Min sat quietly with the rest of the contestants in a dim corner of the coliseum's waiting area. The atmosphere was thick with tension—some competitors were meditating, others polishing weapons or whispering quick strategies to themselves. The muffled roar of the crowd outside seeped through the stone walls, a low hum that made Min's stomach twist with excitement and nerves.

A few minutes later, the heavy door creaked open, and a man in a formal yet slightly disheveled suit stepped in. His voice carried authority, yet there was a hint of exhaustion behind it.

"Good afternoon, everyone," he began with a polite bow. "I'm one of the organizers of this event. First off, thank you all for participating in this year's tournament!"

The contestants looked up, giving half-hearted nods. Min could tell most of them were trying to conserve focus.

The man continued, adjusting his badge. "Now, just a quick announcement before we start. I'm sure you'll all be pleased to know…"—he paused dramatically—"…that today's tournament is being sponsored by none other than our very own prince!"

A few murmurs rippled through the group. Even Min straightened up at that.

"With that," the organizer said, grinning, "the rewards for the top three winners in all categories will be increased. That's right—more coins, more prestige, and maybe even a little favor from the palace."

The tension in the room shifted instantly—some smirked, some clenched their fists, others whispered about the prince's involvement.

"That's it for now. Do your best, everyone!" the man said before rushing out, his coat flapping behind him as he disappeared down the corridor.

Another man entered the room—a tall figure in a dark uniform, his whistle hanging from a cord around his neck. His expression was sharp but calm, the kind that instantly demanded attention.

"Ehem," he cleared his throat. "Listen up, everyone."

The chatter among the contestants died down.

"I'm one of the main referees overseeing this tournament," he said, voice echoing off the stone walls. "Before we begin, I'll go over the rules and regulations—so pay attention."

He took a step forward, his boots tapping against the floor. "This category—Level 2 and below—is a single-elimination round. Lose once, and you're out. You may use any method necessary to defeat your opponent: skills, weapons, or tactics. However…"—his gaze swept across the room—"…killing your opponent is strictly forbidden. We have healers on standby, but if a participant dies, you'll be immediately disqualified and detained. Understood?"

Everyone nodded, some with nervous glances, others with smug confidence.

"The match ends if a participant surrenders or is unable to continue fighting. And one last thing—" he smirked "—many guilds will be observing this event. If you perform well, you might just get scouted."

That caught everyone's attention. A few Seekers cheered, some pumped their fists in the air. The energy in the room suddenly shifted from tension to burning ambition.

Min, however, stayed quiet. He looked down at his newly forged dagger.

The blade was simple—roughly forged from the fragments of his friend's shield, yet polished enough to glint under the faint light.

He turned it in his hand, watching how the reflection caught his eyes.

For a moment, the noise around him—the chatter, the echoing footsteps, the distant roars from the coliseum—faded away.

His mind drifted back.

Back to those days when it was just him and his friend, running through the forest with reckless grins. His friend always charged in first, shield raised high, taking every hit without flinching.

And when the monsters staggered—when they exposed that single weak spot—Min would finish the fight with his short sword.

That rhythm between them was perfect.

He exhaled softly, forcing the memory aside. The dagger felt heavier now, not because of its weight, but because of what it meant.

Meanwhile, outside the waiting hall—

Koko and Rocky finally found their seats among the roaring crowd. The stands were quickly filling up, people shouting, waving banners, betting coins clinking everywhere.

"Where the hell is that shiiit…" Koko muttered, scanning the area. She was, of course, talking about Ahrie.

Rocky sat perched on her head, lazily munching on roasted corn they bought earlier, kernels dropping onto her hair.

"Oii!" Koko shouted, swatting at him. "Don't ruin my perfectly short hair!"

Rocky froze mid-bite, corn still in his tiny paws. He gave her the most unapologetic look imaginable—then chomped down louder, as if out of spite.

"You little—!" Koko hissed, grabbing him by the tail. But before she could toss him off, the crowd suddenly erupted with cheers as the announcer's voice echoed through the coliseum.

The ground trembled slightly from the noise, banners waved, and a wave of excitement rushed through the stands. Koko blinked, momentarily distracted.

Rocky seized the moment, scrambling back onto her head triumphantly and raising the half-eaten corn like a victory flag.

