Scene 1 – Reunion at Café Edison
Tokyo Tech District – Early Evening – Year 2102
Café Edison sat wedged between two high-rise data hubs, a narrow slice of glass and steel with minimalist signage and muted lighting. Inside, the hum of conversation blended with quiet jazz and the occasional hiss from the bar's mana-steam brewer.
Honoka Mitsui arrived first, already seated by the window. She wore a cream blouse under a dark blazer, a plain ID badge clipped to her collar: ArcLight Interface Division, Tokyo HQ. Her hair was shorter now—still pinned neatly, still parted the same way. She scrolled a holographic briefing off to one side, eyes tracking the margin notes.
Shizuku Kitayama slipped in next, business coat draped over her arm, heels silent against the polished tile. Black dress, dark eyeliner, no wasted movement. She sat without a word, placed her phone flat on the table, and gave a simple nod.
Honoka looked up. "Two minutes early. Still punctual."
Shizuku didn't smile, but there was a flicker of recognition in her tone. "I hate waiting."
Honoka laughed softly. "Some things don't change."
Miyuki arrived last, her coat still buttoned, hair pulled into a tight twist. Her heels clicked across the floor as she approached. She looked tired—professional suit sharp, eyes sharper. She didn't need an introduction. The room took notice.
She sat, finally exhaling. "Sorry. Sector traffic was brutal."
"No worries," Honoka said. "We all made it. That's what counts."
Miyuki glanced at the other two, then gave a quiet smile. "Feels like a school club reunion. Except none of us have slept properly in a week."
Shizuku picked up the menu, didn't look at it. "That's optimistic."
Honoka leaned back. "Well, we can pretend. Just for tonight. No meetings, no deployments, no political briefings."
Miyuki nodded once. "Just coffee. And silence."
Shizuku tapped the edge of her glass. "I can live with that."
The three sat there, a moment of rare stillness between them. Outside, the district pulsed with digital advertisements and hovercars humming past. Inside, they didn't say anything more right away.
The drinks came quietly—Honoka's herbal mana blend steaming faintly, Shizuku's glass filled with black iced coffee, and Miyuki's order as exact as ever: light roast, no sugar, with a cooling spell on standby.
Honoka leaned forward, eyes bright, hands already animated as she spoke.
"So, I've been working with a team on a hybrid light-based defense grid," she said, excitement barely contained. "It's a new application of photonic refraction layered with kinetic spell deflection—imagine a localized dome that redirects spell velocity using programmable light density."
Miyuki blinked. "Programmable light density?"
"Think... a mana shield, but shaped by light particles instead of structural code. It bends incoming force instead of blocking it. Less resistance, more rerouting." Honoka grinned. "Also, it looks cool. Like a glass bubble shifting color based on the intensity of the hit."
Shizuku sipped her drink, unimpressed by the theatrics but listening. "I heard ArcLight just filed a patent on something like that."
Honoka beamed. "Guess whose name is on it?"
Shizuku blinked once. "Congrats."
"Thank you," Honoka said, trying not to visibly bounce.
Miyuki nodded lightly. "It sounds impressive."
"Exhausting, too," Honoka added. "We've had four test failures in a month. One of them melted a vending machine."
Shizuku set her glass down. "That's still better than losing a drone to mana inversion."
Honoka raised an eyebrow. "Is that... recent?"
Shizuku nodded. "Two weeks ago. Florida. My father's team mishandled an elemental overlay for a layered mana sink. I spent three days fixing the PR fallout."
Miyuki glanced up. "I didn't realize you were stateside again."
"I'm back and forth," Shizuku said. "USNA tech contracts, family demands. I handle the magic side while the corporate office pretends to understand the difference between ritual structure and power flow."
Honoka snorted. "They still confuse mana cores with battery cells?"
"Every meeting."
Miyuki offered the smallest smile.
They both turned toward her.
She spoke calmly. "I've mostly been handling Yotsuba internal matters."
Shizuku leaned back. "Still managing personnel?"
Miyuki nodded. "Personnel. Logistics. Arbitration. Most of my work doesn't leave the compound."
Honoka looked concerned. "You holding up?"
Miyuki met her eyes. "I'm used to it."
Shizuku added, "That doesn't mean it's easy."
Miyuki's expression didn't shift, but her voice softened. "It's manageable. And predictable. That helps."
