While Veritas celebrates, something larger is brewing…

  A private box perched above Omega Zone, wide enough for both a circular table and rows of seats overlooking the arena. Monitors lined the back wall, each glowing with feeds from different zones.

  Director Xun Ren stood at the railing, calm hands resting on the steel edge, his gaze steady on the cadets below.

  For the cadets, today was a competition.

  For the people in this room, it was the front line of something that could end the world.

  Director Selan Myros broke the silence first. His long, spider-like fingers tapped a steady rhythm on the table, pale-green eyes glinting beneath slicked black hair. A faint smirk curved his gaunt face, the silver spider brooch on his lapel catching the dim light.

  “Another assassination. The French president this time. And wouldn’t you know it? The evidence just so happens to point toward Russia and China.”

  Uneasy murmurs rippled through the directors.

  Director Astrid Rothgard adjusted her lapel, icy-blue eyes cold as her voice.

  “They won’t stop until this world burns.”

  Director Marrek Solvine leaned forward, hands clasped tight, his voice even but weighted.

  “Let’s not leap to conclusions. Accusations without proof could start the very conflict we claim to prevent.”

  Selan’s smirk twitched wider. His pale-green eyes darted toward Marrek before flicking back. The fingers of one hand curled, tugging lightly at his cuff as though tightening a web only he could see. His words came quick, dismissive, almost too smooth.

  “Not everything bad in this world is Potestas. We can’t blame them for everything.”

  Director Xun turned from the railing, his steps quiet but deliberate as he approached the table. His voice was calm, but his words cut deep.

  “This is the same route Potestas took in World War I. The murder of Archduke Franz Ferdinand set off a chain reaction that dragged the world into chaos. Now… they could be playing the same game.”

  The balcony stilled. For a moment, even the hum of the arena below seemed to fade.

  Selan leaned back, smirk lingering faintly, but said nothing more. Astrid’s expression remained unreadable. Marrek only shook his head faintly, unwilling to commit.

  Xun’s voice carried once more, low but firm.

  “If they’re walking that road again… would you truly be surprised?”

  The silence pressed down heavier than before.

  The rear doors opened.

  President Seraphina Kaelen entered with quiet authority, an emerald-lined coat trailing behind her as she crossed into the light. Her jade-green eyes swept the table; her presence alone shifted the atmosphere.

  “It wouldn’t surprise me in the least. But the worst mistake we can make is jumping to conclusions. Potestas thrives on panic. We will not hand them that.”

  Her words settled like stone. Some directors lowered their gazes. Others straightened. Selan only leaned back farther, one finger absently spinning the spider brooch at his lapel, a faint smile playing at his lips—content to let the unease linger.

  And though the balcony grew quiet, the tension did not fade.

  It clung like smoke—a reminder that history had burned once before, and Potestas was more than willing to strike the match again.

  ?

  Far below, the murmur of cadets swelled again, unaware of the conversation above. Screens flickered. Omega Zone’s floor began to shift.

  Cael wrinkled his nose.

  “I’m done talking about this.”

  The Jumbotron brightened, cutting across the room with mechanical clarity.

  [DEADZONE PROTOCOL MATCH FOUR – TEAM PULSE VS CAPTAIN SERAPH]

  The shipyard dissolved in steel and mist, folding into the depths below. Plates groaned as the arena reformed, gears churning beneath the dome.

  From the pit, a new zone began to rise.

  First came the shimmer of water—an artificial ocean spreading wide, waves licking at sculpted shorelines. Palm trees unfolded from hidden panels, fronds swaying under conjured wind. The air turned warm, salt-heavy, almost real.

  An island emerged at the arena’s heart.

  Team Pulse stepped from the tunnel, boots crunching against white sand.

  Speedy stretched, grinning.

  “Well, Perma, look at all this water and humidity. You’re about to be unstoppable.”

  Perma crossed her arms.

  “It’s not real water, genius.”

  “…So no swimming?”

  “No swimming.”

  Blueprint adjusted his gloves, voice calm and steady.

  “Focus. Deadzone Protocol’s not forgiving.”