"Yeah, yeah, you win," Koko muttered, smirking despite herself. She brushed off a few stubborn kernels and crossed her arms, eyes narrowing toward the arena below.

The tournament had begun.

Koko's eyes snapped forward, her focus shifting to the arena below… though every few seconds, she still glanced around, searching for Ahrie.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Esteemed noblewomen and noblemen! And of course—our most prestigious prince!"

The announcer's voice boomed through the coliseum, echoing across the roaring crowd. "Welcome to this year's Grand Tournament of Greenveil!"

The stands shook with applause. Trumpets blared. Even the banners above rippled with excitement.

The announcer continued, his tone full of flair and exaggeration. "For those of you joining for the first time, allow me to explain the festivities! We have multiple competitions lined up for this glorious week.

He raised a hand dramatically toward the center stage, where the massive stone platform gleamed under the sun. "First, the classic—the 1v1 duels! Two Seekers. One victor."

The crowd cheered again.

"As for our categories," he said, pacing theatrically. "We begin today with the Level 2 and Below division! Tomorrow morning—Level 3 and Below! And tomorrow evening—Level 4 and Below! Each fight will test the strength, skill, and survival instincts! of every participant."

He grinned, letting the tension hang before snapping his fingers. "But that's not all! Later this week, we'll have group battles—squads of Seekers facing off in chaotic glory! And don't miss the showcase contests, where participants will display their most unique skills for fame, fortune, and admiration!"

He spun around and shouted,

"From the most beautiful spell—

to the most powerful technique—

to the fastest strike!"

The coliseum erupted again.

The announcer looks to where the waiting area for the participants are.

"Prepare yourselves, Seekers! This week… Greenveil will remember your names!"

"Now," the announcer continued, his voice booming across the coliseum, "let's welcome the referees who will oversee today's competition!"

A group of officials in black-and-silver coats stepped out from the east gate, each carrying an enchanted staff. They moved with sharp precision, heading toward their designated seats around the arena.

The crowd clapped politely at first, then louder as the announcer raised his hand again.

"And next—our healers! The unsung heroes who'll keep our Seekers alive through every match!"

A line of robed figures entered from the opposite gate, their footsteps in sync.

Then—poof.

Koko blinked. One of the "healers" looked painfully familiar.

"Wait…" she squinted. "No way."

Sure enough… Ahrie strolled in like he owned the place, his usual smug grin plastered across his face. His black healer's coat hung half-tied and uneven, the sleeves rolled up like he was about to start a bar fight instead of a healing shift. His ring glowed faintly on his finger—the unmistakable proof of a licensed healer.

Koko's jaw dropped. "You've got to be kidding me…"

Ahrie didn't even look up at the crowd. He was too busy cracking his knuckles, stretching his arms.

Rocky blinked from Koko's head, chewing slower.

"No wonder I couldn't find you," Koko said, laughing as she leaned back in her seat.

Rocky threw a handful of corn kernels into the air in celebration.

Ahrie finally looked up, spotted her in the stands, and waved with the dumbest grin possible.

But then, Koko's smile slowly faded as her brain processed one small, horrifying fact—

Ahrie's "healing" skill wasn't exactly… gentle.

Her face dropped. "Ohh… boy…" she muttered, sinking into her seat.

Rocky gave a short, uneasy squeak.

Koko sighed, already bracing herself. "If someone dies during his healing, we don't know him. M'kaay?"

Rocky blinked, then remembered exactly how Ahrie's so-called "healing" worked—and nodded so fast his corn nearly flew off.

"Good," Koko muttered, leaning back in her seat.

Lastly… today's participants—the contenders of the Level 2 & Below category.

One by one, they walked into the massive arena, footsteps echoing across the stone floor as the crowd erupted in cheers.

Min followed the others, his grip tightening on his new dagger. His heart was steady—until his eyes landed on someone at the healer's side.

"…The fuck?" he muttered under his breath.

There he was.

Ahrie.

Standing among the other healers with an open-mouthed grin that screamed trouble.

He caught Min's stare.

And smiled wider—like a goblin possessed. No, worse. A demon pretending to be human.

Ahrie raised his fist and began tapping it against his fist, slow and taunting.

A cold chill crawled up Min's spine. His legs tensed, his pulse quickened.

It ignited him.

"Don't get injured," he whispered to himself.

"Don't… get injured… no matter what!."

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