Honoka stirred her drink absently, eyes distant for a moment before she smiled. "You know what I thought about last week? The Nine Schools Competition. Remember when half the flight board shorted out during the Mirage Bat finals?"
Shizuku blinked. "That wasn't a malfunction. That was student sabotage. From Third High."
Honoka snapped her fingers. "Right! They tried to force a bracket shift so their runner wouldn't go against Mari."
Miyuki's smile returned—subtle, but real. "They failed."
Shizuku sipped her coffee. "And got banned for two years."
Honoka laughed. "Mari wanted to personally duel their coach afterward. She actually drew up a formal challenge letter—then lost it somewhere in the disciplinary office."
Miyuki tilted her head slightly. "She never told me that."
Shizuku raised an eyebrow. "Because she never filed it. Erika talked her out of it."
Honoka leaned in. "Erika 'talked her out of it' by suggesting they do it off-campus."
Miyuki let out the softest laugh—barely audible, but genuine.
Shizuku nodded slowly. "Erika always had that talent. Problem-solver in the most... questionably legal ways."
Honoka added, "She once bypassed the gym's mana lock just to practice with an illegal blade form. Said the regulation CADs were too 'boring.'"
Miyuki gave a knowing look. "And then claimed it was a 'training experiment sanctioned by her family.'"
Shizuku muttered, "It wasn't."
Honoka grinned wide. "Still miss those days. The chaos. The after-practice ramen runs. Erika trying to convince us to skip class and Mari dragging us back."
Shizuku's voice was quiet. "We didn't realize it was the last time things would feel... light."
None of them spoke for a moment.
Then Miyuki, gently: "But it was good while it lasted."
Honoka nodded. "Yeah. It really was."
Honoka leaned back in her seat, drink in hand, her tone teasing. "Alright, we've covered work, old scandals, and Erika's war crimes. That just leaves one thing."
Miyuki blinked. "Which is?"
Honoka smirked. "Your love life."
Shizuku didn't flinch, didn't comment—just slowly sipped her coffee, eyes watching the exchange like she already knew where it was going.
Miyuki met Honoka's gaze evenly. "That's hardly relevant."
Honoka leaned forward, grinning. "Come on. You can't dodge it forever. You've been buried in Yotsuba affairs for what, six years now? You're not even going to tell us if there's anyone?"
Miyuki's reply came smooth. "If there were, I doubt I'd announce it over coffee."
"Not even a hint?" Honoka asked. "You don't have to name names. Just... is there a person?"
Miyuki offered a faint smile. "I have responsibilities. That's all."
Honoka raised an eyebrow. "That's a deflection."
"It's an answer."
Shizuku set her cup down. "Let her be."
Honoka raised both hands, mock surrender. "Fine, fine. No need to bring out the frost spells."
The light mood thinned as the conversation slowed. Shizuku set her glass down, eyes fixed on the table surface for a beat before she spoke.
"Have either of you been watching the port traffic logs lately?"
Honoka blinked. "Uh… no. Why?"
Shizuku looked up. "IFRP movement's increasing. Not just posturing anymore. They've pulled three bulk carriers into the Philippine Sea under a civilian security pretense. Satellite records show enhanced mana emissions near disputed waters."
Miyuki's expression shifted—just slightly. Smile gone. Jaw set.
Honoka looked between them. "I haven't heard anything."
"You won't," Shizuku said. "Media's silent. Entire coastal sectors near Okinawa and Shikoku have had restricted airspace for weeks. No formal announcements. Nothing on the usual feeds."
Miyuki's voice came quieter. "Our internal channels flagged the same."
Honoka frowned. "And nobody's calling it out?"
"They're using the Imperial Southeast Asian Games as a screen," Shizuku said. "All the attention's on cadet matches, exhibitions. Meanwhile, military assets are repositioning."
Honoka looked uneasy now. "That's… coordinated."
"It's deliberate," Miyuki said. Her tone was flat now, precise. "And it's not just Southeast Asia. We've received quiet alerts from clan observers stationed near key water gates. They're watching, but staying silent. For now."
Shizuku gave a short nod. "The ceasefire's a curtain. Everyone knows what's behind it. No one's sure when it drops."
Honoka leaned back. "So we're really just… waiting?"
