The man with the pipe rose from his seat before anyone else had even moved.
The audience was still frozen in the moment—no one daring to speak or breathe.
He exhaled, smoke drifting past his lined face, and his voice came out low, weary.
"…It's over, Dave."
He tapped the ash from the pipe, eyes fixed on the arena below.
"Let's get out of here."
"CANCELLED!?"
Fez's voice cracked out across the settling hush, confusion and disbelief twisting his expression.
He looked up at Wayne, still trying to make sense of the words the league leader had just spoken.
"Ehm… Yes. As you heard, ladies and gentlemen…"
Wayne's voice carried across the silent stands, tired and flat, like all the weight of the night had finally settled on his shoulders.
"…Regarding the loss of Elliot," Wayne continued, his gaze sweeping the hushed arena, "we cannot, in good conscience, continue this contest."
His hand tightened around the microphone.
"It would be an insult to his family—and to the spirit of these matches...to pretend nothing happened."
As the man with the pipe made his way toward the exit, his steps slow and deliberate, his eyes drifted across the arena floor.
He paused when they landed on Fez, standing motionless amid the settling haze.
"…Hmmm."
The sound was little more than a thoughtful rumble, but it carried an unsettling weight suspect
Fez and the remaining contestants stood in a straight line across the arena floor, the air around them dense with unease.
None of them spoke. They only watched as Wayne descended the steps, a folded paper in one hand and the microphone gripped tight in the other.
His footsteps echoed across the hushed space.
When he reached them, he stopped, lifted the paper, and unfolded it with a measured slowness—like he was giving everyone time to brace themselves.
"Ladies and gentlemen…"
Wayne's voice carried through the silent arena, firm despite the exhaustion lining his face.
"…Given that our worst nightmare—the Ultimate Villain, ZEF—was defeated, and peace has finally returned… considering the low number of remaining contestants, and the urgent search for our foundation stone in the Super Heroes World… Zack the Destroyer…"
He paused, letting the words sink in.
"…I must finally say this: we will cancel this contest, effective immediately. A new tournament will be scheduled…one year from today."
A ripple of shock tore through the stands, growing louder with each heartbeat.
"What—what?!" someone shouted, voice cracking.
"What's going on?!"
"The next year?!"
A rising wave of frustration surged over the arena, voices overlapping in a chaotic chorus:
"WHAT'S HAPPENING?!"
"WE WAITED MONTHS FOR THIS!"
"THIS CAN'T BE IT!"
"I AM ASKING FOR A REFUND"
Banners shook in angry hands. Some spectators were already on their feet, yelling down at the arena in disbelief.
Wayne lifted a hand, palm out, and the uproar subsided just enough for his voice to carry.
"…One last thing."
He drew in a slow breath, as if steadying himself against the waves of shouting.
"Until the new tournament begins…I will assume leadership temporarily."
His gaze swept the stands—stern, tired, unflinching.
"In case a major villain approaches…in case the Super Elite are needed sooner than any of us expect…I will be here."