her forehead — the posture of someone already annoyed before the day had even begun.

  They exchanged a helpless look.

  Just as Silverline opened her mouth—

  Grid shot upright. “Let’s go, you guys… we gotta get ready…”

  Thorn froze.

  Silverline froze.

  Grid stared straight ahead, focused…

  and it hit them at the same time:

  He was sleep-talking.

  Silverline’s tiny hope for an easy morning evaporated.

  WHAM!

  Her fist dropped onto Grid’s skull from above.

  “OW—!” Grid grabbed his head. “Vitalis, this is starting to feel like abuse!”

  He blinked around, still half-asleep, rubbing the sore spot like a toddler who didn’t understand physics.

  Thorn snorted, his own hand scratching the back of his neck while he laughed.

  “Looks like Captain’s rubbing off on you,” he said to Silverline. “Or maybe Grid’s shenanigans are turning you into her.”

  Silverline whipped around, cheeks puffed, turning her back to both boys as she raised her fist behind her — a little storm cloud of irritation hovering over her shoulders.

  “He’s impossible.”

  Grid muttered, “If I get reincarnated, I hope women are less abusive…”

  Without even looking at him, Silverline shot back. “If you keep this same thing up, women will be like this no matter where they reincarnate you.”

  All three paused.

  Then they cracked.

  Laughter filled the room — Thorn’s easy rumble, Silverline’s muffled snort, Grid’s half-asleep chuckle as he rubbed where she hit him.

  But as the laughs faded, Grid’s smile slipped for a moment. “Don’t tell anybody but… something feels off about this whole process.”

  Thorn’s posture straightened. “Off how?”

  Grid opened his mouth.

  Stopped.

  Shook his head.

  “…Nevermind. I’m probably overthinking.”

  Silverline rolled her eyes, finally turning back toward him. “That’s what happens when you sleep too much. Come on — get up. We’ve gotta get prepared.”

  Grid forced a smile and nodded. “Yeah… let’s go.”

  ———

  (8 hours, 15 minutes until Apex Trials)

  The cafeteria was quieter, as if it had stepped back into the past where teams ate silently amongst each other.

  A room full of cadets pretending breakfast wasn’t sitting like lead.

  The usual group sat around the same table — Titan, Pulse, Vitalis, Seraph, Snapback, and Selena — but their trays stayed mostly untouched.

  Speedy stared at his tray, untouched. “…I think I’m gonna struggle today.”

  Replica lifted her eyes. “With what?”

  Speedy rubbed his neck, eyes down. “I don’t know how to go all out on people I view as friends. Before, we were just teams. Rivals. If someone got hit hard — whatever. But after everything we’ve been through… it feels wrong to hurt any of you.”

  A quiet settled over the table again, heavier now.

  Lior had been silent since he walked in, hoping today would change how he felt over the past couple of days.

  He finally spoke. “Speedy… would you rather hurt your friends, or lose them?”

  Speedy’s head snapped up. “…Neither. But if you had to choose? Speedy swallowed. “Then… I’d rather hurt them.”

  Lior nodded. “This tournament isn’t about pride,” Lior said. “It’s about keeping each other alive later.”

  Ayasha’s fingers tightened on her cup.

  “I know what it feels like to face someone who truly wants to kill you,” Lior said. “It doesn’t make you stronger. It makes you feel small. And if we hold back during the one chance we have to prepare… we make each other smaller.”

  Selena stared down at her bowl like she was afraid to lift her head.

  Sunstrike breathed out slowly. “I really never thought I’d care about anyone here except my team, but I do. And… I’m glad.”

  Replica set her spoon down with delicate precision. “You have all become more important than ever these last few weeks, so I will give my all. I trust you all to do the same.”

  Arcline straightened and slapped his palms together. “Then let’s make it official.”

  He stood.

  “The Left Flame.”

  Lior blinked. “The… what flame?”

  Ayasha’s eyes went wide. “Oh my gosh — we never taught you this? Lior, how have we gone this long without—”

  She laughed under her breath. “Good thing this came up before the ceremony.”

  Lior looked genuinely lost.

  “It’s simple,” Ayasha said, stepping beside him. “Here—watch.”

  She lifted her left hand to her left chest, palm open. “This part means, ‘I’m showing the truth.’ Nothing hidden.”

  She closed her hand into a fist. “This part means you’re holding it steady — not letting it burn out of control.”

  Then she lifted her elbow outward slightly — that subtle ‘flare’ of the arm. “This part… people forget what it means. It’s not just for formation.”

  She angled it a little more so he could see. “It means your flame isn’t just yours. It’s close enough for the person beside you — and take strength from it if they need to.”

  Lior’s eyes softened a little.

  Ayasha nodded. “We don’t fight alone here. So the flame sits where someone next to you could reach it. It’s like saying, ‘If I fall, you carry it. If you fall, I carry it.’”

  Then she dipped her head in that sharp, clean bow.

  “And the bow just seals it. That’s us accepting the weight of it.”

  “And after the bow,” she added softly,

  “you say Veritas.”

  Lior repeated the steps slowly.

  Arcline looked around the table. “So? Everyone ready?”

  One by one, hands rose.

  A full alliance of cadets — Teams Titan, Snapback, Pulse, Vitalis, Seraph, and Selena — fists over their hearts, flames angled outward.

  They bowed as one. “Veritas!”

  Teams Ironclad, Null, and Edge stared from their distant tables — some confused, some irritated, some quietly envious of the unity they were witnessing.

  But at Team Edge’s table…

  a chair sat empty.

  Sync kept staring at it.

  Mina didn’t comment, but her eyes flicked to the vacant seat with a sharp, irritated click of her tongue.

  Valor still hadn’t shown up.

  ———

  Team Edge’s dorm was dim, curtains still half-drawn against the morning light.

  Valor sat on the edge of his bunk, elbows on his knees, head lowered.

  In his hands rested the Team Edge patch — the only thing in the room he seemed able to look at.

  The patch was firm and textured, the stitching raised beneath his thumb. A black diamond background. A deep red border. A bold E standing front and center. And behind it, the narrow blade — clean, silver thread, angled like it was cutting forward.

  Simple design.

  Sharp meaning.

  Every cadet at Veritas knew what that emblem stood for: precision, aggression, results.

  Valor turned the patch once in his palm. The red caught a slice of morning light, glowing faintly against the dark.

  He swallowed hard, that slow knot of dread tightening in his chest again — the one he hadn’t been able to shake since team training.

  His heart should’ve been racing. His blood should’ve been buzzing. Instead, all he could feel was that slow, crawling weight in his chest. He clenched his jaw until it ached.

  …I won’t let your sacrifice be in vain.

  The clock on the wall ticked toward a time he couldn’t ignore.

  And still, Valor didn’t move.

  A soft brrrm crackled through the dorm speakers — the pre-tournament announcement tone.

  Then a calm voice echoed through every hall of Veritas Prime:

  “All cadets report to the Assembly Floor. Pre-tournament briefing begins in ten minutes. I repeat — all cadets, report to the Assembly Floor.”

  The intercom clicked off.

  Valor exhaled once, slow and shaky.

  He slid the patch into his palm.

  Then he finally stood.

  (8 hours, 00 minutes until Apex Trials)

  The End of Chapter 45