The day after the semifinals was unnervingly quiet.

The Grand Colosseum, yesterday a roaring beast of sound and fury, stood silent under the overcast sky, its massive gates sealed until the final match tomorrow.

The fever pitch of the tournament hadn't broken, but it had shifted, settling into a low, simmering tension that permeated the entire Academy. Classes were technically suspended, allowing the finalists and indeed, the entire student body – a day to process, recover, and prepare for the concluding spectacle.

For me, the silence was both a blessing and a curse.

My body, pushed to its absolute limit during the clash with Leon, craved rest.

The mental exhaustion from wielding Space affinity, even for that brief, decisive phase-step, lingered like a deep bruise behind my eyes.

The infirmary healers had run another diagnostic, tutting over the persistent "psychic core strain," and ordered another 24 hours of "minimal mana expenditure." Translation: no intense training.

____________

So, I found myself confined primarily to my suite in the Supreme Hall.

The luxurious room, usually a symbol of my unexpected rise, felt more like a gilded cage.

I spent the morning meditating, focusing not on power, but on control – smoothing the frayed edges of my mana circuits, reinforcing the mental walls shaken by the Labyrinth's psychic assault, and trying to better understand the volatile nature of the Space affinity humming within me.

It was a power that offered unparalleled advantages, but the backlash, the sheer instability of bending reality, was a constant threat and using it had saved me against Leon, but relying on it felt like juggling knives made of unstable energy.

My thoughts inevitably turned to the final match. Eric William. His victory over Maria had been brutal, efficient, and deeply unsettling.

That final technique, Stellar Parallax, was something beyond the scope of first-year capabilities, a glimpse into the restricted, high-level arts of the Empire's most powerful family.

He wasn't just the arrogant noble heir anymore; he was a focused, ruthless opponent wielding power that could potentially bypass even my defenses.

My Quantum Analysis Mind replayed his match against Maria endlessly, dissecting the timing, the mana signature, the spatial distortion of that second, delayed strike.

It's not just speed or power… it's manipulating perception, attacking from where the opponent isn't looking. Countering it would require more than just reaction speed; it would require prediction, perhaps even misdirection on a level I hadn't yet attempted.

The weight of the final pressed down on me. It wasn't just about winning an Epic weapon or securing the 'First Year Monarch' title anymore. It was about survival.

Eric, fueled by his family's pressure and his own burning need to reclaim dominance after ranking third, would come at me with everything.

'Losing wasn't an option, not just for my rank, but for my safety. Showing weakness now, after provoking so many, would be painting a target on my back for every resentful noble and ambitious rival.'

Bzzt—Bzzt.

The familiar vibration of my old, non-Academy smartphone pulled me from my thoughts. I frowned, picking it up from the desk.

An unregistered number from outside Arcadia City. My pulse quickened slightly. Only a few people had this number.

I answered, keeping my voice neutral. "Hello?"

A crackle of static, then a voice, warm and familiar, yet strained with worry, filled the line.

"Michael? Is that you, son?"

My breath caught. "…Mom?"

"Oh, thank the spirits!" Lilly Willson's voice broke slightly, thick with emotion.

"We saw the broadcasts! The tournament… Michael, are you alright? We saw you fight that Lionheart boy… it looked so dangerous!"

Behind her, I heard my father's gruff voice. "Lilly, let the boy speak.

Michael, report. Injuries?" Darius Willson's tone was military-sharp, but the underlying concern was unmistakable.

I leaned back against the headrest of my chair, a small, tired smile touching my lips.

Hearing their voices, so grounded, so real, after the high-stakes drama of the Academy felt like an anchor in a storm.

"I'm fine, Mom, Dad," I reassured them, deliberately keeping my tone light. "Just a few scratches.

The virtual system prevents serious harm, remember?" (A half-lie, considering the mental strain, but necessary.) "I won the match."

A beat of stunned silence, then my father's booming laugh erupted through the speaker, laced with fierce pride.

