The Next Day — Fourth High School, Southern Staging Grounds
The sun had barely crested over the horizon, yet the vast parade grounds of Fourth High were already alive with energy. Students stood in perfect formation—rows upon rows of cadets clad in their respective combat uniforms, magic signatures pulsing faintly beneath their formal gear. The entire campus had transformed into a launchpad for war-games—part military briefing, part gladiatorial fanfare. Imperial banners flapped proudly from high poles, and overhead, drones buzzed quietly, scanning the crowd and capturing the beginning of the Imperial Sea Games.
Sallie Mae Salcedo arrived exactly on time—his uniform only half-buttoned, his duffel slung lazily over one shoulder, and his CAD briefcase resting against his hip. His expression was relaxed, almost bored, but the faint glint in his eye betrayed the truth—he was wide awake. Ready.
Celeste Marie Salcedo walked just a step behind him, composed and immaculate in contrast, her Grimoire CAD magnetized to her back, hovering gently in standby mode. Her eyes scanned the gathered squads quickly—strategic placements, spell loadouts, even the nervous postures of the less-seasoned participants. She was already preparing for the match before it even began.
As they settled into their assigned section, a high-pitched voice called out from behind.
"Finally! I was starting to think you two were sneaking off again."
Angela Castillo jogged up, her expression bright, her twin CAD rings glittering faintly in the morning sun. She fell in step beside Celeste like they had been inseparable since birth.
Sallie rolled his eyes. "Took you long enough, illusion queen."
Angela grinned. "Please. I had to stop by the armory—they issued my team a new batch of destabilizers for Urban Warfare Trials. Guess someone finally read my thesis on light-phase distortion."
Celeste smirked, but her eyes never left the formations ahead. "You hear about the other schools?"
Angela leaned in, her voice dropping slightly with gossip-laced glee. "Oh, totally. First High's rolling in with a heavy defense setup—full shield-casters and artillery arrays. Typical. Still trying to flex their 'legacy prestige' like that means something."
Celeste chuckled softly. "And Second High?"
"Offense-heavy. Aggressive. Close-quarters squads mixed with speed-enhancers. They've got a unit commander who thinks he's some kind of warlord in a trench coat."
Sallie snorted. "So cosplay with an attitude."
Angela laughed. "Exactly."
"What about Third?" Celeste asked.
"Snipers and support mages. Mid-range domination team. No real shock value, but consistent—feels like they're playing it safe."
Celeste nodded. "Fifth and Sixth?"
Angela grinned again. "Fifth High's got illusions and wide-area disruption spells. They're basically trying to create a chaos field and hope the others panic. Sixth High's weird this year—minimal casters, but they brought in a full mount division. Tamaraw Light Cavalry. Think they're trying to crash Death Race."
Sallie raised an eyebrow. "Interesting. Didn't expect them to lean into mobility that hard."
Angela turned, playful again. "Seventh, Eighth, and Ninth? Mix bag. Seventh's going heavy on terrain manipulation and seal traps. Eighth brought in a whole team of decoy specialists—multiple mana clones and trick spells. Ninth?"
She paused.
Celeste frowned. "Ninth High?"
Angela shrugged. "Total mystery. No public matches. No leaks. They've been training underground since the last Games. But rumor says they've got a prodigy who beat two upperclassmen in a simulated Battle Royale with no backup."
Sallie finally looked intrigued. "Now that's someone I want to meet."
Angela winked. "Careful. They might be thinking the same about you."
Sallie raised an eyebrow and grinned slightly. "You joining Urban Warfare Trials then? Planning to shoot me in the back with some glitter-dusted illusion spell?"
Angela gave a dramatic gasp, placing a hand over her chest. "Slacker-sama, how could you? I would never shoot you in the back. I'd do it from the front. With flair."
Celeste sighed. "He's serious, Angela. You're on the Urban Warfare roster?"
Angela's playful tone shifted into something more focused. "Yeah, I am. Third wave entry. My squad's on rotation for corridor control and extraction denial. We're using bait illusions to lure out aggressors, then locking them with multi-layered false corridors. It's not just chaos magic this time—it's full-on psychological warfare."
Sallie tilted his head, mildly impressed. "So... they finally gave you permission to weaponize paranoia."
Angela smirked. "More like they realized I already was, and decided to make it official."
"Figures," Celeste muttered. "You always did like turning training halls into labyrinths."
Angela shrugged. "Guilty. But hey, in this match? Confusion is a weapon. One wrong step, and you walk into a wall that wasn't there two seconds ago."
Sallie tapped the edge of his CAD case. "Just don't screw with my squad's HUDs. I see pink fog and rabbit illusions in my field, and I'm vaporizing the nearest twintails on sight."
Angela laughed, flipping her hair. "Please. I only use rabbits for stealth kills. You'll get the butterfly swarm if you're lucky."
Celeste rolled her eyes. "The Empire really lets you two run free?"
Angela grinned wide. "No choice. We're too charming to bench."
Sallie chuckled. "Or too unstable to control."
Angela leaned in slightly, lowering her voice just enough for only the Salcedo siblings to hear. "But seriously... be careful out there. I've seen the loadouts some of the other schools are bringing. They're not here to play. They're here to hunt."
Angela tilted her head, folding her arms with that familiar mischievous glint in her eyes.
"So, Sallie," she said, "before you got dragged into this madness—what games were you grinding lately? Don't tell me you dropped your FPS addiction cold turkey."
Sallie gave a long sigh, almost theatrical, but there was a real heaviness behind it. He looked out toward the staging ground, where the teleportation pylons for Imperial Gate were now pulsing faintly in preparation.
"Specter Ops: Dominion, ranked ladder. Hit global top 200 last week," he muttered. "Couple short rounds of Dead Circuit Royale with Celeste yelling in the background. Wrote the ending chapters for my sci-fi serial too. 'Til Gabriella dropped the hammer."
Angela blinked. "Wait—you gave all that up?"
Sallie let out another sigh, running a hand through his hair.
"Yeah," he said flatly. "Gave up my whole civilian life. The ranked grind, my novels, my sleep schedule... traded it all in."
Then he straightened up slightly, that usual lazy glint in his eye replaced with something sharper.
"In exchange for the one thing I can't get anywhere else."
Angela raised a brow. "Which is?"
"To face the Strongest."
Angela blinked, then turned to Celeste, who was watching her brother closely.
Celeste spoke up, her voice calm, deliberate. "He's not just here to win. The Emperor and Gabriella gave him a condition. Finish the Imperial Conquest. Win the 2v2 Duels. Prove himself in the Games. And then—"
She hesitated for a second.