The silence lingered a moment too long. Honoka glanced between the two of them, fingers idly tracing the rim of her mug. She hesitated, then spoke—softer this time.
"Has… has either of you heard from Tatsuya?"
The name hit the table like a dropped weight.
Shizuku didn't move. Her gaze stayed locked on the window, expression unreadable.
Miyuki didn't react at first. Her face remained composed, lips tight, shoulders still.
Another pause passed.
Then, finally, Miyuki said, "No."
No explanation. No follow-up. Just that.
Honoka lowered her eyes. "Right."
Shizuku reached for her glass but didn't drink. "Same here."
Honoka forced a faint smile that didn't quite hold. "Still feels strange, not seeing him show up late with some excuse. Probably working on something classified again."
Neither of the others replied.
The subject didn't come up again.
The silence that had wrapped around the table finally broke with a small exhale from Honoka. She sat up straighter, her voice light—almost forced, but with an earnest warmth.
"Okay," she said, "we need a getaway."
Shizuku raised an eyebrow. "A getaway?"
Honoka nodded quickly. "Yes. A real one. No formal dresses. No diplomatic observers. Just… ocean air, warm drinks, and zero mana-suppressing perimeter fences."
Shizuku blinked. "That sounds dangerously optimistic."
"Okinawa," Honoka declared, tapping the table. "White sand. Actual sunshine. I vote Okinawa."
Shizuku sipped her coffee. "Tourist traps. Crowds. Unregulated mana drift. No thank you."
"Ugh, you're no fun," Honoka said, leaning toward her. "Fine. What's your idea?"
Shizuku set her cup down with calm finality. "Hokkaido. Off-season. Private lodge. Snow. Silence."
Honoka groaned. "You're describing a prison in luxury packaging."
Shizuku tilted her head. "I'm describing peace."
They both turned toward Miyuki, who had remained silent throughout the exchange. She was still staring at her untouched cup, fingers lightly wrapped around it.
Honoka nudged her gently. "Miyuki? You're the tiebreaker."
Miyuki blinked, as if pulled from somewhere far away. "Hmm?"
"Getaway. Okinawa or Hokkaido."
She offered a small smile—distant, polite. "Either's fine."
Shizuku narrowed her eyes slightly. "You didn't even hear us, did you?"
"I did," Miyuki replied softly. "I just… can't imagine leaving. Not right now."
Honoka's smile faltered for a moment. She nodded, understanding more than she let on.
Shizuku looked away, not pressing further.
After a pause, Honoka leaned back and said with mock drama, "Fine. I'll just go solo and send you both postcards. Hand-enchanted with palm tree illusions and everything."
Miyuki let out a faint breath—close enough to a laugh.
And for a moment, just a moment, the tension eased again.
At the far end of Café Edison, behind the counter lined with polished wood and discreet mana filtration vents, the café owner stood silently. A middle-aged man with rolled sleeves and a faint scar along his right temple, he leaned against the counter as the mounted wall screen played quietly in the background.
The audio was low—barely above ambient hum—but the imagery was clear.
News Broadcast: JNN—Tokyo Regional Feed
"—rising tensions continue near the southern fringe of the South China Sea and waters south of Okinawa, as Imperial Federal naval formations increase their patrol frequency. Satellite imaging confirms the presence of at least three IFRP dreadnoughts operating without civilian escort protocols…"
The camera cut to grainy recon footage—an enormous warship cutting a path through international waters. Escort craft trailed behind it in tight formation. The ocean around it looked still, but the ship moved like it owned the horizon.
The anchor's voice remained calm, trained.
"…with official statements from both the USNA and JSDF urging de-escalation, diplomatic representatives have declined to confirm if a ceasefire breach is imminent. Meanwhile, regional defense units remain on alert status—"
The owner said nothing.
He simply turned the volume down another notch, eyes still locked on the footage. His hand drifted toward the small CAD tucked behind the espresso console—he didn't grab it, just made sure it was still there.
---
Evening – Café Amazon, Marauoy — Near Fourth High School
The sky over Batangas burned orange, bleeding into dusk. Streetlamps blinked to life. The hum of passing tricycles mingled with the quiet clatter of dishes from nearby cafés.
Sallie stood half-shaded in a weather-worn telephone booth beside Café Amazon, one hand braced against the glass, the other holding the receiver to his ear. The light inside the booth flickered overhead, casting dull reflections across his glasses.
