[Day 3 of the Tournament – Semi-Finals]

[Location: Class F Waiting Room]

The euphoria of the previous day had evaporated. In its place was a heavy, suffocating silence.

The waiting room felt less like a locker room and more like a holding cell for the condemned.

The magitech screen on the wall displayed the bracket in bright, mocking neon letters:

[SEMI-FINAL 1: PRINCE NERO vs. LUKAS] [SEMI-FINAL 2: ALARIC vs. ELENA]

Lukas sat on the bench, staring at his hands tembling at the thought of his next match.

"I'm dead," Lukas whispered, his voice cracking.

"I have to fight the Prince. Did you see what he did to the Berserker? He touched him once. Just once!"

Alaric sat in the corner, icing his shoulder where Jorah's hammer had crumpled his armor. He looked at the screen, then at Elena.

Elena was polishing her Photon Lens, but her movements were mechanical. She avoided Alaric's gaze.

"They rigged it," Alaric rumbled, his voice low.

"They want us to take each other out so Nero has an easy final."

"As expected of a rich kid, even here our status plays a big role"

He looked at Elena.

"Hey, Princess," Alaric tried to force a grin, though it didn't reach his eyes.

"Maybe I should just trip? You know, slip on a banana peel? My shoulder is pretty banged up anyway..."

"Don't," Elena cut him off sharply.

She stopped polishing and looked up. Her eyes were hard.

"Do not insult me, Alaric. If you forfeit, I will never forgive you."

Alaric's smile faded. He saw the resolve in her eyes.

"Professor Mozart taught us that mercy is for the strong," Elena said.

"We are not strong enough to show mercy to each other. If I am to reach the finals, I must defeat the Nero. And if you are to reach the finals... you must equally destory him."

Alaric held her gaze for a long moment. Then, he nodded.

"Okay," Alaric said softly. "No holding back. I'll hit you like I hit Jorah."

"Good," Elena replied. "And I will burn you like I like Lucas flames, only with light this time."

The door opened.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Damien walked in. He didn't look surprised by the somber mood rather he looked pleased.

"Excellent," Damien said, stopping in the center of the room.

"I see you have realized the situation."

"They cheated, Professor!" Lukas blurted out, jumping to his feet. "They changed the bracket! It should be 1 vs 2! They gave me to Nero!"

"Of course they cheated, Lukas," Damien said calmly.

"Did you think they would play fair? This is the nobility. They own the board. They own the pieces. And right now, you are inconvenient pawns that refuse to die."

Damien walked over to the whiteboard. He drew a crude diagram of the bracket.

"They expect Class F to cannibalize itself. They expect Alaric and Elena to exhaust each other with infighting, leaving the winner too weak to fight Nero. And they expect Lukas..."

Damien looked at the trembling fire mage.

"...to be a warm-up exercise."

Lukas slumped. "I can't beat him, Professor our gap is just to big."

"You are correct," Damien said bluntly. "You probably cannot win."

The room went deadly silent. Damien wasn't the type to offer false hope.

"Nero is a genius," Damien continued. "He is faster than you. Stronger than you. And unlike Vance, he is not arrogant. He will not toy with you."

Damien leaned in, his silver mask reflecting Lukas's terrified face.

"So, Lukas. Your objective is not to win."

Lukas blinked. "It's... not?"

"Your objective," Damien whispered, "is to make him bleed."

He pointed to Lukas's Salamander Gloves.

"Nero thinks you are weak. He thinks you will try to keep your distance, fire your needles, and run away. He will close the gap instantly to exploit your 1.5-second cooldown."

Damien placed a hand on Lukas's shoulder.

"Don't hold back this time, Lukas. Be a bomb."

Lukas's eyes widened as he understood.

"If he closes the distance," Damien said, "do not retreat. Grab him. And then dump every ounce of mana you have into a Flash Boil at point-blank range."

"But..." Lukas stammered. "If I do that... I'll burn too. My gloves can't absorb that much heat instantly."

"Yes," Damien nodded solemnly. "It will hurt. It might knock you unconscious. But it will strip Nero of his 'God Complex.' It will show the world that the Golden Prince can be burned."

Damien stood up straight.

"Alaric. Elena. Your match is the final exam. Can the Unstoppable Force hit a target that moves at the speed of light? Can the Immovable Object survive a laser?"

He looked at his students.

"Go. Ruin their script."

….......................

[Location: The Arena Floor]

"WELCOME TO THE SEMI-FINALS!"

The crowd was deafening. The anticipation was palpable.

"MATCH ONE: THE PEASANT VS. THE PRINCE!"

Lukas walked out of the West Gate.

He felt small. The cheers weren't for him. They were chanting one name.

"NERO! NERO! NERO!"

From the East Gate, Prince Nero emerged.

He wasn't wearing heavy armor like Jorah. He wasn't carrying a weapon like Jett. He wore a pristine white-and-gold military uniform, a short cape draped over one shoulder.

He looked regal. He looked bored.

He walked to the center of the arena and stopped not taking a combat stance. He simply stood there, hands clasped behind his back.

"Lukas, was it?" Nero asked. His voice wasn't amplified, but the arena went silent to hear him.

"Y-Yes," Lukas squeaked.

"You have done well to reach this far," Nero said politely. "You defeated Vance I give it to you that you're smarter than the average commoner."

Nero unclasped one hand and beckoned.

"Come. Show me your fire. I will give you the first move."

Lukas looked at the Prince. He saw the utter lack of fear.

Nero obviously didn't see a threat. He saw a bug.

Lukas clenched his fists. The runes on his gloves flared to life.

'Make him bleed,' Lukas repeated in his head. 'Just make him bleed.'

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