The Eight Who Remain

Kazuo stayed still for a moment longer, letting the noise pass through him.

I did it...

Each breath dragged through his chest, sharp and uneven. Pain lingered, but something heavier rooted itself beneath it — the simple fact that he hadn't fallen.

He shifted his gaze to the side.

He turned his head.

Tetsu stood at the squad stand, adjusting his glasses with a shaky hand, a rare grin pulling at his lips. His eyes gleamed behind the lenses.

Beside him, Sora was losing it.

Hands gripping the railing, ears perked high, tail lashing with excitement.

"He actually did it—he threw her!"

She spun in a half-circle, clutching her head like she couldn't believe it, then leaned back over the railing, practically vibrating.

Kazuo gave them both a faint nod.

Then looked higher.

Across the arena at the Captains Gallery, through the golden shimmer of the flags and the hush that followed the chaos, Setsuna stood with arms loose and that maddening grin of his.

Their eyes met — and both men nodded at once.

No words.

Just the pulse of silent understanding: You did it.

Kazuo turned to the highest tier.

The royal balcony loomed above the arena, sunlight catching on its polished stone like the edge of a drawn blade.

King Cedric looked directly at him.

His eyes were pale and cold — the kind that didn't chase or pierce, but weighed. Like winter settling over stone, slow and final.

To his left, Elyria stood in silence. But her eyes lingered on her father.

For a moment Kazuo held his stare.

The distance didn't matter. The tension between them carried more weight than any sword.

Kazuo shifted his eyes away.

Across the arena floor, the dust had begun to settle.

Kaien stepped out first, rubbing the side of his face where the last strike had landed. His pace was slow, deliberate.Sylvain walked behind him, brushing grit from his shoulders, chin lifted, eyes level. Yuki emerged next, scanning the ring with short, precise glances. Nothing about him wavered. Rhakka rolled his shoulders with a heavy breath, the wildness drained from his grin. He looked older now. Kaya moved behind them. Silent but her eyes still flickered with anger.

One by one they approached the center, forming a loose line across the ring.

Shiranami crossed her arms, eyes sharp with disdain. “Well, of course your student plays dirty.”

Setsuna didn't miss a beat. "Dirty?" he echoed, then let out a low chuckle. "I call it strategy."

Her scoff was sharp. “You always make excuses for your strays.” Her eyes cut toward him, cool as glass. “One day your playful tongue won’t save them… or you.”

She turned after that, hair flicking behind her like a whip.

Down below, at the arena’s edge, Lyria wiped the dust from her face, fingers dragging rough across her skin.

Her shoulders were tense, breath shallow, heart racing louder than the crowd.

She had held back for this. She had mapped the chaos, timed every move, waited while the others tore each other apart.

And still — she was the one lying in the dirt.

Her lips pulled tight. Her fists clenched at her sides.

“That ugly, oversized ogre,” she snapped, voice sharp with fury. “Baited me into the chaos like it was nothing.”

But even as she said it, heat flared under her skin. No… it wasn’t just him.

Her mind snapped to Kazuo. It was him. That face — calm, unbothered, almost too damn sincere. Acting so trusting. Looking so innocent…

Her throat tightened. She exhaled hard through her nose, biting back the heat. Her fists clenched once more. Damn them both…

The thought hung there, raw and bitter. And then — softer, cutting deeper — the truth broke through. No. It wasn’t them. It was me. My head always runs hot… and I walked right into it.

She yanked her collar straight with one sharp tug, then rose to her feet. Spine straight, gaze forward.

The noise erupted all over again. The crowd was roaring.

"He's still standing?! The black-eyed one?!"

"They let him win. Has to be rigged."

"Rigged? Did you even watch that fight? He outplayed her!"

"Don't be stupid. It's the green eye. This is why he stood a chance. He is obviously noble"

"He's not supposed to be here! That eye means chains!"

"Do you question the King's decision?"

The arguments spilled across the stands — loud, bitter, divided. Some shouting his name. Others spitting it.

The arena hadn't decided what to make of him.

The announcer stepped forward, voice amplified through the marble arena with a practiced boom.

"To all who watched… congratulations. And to all who fought — our thanks."

The crowd quieted.

"With that, the preliminary round comes to an end."

He turned slightly, gesturing to the projection stone behind him. Light flared. Names and faces appeared one by one — eight portraits across the screen.

Kazuo. Rulthan. Kaien. Kaya. Rhakka. Sylvain. Yuki. Aoi.

"Out of nine combatants, these eight now advance to the main bracket."

A pause followed. The screen pulsed.

"From this moment forward… the Tournament of Nobles begins."

He stepped to the edge of the platform, voice deepening.

"Each round is a one-on-one duel. Fighters may use magic, physical combat, weapons, or any skill they possess. There are no style restrictions, no time limits."

"The match ends only when one fighter is defeated. There are no Ring-outs and you may not forfeit or withdraw. Failing to appear will be considered an act of defiance — and will be punished accordingly."

He raised one hand high, voice rising with him.

"But then again—"

He turned to the crowd, a smile beneath the weight of his words.

"Why would anyone walk away…"

"…when the victor shall be granted a single wish — fulfilled by King Cedric himself."

The crowd burst into thunder.

Voices clashed, names were shouted, fists thrown into the air.

And through it all, Kazuo stood at the center of it — exhausted, breath unsteady, mind turning.

A wish. Sora mentioned it before.

The others had come here with purpose, with names and faces behind every blow they threw. Kazuo had only come to survive.

And now, as the noise rose around him like fire, one question stayed lodged in his chest:

What would I even wish for?

He glanced sideways — just once — and saw Aoi standing at the edge of the line, calm as ever, scarf trailing in the wind.