(0 hours 45 minutes until Apex Trials)

  In the Kuro Gate training yard, rows of cadets and Neophytes stood in perfect symmetry — heels aligned, backs straight, hands folded neatly behind their hips.

  Hundreds of them.

  No shuffling. No whispers.

  Only the sound of the wind moving across the open yard.

  President Katsuro Onmyoji walked along the front line with deliberate, unhurried steps. His dark blue kimono swayed at his ankles, the obi tied with immaculate precision.

  A sleek katana sat at his hip — untouched, but unmistakably present.

  His posture held the quiet weight of an old samurai; simply a presence no one dared to disrespect.

  He stopped.

  “Training,” he said, voice calm and unraised, “is more important than any tournament.”

  No one flinched.

  “I will permit you to indulge in this distraction.”

  He resumed pacing, hands folded behind his back.

  “But you will not forget your core principles. Flow over force. Mind over muscle. Breath over fear.”

  Cadets did not nod.

  They absorbed the words.

  “When you watch these different battles… do not cheer like children.”

  His eyes sharpened.

  “You will study.”

  He lifted one hand slowly.

  “You are released.”

  Every cadet bowed — a full, formal bow, deep and unified, their silhouettes folding like a single wave.

  When they rose, they turned as one.

  The moment the corner of the yard hid them from President Katsuro’s gaze—

  all discipline detonated.

  Students sprinted into the hallway.

  Sandals slapped stone.

  Laughs burst out.

  A dozen leapt over railing gaps instead of taking the stairs.

  Three vault-flipped over a bench in a contest that nobody agreed to.

  Someone parkoured off a wall because they felt like it.

  The entire corridor became a race — a chaotic stampede toward the viewing room to claim the best seats before the projection activated.

  The president watched the dust settle.

  Only one other person remained.

  Riku Hayashida — Codename: Captain Flux — Kuro Gate, approached, bowing his head slightly. “President Onmyoji. May I consult with y—”

  “No,” Katsuro said instantly, gathering the folds of his kimono with surprising speed. “I will miss the opening match.”

  Flux blinked. “But sir, you told me to keep up our—”

  Katsuro was already at a brisk walking pace. “You may speak, but you will walk with me.”

  Captain Flux fell into step beside him.

  “And Captain,” Katsuro added without breaking stride, “if I miss even a second of the broadcast because of this conversation…”

  He glanced at him sideways. “…I will hold you personally accountable.”

  Riku sighed once. “Yes, President Onmyoji.”

  The two disappeared into the hallway — one moving with the grace of a prestigious swordsman, the other mentally counting every second until the match started.

  ———

  (0 hours 39 minutes until Apex Trials)

  The locker room had clean metal benches, polished white walls, faint blue lights tracing the ceiling lines.

  The air felt new, like the whole place had been printed yesterday.

  Speedy paced between the rows of lockers, hands flying as he muttered to himself.

  Blueprint sat with elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like the answer to life was written in the tile grout.

  Perma leaned against the back wall, arms crossed, foot tapping a restless beat.

  Blueprint finally broke the silence. “Where’s the captain?”

  Perma huffed. “That old man knows today is important, right?”

  Speedy didn’t notice Hiroshi entering behind him. “I mean, he’s gotta be pushing eighty. That’s the age where people start wandering off. Maybe he’s lost in one of these hallways — this place is huge. What’s that condition called? All-time… all-time low or whatever—”

  A calm voice drifted in behind him.

  “I assure you…”

  Speedy froze mid-step.

  “…that I am still in my prime.”

  He turned slowly.

  Hiroshi stood at the door with that familiar closed-mouth smile, leaning lightly on his cane, posture perfect, presence quiet but unmistakable.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Perma raised an eyebrow. “Where were you? We thought you vanished.”

  “When the Director requires assistance,” Hiroshi said, stepping farther into the room, “one does not ignore the call.”

  His gaze swept over them — not judging, simply measuring. “I see you are all prepared.”

  Speedy swallowed hard. His voice cracked. “What if we… fail today?”

  Hiroshi paused in front of him, steady as bedrock. “Failure does not come from weakness.”

  Blueprint looked up.

  “It comes,” Hiroshi went on, tapping the floor once with his cane, “from believing defeat is waiting before the fight even begins.”

  Speedy’s breath hitched.

  “Fear is not your enemy,” Hiroshi continued. “Fear sharpens. Alerts. Warns. But too much fear?”

  A tiny shake of his head.

  “It blinds. It weakens. It convinces a warrior his strike will miss before he ever throws it.”

  Perma’s posture eased — only slightly, but enough.

  Blueprint exhaled, breath steadying.

  Speedy lifted his chin.

  Hiroshi turned toward the door. “Come,” he said. “It is almost time. And remember — if you step into the ring fearing failure… it will meet it head on.”

  The room fell silent.

  But it wasn’t the same silence as before.

  This one was ready.

  ———

  (0 hours 37 minutes until Apex Trials)

  The Ironclad locker room felt colder than the others — steel walls, dim lighting, no warmth anywhere.

  Three figures knelt in the center of the floor.

  Rex.

  Brin.

  Deke.

  Knees down. Backs straight. Heads bowed.

  Their captain stood before them, arms folded behind him, posture carved from stone, gaze sharp enough to peel a soul open.