Angela leaned forward. "And then what?"
Celeste exhaled, then said the name like it weighed more than steel.
"Tatsuya Shiba."
Angela's smile faltered. Her eyes widened.
"You're kidding."
Celeste shook her head slowly. "They made a deal. If Onii-sama clears the requirements, he gets a direct fight. No politics. No interference. Just him and Tatsuya."
Even Celeste herself looked conflicted, like she still couldn't fully believe it.
Angela stared between the two siblings. "The Tatsuya Shiba? Strategic-class magician, disintegration freak, blew up half a mountain just to send a message? That one?"
Sallie smirked, but there was no humor in it. "Yeah. That one."
Angela looked at Sallie, her expression shifting from amused to concerned. "Wait… why Tatsuya Shiba? Do you… like him or something? Or is this one of your twisted rival crush things?"
Sallie didn't answer.
His face didn't flinch, didn't twist into a joke. He just stared ahead at the looming teleportation gate in the distance, like her question never reached him—or like it did, and it wasn't worth the breath to answer.
Celeste stepped in, sighing softly, as if she'd been waiting for this moment. "It's not something he's going to say out loud," she said, looking toward Angela. "But I'll explain it—because I saw it happen."
Angela tilted her head, curious but wary.
Celeste's voice was quiet, but certain. "Remember the preliminary qualifiers? Quarterfinals. The match against Reyes and Kwon."
Angela nodded slowly. "Yeah, the Stars-style duo from Section One. They were supposed to be unstoppable. Everyone thought that match would be Sallie's last."
Celeste looked down for a moment, her voice distant now.
"They had me pinned. My Grimoire was glitching out, bleeding code. I could barely stay upright. And Sallie—he hadn't moved for almost a full minute. Like usual. Slouched. Staring."
Angela listened, tension slowly building in her expression.
"Then…" Celeste's eyes sharpened. "The briefcase opened. But it wasn't a blade. It wasn't a buff launcher. It was something else. A rifle-form CAD. Custom core channel. Dense compression. Minimal arc. Built to erase."
**FLASHBACK**
And then the words flowed—her memory snapping back to life as she recounted it like it happened just yesterday.
"Stars Directive, Echelon Collapse Variant," Reyes had muttered.
Then—
Click.
The sound of Sallie rising without urgency. No slouch. No grin. Just movement—calculated, fluid, silent.
The shot shattered the sound barrier. One blink. One detonation. Reyes hit the ground hard, barrier ruptured. Kwon blinked left—just like she always did—but the shot was already there, waiting.
Mana ruptured. Blink trail shattered. She fell.
**END OF FLASHBACK**
Angela's eyes widened. "I remember now. That wasn't in the official feed."
"Of course not," Celeste said softly. "Gabriella redacted the real version. What Sallie did wasn't standard cadet behavior. It was strategic-class precision."
Angela blinked. "You're saying—he's…"
"That's not all," Celeste said quietly. "There's something else."
Angela turned slowly, her voice barely a whisper. "More than just that rifle transformation? More than how he tore through Reyes and Kwon like they were just—training dummies?"
Celeste nodded, her voice low, almost reverent. "He used something else. Something we weren't supposed to see."
And then she told her
**FLASHBACK**
The silence had stretched between them in the arena.
Reyes had reset for another assault. Kwon was recalibrating her blink circuits.
Celeste was bleeding—barely standing. But then Sallie stepped forward, calm, composed, cold.
"Stand still," he had said.
And he'd touched the glyph port behind her back. The next word—
"Restore."
**END OF FLASHBACK**
Angela's eyes widened. "No…"
Celeste nodded slowly. "His execution is purely direct, It was reversion that rewound my injuries, mana strain. My CAD burnout. Everything."
She paused, her fingers unconsciously brushing the spot where his palm had touched.
"And my body didn't just heal—it returned to its peak condition. Stronger. Sharper."
Angela's mouth parted slightly. "That's… that's like Regrowth."
"It was Regrowth," Celeste confirmed, voice tight. "Exactly like it. Field-deployed, it was Flawless."
Angela staggered back a half-step. "But… but only one person in the world is known to use Regrowth like that—Tatsuya Shiba."
Celeste nodded again, slowly. "That's when I understood."
She looked at her brother.
"That's when I realized Sallie isn't just here to fight Tatsuya… He's here to match him."
Angela stared between them both—stunned, silent. She wanted to laugh. Or deny it. Or call it overkill. But deep down, she remembered the match. The shockwave. The glow. The sound of something impossible unfolding in front of them.
"…He's not like the others," she whispered.
Celeste exhaled. "No. He's not."
Angela stood there, eyes wide, lips parted, but no words came.
The noise of Fourth High's assembly faded into a dull haze—shuffling boots, distant orders, the hum of teleportation pylons charging—none of it registered anymore. She just kept looking at Sallie, then back at Celeste, then down at her own hands like trying to anchor herself to something normal.
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
Nothing.
For someone who always had something snarky, witty, or sharp to say, it was like her voice had been stolen.
Sallie glanced over with a faint smirk, just enough to cut the silence. "What? Cat got your tongue, Ange?"
Angela blinked.
"I… I mean…" she stammered, then stopped, shaking her head like she needed to reset her entire worldview. "That wasn't in any report. Nothing on the records said—Regrowth? Slacker-sama, that's forbidden tech. That's Strategic-Class-tier support magic. No one even survives casting it without backup systems—how the hell are you still breathing?"
Sallie shrugged one shoulder like he'd just been caught with a few too many snacks, not rewriting the rules of magic.
"Guess I'm just built different."
Angela slowly turned back to Celeste, still trying to form a coherent thought. "And… you knew this? All this time?"
Celeste looked away slightly, her tone more somber now. "I didn't. Not on that match until he fixed me like I was just… a broken blade. And even then, I didn't believe it. Not really."
Angela let out a short, stunned breath. "And he wants to fight Tatsuya Shiba—not for political glory—but because that's the only person left who might be his equal."
Sallie simply nodded, eyes focused on the shimmering Imperial Gate far ahead, as if it were already taking him to where he belonged.
Angela slowly sank into a crouch beside the gear crates, staring blankly at the stone tiles beneath her feet.
"I need a minute," she muttered. "Like… a full minute."
As the last of the cadets arrived at the teleportation staging zone of Fourth High, the atmosphere buzzed with anticipation. Each section—from One to Sixteen—stood in organized lines, but the formality was thinning fast as whispers turned into full-blown conversations. Though the Imperial Sea Games were hours from truly beginning, the excitement had already detonated among the students like pre-match adrenaline.
