Special Tournament 13

Chapter 25

Special Tournament 13

AHHHH!

Shiro shot upright in his bed, his chest heaving, sweat soaking through his shirt. His vision blurred, spinning as if the room itself were moving. He grabbed the edge of the bed to steady himself. The faint gray light from the window barely illuminated the broken mattress beneath him, and his mind struggled to process the pain, or the lack of it.

Instinctively, he touched his shoulder, expecting a gash or bruise, but there was nothing, only a deep scar stretching from the collarbone to the base of his neck. The flesh looked unnaturally smooth, as if time had smoothed the wound itself. A twinge of unease crawled up his spine.

Who put me in bed?

Before he could fully process his surroundings, a voice spoke, familiar, too familiar.

Shiro turned sharply and froze. Sitting in a chair across the room was Myrrh, looking impossibly composed despite the chaos that must have happened here. His raven hair, stiff as if carved from logs, and deep black eyes, endless and unreadable, fixed on Shiro. His top hat, riddled with what looked like bullet holes, rested slightly crooked atop his head. A black tuxedo of near-impossible quality covered his tall frame, layered over a robe-like garment beneath, with tailored pants and shoes that gleamed unnaturally in the dim light.

Shiro jumped to his feet, pointing at Myrrh, voice cracking with disbelief. “What the hell happened? And why are you here?!”

Myrrh rose slowly, a smug grin forming as he straightened. “I came to check on you. Today was a big day, when i entered the room a critter was feeding on you so. I had to step in.”

Shiro’s stomach twisted. “Feed… off my blood? Are you serious?”

“Absolutely,” Myrrh said, folding his arms. “But don’t worry. I took care of it, and you’re safe. Your injuries were real, yes, but they’ve all been healed. Thanks to me.”

Shiro’s jaw dropped. His hands trembled as he reached toward Myrrh. “Wait, are you telling me you can heal people?”

Myrrh’s grin faltered slightly, a flash of sweat glinting along his pale cheek. “I gained healing powers three years ago. It’s rare… very rare.” He forced a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You should focus on today. The seventh group eighth battle is starting soon. Make sure to bring your sphere.”

And just like that, he left, footsteps fading, leaving Shiro staring after him, frozen, mouth slightly open. Slowly, he turned and went to the bathroom.

The mirror reflected a man he barely recognized. Pale, tired, disheveled, hair curling in messy spirals around his face. His eyes were dead, sunken, rimmed with the dark shadows of exhaustion. “I look like hell,” he muttered.

Showering, he let the water beat against him, trying to wash away more than dirt. When he stepped out, he examined the scar again. It was clean, perfect almost, but a reminder that someone, or something, had decided he wasn’t allowed to remain broken.

Summoning the white room, he pulled a fresh set of academy clothes from the shelf, changed quickly, and grabbed his sphere from the desk. Walking down the empty hallway, he murmured to himself, “Do you know what happened to me?” The sphere didn’t respond, nor did the voice in his head.

Arriving at the elevator, a sudden buzz in his pocket startled him. The sphere leapt into the air, glowing faintly, and the floor beneath him disappeared. The elevator vanished, replaced by an endless void. Shiro’s stomach lurched.

“Are you ready?” the sphere’s voice text on the screen jumped.

Shiro opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Then the sphere’s screen flickered.

“Before we start, since you didn’t take a picture, we’ll take one now!”

Shiro’s heart sank.

“Wait, wha—”

A sudden flash of light erupted from the darkness, blinding him. His eyes stung as his vision swam with color and noise. “Since when did I have to get a photo taken?!” he yelled, shielding his face.

The screen displayed text that moved in a strange, almost playful way:

“Wonderful!”

And then a photo appeared.

In it, Shiro looked pale, frightened, his eyes wide and bagged from exhaustion. The expression on his face screamed panic and unreadiness. He grimaced, covering his face with a shaking hand.

“Why couldn’t you tell me sooner!” he shouted at the hovering sphere, punching at it, only for it to dodge effortlessly.

Tsk!

More text appeared.

“Your fight is starting soon!”

The sphere blinked out of existence, dropping silently into the void. Shiro rubbed his temples, closing his eyes to steady his racing mind. When he opened them again, the sound of cheers surrounded him. The ground, gray and unremarkable, stretched to the sides. Thousands of spectators filled the space around him, their voices blending into a roaring wave.

His heart thumped uncontrollably, adrenaline spiking. He rose slowly, trying to ground himself. He scanned the crowd, then caught sight of Aurelia, Aeris, and Kaela sitting together in the front row.

So this is how close I’m supposed to be…

Annoyance flickered across him. Slightly, he waved at the three. Aurelia waved back enthusiastically, Aeris gave a small, hesitant wave, and Kaela’s calm smile was steady, almost unnerving. To the left, Luis waved at him from across a group of people.

A screen flickered into view above him. It displayed a photo of two men. The first appeared poised and mature, hair light brown, face healthy, hazel eyes steady, wearing the academy uniform perfectly. The second, however, was a mess. The photo was blurry, low-quality, like a flip phone capture. His hair was tangled, his face smudged with dirt and exhaustion, and his expression, caught mid-frown, looked absurdly vulnerable.

Shiro’s jaw dropped. Laughter erupted around the area, echoing from every corner. Mortified, he covered his face, cheeks burning hot.

The weight of it sank into him. The crowd’s cheering blurred into a wave of pressure, a challenge he couldn’t ignore. His hands tightened into fists.

He forced himself to take a deep breath. This was it. His fight was about to begin. And somehow, in this void of flashing lights, mocking photos, and thousands of eyes, he had to remember who he was and that his scar didn't matter Shiros main goal.

Beneath the photo, text glowed ominously:

“Shiro Verse Kure Yohachi.”