The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with streaks of orange and crimson, as the tournament grounds buzzed with the chatter of the participants. The air was heavy with both exhaustion and anticipation, the day's battles leaving scars on their minds and bodies.
In the resting hall, a circle of the top eight gathered. Each face was a mixture of excitement and weariness, their thoughts churning about tomorrow's matches.
"I can't believe we're here," Reena began, stretching her arms lazily over her head. "We're the best of the best. Or, well, the least injured of the lot."
"Speak for yourself," Ambessa replied with a smirk. "I didn't break a sweat today."
Bonita, sitting cross-legged and as calm and innocent as ever, simply said, "Great. Fight. Today."
Lucius chuckled darkly. "I wouldn't be so cocky, Ambessa. Tomorrow's match-ups might finally wipe that grin off your face."
Zara tapped her fingers against the armrest of her chair. "Tomorrow will separate the real contenders from the pretenders. I just hope you all give me a good show."
Ned leaned back in his chair, eyeing the group with a tired smile. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm just glad I haven't been turned into a pancake yet. Fighting you people feels like applying for an early funeral."
Everyone chuckled, except Surfer, who sat in the corner with his usual composed expression. He was silent but exuded an air of confidence that made everyone uneasy.
Lucius leaned forward, his gaze sharp. "So, Surfer, care to share how you pulverized your opponent in less than a minute? Or is that classified information?"
Surfer finally looked up, his crimson eyes gleaming. "Strategy. Efficiency. Timing. You should try it sometime, Lucius."
Lucius grumbled, and the group laughed again.
---
Later that evening, as the group dispersed, Ned found himself crossing paths with Surfer near the training grounds. Surfer, leaning casually against a tree, seemed to be waiting for him.
"You're quite the underdog, Ned Forester," Surfer said, his voice calm but tinged with curiosity.
"Is that your polite way of saying I'm out of my league?" Ned replied, raising an eyebrow.
Surfer chuckled softly. "Not at all. You've surprised everyone, including me. But surprises aren't enough to win the whole game."
Ned tilted his head. "Let me guess—you're about to give me some ominous advice?"
Surfer pushed off the tree and walked closer, his presence almost overwhelming. "Just this: don't underestimate anyone, not even yourself. The moment you stop believing you can win, the fight's already lost."
Ned blinked, taken aback by the sincerity in Surfer's tone. "Coming from you, that almost sounds encouraging."
"Take it however you want," Surfer said with a faint smile. "But remember, I'll be waiting for you in the finals."
As Surfer walked away, Ned stood there, a mix of determination and apprehension brewing within him.
---
Back at his temporary quarters, Ned couldn't sleep. The weight of tomorrow's match loomed over him like a storm cloud. His opponent wasn't just anyone—it was Allen Forester, his brother.
He stared at the ceiling, the dim light casting shadows across his room. Memories of Allen surfaced, their shared childhood flashing before his eyes.
Allen, the perfect prince, always radiated confidence. He was the pride of their family. Ned had admired him once, even envied him cause he got the spectator talent, while Allen, the actual heir go the Red Thunder talent . But now, they were on opposite sides of the battlefield.
"How do you even prepare for something like this?" Ned muttered to himself.
He rolled onto his side, gripping the edge of the bed. "He's going to hit me like a lightning storm. And I'm... well, I'm the guy who stares at lightning and thinks, 'Wow, pretty.'"
Still, deep inside, he felt a flicker of resolve. This wasn't just a fight. It was a chance to prove himself—not to the world, but to Allen. To show his brother that he wasn't the useless and talentless .
The morning sun rose, casting golden light over the arena. The crowd was louder than ever, the excitement almost tangible.
As Ned stepped into the arena, his heart pounded in his chest. Across the field stood Allen, regal and composed, his presence electrifying—literally. Sparks of red lightning danced across his frame.
Ned took a deep breath, his thoughts racing. This is it. My chance to show him who I've become.
The announcer's voice boomed. "Ladies and gentlemen, the battle you've all been waiting for—Ned Forester versus Allen Forester!"
Allen's gaze locked onto Ned's, and for a moment, the noise of the crowd faded away.
"Ned Forester," Allen said, his voice carrying across the arena, "You don't deserve that last name"
Ned smirked, raising his staff. "We will see who deserves what"
The crowd roared as the match began. Sparks of lightning filled the air, and Ned braced himself for the storm.