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The roar of the crowd still echoed faintly in their ears as Unit 06 stepped off the battlefield. The holograms dimmed, the walls of the arena folding back into steel silence. One battle down. Five to go.
The first round of the Fresher Tournament was complete for the day.
At the dormitory wing of the Battalion Vanguard Academy, cadets returned in waves—some limping, others laughing, but all changed. Unit 06 entered their room in silence, sweat-drenched and bone-tired.
The dorm's interior adjusted to their energy levels, dimming lights and softening the temperature. Kayden let out a deep breath as he stretched his arms overhead.
"That wasn't our cleanest win," he said, dropping onto his bunk.
Henry grinned and fell back on his bed. "Not clean, but spicy. Did you see the big guy flying? Wind Dance for the win!"
Kira raised an eyebrow. "You mean the same Wind Dance that almost got you smashed?"
Elliot stood near the window, his face calm but unreadable, shadow energy flickering faintly at his boots. He was still replaying the match—each move, each mistake.
At the desk, Devin connected his tablet to the central screen. "Tournament feed is online… and guess what's trending?"
He swiped through the matches. "Here. Unit 01 versus Unit 10."
Everyone turned to watch.
The footage opened with Unit 10 walking confidently into the arena. But then… silence fell as a single figure stepped forward—Michael Caldwell.
Tall. Calm. Golden aura building steadily around him.
And then—he activated it.
"Judgment Hale."
A blinding ring of light exploded outward—hot, radiant, holy. But this time… it wasn't just pressure. Fire erupted from the very air, trailing behind the halo like living flames.
The first opponent who charged him screamed as fire coiled up their armguards, burning through soul armor like it was paper.
Another cadet leapt, trying to counter from above. Michael turned slowly—his eyes glowing like suns—and sent a vertical slash of light and flame upward. The cadet fell, unconscious before they hit the ground.
It wasn't just power. It was execution. Precision. Control.
The camera caught a wide-angle shot—three opponents sprawled across the field, faint wisps of smoke rising from scorched armor, while Michael stood untouched in the center, golden cloak fluttering behind him.
Devin stared. "He… he cooked them."
Henry sat up, mouth open. "Bro lit them up like dinner!"
Kira crossed her arms tightly. "That wasn't just soul energy… that was real fire. A hybrid burn. Holy and elemental."
Kayden's expression darkened. "So that's what we're up against."
Zane had gone quiet. He walked closer to the screen, eyes locked on Michael.
The name Caldwell echoed in his chest. Not because Michael was family, but because that man represented everything the Caldwell House expected—dominance, control, and legacy.
"He came to watch me," Zane said quietly. "Jordan Caldwell… the family head. He was in the stands."
Elliot turned. "Does that bother you?"
Zane looked around the room. "It motivates me."
He balled his fists. "I'll scorch through that judgment. Scorch Fang will burn brighter than his halo."
Just then, Devin's wristpad buzzed.
"The match list is out."
Everyone leaned in.
"Our next opponents…" Devin said, scanning. "Unit 02."
A silence fell.
Kira spoke first. "Unit 02. Lexa's squad. All six are top-ranked in combat sync."
Kayden smirked. "Perfect. We need something real."
But tension hung in the air, thicker than before.
Unit 01 was untouchable. Unit 02 was efficient. And Unit 06 had just entered a battlefield where names were more than titles—they were weapons.
The next war had just begun.
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