A voice on the other end was shouting.
"You clipped the scaffolding and teleported behind the UAV shack! That's a map exploit—everyone knows that. That's bannable, you rat bastard!"
Sallie smiled like he'd just been complimented. "Wasn't banned when I checked the patch logs. You just forgot to check the ladder hitbox radius."
"You camped the crash site with thermal smokes and let the circle close—who the hell plays like that in a wager match?"
"I play to win," Sallie said, deadpan. "It's not my fault you ran straight into that garbage alley three times like a headless bot."
"You used Haxor's Edge to bypass my kinetic field. That's a literal desync exploit."
"It's not an exploit. It's called route manipulation. You're mad because I knew the map. You're mad because you spawned back tires and still couldn't hold sniper overwatch without getting third partied by my decoy CAD loop."
"You cost me five thousand pesos in CoD Points!"
Sallie leaned against the booth wall, suppressing a laugh. "Nah. You cost yourself five thousand. All I did was make better use of the Crash map's rooftop access."
"This isn't over—if I see you in another queue, you're done."
"I'll make sure to bring the UAV this time," Sallie said, already lowering the receiver. "And maybe wear a helmet. You seem fragile."
"You son of a—"
He hung up. The dull click echoed in the booth as the flickering light above buzzed weakly. He stepped out into the cooling air, slipping the match-record flash drive into his coat pocket.
The soft aroma of brewed coffee and street food drifted from Café Amazon behind him. He stretched, rolled his neck, still grinning.
"Five grand in digital cosmetics and a grown man crying over rooftops," he muttered. "Beautiful day."
He didn't notice the two figures closing in behind him.
"Sallie."
He turned, mid-stretch. Celeste. Arms crossed. Angela beside her, unimpressed.
Sallie blinked. "Oh."
"You were supposed to be at dinner fifteen minutes ago."
Angela raised a brow. "Coach is looking for you. Again."
Sallie shrugged. "I was on an important diplomatic call with a sore loser from Cebu."
Celeste narrowed her eyes. "You skipped dinner prep for a wager match?"
"Technically I won dinner money."
Angela sighed. "Unbelievable."
Sallie just smiled and followed as they pulled him toward the café. "You guys really need to learn to appreciate strategy."
"That call. Who was on the other end?"
Sallie shrugged, stuffing his hands in his coat pockets. "Just some Cebuano guy I queued into. High-stakes. Best of three. Tunisia, Standoff, Crash map."
Angela blinked. "Crash? You mean the tight alley one with the broken helicopter in mid?"
Sallie nodded. "Yup. Classic. He lost all three matches. Hard."
Celeste narrowed her eyes. "What did you do?"
Sallie didn't answer right away. He looked way too pleased with himself.
Angela raised an eyebrow. "Wait. Was that the match with the rooftop ambush and the smoke bait kill feed glitch?"
Celeste stared at him. "You used Elemental Sight again, didn't you?"
Sallie stopped walking, hand halfway out of his coat pocket. "...Define 'used.'"
Celeste facepalmed instantly, fingers dragging down her face. "Oni-sama, are you serious? That ability bypasses heat signature masking, terrain distortion, and can track players through three layers of cover. That's literally a magic-grade maphack."
Sallie grinned. "It's not cheating if the devs didn't patch it."
Angela blinked. "You routed a visual combat technique through an FPS engine's sensory overlay?"
"Elemental Sight syncs to line-of-sight mapping. I just fed it into the HUD's spatial reader."
Celeste groaned. "He broke the anti-cheat barrier by treating the game engine like a CAD."
Angela looked half horrified, half impressed. "That's psychotic."
Sallie shrugged. "It's tactical. He shouldn't have bet five thousand COD points if he couldn't handle real vision."
Celeste muttered into her hand. "You're a walking violation of every fair play clause."
Sallie just smiled. "Still undefeated, though."
They stepped inside the café. Angela went to grab a seat, shaking her head. Celeste lingered beside her brother, still rubbing her temple.
"Onii-sama," she said, voice low. "If anyone from admin sees your match logs, you're getting banned from every platform."
Sallie leaned back. "Then I'll switch games."
Celeste sighed. "No. You'll build a new one, won't you?"
