Opening Ceremony, Part V: The Ninth Banner

His gaze sharpened.

That banner… it didn't belong to any of the eight.

Setsuna squinted at the banner, forcing himself to recall. Eight captains stood here already. Which left only two.

Captain Asahi… and—

The thought struck like ice cracking underfoot.

Idris.

His breath caught.

But that's impossible. Idris's squad never enters the tournament. His Squad is a Special Unit.

His head turned slowly, almost involuntarily — toward the royal balcony. Looking at King Cedric.

If Idris is in…

The thought didn't finish.

The sky cracked with sound as the announcer's voice boomed across the coliseum, slicing clean through the tension like thunder through glass:

"And now… a surprise twist in this year's Tournament of Nobles!"

The crowd murmured, voices rising like sparks before a fire.

"Entering under royal decree — a division not seen in the tournament for over a decade…"

Setsuna's posture straightened.

"The Crown's Severed Fang…"

Kazuo leaned closer to Setsuna. "Who the hell is that?"

But Setsuna didn't answer.

He already knew.

"The one-armed warhound himself — Captain Idris!"

The coliseum rumbled with cheers, shouts, and whistles. Above the violet sparks, his presence alone seemed to draw the noise tighter, heavier.

"And at his side — his chosen champion, Aoi Seiryū… the Lightning tamer"

A ripple went through the audience — a strange mixture of confusion, awe, and unsettled silence.

From the far gate, two figures emerged.

Above them, the emblem flared to life — a silver fang gleaming against violet light — before scattering into sparks.

Heavy steps carried him forward. A long black coat trailed behind, faded with time and ash. His right sleeve hung empty, the stump ending just above the elbow. His ash-blond hair was slicked back in sharp, elegant waves, strands sculpted like blades — reminiscent of an old duelist's pride. A cigarette glowed at the edge of his lip, smoke curling like lazy venom.

He didn't move like a noble. He moved like a weapon dragged out of storage.

Setsuna's hand landed firmly on Kazuo's shoulder, steadying him as his gaze stayed locked on the figure. "He belongs to the special unit."

"You know him?"

"We trained together."

Kazuo blinked. "Was he… your rival?"

"Yes."

A pause.

That answer didn't comfort Kazuo.

Especially when Idris raised his head — and locked eyes with Setsuna from across the arena.

A quiet nod.

Old paths crossing again.

Then came the Aoi behind him.

Slender. Taller than expected.

Wrapped in the polished white-and-blue of Idris's division, the young man moved with the ease of someone unshaken by crowds or pressure. His hair was a deep, oceanic blue — neat, unbothered. A single scarf, pristine white, draped around his neck, fluttering softly with every step.

Kazuo's brow twitched. "That's… their fighter?"

Setsuna exhaled. "This is why I'm worried."

"Why?"

Setsuna didn't answer.

They met halfway, where the squads stood for formal introductions before returning to the stands.

Setsuna and Idris stood face to face. For a moment, neither said a word.

Then Idris reached out — his left hand.

Setsuna took it.

A firm shake.

Rough skin met colder fingers.

"You look older," Idris muttered, a smirk forming behind the cigarette.

"You look like hell," Setsuna replied.

"Still the same."

"You, too."

Their hands dropped.

Setsuna's voice dipped. "Why are you here, Idris?"

"Didn't volunteer." He glanced up at the royal balcony. "King's orders."

Setsuna clicked his tongue. "Of course it was."

"Don't worry." Idris exhaled smoke from the corner of his mouth. "I am just following orders."

"And that's the problem" Setsuna muttered.

That got a low chuckle from Idris. "You're still a pain in the ass."

Meanwhile—

Kazuo stood in front of Aoi, who offered a small, polite nod.

"You must be Kazuo. I've heard the talk," Aoi said evenly. His tone carried no edge, only calm restraint — like someone who weighed words before speaking them.

Kazuo just stared.

Blue hair. Blue eyes. White scarf. Calm aura. Hands in Pocket.