Groups began talking amongst themselves—about the games, the schools, and who they hoped to crush.
Section Three cadets were the first to break the silence.
"Yo, I hope we get Outsnipe early," one of them muttered. "That's my jam. Long-range suppression and cloak shots? Easy claps."
"Please," a Section Seven girl replied with a laugh, adjusting the visor on her HUD-linked CAD. "Urban Warfare Trials is where it's at. Building clearance, squad tactics, real gunplay. You blink wrong and you're already on the floor."
Section Twelve cadets leaned in, grinning. "Nah, Death Race is the real test. Speed, instinct, live weapons strapped to combat mounts? That's chaos—glorious chaos."
Over on the left, Section Nine students were huddled in formation, still composed, but even they weren't immune to the excitement.
"I heard Extraction's new map has underground bunkers this year," someone whispered. "Simulated hostage zones and live sentries. Sounds brutal."
Section Sixteen, composed of heavy casters and siege unit specialists, just chuckled. "Let them run around. We'll see who's laughing when Battle Royale hits. No support. No backup. Just you, your CAD, and whatever you scavenge."
The talk went on—casual at first, but with the unmistakable undertone of something larger beneath it all. Then the topic shifted.
"Yo," someone from Section Five said suddenly, "Is it true Imperial Conquest is mandatory for everyone?"
A few heads turned.
"Dead serious," replied a senior from Section One, arms crossed. "Every school in every section. No opt-outs. You're in the fight whether you like it or not."
"Even the support units?" a girl from Section Eight asked, brows furrowed.
"Especially them," Celeste answered coolly, stepping into the conversation. "They want to see how every single cadet functions in a real warzone. Command, logistics, frontline, disruptors—if you can't hold formation or keep your team alive, you're disqualified. No second chance. No replays."
Angela, standing nearby, added with a wry smile, "Makes Monolith Code look like a club activity."
The crowd laughed, but uneasily.
"They still let people watch in Japan," someone else chimed in from Section Four. "In Conquest, you either play or get cut. And if your school gets eliminated…"
"Try again next year," the other section 8 girl finished, tone flat but final.
That silenced a few of the newer cadets. The weight of it—you lose, you're out—was starting to sink in.
"That's what separates this from the Nine Schools Competition," section three student said. "Monolith Code? Strategy game with elite reps. Imperial Conquest? It's simulated war. You either win together or fall as a school."
Section Two's girls leaned in first, whispering among themselves.
"I've been watching old footage of Japan's Monolith Code… it's nothing like this."
Section Ten joined in. "Right? Over there, it's only the boys that get to fight. The girls just stand on the sidelines, cheering, waving flags, acting like it's a school festival."
"Meanwhile here," said a girl from Section Six, tugging at her combat vest, "we don't get pom-poms. We get issued live CADs and put on the frontlines."
Section Eight's cadets nodded in agreement. "No cheerleaders. No timeouts. Just deployment orders and simulation kill zones."
"I heard the worst part?" a Section Eleven girl added, "Is that if you're not selected to fight first, you're still on standby. And when it's your school's turn in the next match, you get assigned whether you're ready or not."
"Some of us could be up against First High in the next bracket," another muttered.
The Section Five girls, quieter but sharper, joined in. "They said once the simulation starts, anyone not in the active squad might be reassigned to 'equipment support'—which is code for 'grab a rifle and back up your squad in the second wave.'"
"That's not cheering," a Section Twelve girl said flatly. "That's conscription."
Several of them fell silent after that.
A Section Thirteen cadet, more serious than most, finally said what everyone was thinking. "In Japan, girls could refuse. Say it wasn't their role. In Imperial Conquest… we don't get to say no. You pick up the weapon. Or you get replaced."
One of them laughed nervously. "And here I thought Mirage Bat was intense."
"Mirage Bat doesn't involve you dragging your best friend's half-conscious body out of a collapsed corridor while snipers are tracking your mana trail," someone said quietly. No one laughed at that one.
Even the younger ones—first-years in Section Sixteen—were starting to understand what it meant to wear the Imperial badge. This wasn't performance. This was preparation.
Finally, a girl from Section Four said what had been on all their minds.
"I used to think Monolith Code was cool. All those boys fighting, all those girls clapping and cheering with school pride. But here…"
She looked down at her issued sidearm. Her voice dropped.
"There's no one left to cheer."
Sector Seven, another raised her hand. "I'm betting I'll get slotted into Outsnipe. I've been training for weeks on mana-stabilized long-range casting. Low signature, high pressure. I can take a shot at 300 meters without breathing wrong."
"Lucky," muttered someone from Sector Five. "I heard I'm being considered for Extraction. I don't even like the idea of dragging civilians through ambush zones, especially with hostile illusions active."
"Better than Death Race," came the voice of a Sector Four girl. "Mounted combat, with live speed boosters, terrain traps, and proximity spells? No thank you. If I fall, I don't want to be remembered as the girl who faceplanted at 90 kilometers per hour."
"That's assuming you get to choose," a girl from Sector Nine chimed in. "Half of us will get randomized into teams, like Angela was for Urban Warfare Trials. I heard she doesn't even know who her partner is yet."
"Yeah," a Sector Two girl added. "She's brave. Urban Warfare's no joke. They give you real building layouts, close-range combat scenarios, and simulated live ammo. You make one wrong move in a corridor and boom, you're just another respawn notification."
"She'll be fine," someone said. "Angela's built for chaos."
"Still," another girl muttered from Sector Eight, "I wouldn't want to be paired with a random stranger who might freeze under pressure."
The conversation shifted as they noticed the names beginning to scroll on the floating holo-displays—match assignments, team pairings, and solo event roles.
"Wait, is that Celeste representing us in Command Simulation?" one girl from Sector Twelve pointed. "Only one per school, right?"
"Yup," another confirmed. "One tactician per school. Fourth High's sending Celeste. No surprise there."
"She's the best at macro-strategy. Everyone saw what she did at the Fort Santiago exercise last month."
"Command Sim's not a flashy event," a Sector Ten girl said. "But it's the only game where you control everything. Your wins, your losses… even who gets sent in first to die."
"Cold," someone whispered.
"But not wrong."
Another girl glanced at the 2v2 bracket and widened her eyes. "Wait… Sallie and Celeste are doing the Imperial Duel 2v2 together?"
A ripple of murmurs passed through the group.