He smirked. "Already prototyping."
---
Sallie leaned back in the café chair, one arm draped over the backrest, still nursing that smug grin. His briefcase CAD rested against his foot, humming faintly in standby mode.
He looked over at Celeste, who was flipping through the digital roster on her grimoire interface. "Oi, Imōto, who're we up against in the finals?"
Celeste didn't look up. "Stop calling me that in public."
"You're dodging the question."
She exhaled, eyes scanning the projected data. "We're facing Torres and Nakamura."
Sallie raised an eyebrow. "Torres from our batch? The guy with the trench coat and heavy-step movement?"
"That's the one. Infantry-style magic. He uses a dual-core kinetic suppression CAD—custom wrist-mount, reinforced for shock-absorption."
Sallie nodded slowly. "Yeah, I've seen him absorb blast recoil like it's nothing. Good forward pusher, but predictable."
Celeste continued. "Nakamura's a precision-type. She uses a fan-type CAD—multi-trigger array with built-in wind-vector manipulation. She can redirect small-scale spells mid-flight."
Sallie blinked. "So, she's running deflection arcs?"
"Mostly. Her pattern's tight, but she burns through charge fast. She relies on Torres to anchor the frontline while she picks off exposed cast points."
Sallie leaned back, thoughtful. "So he tanks, she angles."
Celeste closed the roster. "Exactly. They're fast if they control terrain early. But if we stagger their sync, they collapse."
Sallie tapped his briefcase CAD with his boot. "Should I steal one of their CAD formats again?"
Celeste side-eyed him. "Only if you can do it without violating four rules and five ethics codes."
He shrugged. "So… same as usual."
Celeste didn't answer. Just slid his drink across the table wordlessly.
Sallie took the drink, leaned forward on the table, and glanced at Celeste with a lazy squint. "So... Who is this Nakamura person anyways?"
Celeste didn't look up.
He tilted his head. "That sounds... not local. She from Japan?"
Angela, sitting across from them, glanced up from her cup. "She is. Transferred last semester under the bilateral talent exchange program. First High to Fourth."
Sallie raised both brows. "Seriously? No one told me we had First High exports wandering around in our class."
Celeste responded without pause. "You skip half the briefings and spend the other half playing FPS under the table."
"Strategic multitasking," he muttered. "So what's her full name?"
Celeste tapped the edge of her grimoire interface and brought up the profile. "Nakamura Fuyumi. Seventeen. Focused on elemental control, wind-type specialization. Her CAD's fan-form is optimized for mid-range combat and projectile interference."
Sallie scratched the back of his head. "Fuyumi, huh. She quiet?"
Angela nodded. "Doesn't talk much. Surgical on the field, though. Very textbook. No wasted movement."
Sallie leaned back, thoughtful. "So she's a by-the-book type who probably hates chaotic players like me."
Celeste replied flatly, "Then don't give her a reason to start reading your file out loud during the match."
Sallie grinned. "No promises."
Celeste crossed her arms, eyes narrowing as she stared at her older brother across the table.
"Alright, Onii-sama, who are you locking onto in the finals?"
Sallie didn't even blink. "Fuyumi."
Angela raised an eyebrow. "Not Torres?"
Sallie shook his head. "He's a wall. A slow one. You crack him after disrupting formation. But her—" he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, "—she's the problem."
Celeste's voice cooled. "Why?"
Sallie's tone didn't change—still casual, still slouched—but the edge in it was sharper now. "She's First High. That fan-type CAD isn't just for parlor tricks. It's a wind-displacement system wrapped in ceremonial precision casting. Her mana control is tuned for national defense drills. High-speed redirect, low latency, zero-collision execution."
Angela blinked. "You studied her?"
Sallie nodded. "Studied all of them. Japanese magicians built for school competitions and defense roles follow a pattern. High mobility, low aggression. They're designed for containment, not chaos."
Celeste leaned forward. "So what's the play?"
"She relies on predictability. Uses textbook formations, tight angles, CAD forms that only make sense if the opponent behaves." He glanced up. "I don't."
Angela gave a slow smile. "That's the understatement of the year."
Sallie continued, "I'll throw her out of sync. Bait out her arc vectors, break her formation with misfire pressure, and force her to overcompensate. If I land a single flicker-cast past her fan spread, she'll tilt."