"…I hate you," Kazuo said.

Aoi blinked. "Sorry?"

Setsuna turned his head. "Huuuh?"

Kazuo pointed. "Look at him! He's not even trying! He walks in, does nothing, says two words, and girls on the sidelines are going nuts!"

From the stands, a chorus of squeals erupted — "Aoi-sama!"

Aoi tilted his head slightly, confused. "I didn't do anything."

"Exactly!" Kazuo barked. "You don't have to! You just exist and women fall over. And I have to work for it and still get rejected!"

Even Idris let out a laugh — dry, sharp, the cigarette bouncing at his lip. "I I like him. he reminds me of you."

Setsuna twitched his right eye in disbelief.

Kazuo folded his arms and stepped back with a huff.

Aoi's expression didn't change. "Understood."

Setsuna pinched the bridge of his nose, then smacked Kazuo lightly on the back of the head. "Don't take it personal, Aoi. It's just his habit — the moment he sees competition, especially if it involves a woman, he turns into this."

Kazuo flinched. "Ouch that hurt!"

He looked at Setsuna.

But Setsuna wasn't laughing.

His face was still.

Aoi gave a small nod and turned, following Idris off the field with silent grace, scarf trailing like a ripple in the wind.

They waited until Idris and Aoi fully took their places.

Only then did Setsuna finally move — exhaling slowly, like he'd been holding his breath the whole time.

Kazuo tilted his head. Awaiting Setsunas explaination.

"You don't understand, Kazuo," Setsuna said, still staring straight ahead. "That wasn't just some random new fighter."

Kazuo turned his head.

"Listen. That's Aoi." His voice carried an edge he rarely let slip. "A prodigy. He awakened his Esoteric Art before he was even grown. He's never failed — not once."

Kazuo squinted slightly. "Okay… and?"

Setsuna's eyes didn't move. "He uses Lightning Magic."

Kazuo squinted slightly. "Okay… and?"

Setsuna's eyes didn't move. "He uses Lightning Magic."

Setsuna finally turned to him, slowly. "You're Water."

Kazuo paused.

"…I still don't understand."

Setsuna's voice lowered, each word precise. "Every magic type has strengths and weaknesses. Natural balances. Water extinguishes Fire. Fire melts Ice. Wind can erode Earth. But Water—"

He glanced back at where Aoi had walked.

"—Water conducts electricity."

Kazuo followed his gaze. His eyes landed back on Aoi.

"Wait…"

Setsuna nodded. "He's your perfect counter."

Kazuo felt it now. A subtle pressure in the center of his chest.

Was it fear?

"This wasn't random," Setsuna added. "This was King Cedric's doing."

He hesitated.

Kazuo turned to him. "You mean… he handpicked Aoi just to counter me specifically? But why? I promised I wouldn't play any games."

Setsuna gave him a sidelong look. "Do you really believe a king would take risks? Especially with someone like you?"

Kazuo's chest tightened as the truth sank in. He understood. If he wanted to keep breathing — and if he ever hoped to see gramps again — he would have to win. And survive. On Cedric's terms.

The air around them felt heavier. The crowd still roared above, oblivious.

Setsuna tilted his head slightly down. "But the part I don't get...If this was about setting you up to fail...why not just replace one of the existing units? Why are we still nine?"

A long pause.

Setsuna looked up at the flags above.

He glanced around the arena.

A long pause. Setsuna's fingers drummed once against his arm, restless. He glanced around the arena. "We're still uneven," he said quietly. "I don't know what Cedric is planning… so keep your guard up."

Kazuo turned his head towards Aoi.

The boy hadn't moved much — just standing beside Idris, hands relaxed at his sides, face unreadable.

And as if drawn by instinct—

Aoi turned too.

Their eyes met across the arena floor.

Two fighters — locked in stillness.

Lightning and Water.

Reflection and tension.

And in that one glance, Kazuo felt it:

That Death never felt so close