  Overhead, the announcer’s voice rang sharp:

  “Next match — Team Pulse versus Captain Seraph!”

  A horn blared.

  BEGIN!

  ?

  A blinding flash of white.

  When the light cleared, the arena was still—steam drifting where frost had melted, sand scorched and uneven.

  Captain Seraph stood at the center of the field, untouched, silver-white hair flowing in the simulated breeze.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Around her, three cadets lay scattered across the sand.

  Speedy on his back, eyes replaced with hearts.

  “Man… I think I’m in love.”

  Blueprint exhaled, brushing sand from his sleeves.

  “There he goes again.”

  Perma’s knees gave out, her body folding to the sand. Her fist slammed down once—

  THMP!

  —then again, harder, knuckles splitting.

  “What is wrong with me?! I froze—I failed them! You idiot!”

  THMP!

  THMP!

  Blood smeared the sand beneath her trembling hand.

  The words echoed—and in that echo, light fractured.

  A brief flashback:

  Seraph’s pale-violet eyes locking on her mid-battle.

  Perma’s arm raised—perfect form, perfect opening—

  —and then nothing.

  Her hand trembled. The ice shattered around her wrist. She couldn’t move.

  The moment slipped away.

  The flash ended. The arena’s silence returned.

  She raised her fist again—

  —and a hand caught her wrist.

  Speedy crouched in front of her, his grin softer than usual, eyes steady for once.

  “Hey, Perma… why do you have so much pressure on yourself? Let us have some of that. Let us bear this together. That’s what teammates are for.”

  Her breath caught.

  The words dragged her back—

  —to Hiroshi’s voice after the Veil Drill, when Speedy’s mistake had cost them the match.

  “The one you overlook now—the one who laughs too loud, plays too much, and lives too free—will be the one you search for when the weight gets too heavy. When your fire burns too hot, you’ll need someone who brings rain without drowning you.”

  Her vision blurred, not from frost this time, but from tears.

  Blueprint stepped up beside them, brushing sand off his bruised arms. His voice was calm, matter-of-fact, but carried weight.

  “Perma, we all did a good job. We faced a captain head-on with a coordinated attack. No one expected perfection. Now we know what to fix—and we’ll keep growing together. As a team.”

  Seraph paused mid-step. Her head tilted slightly, silver hair shifting with the motion. A faint curve touched her lips—not approval, not mockery, just quiet acknowledgment of the bond between the cadets. Then she walked on, elegant and untouchable.

  Behind her, Hiroshi sat bound in the tent’s shadows. For once, the playful glimmer was gone. His grin softened into something quieter, wiser, his eyes resting on Perma.

  “…I think she finally understands now.”

  The jungle dissolved into steam, metal plates groaning as a vast warehouse climbed from the dome floor. The salty air vanished, replaced by the dry tang of dust and old oil, making the dome’s transformation feel startlingly real.

  Up in the stands, murmurs rippled—no cheers this time, just the restless shuffle of cadets watching another captain claim victory.

  Before the tension could settle, the next display lit the hall in crimson text:

  [DEADZONE PROTOCOL MATCH FIVE – TEAM NULL VS CAPTAIN SNAPBACK]

  ?

  Snapback stepped onto the concrete like he owned it, shoulders loose, grin wide. He rolled his neck—crk, crk—and fired a few ghost jabs into the air before entering the holding bay where Captain Null waited.

  “Gotta put on a show for my fans.”

  Inside, Null stood with hands in his pockets, voice carrying low.

  “What happened to you? You used to be a serious guy.”

  Snapback smirked.

  “Didn’t want to end up like you, Captain Flatline.”

  Null dragged a metal chair across the floor—

  SCREEEECH

  —and sat down in its center.

  Snapback circled behind him, looping a chain around the captain’s wrists and locking it tight with a click-click.

  The sound echoed through the warehouse.

  “Don’t take it easy on them,” Null said quietly.

  “Wow,” Snapback replied, snapping the last link shut, “didn’t know you knew you had a team.”

  He laughed to himself, stepping away as the lights overhead buzzed to life.

  ENTERING ZONE TWO — TEAM NULL

  Then—

  What followed wasn’t a contest.