Celeste watched him a moment. "And you're sure?"
Sallie smirked. "She trained for tournaments. I trained for warzones."
Sallie pulled his briefcase CAD onto the table with a dull thud, the outer shell already partially unlatched. He flicked a switch—panels shifted open, internal modules slid into visibility. A flicker of red light pulsed along the rail slots as he began slotting in new components.
"Fan-type CADs like hers rely on tight arc precision, right?" he muttered, not looking up. "So I've been building a counter-loadout. Something messy. Something that disrupts her pathing."
Celeste watched him slide in a micro-disruption emitter and swap out the pulse capacitor for a diffusion node. "That's a scatter field attachment."
"Exactly. Variable spread pulse. Fragments incoming vectors within five meters of contact. Her wind spells are gonna collapse if she tries redirecting while I'm in close." He locked the emitter into place, then added, "Also added a short-distance jamming burst. Three-second blind. Won't break her CAD, but it'll scramble the precision for just long enough."
Angela leaned in. "You've been planning this?"
Sallie didn't even pause. "Since last night. Watched her three practice matches on repeat."
Then, still focused on his work, he asked casually, "So how'd she even end up here? She's not local. First High doesn't usually feed into our system."
Celeste answered without hesitation. "Exchange program. Joint training initiative between the Yotsuba-aligned tech division and the IFRP's research bureau. She volunteered."
Sallie glanced up. "Volunteered?"
Angela nodded. "She requested placement in an active combat-rated curriculum. No scholarship. No escort. Came alone."
Sallie raised an eyebrow. "So she wasn't sent. She chose to be here."
"Exactly."
He leaned back in his chair, flicking the CAD closed. "Interesting."
Sallie leaned back, propping one boot against the leg of the chair, briefcase CAD now humming quietly beside him. He stared up at the café ceiling, half-grinning.
"So, this Fuyumi girl," he started, "she the quiet type?"
Celeste didn't look up from her tablet, just gave a flat, practiced sigh. "Yes. Keeps to herself. Doesn't talk unless necessary. Very clean. Very polite. The kind of girl who probably reads mission briefs twice before casting a single spell."
Sallie turned his head, grin widening. "Perfect. I've got some ridiculous methods to make her talk."
Celeste froze.
Angela squinted across the table. "Define ridiculous."
Sallie leaned in slightly, voice mock-serious. "Well… I could drop a few strategically inappropriate comments mid-match. You know, loosen the nerves. Maybe compliment her combat stance in a way that'd make the referee raise an eyebrow."
Celeste looked up, deadpan. "Onii-sama."
"What?"
"You're talking about psychological warfare using perversion."
Sallie gestured with one hand. "Tactically inappropriate compliments are still compliments. Besides, if she's quiet, she won't snap—she'll just crack."
Angela blinked. "That's actually worse."
Celeste rubbed her temples. "If you say anything questionable during the match and she reports you, I will personally shave your head with a mana blade."
Sallie grinned. "If she talks back, even just once, that's a win."
Angela looked between them, deadpan. "And if she slaps you with a direct-cast burst and knocks you out in front of the judges?"
Sallie shrugged. "Then at least I'll know she's listening."
Celeste muttered, "You are the worst strategic asset in this entire empire."
Sallie tapped his CAD. "Still undefeated, though."
---
Combat Simulation Room – Fourth High – 17:55
The reinforced chamber glowed under the amber tint of a synthetic sunset, filtered through the high observation panels. Soft light cast long shadows across the field—a simulated industrial zone, layered with metal walkways, concrete barriers, and dead power conduits.
The atmosphere held tension. Quiet. Focused.
Referee's voice echoed across the chamber:
"Final match of the Internal Class Duel Series—Torres Marcelo and Nakamura Fuyumi versus Salcedo Sallie Mae and Salcedo Celeste Marie. Final adjustments allowed. One minute until engagement."
A brief tone buzzed overhead. Countdown began.
Sallie stood slightly off-center, one foot propped lazily against the edge of a low metal crate, his briefcase CAD already deployed in its combat-ready layout—four panels extended, edges humming with quiet potential. The red LEDs embedded along his modules pulsed in a slow, steady rhythm, like a heartbeat held at bay.
