"Oh, I almost forgot," the instructor drawled, smirking as though it was deliberate. "Each team will receive a random Battle Card. One-time use. Don't waste it."
One of the rookies raised a hand nervously. "What's a Battle Card, sir?"
The instructor's condescension dripped like oil. "A card that might save your sorry hides—or not. These cards grant an advantage, assuming you know how to use them. There are three types: Restriction, Exchange, and Wild."
He paused, watching the confusion brew. "Restriction lets your team impose a ban on the enemy team. Weapons, skills, members, items—you name it. I trust even you rookies can see the appeal."
The room buzzed with murmurs, excitement bubbling at the idea. I couldn't blame them—getting that card could flip the game.
But if the enemy had it?
Yeah, that could be a problem. Then again, if I could hack the system and control how these cards worked... maybe this was nothing to worry about.
"Exchange cards," the instructor continued, "let you swap something significant—points, ranks, even opponents in the middle of the fight. Chaotic, isn't it?"
That stirred another round of chatter, the room alive with speculation. But when he mentioned the last card, his smirk turned downright gleeful.
"And my personal favorite: the Wild card. It does whatever you want—Restriction or Exchange. The choice is yours."
This time, the murmurs erupted into a frenzy. Everyone wanted a Wild card, that much was obvious. The instructor raised his hands, silencing the room with a sharp glare.
"But don't get too excited. These cards can backfire. If your opponent plays theirs better, you'll lose before you know what hit you. Use them wisely—or don't. Makes no difference to me."
As the rookies stewed in a mix of eagerness and anxiety, I kept my expression neutral.
Let them fawn over these cards. If I played my hand right, no card—Wild or otherwise—would be enough to stop me.
Still, I'd tread carefully. No sense underestimating the unknown.
"Now, let the Battle Arena begin!" the instructor announced, his voice booming through the tension-filled arena. "Your teams will be randomly assigned into two groups—Alpha and Omega."
The arena suddenly dimmed, and a massive holo-screen flickered to life in the center. The screen displayed two columns labeled Alpha and Omega, both currently blank.
"You will now receive a notification to name your team," the instructor continued, his smirk almost challenging.
"You've got one minute. Fail to submit your team name, and the system will assign one for you. Let me be clear—you don't want that. Last year, one team ended up with the name 'Butthole.'"
He chuckled darkly. "So unless you want to be remembered as a joke, pick wisely."
A system chime echoed, and GAIA's HUD appeared before me. A glowing notification flashed in the Events tab.
I clicked it, revealing a bold message: Rookie Battle Arena. Beneath it, a prompt: Accept invite?
I hit accept without hesitation, and a sleek new interface materialized in front of me.
Tabs and menus neatly organized: Team Profile, Chat, Points, Leaderboard, and Ranks.
"Right about now," the instructor droned, "you'll see the event interface. This will be the standard setup for future events and missions. Get familiar with it. You'll need it for Squad Missions later."
I scanned the interface, intrigued. It felt almost like a game dashboard, polished and user-friendly. A message notification blinked in the Chat tab. Clicking it, I saw Atlas's name pop up.
Atlas: "Hey, what should we name ourselves? Something cool, right? No pressure."
Cool, huh? I smirked. With a minute on the clock, it looked like I had to make this count.
Atlas shot me a quick message in the chat. "I voted you as leader of our team. You don't mind, right?"
I rolled my eyes and typed back. "Whatever. I think I just came up with the perfect name for our team."
Atlas's reply was instant. "Really? What is it?" His excitement practically leapt off the screen.
I didn't bother responding—time was up.
A few groans rippled through the arena as teams realized they were stuck with embarrassing system-generated names.
The stands buzzed with energy, packed now with spectators, including the eliminated rookies and some seniors who came for the show.
The massive holo-screen updated, displaying the group assignments. We were slotted under Omega, alongside five other teams.
It was clear now: each team would fight five matches, two rounds, leaving no room for errors.
The screen flickered again, revealing a tournament tree. Moments later, the arena itself transformed, splitting into two distinct sections—one for Alpha, the other for Omega.
Our team's name appeared on the board.
Apex. Clean. Simple. Fitting.
Then it happened—our first match was set. The board displayed:
Apex vs IceWolf.
I glanced at the basic profile of IceWolf's team, and a small chuckle escaped me. A Cryomancer paired with a Mutated Awakener boasting Divine Wolf traits. The name wasn't just for show—they were leaning into it hard.
The arena roared as the system announced the first match for the Alpha side:
"Alpha Arena, NoName versus TopRankers. Battle begins now."
Cheers erupted as the teams squared off, but my focus snapped back to the Omega screen, where our match was about to begin.
The notification chimed, pulling my attention. A new prompt appeared on the HUD: Place your bets.
Atlas leaned closer, his voice tense. "How many points should we bet?"
I smirked. "All of it."
"All?!" Atlas's eyes widened. "What if they use their Battle Card on us?"
"Doesn't matter," I said coolly. Confidence wasn't just for show—it was a weapon.
Atlas hesitated before sighing. "Okay. You're the leader."
As if on cue, another chime rang out, not just on our HUD but on the massive holo-screen above. The arena displayed the announcement for all to see: IceWolf is using their Battle Card.
The crowd erupted with gasps and murmurs. My lips curled into a faint smirk. Predictable. IceWolf didn't waste time, slapping down their Restriction Card like they had something to prove.
The holo-screen updated, displaying the restriction: Player Ban: Atlas Draxler. His profile dimmed instantly, marked with a glaring red BAN icon.
"Fuck!" Atlas swore, slamming his fist into his palm.
Before I could respond, the teleportation sequence initiated. My surroundings blurred as both teams were transported into the arena.
IceWolf appeared on the opposite side, their two members standing tall and radiating smug confidence.
The Cryomancer, clad in frost-laden armor, and the Mutated Awakener with his glowing, wolfish eyes, both grinned at me. They thought it was over before it began.
They didn't know me. Didn't know what I could do. Just another C-rank in their eyes.