"That's insane," one said. "He's a freak with that briefcase CAD. And her Grimoire support magic is untouchable."
"Think they'll go all the way?"
"Depends who they're up against. First High and Second High are stacked this year. But if anyone can punch through…"
"It's them."
The tension around the deployment lanes eased for a moment as a sudden burst of laughter erupted from the Sector Eleven girls. The story had made its rounds fast—and even on the eve of simulated war, some stories were just too good not to share.
"Okay—okay, you have to hear this one," one of the girls from Sector Eleven said between giggles. "So apparently, during the last exchange games with Japan—one of the girls from their magic university thought she was signing up for a Mirage Bat demo event."
"No way," a Sector Eight girl said, wide-eyed.
"I swear," the other said, laughing harder now. "She showed up in full costume. Wings, wand, glitter trail—the whole magical fairy look."
"Nooo…" a Sector Four girl covered her mouth in secondhand embarrassment. "Not wings."
"Yes! She thought it was gonna be a light aerial event with orb collection and midair agility routines—like the ones they do during Nine Schools."
The whole circle laughed, some nearly doubled over.
"Let me guess—she got dumped into Urban Warfare Trials instead?"
"Boom. Right into the simulation. No time to change. The poor girl was still holding her wand when the round started. First thing she saw was a girl from Second High sliding behind cover and gunning someone down with a compact mana rifle."
"She screamed and tried to cast a glitter spell," someone from Sector Six added, barely holding it together. "Didn't even last ten seconds."
More laughter echoed through the squads.
"Someone from the tech crew said she actually yelled, 'Where are the orbs?!' before ducking into a fire escape."
"No way!" a Sector Ten girl gasped. "That's too perfect."
"Her illusion barely held. And get this—the worst part? She was still trying to flap her costume wings while diving behind a mana shield."
"Gods above," another girl wheezed. "Did no one tell her Urban Warfare is based on kill feeds, not point orbs?"
"Apparently not! And here in the Empire, we don't even have cheer sections or sparkle matches. You're either fighting, supporting, or getting flattened."
Angela's name came up again from another group. "See? That's why our Angela's already geared up in uniform—no fluff. Urban Warfare Trials here? Even girls get the full combat package. Rookies or not, it's real terrain, real weapons, and your school uniform is your combat ID."
"Exactly," someone from Sector Seven added. "Here, we don't have girls sitting on bleachers waving flags. If you're in, you fight. Doesn't matter if you're a first-year or wearing a skirt. No one cares. You move or you're out."
Another girl leaned in, shaking her head. "Honestly… I almost respect that fairy girl for showing up. But next time, maybe check the match type before putting on glitter."
Not far from the girls' cluster, the boys from Sections One to Sixteen had their own corner of chaos—shoulder pads being adjusted, CADs synced, banter flying faster than mana bolts in a combat sim. As the countdown to the Imperial Gate ticked lower, they huddled together in tight circles, the topic of the hour unmistakable:
Death Race.
"Yo, Death Race is nothing like Battle Board in Japan," one of the senior boys from Section Two said, grinning. "That one's all smooth turns and water gliding. This one? It's a damn vehicular gunfight."
A first-year from Section Ten chimed in. "For real. Last year, one of the exchange students brought a surfboard to the prep zone."
That got immediate laughter from the group.
"No way!"
"Yes way," the Section Ten kid nodded furiously. "She thought it was a water course. Came out like she was riding a wave in Okinawa. Mounted that board, hair tied back, said she was ready to 'surf the spirit stream.'"
"She got wiped out before the first bend, didn't she?" someone from Section Eight asked through cackles.
"Sniped mid-air while doing a spin trick. Whole class watched it on replay. We still call that maneuver the 'Splash and Crash.'"
"Bruh," a Section Five cadet laughed, "That's peak Japan Nine Schools energy."
"But here?" a boy from Section Four said, growing serious. "It's full-contact, mana-boosted, and there are no soft landings. You don't 'ride' in Death Race. You drive. You ram. You fire back."
"Or you explode," someone muttered.
Heads nodded.
"Okay, okay—jokes aside," said a Section Nine boy, "if we actually want to win Death Race, we need a real strat. Not just speed."
Section Eleven's tank specialist spoke up. "Right. Speed alone gets you clipped. You need a frontliner to absorb fire, midranger to return shots, and a rearguard caster to clear traps and redirect suppressors."
"That's why we run three-position tandem," said another boy, adjusting his mana stabilizer. "One driver, one gunner, one support. But you can only pick two. The third's got to do both."
"Double-duty?" a Section Three boy asked.
"Exactly. Preferably someone like Angela or that Kwon girl—illusion-capable with directional awareness."
"Or Sallie," someone muttered, half-joking, half-awed.
That got a few nods, and a few eye-rolls.
"Let's not summon the mid-boss, thanks."
"I say we run low-profile flanks," another chimed in. "Let the other schools shoot each other in the front. We slip past the wrecks and finish clean."
"Yeah, until First High drops a mana minefield at the halfway mark again."
"True, but I've been upgrading my resistance plating," a Sixth Section boy said, patting the side of his rig. "This year? I dare them to drop a flak net."
As the chatter rolled on—boys joking about surfboards in gunfights, girls swapping stories of mistaken fairy-costume disasters—the atmosphere shifted.
The soft thrum of the teleportation pylons deepened in tone.
And then… silence.
The crowd turned in unison as a tall figure strode onto the central stage: Principal Hadrian Velez, head of Fourth High School, clad in his formal command coat. The deep crimson trim on his uniform glinted beneath the morning light, and his eyes scanned the full assembly—students from Sections One through Sixteen—each standing at attention now, conversation instantly snuffed.
He stepped up to the podium. No need to clear his throat. His voice was steady, powerful, and effortlessly commanding.
"Before we open the Imperial Gate and send you into the arena... you will listen. Once. Clearly."
No one dared speak.
"The Imperial Conquest event is mandatory. You do not opt in. You do not spectate. You fight. Every school. Every class. Every cadet."
His words struck harder than any gunfire. Several first-years stiffened.
"This is not a duel. This is not a controlled engagement. This is total simulated war. Large-scale. School-versus-school. Multi-phase elimination. Objectives will shift mid-match. You will be required to adapt, reposition, and override tactics in real time. There will be no warnings. There will be no mercy."
He stepped down from the platform, walking slowly before the assembled students as if inspecting a battalion.
"You will enter with your squad. Your classmates. Your banners. Your CADs. You will not exit unless your school survives the full bracket."
Eyes widened. Cadets subtly glanced at one another.
