By the end of the week, Syrus had undergone a near-total transformation. His old, quiet, underdog image had been erased, replaced with a more refined and confident persona. His clothing was now tailored to accentuate his lean frame, and his posture had improved dramatically. Gone were the days of hiding in the shadows. Now, he was the type of duelist who commanded attention.
Valeria had even arranged for him to make his debut in a small regional tournament. It was a low-stakes event, but the real goal was to get Syrus's name out there, to establish him as a rising star. And Ace had meticulously planned every detail to ensure Syrus made the most of it.
"Syrus, this tournament is your chance to make a real impression," Ace said, sitting across from him in a quiet room backstage. "But remember: you are not just competing in a duel. You are building your brand. You will be the 'Golden Retriever' of the dueling world—approachable, and relatable, but with the skill to back it up. People need to see you as someone they can root for."
Syrus's hands trembled slightly as he adjusted his jacket. "I don't know if I can do this, Ace. I'm not... not like you. I'm not used to all this attention."
Ace's eyes softened, but only just. "Don't worry about it. I'm here to guide you. You're not alone. I'm doing all of this because I see something in you. Don't forget that. This is for your future, Syrus. You trust me, don't you?"
Syrus nodded, though there was still an undercurrent of uncertainty. But Ace had always been there, guiding him, teaching him. For the first time, he felt like he belonged somewhere. He needed Ace. There was no other way forward.
The tournament day arrived, and Syrus stepped onto the stage with a nervous smile. His new, polished image—his confident stance, the sharpness in his eyes—was on full display. The crowd buzzed, and cameras flashed, but Ace's presence backstage remained a comforting anchor.
Syrus's first match was against a local duelist who, though skilled, was no match for the new and improved version of Syrus. He played with an unfamiliar confidence, pushing through every moment with an air of grace. With every victory, the whispers in the crowd grew louder. This wasn't the Syrus they'd known. This was a different Syrus.
At the final round, Ace leaned forward, a subtle smirk curling his lips. "You've got this. Just remember what I taught you. It's all about control. Use it to your advantage."
Syrus took a deep breath, nodding silently as he faced his final opponent, the duel beginning in earnest. He summoned his best monsters, executing the moves Ace had trained him to use with precision. The duel was a tense back-and-forth, but with Ace's guidance, Syrus was unstoppable. As the final blow landed, his opponent's life points hit zero. The crowd erupted into applause, but Syrus barely heard it. His mind was focused on one thing.
I did it.
And Ace was there, watching, waiting for him to realize what he'd just achieved.
A few days later, Ace took Syrus out for a meeting with a few high-profile sponsors. The conference room was sleek, with glass windows overlooking a grand skyline. The sponsors were already seated at the table, waiting for Ace's entrance. Syrus was nervously adjusting his shirt, still not used to his new, polished image.
"Relax," Ace said quietly as he placed a hand on Syrus's shoulder. "Just be yourself. You're the next big thing in dueling, and they're going to eat it up."
Syrus nodded, trying to breathe through his nerves. He had become accustomed to Ace's calm demeanor, even if it made him feel like he was being watched at every moment.
When the meeting started, Ace took the lead, expertly navigating the conversation, selling Syrus's image, and securing endorsements from the sponsors. Syrus was quiet, watching in awe as Ace manipulated the room, never missing a beat.
After the meeting, as they walked back to the limo, Ace clapped Syrus on the back. "You did well. It's all part of the plan. Now you've got the recognition. You're going to be a household name."
Syrus could hardly believe it. Just weeks ago, he was the timid, overlooked duelist. Now, he was on the cusp of something big. But even as he basked in the newfound attention, there was a small, growing sense of unease in the pit of his stomach. He didn't quite understand why Ace had so much control over him, but he knew one thing for sure: he couldn't do this without Ace.
Syruc was trying to figure himself out, torn between the image people had of him and who he truly was. He wore a mask, just like so many others, trying to please those around him. Ace understood that all too well. After all, it was how he had lived his entire life.
Syrus had confided in him, and Ace could see the turmoil in his eyes—the feeling of being fake, of pretending to be someone else. He spoke as though this persona he had crafted for the public was a prison. But Ace didn't share that view. To him, this duality was nothing new. He'd been playing the role of who people expected him to be for as long as he could remember. It was necessary for survival in the high society world he'd grown up in. Keeping the real Ace hidden behind a carefully constructed facade wasn't just a choice—it was the way things worked.
So when Syrus came to him, seeking advice, Ace couldn't help but lean into it. He had learned that the truth could be a dangerous weapon. Instead of encouraging Syrus to break free from his own carefully built mask, Ace reinforced it. He suggested that embracing the persona was the only way forward. It wasn't just an option—it was a necessity.
As the days passed, Ace subtly shifted Syrus's perspective, making him believe that his worth was tied to this image. That without Ace, Syrus was nothing, and Ace was merely shaping him for his good. It wasn't malicious. It was simply how the world worked, how Ace had learned to make his way through it.
Syrus, gradually, began to accept this new reality, convinced that he was better off under Ace's guidance. The more he followed Ace's lead, the more he found himself becoming dependent on it. What started as a small shift in perspective was beginning to shape Syrus into something Ace could use, something he could mold to his advantage.
As Ace continued to shape Syrus's path, his duel spirits remained vigilant, watching from the sidelines.
"You've got him just where you want him," Swordsoul Strategist Longyuan observed coldly. "But be careful, Ace. Even the best puppeteers eventually find their strings tangled."
Ace smirked, his gaze turning toward the horizon once more. "The game's not over yet. Syrus may think he's relying on me, but he'll soon realize that the Romanov name isn't just a title. It's a legacy. And no one leaves a Romanov unless they're discarded as useless."
Mo Ye giggled. "Oh, Ace, you're so wicked. But I can't help but enjoy the show!"
Ace said nothing in response, but his icy blue-green eyes gleamed with cold satisfaction. The pieces were in place. And when Syrus finally understood his true place in the world—*Ace's world—*it would be too late to turn back.