Without a word, the brown-skinned boy moved.
In one smooth motion, he jumped—closing the distance between them like it was nothing.
Fez flinched, but before he could even think to step back, his own arm shot out and grabbed the boy's wrist in midair.
His fingers locked around it with a force that didn't feel like his at all.
A cold tingle crawled up Fez's spine.
…What was that?
For a moment, they just stood there, locked in that strange grip.
Then the boy let out a low laugh.
"Nice reflexes, haha!"
He slipped free, giving Fez a look that was almost impressed—almost—and turned to stride away toward a group gathered near the far wall.
He stared down at his hand—fingers still half-curled
I didn't…I didn't move. Not by myself.
Somewhere deep inside, he felt ZEF's presence—quiet, watchful.
Maybe you're just excited, boy ,ZEF's voice slid in after a long stretch of silence—so casual it almost sounded like a joke.
Fez didn't answer. He couldn't.
His hand was still trembling.
Fez's heartbeat finally slowed.
For a moment, he almost forgot what had just happened.
He let his gaze drift across the arena floor, taking in everything at once.
A Shaolin-looking man in bright orange robes was practicing with two others—he caught a steel spear thrown straight at his chest, and with one sharp twist, snapped it.
Not in half.
In four pieces.
A man with hair down to his waist was stretching his arms across the tiles like living rubber, his fingers tapping distant walls as if he barely noticed the distance
A huge man in a gleaming Roman suit—bronze plates layered over thick muscle—stood near the far corner.
He threw his head back and let out a roar so loud it rattled the windows.
Then he started pounding his chest with both fists, the impacts echoing like massive drums.
BOOM—BOOM—BOOM.
Fez nearly jumped.
he felt something bubbling up—a weird, reckless smile.
"They said heroes are rare…"
He said it out loud, just to hear it.
"…Sure doesn't look that way to me."
A voice piped up right beside him—a teen girl's, light and a little amused.
"I know, right? Frankly, that's the minimum level required."
Fez turned, startled.
She was grinning at the chaos in the arena, her eyes bright with excitement.
"Ooh, man—I can't wait for the first fight!"
Fez turned to her, still a little thrown.
"Oh—hey?"
"Hey!" she chirped back, all easy confidence.
"I didn't introduce myself. My name's Ren."
She looked a bit younger than most of the contestants—a short Asian girl with dark hair pulled into a messy knot and a spray of freckles across her cheeks.
Her grin didn't fade for a second.
"I—I'm Fez. Nice to meet you," he stammered.
"Nice to meet you too!" Ren beamed, rocking back on her heels. "I hope we don't end up fighting each other, "haha! Anyway—I gotta go meet the others. See you later!"
She turned and jogged off into the crowd without waiting for an answer.
Fez lifted a hand to wave, cheeks burning bright red.
As soon as she disappeared, he slapped both palms against his face.
"Idiot," he muttered under his breath. "Your heart should only lean to Milenda…"
The first time you've said something right about yourself 'idiot' , ZEF cut in, tone dripping with disdain.
A sudden crackle cut through the noise—microphones flaring to life overhead.
Dear contestants!
The voice boomed across the arena, smooth and practiced.
The first fight will start soon!
Every conversation around Fez broke off at once.
And now…we will disclose the first fighters!
A hush fell so complete he could hear his own breath.
Reeeeeen Hayasaka…
Fez felt his heart lurch.
VERRRRSUUUS…Ming Chan!
Without thinking, fez cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled over the roar of the crowd:
"Good luck, Ren!! GOOD LUCK!!!!"
That giant warrior in the Roman armor turned when Ren's name was called.
He looked her up and down—and let out a booming laugh that echoed off the walls.
Ren just tipped her chin up, completely unfazed.
"I hope we fight in the next match, Mr. Giant," she called, her voice bright and clear.
The giant's laugh cut off in an instant.
His huge hand closed into a fist—big enough to crush her head—and he started to step forward, jaw clenched.
But before he could get close, another figure moved:
The man with rubbery limbs inflated like a balloon, his body stretching wide and curving into a thick, flexible wall—almost like a living blanket.
The giant's fist slammed into him…and stopped dead, sinking harmlessly into the rubbery surface.
"Calm down, buddy," he said evenly, his voice almost bored.
The giant scowled Then he snorted and turned away, heavy footsteps shaking the floor as he left her alone.
The crowd erupted in cheers.
In the audience, tucked high among the rows of seats, two figures watched the floor below.
One of them lifted a slender pipe to his mouth, exhaling a slow ribbon of smoke. His tired eyes, shadowed by deep lines, never left Fez.
Beside him, a tall man with glasses stood with a clipboard pressed tight against his chest, waiting in silence.
"…They don't seem that interesting," the man with the pipe murmured, voice a little higher than a sigh.
He tilted his head slightly, watching Fez fidget among the crowd.
"…Hmm. That's neat, though. Right, Dave?"
"Y-yes, sir."
The assistant shifted, glancing at him—and rubbing his palms together, as if trying to work the stress out through his skin.
Smoke curled into the rafters.
"…To when will you stand still, boy?"