"Combat zones will include urban blocks, ruined cityscapes, forests, interior facilities, collapsed highways, and contested drop points. Support cadets are expected to reinforce active squads, manage recovery, and handle supply transfer under fire."
He paused.
"You may face simulated ambushes. Airstrikes. Heavy support units. Mana-based artillery. And sabotage."
The murmurs began—suppressed, nervous.
He raised a hand. They stopped.
"This is not a test of power. It is a test of discipline, of coordination, and survivability. You will represent not only Fourth High, but the strength of the Imperial Federal Republic itself."
His gaze swept across the formations.
"And remember this—you do not cheer from the sidelines. You earn your place. You fight for it. You hold the line or you vanish from the bracket."
The words hung heavy in the air—firm, final, and absolute.
Then, just as the tension began to peak, his voice rang out once more—calmer now, but no less commanding.
"Imperial Conquest will not begin immediately."
A ripple of confused murmurs passed through a few cadets—just for a breath—before he continued.
"It will be the final event."
"Only after all eight primary events have been concluded—Outsnipe, Urban Warfare Trials, Death Race, Imperial Duel 2v2, Extraction, Battle Royale, Command Simulation, and Imperial Duel Singles—then… and only then… will Imperial Conquest begin."
Angela leaned over toward Celeste, whispering, "So… the appetizer ends with a warzone entrée. Lovely."
Celeste didn't even glance at her. She was still locked in on the principal.
"You will earn your place in Conquest by surviving everything that comes before it," Principal Velez said. "Each match, each event, each loss or victory will shape your school's final deployment. Your tactics. Your resources. Your starting position."
Now even the more confident cadets were standing straighter.
"By the time Imperial Conquest begins… the weak will have been eliminated. The uncertain, shaken out. What remains—will be soldiers."
He stepped back toward the center, facing all of Fourth High.
"You are not students now. You are Imperial Candidates. Representing Fourth High. Representing your Houses. Your Commanders. Your Empire."
"And when Imperial Conquest begins… you will remember this."
He paused, eyes burning with cold pride.
"You do not bow to First High. Nor Second. Nor Third."
"They are legacy schools. Cloaked in prestige. Polished in comfort. Worshipped by media and glorified by history."
His voice hardened. "But in this Empire? That history means nothing."
"Their shields will shatter. Their formations will break. Their names will burn in the dust of the battlefield."
His coat shifted as he stepped down from the platform fully, walking past squads now like a general before deployment.
"They will bow to us. Because when the final horn of Imperial Conquest sounds—when the last spell crashes and the battlefield smoke clears—they will remember Fourth High."
"Not as the underdogs. But as the ones who made gods bleed."
A beat of silence followed Principal Velez's final words, like the stillness before a lightning strike.
Then—
"FOR FOURTH HIGH! FOR THE EMPIRE!"
The formation erupted.
Hundreds of cadets from Sections One to Sixteen raised fists, CADs flaring with pride, voices booming across the parade ground in a unified roar. The cold tension of the pre-brief snapped, transforming into electrified resolve. Even the normally quiet students shouted, their blood running hot with purpose.
And then—the sky shifted.
The air rippled above the Imperial Gate as a shadow descended, wrapped in swirling spatial distortion. The mana streams bent and shimmered—and through that radiant vortex, Gabriella Aurelia Mendez emerged.
She floated downward, calm and composed, flanked by a flight of hovering escort drones and two silver-clad Imperial guards. Her long black coat fluttered behind her like wings of judgment, her eyes scanning the formation like she could see through flesh and bone—straight into conviction.
She did not smile. She did not wave.
Her voice rang out like law made manifest.
"Cadets of Fourth High. You now stand on the edge of your proving ground. The Imperial Sea Games is not a festival. It is a filter. A forge."
She landed lightly before the glowing Imperial Gate, boots clicking softly against the polished stone, hands behind her back in perfect military posture.
"I will oversee your deployment personally. Each of you has been weighed. Your records—reviewed. Your weaknesses—noted. Some of you will rise. Others will fall."
A pause. "But all of you will serve."
The gate behind her began to pulse with renewed energy—eight rings of teleportation glyphs spinning into synchronized formation, each one aligned to a school's assigned jump zone at Mall of Asia Arena, now transformed into a military-grade simulation hub.
With a single motion, she raised her left hand.
"Imperial Gate: Activate."
The portal shimmered and cracked open with a thunderclap of mana. A corridor of light extended forward—a direct line from Batangas to Metro Manila.
The Gate was now live.
Gabriella turned, the glow lighting one side of her face as her next order came swift, clear, and final.
"Upon arrival, you are to report to your assigned holding zone at the Imperial Complex Tower—Sector 7, Arena District. You will not wander. You will not roam. You will report in, enter your assigned hotel barracks, and await further instruction."
"Opening Ceremony begins tomorrow at 0700. Until then, you are to rest, calibrate, and remain invisible."
Her gaze swept across them one last time.
"Let your enemies be the ones to make noise. You—be the blade they don't see coming."
With that, she stepped aside.
And the first squads began to walk into the light—one by one, ready for war.
The cadets moved forward in solemn procession, their footsteps echoing across the polished stone, each one a drumbeat counting down to the unknown. The activated Imperial Gate pulsed ahead of them, arcs of arcane energy rolling outward in luminous waves, the very air humming with the tension of realms colliding. It was more than a threshold. It was a promise—and a warning.
Gabriella Aurelia Mendez stood motionless at its edge, her long coat rippling in the arcane wind that poured from the portal's heart. She did not speak. She didn't need to. Her silence carried the weight of command more than any speech could. Her gaze swept over the cadet lines like a general assessing her forces, not with sentiment, but with precision—reading posture, breathing patterns, the subtle tremors of those not yet aware they'd already been chosen by the war ahead.
Then—he came.
Sallie Mae Salcedo strolled into view, hands buried deep in his coat pockets, his briefcase CAD hanging low at his side like an afterthought. His gait remained half-lazy, the same irreverent swagger he wore even during simulations, somehow unaffected by the power radiating from the Gate just meters away. But the air around him was different. Not in movement—but in stillness. His eyes, normally half-lidded and aloof, were locked. Quiet. Controlled. Carrying with them the coiled presence of someone who had already decided who he needed to become.
He passed her.
No salute. No acknowledgment. No sign of respect or rebellion.
Just the briefest moment where their eyes met.
A silent transmission passed between them—not words, but awareness. Two tacticians, two weapons, forged on opposite ends of the same fire. It was not familiarity. It was alignment.
