The battle between Ren Hayasaka and Ming Chan erupted across the arena floor.
Fez and the other competitors crowded near the railing, eyes fixed on the spectacle below. Even the chatter died down, replaced by the electric hush of anticipation.
Up in a special elevated chair—carved with ornate emblems—two figures watched in utter stillness.
One was an old man in a formal costume, the fabric stiff and dark as if it hadn't left its wardrobe in years. He didn't so much as blink.
Beside him sat a tall, narrow-shouldered man—his secretary, judging by the thick binder on his lap. Unlike the old man, he didn't even pretend to look engaged. His mouth was a flat, unbroken line.
Neither smiled. Neither applauded.
They simply watched.
The audience was buzzing, voices overlapping in a hundred excited fragments.
Then the same phrase started threading through the crowd like a spark catching dry grass:
He's here.
He's here!
HE'S HERE!
The leader of the Super Elite League is here!
The words seemed to echo off the arena walls, drawing every eye toward the special chair.
Down in the pit, a booming voice began the countdown:
Three… two… one—
The battle erupted.
Ren stood frozen, her gaze locked on the man in the special chair.
A single bead of sweat traced down her temple.
I think he's… a noted figure in the superhero world… This is the first time I've ever seen him.
Even from across the arena, his presence pressed against her like a hand on her back. An unspoken weight.
The leader's eyes met hers—calm, unreadable. Then, almost imperceptibly, he shifted his posture.
A tiny signal. As if to say something has already begun.
Oh—okay, I should move no—
CRACK—
A flash of pain.
Her breath caught in her throat.
She looked down in shock—
Ming's Hand-blade had sliced clean through her arm.
Blood splattered across Ming's face in a sudden torrent, warm as heavy rain.
He didn't so much as blink.
Ren staggered back, her breath rasping between clenched teeth.
Her eyes narrowed in a furious frown as she forced herself to steady her footing—just enough to react properly.
"Tch," she hissed under her breath.
Up in the special seats, the secretary leaned in, voice low.
"Mr. Wayne…?"
He didn't need to finish the question.
The leader's gaze never left the arena.
"…Yes as you saw, she tried that to me too ...."
"That girl…"
Back in the arena, Ming charged at her again, voice sharp as a whip:
"那是因为你放松了警惕!真正的少林寺可不会那样做!"
Translation:
That's because, you relaxed your vigilance, The real Shaolin Temple,
Ren's eyes went wide.
"—What?! Speak in English!!"
He didn't slow down. His expression was cold, almost pitying.
"You…weak."
As Ren heard those words, her confusion melted away, replaced by a sharp, defiant smirk.
"Tell that…to the original one!"
Ming froze.
Behind him—
Another Ren stood perched on the arena railing, grinning wide, her tongue stuck out in mockery.
"You weak!"
Her double's tongue stuck out in brazen mockery.
Up on the railing, the real Ren narrowed her eyes, steadying her breath.
He's strong… I have to be more careful.
"This time… KILL…!" the Shaolin boy roared.
Ren twisted aside, narrowly slipping past the blurring knife-like strikes.
She landed lightly, her gaze sharp and unflinching.
"You seem dangerous… but not enough for a hero!"
Just as Ming finally closed the distance, blade raised to cut her—
His body lurched downward—
And he sank straight into the arena floor like it had turned to wet cement.
For a heartbeat, the crowd held its breath.
Was it someone else's power? Some hidden disaster?
No.
Ren stood calm, one hand lifted, two fingers pointing straight at him.
Up in the audience, the man with the pipe exhaled a thin ribbon of smoke, his tired eyes tracking every movement.
"That's neat, Dave, ain't it?" he murmured, voice calm yet tinged with interest. like he fully understood exactly what was unfolding.
The assistant shifted nervously beside him.
"Gravity powers…?" Fez whispered, voice caught between awe and a little terror.
"You're naive," ZEF scoffed inside his head."Didn't you notice?"
From the other side of the arena, the leader's low voice drifted to his secretary:
"That Girl…has a powers stealing technique."
"Powers stealing technique???" Fez blurted, voice rising in panic.
Lower your voice, kid, ZEF growled.
Yeah…that girl has one of the three forbidden powers. The stealing technique. Zef Said
Fez swallowed. "I…I saw her staring at that person everyone was talking about."
I noticed too ZEF said, his tone flat. She was watching the leader. She looked…frustrated, when she failed to take his technique.
"Wait—hold on. You can see people?! I thought you only hear things!" Fez's heart hammered as the realization hit him—a hint that ZEF's presence inside him was growing stronger.
Shut up and listen.
ZEF's voice dropped to a colder note.
She was staring at the leader because she was trying to steal his power. And she couldn't. Those with a strong…or terrible…spirit can resist her. I'd guess she threw up after she looked into your eyes when you first met.
When Ren first met Fez, right before she slipped away:
"Ha-ha! Anyway—I gotta go meet the others. See you later!"
Then she turned and jogged off into the crowd without waiting for an answer.
Backstage, not long after—
Ren leaned against the wall, clutching her temple, her breath coming in shallow bursts.
"Who…who was that terrible boy…?" she mumbled, voice faint. "I feel dizzy…I'm about to drop…"
ZEF's voice slid into Fez's thoughts, low and edged with dark amusement.
"Don't tell me…"
Fez swallowed, a chill creeping down his spine.
"…She went to test the others too?"
Exactly, ZEF murmured. One by one.
You made her leave real quick, boy.
Back in the arena—
Ren stood over Ming, her fingers still leveled at him.
He was pinned flat against the floor, gasping for air he couldn't seem to draw.
The crowd erupted in cheers as the announcer's voice boomed through the stadium:
"AND THE WINNER ISSSS…REN HAYASAKA!!"
"What a deceptive girl…" Fez muttered, his fists clenching tight at his sides.
"I'll never forgive her."