"Hah! Knew it! My boy, taking down a Lionheart! Did you see that final move, Lilly? Like lightning!"

"I saw him almost get burned alive!" my mother retorted, though her voice held relief now.

"Michael, promise me you're being careful. That William boy you face tomorrow… his family is…"

She hesitated, lowering her voice.

"They're powerful, Michael. Dangerous. Don't push yourself too hard just for a rank."

Her worry was a tangible thing, reaching across the distance.

They saw the tournament as a school event, a test of skill. They couldn't comprehend the political undertones, the generational rivalries, the potentially lethal consequences tied to names like William and Lionheart.

They didn't know about Draken, or Aura Dominion, or the billions of Ren flowing through shell companies under my control. To them, I was still just Michael, their youngest son, stepping onto a stage far too large.

"I'll be careful, Mom," I said softly. "Eric is strong, but I have my own strengths. I won't be reckless."

"See?" Darius interjected

"The boy knows what he's doing. He didn't get to Rank 1 by being stupid ...so just focus on your match, son and Fight smart....also remember your training."

His voice held absolute, unwavering faith.

"Yes, Dad."

We talked for a few more minutes – mundane things.

News from their small guild (a successful C-rank dungeon clear), gossip about my older brothers (still complaining about training), reassurances that I was eating properly (another half-lie).

Each word felt precious, a tether to a simpler life I had left behind.

"We'll be watching tomorrow, Michael," Lilly said finally, her voice soft again. "Just… come back safe."

"I will," I promised. "Love you both."

"Love you too, son."

The call ended, leaving the room quiet once more. I set the phone down, the warmth of their voices lingering.

It was a stark reminder of what I was fighting for – not just my own survival or ambition, but the future of the small, struggling family that believed in me, unaware of the monstrous shadows I was truly facing.

Protecting them means getting stronger, I reaffirmed silently. No matter the cost.

===================

[William Estate – Denish William's Private Study]

Eric William stood rigidly before the massive oak desk, the holographic projection of his father looming over him like a judge.

The study was dark, curtains drawn, the only light emanating from the glowing image and the fireplace crackling softly in the corner.

Gideon stood silently by the door, a phantom presence.

Denish William's face was unreadable, his golden eyes cold and analytical as he replayed the final moments of Eric's match against Maria. The Purging Sun, the swift, brutal elimination.

"Stellar Parallax," Denish stated, his voice flat.

"Form Two of the Light Arts.

A technique requiring D-rank mana control and spatial perception."

He paused, his gaze pinning Eric. "You executed it flawlessly....try to explain."

Eric met his father's stare, lifting his chin, a flicker of pride finally breaking through his icy composure.

"I have been training, Father. In secret. Adapting the forms."

"Adapting?" Denish's voice sharpened.

"Or recklessly pushing your limits? That technique carries significant backlash if control wavers. You risked crippling your mana core for a flashy victory."

"It wasn't flashy," Eric countered, his voice tight.

"It was necessary. Frostheart's domain is absolute. A prolonged battle favored her. I required a decisive strike that bypassed her conventional defenses."

He didn't mention the humiliation of the Labyrinth, the burning need to prove his superiority after ranking third.

He framed it purely in tactical terms.

Denish regarded him in silence for a long moment.

Then, almost imperceptibly, the corner of his lip twitched. It wasn't a smile, but it was acknowledgment.

"Your assessment is… sound. And your execution was precise. You have surpassed my expectations in adapting the Art."

Eric felt a surge of triumph, a warmth spreading through his chest that had nothing to do with mana. He approves.

But Denish wasn't finished.

"However, do not mistake this for unconditional praise. Your victory was expected. Your opponent tomorrow… Michael Wilson… is an unknown variable. He defeated Lionheart not through predictable power, but through unconventional means."

Replays of my phase-step through Leon's Solar Flare Cleave flickered briefly on the screen.

"That spatial manipulation… it is unrefined, dangerous, but effective."

