Bianca sat on the edge of her bed, the silken sheets cool against her skin, her gaze distant as she replayed the events in her mind. She had lingered near the entrance to the contenders' area, a hopeful anticipation fluttering in her chest, only to see Rider departing with Aingo. A wave of disappointment had washed over her, a feeling she tried to suppress but couldn't entirely shake.
Lying back against the pillows, she let out a soft sigh. (So I guess he's not coming today.) Her thoughts drifted, a wistful smile touching her lips. (Aingo must have convinced him to focus on training. Or maybe… maybe there wasn't a real reason for him to come. I wasn't injured like last time. Maybe if I had just gotten a little hurt, he might be here now.) The thought, though fleeting, brought a faint blush to her cheeks.
She shook her head sharply, trying to dispel the distracting thoughts. Sitting up abruptly, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, her determination hardening her gaze. "No," she murmured to herself, her voice firm. "I need to concentrate on the tournament. My mind is my greatest weapon right now. I have to win this. No matter what it costs. For me… and for Rider."
Just then, a voice, warm and familiar, echoed from beyond her door. "You really do care about this Rider guy, don't you?"
Bianca startled, her head snapping towards the sound. Her eyes widened in surprise and a touch of embarrassment as she saw her father, Azreal, standing in the doorway. "Dad?" she asked, a mix of confusion and guilt coloring her tone.
Azreal smiled gently as he stepped into her room, his gaze knowing. "Looks like my little girl has feelings for Rider," he teased, a playful glint in his eyes.
Bianca's cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red. "He's just my friend, really," she stammered, trying to sound nonchalant. "I don't really have anyone else to talk to except him."
Azreal cupped her cheek, his expression softening. "I'm so incredibly proud of you, Bianca. You've made it this far in this tournament entirely on your own. You're also attracting quite a few admirers in the stands." He paused, a hint of concern entering his voice. "But if you're doing this solely for Rider… I want you to reconsider. Things are only going to get harder from here. Did you see what Enshou was willing to do to win? Or Zack's ruthless efficiency? Please, just…"
Bianca's hand shot up, gripping her father's. Her eyes, usually bright and cheerful, now held a fierce intensity. "Dad," she said, her voice firm and unwavering, "you know once my mind is set on something, I give it my absolute all. I don't care if I'm facing Zack, Enshou, or Tanker. I will not stop fighting."
Azreal's brow furrowed. "You're not understanding me, Bianca. You only defeated Valen because he wasn't truly fighting back. Tanker is not like that; he won't hold back. The same goes for Zack, and perhaps even Enshou now. Please, don't do this. Just listen to…"
He stopped abruptly, his gaze locked on the unwavering fire burning in Bianca's eyes. He saw the resolute set of her jaw, the quiet determination that radiated from her. A sigh escaped his lips, a mixture of resignation and deep affection. "Fine," he conceded, his voice softening. "Be that way. But the moment I see you in serious trouble out there, I'm calling off the match. Whether you agree or not, I will not let some other warrior harm you. That is my promise to you, Bianca."
With that, Azreal turned and left the room, leaving Bianca alone with her thoughts. She sank back onto her bed, a heavy sigh escaping her lips as she stared up at the ceiling, her mind already strategizing for the upcoming semi-finals.
Meanwhile, in the training grounds, the clang of steel echoed as Rider and Aingo engaged in a rigorous sparring session. Rider roared, charging at Aingo with his sword held in a two-handed grip, bringing it down with all his might. Aingo effortlessly blocked the powerful blow with his own sword, using only one hand. With a swift push, he forced Rider to stumble backward, his chest heaving with exertion.
"You still lack significant strength, Rider," Aingo observed, his tone analytical, "but your speed has noticeably improved. I can tell you've been paying attention. Watching those fights has actually made you grow."
Rider grinned, a flicker of pride in his eyes. "Yeah, thanks to everyone's techniques and styles, I feel like I can handle anything now!"
Aingo's sharp retort quickly deflated his burgeoning confidence. "Don't get cocky. You've improved a little, but your attacks still lack real power. Precise and fast, yes, but weak. You're holding back."
Rider's smile vanished, replaced by a wounded expression. "Ouch. The fact that you think I'm holding back is a blow."
Aingo looked genuinely surprised. "Wait… you're not holding back?"
Rider frowned, frustration evident on his face. "Yeah! I get it, I'm weak. But how do I change that?"
Aingo's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Your ability to adapt and learn quickly gives you the potential to be truly great, Rider. But you're right, you lack the raw strength. At least we finally know where your weaknesses lie, and that's something I can help you with. To make your attacks stronger, you need to channel your emotions – anger, sadness, whatever it takes."
Rider looked confused. "How do I just… do that?"
Aingo sheathed his sword. "What you need to be a perfect warrior is a clear understanding of your own emotions and how to harness them. Once you master that, you'll be at least decent." He drew his sword again. "Now, come at me with everything you've got. All your anger. Just imagine I'm Zack right now. What would you do?"
Rider took a deep breath, his brow furrowing in concentration. "Well then," he growled, a spark of anger igniting in his eyes, "I'm gonna kill you."
Aingo's smile widened. "That's the spirit. Now show me!"
Rider charged, his movements infused with a newfound ferocity, his battle cry echoing through the training grounds. "Zaaaaaaaack!!!"
Meanwhile, in the relative quiet of the contenders' area, Zack lay on his bed, attempting to find some rest before the semi-finals. Suddenly, he sneezed. (Maybe someone's talking about me.) He dismissed the thought and closed his eyes, but a knock on his door interrupted his attempt at sleep. He frowned, knowing he wasn't expecting any visitors. Leo opened the door and let himself in.
"Zack… umm… I saw your win. You were incredible," Leo said hesitantly.
Zack's frown deepened. He remained lying down, pointedly ignoring Leo. Leo tried again. "Are you still mad about what happened?"
Finally, Zack spoke, his voice flat. "I was never mad. What you do is none of my business. If that's all, you can leave now." He turned his back, hoping to discourage further conversation.
Leo remained standing, a weight of guilt evident in his posture. "I actually came to tell you that your father has gone back home and will return for the finals. So… umm…"
"That's good," Zack interrupted, his tone dismissive. "And?"
Leo fell silent for a moment, searching for the right words. "Please… I'm so sorry. I could have told you, but I thought I was doing the right thing. Please forgive me." He sank to his knees, his shoulders shaking as he began to cry.
Zack hesitated. A flicker of his earlier annoyance softened slightly. He grabbed a nearby towel and tossed it awkwardly towards Leo. Leo looked up, surprised, but gratefully took the towel. Silence fell over the room, broken only by Leo's muffled sobs.
Finally, Leo spoke, his voice still thick with emotion. "I heard you refused to go to the medical center to get yourself checked after the fight with Tusk. Why not?"
Zack scoffed, though his voice lacked its usual conviction. "There's no need for me to get checked out from fighting Tusk. He wasn't that tough." It was a blatant lie, and Leo clearly recognized it.
Leo stood up, wiping his eyes with the towel. "I'll be leaving now. I'll check in tomorrow before the semi-finals." Zack remained silent, his back still turned. Leo sighed softly before quietly exiting the room. Zack waited a moment longer before opening his eyes, staring blankly at the ceiling before closing them again, the lingering tension preventing him from truly resting.
The next day dawned, casting a pale light over the arena, the air thick with anticipation for the semi-finals.