Fought the Good Fight

The system’s declaration echoed across the crystalline arena:

“Victory : Arsenyx.”

The words hung in the air like a verdict.

Tanuki’s avatar collapsed to one knee, his daggers flickering weakly before dissolving into their base glow. His HP bar was gone, his mana drained, his body trembling from the phantom ache of the blows. Even though it was just a game, the impact felt real, the weight of the glaive slamming into his chest, the sting of the slash across his back. His breath came ragged, his vision blurred.

The crowd in the Citadel Theatre erupted. Cheers, jeers, laughter, disbelief, a storm of voices that rattled the walls of the amphitheater.

“Called it! He never stood a chance!”
“Did you see that combo? Arsenyx is a monster.”
“Still… Tanuki lasted longer than I thought.”
“He actually pushed him back for a moment. That was insane.”

The betting boards updated instantly. Odds shifted, payouts calculated, coins exchanged. For some, Tanuki’s loss was profit. For others, it was disappointment. But for everyone, it was entertainment.

Atlas slammed his fist against the railing, his voice carrying even through the phantom chorus. “Damn it! He had him! He had him!” His avatar’s face twisted with frustration, his usual grin gone.

NV, by contrast, was composed. Her claws clicked in and out, her eyes sharp. “No. He showed his hand too early. Arsenyx read him. He’ll have to adapt if he wants to win the next one.”

Atlas turned on her. “You’re just gonna sit there and analyze? He’s getting crushed out there!”

NV didn’t flinch. “And screaming won’t change that. He needs clarity, not noise.”

Atlas growled, but said nothing more.

Arsenyx stood tall, his glaive resting lightly on his shoulder. His armor bore shallow cuts, faint scorch marks from Tanuki’s aurora‑lit daggers, but his posture was unshaken. He looked down at Tanuki with calm detachment, his voice carrying across the arena.

“You’ve improved,” he said. “But improvement isn’t victory. Remember that.”

There was no malice in his tone. No gloating. Just certainty. To him, this wasn’t a rivalry. It was inevitability.

Tanuki forced himself to his feet as the system reset him for the next round. His HP bar refilled, his mana restored, his body healed. But the sting of defeat lingered. The system could reset his stats, but not his pride.

I had him. For a moment, I had him.

The thought gnawed at him. He replayed the clash in his mind, the flurry of strikes, the shallow cuts across Arsenyx’s armor, the crowd’s gasp when the glaive faltered. He had been close. Closer than anyone expected.

And yet, it hadn’t mattered. Arsenyx had adapted, read his patterns, and crushed him with surgical precision.

Was I reckless? Did I burn too much mana too fast? Or was it hopeless from the start?

Celeste’s words echoed in his mind. “Yes, but please let me explain… I care about you very deeply.”

He clenched his fists. If you cared, why are you standing behind him? Why are you watching me fall?

The crowd’s perception shifted in subtle ways.

Some still mocked him, laughing at his defeat. But others whispered differently now.

“He actually landed hits on Arsenyx.”
“No one else has pushed him like that in ages.”

The underdog narrative was taking root. Tanuki had lost, but he had shown enough to make people believe he could win.

The system granted a brief interlude before the next match. Tanuki stood in his corner of the arena, daggers at his side, chest heaving. Atlas and NV’s voices reached him through the party channel.

Atlas: “You were amazing out there! You had him on the ropes! You just need to finish it next time!”

NV: “No. You need to change your approach. You burned too much mana too quickly. He baited you into overextending. If you keep fighting like that, you’ll lose again.”

Tanuki: “So what do I do?”

NV: “Patience. Force him to commit. Make him fight on your terms.”

Atlas: “And hit him harder than you’ve ever hit anything!”

Tanuki almost smiled. Their voices, so different, grounded him. He wasn’t alone.

Across the arena, Arsenyx stood in silence. Celeste approached him, her expression conflicted.

“You didn’t have to humiliate him,” she said softly.

Arsenyx glanced at her. “That wasn’t humiliation. That was restraint.”

Celeste’s hands clenched at her sides. She said nothing more.

The system’s countdown began again, signaling the start of Round Two.

Tanuki rolled his shoulders, daggers pulsing faintly with dawnlight and shadow. His Tarot deck flickered at his side, restless, alive. He took a deep breath, centering himself.

I lost the first round. But I’m still here. I’m not done.

Across from him, Arsenyx raised his glaive, calm as ever. The aurora above shimmered, casting the arena in shifting hues of green and violet.

The crowd hushed, anticipation thickening the air.

3… 2… 1…

Round Two was about to begin.