Remember the deal.
I remember everything.
Gabriella's face remained unchanged—imperial, unmoved—but there was something beneath the surface of her stare. A spark. A pressure. Not doubt. Not concern.
Expectation.
Sallie didn't flinch.
Celeste fell into step beside him, every motion precise, her Grimoire CAD affixed to her back like a promise still sealed. Her stride was deliberate, her focus absolute. On his other side, Angela caught up, breath uneven, eyes flicking to the Gate with a mix of raw thrill and creeping dread, the kind only the brave learned to carry.
The three of them stopped just shy of the portal, bathed in its shifting light. They didn't speak.
The nine nationwide schools were transported in synchronized squads, their movements seamless as the magic-touched vehicles rolled across the cityscape. The cadets didn't speak much; the silent tension hung thick in the air. They knew this wasn't a typical competition. This wasn't just another test of skill. This was something else.
One by one, they arrived at their destination—Mall of Asia Arena, transformed from its original role as a grand shopping hub into a militarized competition zone. The once commercial hub now hummed with a different kind of energy, its gleaming glass windows now reinforced with metallic overlays and arcane wards. The massive arena stood, a monument to both tradition and the new world they were about to step into. From the outside, it looked like any other arena, but the energy rippling through the air spoke volumes.
Inside, the arena was unrecognizable. Military-grade barriers lined the perimeter, and overhead, the enchanted lights shimmered with spectral spells, casting eerie glows across the bleachers, which were now armed with mana detection devices and reinforced seats. The floor had been cleared of its typical setup, replaced by combat zones outlined in glowing sigils, shifting and adapting with every passing second.
A hum of power filled the space, a constant reminder that this wasn't just a match of skill. It was a battle of wills, a test of everything they'd trained for, every tactic they'd perfected.
Each squad disembarked in perfect synchrony, each member stepping out in perfect formation. The cadets, eyes scanning the heavily warded space before them, took their positions without fanfare. They were here to compete, but more than that—to prove their worth on the largest stage they'd ever known. The tension was palpable.
They emerged in formation, row by row, each step echoing across the reinforced floor as thunderous war music surged through the arena. The rhythm was sharp, militant, layered with orchestral brass and the deep percussion of something older—something ritualistic. Every note pulsed with pressure, as if the very air had been tuned to carry the weight of expectation.
Above them, screens the size of storefronts lit up one by one, each showing live feeds of the squads marching into place. Close-ups tracked the tension in their jaws, the readiness in their stances, the flickering mana signatures already humming beneath their uniforms. Commentator voices murmured beneath the music, their tones reverent, analytical, awestruck.
The Mall of Asia Arena, once a site of entertainment, had been transformed into a stage of discipline and spectacle. Every seat was filled with high-ranking officers, academy tacticians, and military observers in dress uniforms, their gazes sharp and unyielding. They didn't cheer. They watched. Measured. Judged.
Then came the drones.
Hundreds of them, rising in synchronized formation above the arena dome, each light programmed to move in perfect time. They twisted, curved, ascended, until they converged into luminous text that hovered over the battlefield like a celestial omen.
"IMPERIAL SEA GAMES: THE BLADE THAT TESTS THE YOUNG."
The crowd didn't roar. They held their breath.
Because this wasn't a celebration.
It was a declaration.
As Fourth High's class emerged fully from the Imperial Gate—section by section, step by synchronized step—they were met with the full scale of the Mall of Asia Arena's transformation.
And for a moment, discipline faltered.
Gasps. Wide eyes. Murmurs across the formation.
It was their first time seeing it like this.
Rows of holographic displays floated above the stands, showing feeds from past competitions, real-time squad vitals, and name cards of elite cadets from every school. The stadium had no center stage—just modular battlefields segmented into combat zones like something pulled out of a war documentary. Ground panels thrummed with mana grids. Spotlights moved like targeting systems, not show lights.
The usual stadium seats were replaced with reinforced military risers, where officers and commanders sat watching behind sealed HUD interfaces—some in full uniform, others with command sigils lit across their shoulders.
Sallie scanned the space with narrowed eyes, muttering, "...No wonder Gabriella made us pack like we're shipping out."
Beside him, Angela's mouth hung slightly open. "This isn't a tournament setup… this is a campaign theater."
A younger cadet from Section Four whispered, "I thought we were going to a stadium… not a damn war fortress…"
Celeste didn't respond. She simply adjusted her coat and kept walking, but even she glanced up longer than usual.
Fourth High's ranks rippled with excitement, awe, and nervous energy.
One of the rookies from Section Nine laughed under his breath. "Bro, this looks like the Empire's about to invade another continent, not host a student competition."
Another answered, "Maybe both."
Despite the awe, the thrill still burned in their eyes.
Despite the thunderous march of drones and the sheer militarized transformation of the Mall of Asia Arena, there were pieces—faint, familiar remnants—of what it used to be.
The curved glass dome, still intact above the combat zones.
The marble-tiled promenades, now flanked by mana barriers and spell-check stations.
The old digital signage flickering between arena schedules and, amusingly, leftover advertisements for department stores and cafés.
Some students started to notice.
"Hey… isn't that—"
"The cinema wing?"
"That's still open?"
A moment later, a trio of Imperial officers, dressed in operational gray and navy uniforms with gold-trimmed badges, stepped out from the side logistics tent, addressing the arriving Fourth High cadets.
One of them—older, with a silver buzzcut and a clipboard of command orders—cleared his throat before speaking:
"Yes, cadets. This is still the Mall of Asia Arena. Just... refined."
"The core structure was preserved. The simulation zones are temporary overlays."
Another officer, younger and grinning slightly beneath his comms headset, added:
"You'll find that many of the upper floors are still operational. Shops, rest zones, even food courts. You're cleared to visit them—while you still have time."
Some of the cadets brightened.
Angela blinked. "Wait… so you're saying we can still hit the food court?"
The officer chuckled. "Within curfew and sector limits, yes. We'll allow limited leisure. You're still students. For now."
Sallie muttered, "Guess the Empire's still willing to let us buy snacks before throwing us into the grinder."
Celeste gave him a sidelong glance. "Just don't waste all your credits on game tokens."
Around them, the murmur spread—half-laughter, half-relief.
Girls from Section Six pointed at the distant signage of a milk tea shop still glowing on the mezzanine level. A few boys from Section Two were already planning a sprint to the surviving arcade wing. Some were just grateful to sit on a civilian bench for five minutes and pretend, just a little, that they weren't about to enter full-scale simulated warfare.
