As Ren walked back up the stairs, the commentator's voice shaking the arena walls:
"WOOOW!! IT'S NOT OVER, FOLKS!"
A fresh wave of excited murmurs rippled through the crowd.
Fez's eyes darted around, panic creeping into his voice.
"W…what's going on??!"
Eyes left, brat ZEF's tone was almost bored.
Fez turned just in time to see it:
That monk was back on his feet.
The monk slowly rose to his feet, dust pouring off his shoulders in heavy clouds. Chunks of shattered stone slid from his back and hit the floor with dull thuds.
His voice boomed across the arena:
"IT'S NOT OVER…YET!"
Then, with a roar, he lunged straight at Ren.
A sharp gesture—three fingers splayed, palm slicing the air.
"Secret Technique…"
The monk's voice thundered:
"The Infinity Speed!"
In the next instant, he blurred forward—launched at Ren like a gunshot, faster than a blink.
That speed—
It was enough to break straight through Ren's gravity gesture.
Her eyes went wide, the thought only half-formed in her head:
What a spe—
He reached her.
Up in the audience, the man with the pipe and Dave were still watching, unmoving.
But Mr. Wayne, arms crossed over his chest, only gave a slow shake of his head.
"It's already over," he said calmly. "Don't you see, gentlemen?"
Ren's eyes were glowing now—bright, steady, unblinking.
Ming didn't even react as he reached her.
His momentum simply vanished.
He collapsed to the floor like a piece of fallen metal, utterly still.
"I think the match ends now," she said calmly.
Then she turned and walked toward the stairs.
Silence pooled through the arena, heavy and complete.
Tch…she's arrogant, too, ZEF muttered.
Fez's chest tightened. He was furious—but he didn't even dare meet her eyes.
In contrast, Ren glanced back at him with a cool, disdainful stare
One glacial starescraped over Fez—contempt in a glance—before vanishing.
Wayne leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers beneath his chin.
"She's interesting," he mused aloud. "I wonder how her next match will go?"
A roar crashed through the arena speakers:
"THEEE NEXT MATCHHHHH—FEZ VERSUUUUUS THE GLADIATORRRR!!"
Fez's throat tightened as he swallowed hard.
"I can do it, right? ZEF…right?"
He waited for the familiar rasp of ZEF's voice—but there was only silence.
His heart pounded so loud he was sure everyone could hear.
ZEF?
No answer.
A cold dread settled in his gut. For the first time, he felt utterly alone—standing on the edge of the arena floor with no dark voice to guide or taunt him.
He glanced up at the giant gates sliding open, revealing the hulking form of the Gladiator stepping into the light.
The roar of the crowd felt suddenly distant.
When Fez stepped into the arena without ZEF, he felt like a kid on his first day of school without a parent's hand to hold—or maybe even worse.
Fez let his hand fall to his side, fingers brushing against the ticket in his pocket—and straightened his shoulders.
No voice. No secret power whispering in his ear.
Just him… and the Gladiator… and the choice of how this fight would begin.
The commentator's voice boomed over the loudspeakers
"And now—the second match…STARTTTTT!!!"
In that instant, the arena burst back to life.