  He didn’t raise his voice.

  “You three…”

  He paused. Heavy. Measured.

  “…have shown me nothing but how worthless and helpless you can be.”

  Not a flinch from the kneeling cadets.

  His boots scraped forward once.

  “I captain champions.”

  The word landed like a strike.

  “If you are not champions…”

  He leaned in just enough for his shadow to swallow their bowed heads.

  “…you are dead weight that deserves a grave, not a uniform.”

  Rex’s fists dug into his thighs.

  “I chose you three because you looked like pure carnage.”

  His eyes narrowed as his steps became heavier.

  “You have been nothing of the sort.”

  The silence that followed was suffocating — the kind of silence animals feel before a storm breaks.

  “Do not disappoint me again.”

  All three cadets bowed deeper, foreheads nearly touching the ground.

  Their right fists rose in perfect unison —

  slamming against their chests with a sharp, bone-deep.

  THNK.

  Then, together, they exhaled a single sound —

  low, guttural, forced from the diaphragm like a soldier swallowing fear and replacing it with fire:

  “—HHRRR.”

  Varric didn’t acknowledge it.

  He simply turned away.

  Because for Ironclad… obedience was expected.

  Fear was survival.

  And failure had consequences.

  ———

  (0 hours 34 minutes until Apex Trials)

  Snapback sat on the bench with his arms folded tight across his chest, a deep frown pulling at his eyebrows.

  Sunstrike stared at him, one brow rising. “Shouldn’t you… be motivating us? Or something?”

  He turned away from her, lower lip pushed out just enough to make a statement. “I want to fight in the super cool… open-ceiling, giant-stadium ring…”

  He crossed his arms and slid lower on the bench. “It’s not fair…”

  Arcline wandered over, grin stretching ear to ear. “At least you get to watch me.”

  Snapback shifted away a few inches without saying a word.

  Sunstrike exhaled through her nose. “How are you even a captain?”

  Halo, sitting cross-legged on the floor, spoke softly but caused the others to pause. “You guys… you know this is going to be hard.”

  Snapback’s pout vanished. Replaced by that famous, radiant Snapback smile — sharp, reckless, blindingly confident.

  “If it wasn’t tough,” he said quietly, “you wouldn’t feel anything right now. That stuff you’re feeling means the moment matters. Proof you’re alive. Don’t run from it.”

  The team looked at him — genuinely listening.

  Snapback turned away, smile still wide. But the moment his face was hidden from them… his grin fell. His eyes lowered, a quiet understanding settling behind them.

  “Cherish these Trials. Because once it’s over and you are out there, the stakes won’t be winners and losers.”

  He looked at the ceiling as if it would change. “There will only be survivors.”

  He forced the smile back on — brighter, louder, glittering like stage lights.

  “But hey!” he spun around, hands waving in front of his face, as if he didn’t mean to say that. “Let’s live in the moment, okay?”

  Sunstrike’s soft expression changed. Every time I think he is going to be serious he does this.

  CLUNK.

  Her fist whacked the top of his head. “OW—what was that for?”

  “Because you are you,” she said flatly.

  Arcline and Blueprint stood up and followed Sunstrike.

  The door slid open.

  Team Snapback stepped out into the tunnel — their footsteps syncing as they headed toward Prime Arena, toward the test waiting on the other side of the light.

  ———

  (0 hours 31 minutes until Apex Trials)

  The room sat in a quiet stillness — lockers lined in neat rows, faint hum of the vents, blue light strips tracing the edges of the ceiling.

  Lior turned the wooden block slowly in his hand.

  The same block from earlier.

  The one he still hadn’t been able to crack.

  Titan’s reflection appeared beside him in the metal locker. Then the captain stepped forward — arms folded, posture steady, voice level. “Still no surge?”

  Lior looked up and gave a small shake of his head.

  Titan studied him for a breath. “…Then we deal with that.”

  He shifted his arms across his chest. “No one else knows. Use that to your advantage.”

  Ayasha stepped up beside them, tapping Lior’s forearm lightly. “We’ve got you. All the way.”

  Lior nodded.

  A small smile flickered there, brief but real.

  Cael slapped his hands together once as if shaking off nerves.

  “Come on,” he said, heading toward the door with Ayasha.

  The sliding door hissed open.

  They stepped out.

  Lior moved to follow — but Titan’s hand closed firmly around his forearm.

  Lior paused.

  Titan’s voice dropped, quiet enough that only he could hear. “You’re the only one who can get out of your own way.”

  The words weren’t what he wanted to hear, but what he needed.

  Lior met his captain’s eyes and gave a steady nod.

  Titan released him.

  Both stepped through the doorway.

  ———

  The tunnel stretched ahead — long, dark, carved from steel and echo.

  Light pooled at the far end like a second sunrise.

  Footsteps synced.

  Cael.

  Ayasha.

  Lior.

  Titan behind them — a silent wall of belief they hadn’t earned yet, but would.

  The sound of drones grew louder.

  The crowdless stadium breathed.

  The Prime Ring waited — wide open, sky above, Gates watching.

  Lior tightened his grip on the unbroken wooden block.

  He exhaled.

  The four silhouettes walked into the light.

  And the Apex Trials finally opened their jaws.

  (0 hours 30 minutes until Apex Trials)

  End of Chapter 48