Even in this hyper-militarized arena, the soul of the mall hadn't completely died.
Sallie adjusted the strap of his duffel, eyes still scanning the arena as the rest of the squads dispersed into their holding zones. Above, the war music had faded into a low ambient hum, and the Imperial Gate had dimmed—its light now reduced to a faint glow, quietly pulsing like a heartbeat behind them.
He turned to Celeste and Angela. "Alright, before anyone starts sprinting for bubble tea or arcade tokens—we find the hotel room first."
Angela raised an eyebrow. "What, no immediate detour for retro merch or tactical keychains?"
Sallie gave her a flat look. "Do you want to drag a shopping bag and a CAD into an ambush simulation zone tomorrow?"
Celeste nodded in agreement. "Staging quarters first. We check the perimeter, store our gear, calibrate our loadouts. Then—if there's still time—we explore."
Angela exhaled. "Fine, fine. You two sound like you've already been deployed to an overseas war zone."
Sallie smirked. "Technically, we have. We just haven't left the country yet."
They walked through the main arena floor toward the Imperial Complex Tower—a towering annex connected to the former VIP wing, now converted into barracks-class hotel suites for each school. Imperial flags lined the walls, and biometric scanners replaced old turnstiles.
As they approached, an Imperial staff officer at the desk gave them a clipboard and a glowing access chip.
"Fourth High, Floor 7. Suite C for Salcedo siblings. Suite D for Castillo. You'll find your gear lockers synced and mana showers calibrated."
Angela blinked. "Mana showers?"
Celeste just replied flatly, "Rejuvenation cycle chambers. Restores minor spell fatigue and CAD sync drift. Standard in high-intensity combat prep."
Sallie took his key chip. "Let's drop our stuff. Then I vote arcade. Angela can try her luck. Celeste can pretend not to enjoy it."
Celeste didn't deny it. "Fifteen minutes. Then back to review spell queues."
Sallie groaned, tossing his duffel onto his shoulder like it weighed twice as much now. "Celeste, I already did the review. I spent the entire ride running simulations, matching potential pairings, and even cross-checking the old brackets from last year."
She shot him a skeptical look. "You only looked focused. You had an FPS match open in the corner window."
"Multitasking," he shot back. "You think I can't dodge gunfire and memorize spell delay tables at the same time?"
Angela grinned. "He's not wrong. I watched him hit three headshots while muttering off-tier disruption cooldowns like he was speed-running a textbook."
Celeste narrowed her eyes.
Sallie raised a finger like a smug professor about to start class. "Alright, fine. You want review? Here's one for you: Name the top three spell combinations used in Imperial Duel 2v2 elimination rounds last year—and tell me why all three failed against Fourth High's Phantom Bypass strategy. You've got ten seconds."
Celeste's mouth opened—but paused.
Angela blinked. "Wait, I want to try that—"
"Nope," Sallie said quickly. "This is for the overachiever."
Celeste crossed her arms. "Fine. One—Displacement + Thermal Lancer. Failed because the delay between spatial offset and ignition gave a 0.4 second opening—plenty of time for counter-barrier deployment."
"Correct," Sallie nodded, lips curling into a grin.
"Two—Mirror Hex Field + Mana Grenade Cascade. Failed because it required perfect sync to loop detonation zones, but the delay stacking broke when the opposing team used a field nullifier."
Sallie gave her a slow clap. "Wow, only took you two seconds on that one."
Celeste stepped forward, eyes sharpening. "Three—Shield Chain Rotation with triple-trigger buff overlay. Looked brilliant on paper. Crumbled because it consumed too much core stability, leaving them wide open after the first defensive cycle."
Sallie smirked and turned to Angela. "And that, dear Ange, is what happens when you try to out-review the queen of queues."
Angela clapped dramatically. "Amazing. Now reward her brilliance with ten uninterrupted minutes at the arcade."
Celeste exhaled through her nose. "Seven. No more."
Sallie smirked as the elevator doors slid open, stepping in first with his hands casually behind his head. "Alright, alright. Seven minutes of fun."
Then he turned, looking at her sideways.
"But before we hit the arcade… give me a challenge."
Celeste raised an eyebrow. "Challenge?"
"Yeah," he said, adjusting the strap on his briefcase CAD. "Hit me with ten questions—mid to hard difficulty. Imperial Duel 2v2 theory. Let's see if I'm actually ready, or if I just look cool pretending."
Angela perked up from behind them. "Oooh, quiz time. This I'm staying for."
Celeste crossed her arms and leaned slightly against the elevator wall, expression sharpening. "You want ten?"
Sallie nodded. "Mid or higher. No baby-level nonsense."
Celeste's eyes narrowed in mock menace. "Fine. Let's begin."
Question 1
"What's the counteraction time needed to dispel a Mana Veil Breaker if your opponent casts it with a type-C trigger CAD from twenty meters away?"
"1.6 seconds," Sallie answered immediately. "Unless it's looped with a secondary burst tether. Then 1.1."
Celeste nodded. "Correct."
Question 2
"In a standard 2v2 scenario, what formation counters a twin-lane burst shield strategy if your partner is a support caster with long delays?"
"Split flank with mirrored pressure. I move ahead to bait and draw aggression. The support casts wide AOE field disruption to collapse their buffer."
"Acceptable."
Question 3
"What spell structure did Second High use to break Third High's triple warded terrain during last year's quarterfinal?"
Sallie tilted his head. "Crystalline Thread Collapse. It turned the mana field into static anchors and disabled regenerative zones. It's banned now."
Angela whispered, "He's a monster."
Question 4
"In a case where enemy illusions overlap physical distortion and you're fighting blind, what's your best spell to retake visual control?"
"Signal Echo Ping. Shortwave pulse tied to my CAD's vision mapping. Detects illusion thickness and phase bleed."
Celeste paused… then nodded. "Good."
Question 5
"What causes Glyph Delay Syndrome during back-to-back dual-casting attempts?"
Sallie didn't even blink. "Core sync overload. Your CAD's mana queue can't compress two simultaneous forms if they're not tied to parallel runes. You choke casting."
Angela blinked. "Even I didn't know that."
Question 6
"If your partner is taken out mid-match and you're being targeted by a sniper from a high position, what do you do first?"
Sallie answered, flatly: "Drop smoke, fake a fallback route, cast a fake blink signal, and double back. Make the sniper flinch, then hit them with a detonation tether."
"Correct."
Question 7
"In a match where your CAD is semi-locked and you have only a shield spell active—"
"—Collapse the shield with a reverse burst to create knockback. Buy time. Resync manually."