  Wind tore through the room—Gale’s Niche roaring back to life before it faltered. A flashbang detonate.

  KFFF–WHOOOM!

  —and half the arena flinched. When the smoke cleared, two of Null’s cadets were already down.

  The broadcast feed cut between flashes of motion: Gale lunging, Ditto mirroring, Selena shouting something unheard—then BAM! Snapback’s counter sent dust spraying across the floor.

  “Is it just me,” Silverline murmured from the stands, “or are they getting worse each match?”

  “No,” Grid replied back, “just her.”

  By the time the smoke settled, Team Null was sprawled across the floor.

  ROUND 5: COMPLETE

  TEAM NULL: FAILED

  A few moments later, Snapback climbed the narrow metal stairs back into the captains’ room.

  Null sat exactly where he’d been left, head lowered, the chain still binding his wrists to the chair.

  Without ceremony, Snapback stepped behind him and unhooked the locks—click, click.

  As the chain slid free, Null flexed his wrists once, wordless.

  Snapback turned toward the doorway, hand brushing the handle when Null’s voice cut through the dim.

  “How did I end up with such an inefficient group of cadets…?”

  Snapback froze mid-step, the door half-open.

  Outside, the muffled sound of Sigma Hall carried through the walls—low murmurs, restless whispers. No cheers. No celebration. Just cadets speaking softly among themselves, uncertain.

  Then the light in the room shifted.

  The sound thinned, warped—until all that remained was the quiet buzz of cicadas and the breath of jungle wind.

  ?

  He was twelve again.

  Younger. Leaner. No nickname, no grin—just his name: Ryo.

  His eyes were cold and still beneath sweat-damp hair. No hat. No glasses. No mask to hide behind yet.

  Captain Hiroshi stood before him, sleeves rolled, Veritas insignia faint beneath the slanting sunset. His posture was calm, but his gaze carried that unshakable authority only veterans had.

  Behind Ryo, two cadets lay on stretchers—his teammates—breathing but battered.

  Hiroshi had appointed him leader for that small operation: a retrieval mission in hostile territory.

  Ryo had charged ahead, confident his team could keep up. They couldn’t. They’d paid the price.

  “They got hurt trying to keep up,” Ryo snapped, his young voice raw with frustration. “How am I supposed to complete any mission with such an inefficient team?”

  Hiroshi exhaled slowly, stepping closer.

  “Ryo, a captain who blames his crew for running into an iceberg only needs to look down to see whose hands are on the wheel.”

  The words landed heavy. Ryo didn’t answer. The cicadas hummed. The air stood still.

  Then the memory cracked—

  ?

  Snapback blinked once, hand still on the door.

  The murmurs of Sigma Hall crept back in, faint and uneasy.

  A quiet smile curved his lips.

  “It’s wild how a captain can point at their cadets when the ship hits ice—when their hand’s on the wheel.”

  He stepped through the doorway, boots echoing softly down the stairs.

  Some lessons never leave you—they just change how you wear them.

  The door swung shut behind him.

  Down in the dusted warehouse, Gale stirred. Her blurred vision sharpened just enough to catch movement at the bottom of the stairs. Their captain descended slowly, now unbound—silent, unreadable. He gave them a single glance, then turned and walked past without a word, boots crunching softly against the floor.

  Something in her broke. Her breath hitched, and before she could stop it, a tear cut through the grime on her cheek.

  “…Dang it…”

  She wiped it away hard, jaw setting again, venom returning like armor.

  Dirro rose beside her, limping toward the exit. She didn’t say a word.

  At the tunnel entrance, Lior waited—with Ayasha and Cael close behind as Selena exited last from the Omega Zone..

  No one spoke. Ayasha’s arm went around Selena’s shoulders; Selena leaned into it, silent. Together they disappeared into the tunnel’s shadows as the low hum of the arena faded behind them.

  ?

  Above, Xun Ren’s eyes lingered on the Omega Zone, but his thoughts were far beyond it.

  Potestas had already moved its next piece across the board—

  and Veritas could not afford to stay idle for long.

  End of Chapter 32