The evening air was thick with the buzz of the tournament, and the five members of Team Stronghold gathered at their reserved lounge. Each of them carried the weight of their recent matches, yet none seemed as uneasy as Gordon, who sat apart from the group, his gaze distant and unfocused."So, that last round," Alex started, cracking a smile as he stretched out on the plush couch. "I have to admit, it was pretty satisfying to watch that Terra brute Hager go down so quickly."John laughed, glancing at the healing bandages wrapped around his own bruised shoulder. "You sure didn't waste any time, Alex. Hager didn't know what hit him. And speaking of wins," he added, looking around the room, "we all made it through the first two rounds. That's got to mean something."Isabel nodded, her usual calm demeanor softened with a rare look of pride. "It's true. We held our own against some of the toughest fighters here. I think we have a real shot at making it to the final rounds together."Victor grinned, a flicker of his usual fiery energy sparking in his eyes. "And we're going to make Stronghold proud while we're at it."They all laughed, the energy between them light and easy—everyone, that is, except Gordon, who remained silent, lost in his thoughts."Hey, Gordon!" John's voice cut through the chatter, his tone both teasing and curious. "You haven't said a word about your last match. What's up with that? You won, didn't you?"Gordon shifted, avoiding John's gaze. "Yeah, I won," he muttered, though his voice lacked the usual confidence. His mind flickered with thoughts of his recent opponents—Abbot and Emory—and the Messenger's cryptic appearance, each encounter leaving him with an unsettling sense of unease. "It was nothing, really.""Nothing?" Alex raised an eyebrow. "Are you kidding? You went up against one of Veilstead's freaky mind-benders, didn't you? I'd say that's worth talking about."Victor shot Gordon a look, trying to catch his eye. "Yeah, man, even Jimmy was talking about how intense that match was. I mean, that guy didn't just challenge you physically; he was messing with your mind, right?"For a moment, a flash of frustration darkened Gordon's expression. "He was trying to get inside my head, that's all," he said shortly. "Trying to rattle me with some cheap tricks. I just... didn't fall for it."The others exchanged glances, sensing the tension building beneath Gordon's calm facade. It wasn't like him to be so guarded, and the hesitation in his voice didn't go unnoticed."Hey, Gordon," Isabel said gently, leaning forward. "If there's something going on, you can tell us. We're a team, remember?"Gordon glanced up, meeting Isabel's eyes for a brief moment before looking away. Part of him wanted to share everything—the unnerving words Emory had spoken, the strange encounter with the Messenger, and the way Abbot's laughter echoed in his mind like a haunting memory. But something held him back, a nagging voice whispering that he couldn't reveal his doubts. Not yet."It's nothing," he said, forcing a smirk that didn't reach his eyes. "I'm just... tired from all the fighting. That's all."The others fell silent, sensing the walls Gordon had put up around himself. Alex, who had been watching his friend carefully, leaned back, a hint of concern in his usually laid-back gaze. "Well, if you ever need to blow off steam, I'm always around for a sparring match," he offered lightly. "Beating me up might be good for you."The corner of Gordon's mouth twitched in a faint smirk. "Thanks, but I don't think you'd last five minutes."Gordon's gaze then drifted down to his clenched fists, his knuckles white. The weight of his encounters with Abbot and Emory pressed heavily on his mind, each taunt, each whisper lingering like a ghost. They had both hinted at something... something darker lurking within him. And the Messenger's offer—his voice still haunted Gordon in quiet moments, a reminder of the choice that loomed like a shadow over him.Alex broke the silence, a soft sigh escaping him. "Well, whatever it is, don't let it mess with your focus. We're here to win this tournament, right?"Gordon looked up, his gaze finally meeting theirs. He nodded slowly, his expression resolute. "Right," he said firmly, though the words felt hollow in his mouth. "We're here to win."But as the conversation drifted on, Gordon's mind remained elsewhere, tangled in the darkness of his own thoughts. The others spoke of strategies, future opponents, and their hopes for the next rounds, but their voices grew distant, fading into the background like an echo.In the back of his mind, Gordon could still feel Emory's eyes watching him, their taunting words like a knife twisting in his heart. And somewhere in the shadows, the Messenger's presence lingered, a silent reminder of the path that lay before him—a path he wasn't sure he had the strength to resist.