Celeste narrowed her eyes. "Did you read my notes?"
Sallie smirked. "I live in your notes."
Question 8
"What's the biggest weakness of Gabriella's teleportation pattern?"
He paused. "Static lag when jumping multiple entities with different mana weights. Too much force, and the gate bends—makes you predictable."
Celeste looked stunned for half a second before composing herself. "You weren't supposed to know that."
Angela: "He knew that?!"
Question 9
"What's the biggest counter to your own briefcase CAD form?"
"Mid-range binders. Anything that stops my unfold cycle or forces me to stay ranged. But that's why I built in the manual override."
Celeste's lips curved. "Very good."
Question 10
"What's your personal reason for wanting to win?"
Sallie's smirk faded.
He looked her in the eyes.
"…Because someone out there is stronger than me. And I want him to see what I look like when I'm not hiding anymore."
Celeste said nothing. The elevator dinged.
Seventh floor. Time to drop their gear.
Sallie looked between them both, then smiled. "Still think I'm just slacking?"
Celeste turned to face the hallway. "No."
The hotel suite on the 7th floor of the Imperial Complex Tower wasn't luxurious—more like a high-tech barracks disguised as a minimalist hotel. Mana vents lined the ceiling, CAD racks were built into the walls, and biometric lockers hummed with encrypted seals.
As the automatic door hissed open, Sallie dropped his duffel onto the nearest bench, flopping onto the bed like he owned the room.
Celeste, ever precise, placed her Grimoire CAD gently into the wall-mounted recharger, then began unpacking in exact sections—armor inserts, casting gloves, backups, diagnostics.
Angela threw her pack onto the spare cot with far less grace and collapsed beside it with a long sigh. "Gods, I didn't know stress could soak into your feet."
Sallie sat up slightly, raising an eyebrow. "That's nothing. You'll be barefoot in spirit once Urban Warfare Trials kicks off."
Angela groaned. "Please. Don't remind me I'm basically running around a collapsing building with a stranger who probably smells like mana discharge and cafeteria tofu."
Celeste glanced over. "Then let's test you."
Angela blinked. "Wait, what?"
Sallie smirked. "Trivia time, Castillo. Urban Warfare style."
Angela narrowed her eyes. "You two just finished grilling each other. Now I'm the target?"
Celeste nodded. "Absolutely."
Question 1 – Celeste
"You're entering a collapsed building with three mana readings. One's flickering, one's strong, one's perfectly silent. Which one is the illusion trap?"
Angela didn't hesitate. "Silent. Flickering means damage, strong is bait, but silence means someone's masking their aura too well."
Celeste gave a quiet nod. "Correct."
Question 2 – Sallie
"You breach a second-floor hallway and hear casting behind a mana-locked door. What's your fastest approach—blast, bypass, or bait?"
Angela twirled a hair strand thoughtfully. "Bait. Loud footsteps toward the opposite end, illusion behind me to draw fire, then blink around the side."
Sallie grinned. "Good answer. Bonus points if you laugh during the illusion to really piss them off."
Question 3 – Celeste
"If your partner misfires a spell and damages your cover, and the enemy locks onto your position, what do you cast first—barrier, cloak, or stun?"
Angela rolled her eyes. "Neither. I drop a noise disruptor, flash the corner, and run interference. Barrier makes me a target, cloak makes me predictable, stun wastes time unless I'm already in range."
Celeste raised an eyebrow. "Well studied."
Question 4 – Sallie
"You're cornered. No mana left. Only a knife and two smoke bombs. What's your last move?"
Angela leaned back, grinning. "Smoke both sides, break the floor with the knife handle's mana spike, and drop down to the level below. If they follow, they fall."
Sallie laughed. "Now that's Empire thinking."
Angela stood up, stretching triumphantly. "Was that all?"
Celeste smirked. "You passed."
Sallie flopped back down, folding his arms behind his head. "But if you lose tomorrow, I'm telling everyone you failed question four."
Angela crossed her arms, mock-offended. "If I lose tomorrow, I'm blaming my mystery teammate."
Celeste finally sat down beside her pack and gave a faint smile. "Then don't lose."
The trio finished stashing the last of their gear in the locker units, the atmosphere shifted from military-grade tension to something a little more relaxed—almost normal. Angela stretched again and flopped onto the couch in the suite's common area while Celeste checked her scroll-tab for nearby open shops.
"Alright," Celeste said, eyes scanning the arena's internal map. "We've got about two hours before curfew lockdown. I've got enough credits to grab some mana supplements and maybe a tactical charm or two."
Angela grinned. "I've got just enough to splurge on a new illusion module. Or a plush dragon. Maybe both."
Sallie leaned back against the wall, arms folded, wearing that infuriatingly smug half-smile. "Cute. You two scraping together lunch money for trinkets?"
Celeste gave him a side-eye. "And you're living large now, I assume?"
He casually pulled a worn black data card from his pocket and flicked it onto the table.
Angela blinked. "What's that?"
"Winnings," Sallie replied.
Celeste narrowed her eyes. "From where?"
Sallie's grin widened. "That wager match I played last month. Against those cocky USNA exchange players. You remember—the ones who bragged about topping the Empire's VR ladder while running NATO tactical presets."
Angela sat up straighter. "Wait. You actually beat them?"
Sallie nodded. "Clutched a 3v1 round in Specter Ops. Headshots only. Cleaned the field with a broken left trigger."
Celeste stared at him. "They were sponsored. Their rigs alone were worth more than our entire dorm block."
Sallie's grin turned devious. "That's why they put $2,000 USD on the line."
Angela's jaw dropped. "Two thousand?"
He shrugged. "Yep. Converted that to about ₱112,000 straight into my temp account. Bought a permanent equipment license, three high-grade CAD skins, and I still have enough to buy half the food court."
Celeste blinked. "You made six digits in pesos playing a war sim."
"I call it tactical commerce," Sallie said with mock humility.
Angela stood and pointed. "You greedy rat! We're budgeting for mana potions and you're out here casually sitting on a war chest?"
He chuckled. "What can I say? You both studied for war. I monetized it."
Celeste shook her head, trying not to smile.
Angela grabbed her jacket. "You're treating us. Non-negotiable."
Sallie rolled his eyes, but pulled out his card. "Fine. Let's go shopping, losers."
And with that, the siblings and their illusion-caster best friend stepped out into the glowing corridors of the militarized mall-turned-arena—one rich, two stunned, all ready for what came next.