Denish leaned forward, his holographic image seeming to press down on Eric.

"Do not underestimate him. Do not rely solely on Stellar Parallax. Your Light Arts are versatile. Use your speed. Control the engagement. Do not allow him the space to utilize his tricks as for crushing him swiftly, decisively as the William name demands nothing less than absolute victory in the final."

The pressure returned, heavier than before. Victory wasn't enough. It had to be dominant victory.

"Yes, Father," Eric replied, his voice a low, steady affirmation. "I understand. Wilson will fall."

"See that he does." The projection flickered and died, plunging the study back into near darkness, lit only by the crackling fire.

Eric stood unmoving for a long while, the echoes of his father's command settling into his bones. He had the power. He had the technique.

He had the approval, however conditional. Tomorrow, he would stand at the peak.

Gideon stepped forward silently, offering a warm cup of tea on a silver tray. Eric took it, his fingers slightly trembling.

"The Young Master fought exceptionally," Gideon said softly, his ancient eyes holding a hint of warmth.

Eric didn't reply immediately, staring into the swirling tea leaves.

Then, quietly, almost hesitantly, he asked,

"Grandpa Gideon… did you see it? Wilson's final move against Leon?"

Gideon nodded slowly. "I did."

"What… what was it?"

The old butler paused, choosing his words carefully.

"It resembled the 'Void Step' technique whispered about in ancient texts… but cruder. More volatile.

Less a technique, and more… a desperate tear in reality."

His gaze sharpened slightly. "Dangerous. Both to his opponent, and to himself."

Eric fell silent, processing the information. A desperate tear in reality.

It sounded less like a skill and more like a potential self-destruction. So, he's gambling with forces he doesn't understand, Eric thought, a cold smirk touching his lips. Reckless. Unstable. I will break him.

He set the teacup down, his resolve hardening into icy certainty. Tomorrow, he wouldn't just win. He would expose the commoner's fragile power and shatter it before the world.

___________

[Academy Courtyard – Evening]

As dusk settled, casting long shadows across the Academy grounds, I found myself walking the familiar paths, needing to clear my head before the final confrontation.

The weight of my family's hopes, the pressure from the Academy, the dangerous knowledge I carried, and the looming threat of Eric's perfected Light Arts—it all swirled within me.

I passed the training grounds.

Even now, lights blazed, and the sound of sparring echoed.

Leon was there, sword a blur of golden fire, pushing himself relentlessly against training dummies, clearly working through the frustration of his defeat.

Aiden and Lyra were locked in another explosive, yet strangely collaborative, duel, sparks flying. Even Alex was present, practicing shield techniques with dogged determination.

They were all preparing. All striving.

I found a quiet bench near the gardens, overlooking the shimmering city lights beyond the Academy walls.

The air was cool, carrying the scent of night-blooming jasmine.

I needed a clear head for tomorrow. Eric wasn't just strong; he was intelligent, focused, and now, armed with a technique that defied conventional defense.

My usual tactics—Ice Domain for control, Lightning/Frost fusion for offense, Shadow Swap for evasion—might not be enough against Stellar Parallax.

That delayed, secondary strike was the key. My Quantum Analysis Mind needed to predict not just his initial move, but the echo that followed.

And then there was Aura Dominion.

My trump card!....Activating it would boost my stats, suppress his will, and potentially give me the edge needed to counter his speed and power but its mana drain was significant, and revealing its full capabilities on a broadcasted stage carried its own risks.

I closed my eyes, letting the sounds of the Academy fade. The final match wasn't just about winning. It was about choosing how to win. Do I rely on overwhelming power like Eric? Strategic control like Maria? Unpredictable disruption like I did against Leon?

Or something else entirely?

The answer, I realized, lay not in mimicking others, but in embracing my own unique nature. The fusion of affinities.

The tactical mind. The unpredictable edge. The will forged in two lifetimes.

Tomorrow, I wouldn't just fight Eric William. I would show the world what it truly meant to be Michael Wilson.

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