He rotated his wrist once, the subtle click of shifting bones syncing with the emitter lock, a ripple of mana briefly flaring across the CAD as systems aligned to his movement. It wasn't flashy—it was familiar, like slipping into a well-worn glove.
Beside him, Celeste stood with her usual poise, coat fastened, boots squared to the arena's geometry. Her Grimoire CAD hovered quietly at her side, the pages half-open and rotating at a steady pace. Soft diagnostic runes danced in her peripheral vision, flickering like code checking itself for precision. She didn't need to look directly at them—she knew every glyph, every delay tag, every layer of her pre-cast structure.
Across the arena, their opponents readied.
Torres gripped a heavy-core CAD, thick-barreled and reinforced with plated vents. As he shifted his stance, the weapon hissed, the sound of built-up mana pressure bleeding through its kinetic suppressors—tamed power on the edge of ignition. His arms were braced for recoil, his stance low, a brawler's center of gravity refined into stillness.
Next to him, Fuyumi stood like a ghost in moonlight—silent, composed, her expression unreadable. She held her fan-type CAD gently in both hands, the elegant weapon folded shut, yet humming softly with passive mana, as if whispering promises of control and precision.
Sallie rolled his neck and took a few casual steps forward—just far enough to be heard across the engagement line but still within neutral zone range.
"Oi, Nakamura," he called out, tone light. "Got a minute?"
Fuyumi didn't move.
Celeste didn't look at him, already annoyed. "Don't start."
Sallie ignored her. "Just wondering—did you really transfer here to fight, or was this all some long, tragic cultural exchange drama with a twist ending?"
Still nothing.
He tilted his head. "No offense, but you don't strike me as someone who enjoys dirt and stun spells. You seem more… calligraphy and koto recitals."
Fuyumi's eyes flicked up.
Her voice came quiet. Steady. "I came here because I don't like waiting for the next war to knock."
Sallie blinked once.
Fuyumi didn't blink. "And I don't play exhibition matches. I fight to end them."
Sallie blinked once.
Then squinted.
Then frowned.
"…What?"
Fuyumi's expression didn't change. She hadn't raised her voice. Hadn't moved. Just that same flat stare, fan CAD humming gently at her side.
"She's speaking Japanese," Celeste said beside him, voice dry.
Sallie turned to her. "You understood that?"
"Yes."
"Well, I didn't. I'm being stared down by someone who just said something very dramatic, and I have no idea what it was."
Celeste sighed. "She said she's not here for show. She fights to end matches. And she doesn't wait around for the next war."
Sallie tilted his head slowly back toward Fuyumi. "So she's intense and cryptic."
"She's from First High, what did you expect?"
"I expected her to at least trash talk me in a language I can respond to," he muttered.
Celeste rolled her eyes. "It's not her fault you skipped half your Japanese translation modules."
Sallie waved a hand at Fuyumi. "You're intimidating. Great posture. Nice cadence. No idea what you said, but it sounded cool and probably very grim. I respect it. But also—speak English next time. For fairness."
Fuyumi didn't reply. Didn't blink.
Just folded her fan open with a soft click.
Angela's voice crackled over the intercom, deadpan from the observation room:
"Maybe she doesn't want to be understood, Salcedo."
Sallie leaned over to Celeste, grumbling. "I hate language barriers. I'm getting threatened and I can't even appreciate it properly."
Celeste locked her Grimoire CAD into her arm harness. "Just shut up and focus. She'll make herself understood when the spells start flying."
Sallie tightened his grip on the briefcase as the countdown ticked past three.
His smirk returned. "Then I'll just answer in my language."
The buzzer slammed.
MATCH START.
Mana barriers flared to life, encasing the combatants in a flickering dome of shimmering light as the industrial sim zone booted into full activation. Around them, a jagged terrain of rusted shipping containers, scaffold towers, and fractured pavement stretched out like a battlefield forgotten by time.
Simulated wind howled through open corridors and broken steel, whipping up grit and dust that clung to their boots and shadows alike.
Then—motion.
Torres moved first. No hesitation. No setup. Just pure, raw momentum. His boots thundered across broken concrete as kinetic dampeners flared, dispersing energy into the ground with every step. The heavy-core CADs on both wrists surged with a red-orange glow, pressure hissing from the vents as mana turbines cycled heat into power. He wasn't aiming to test defenses.
He was aiming to obliterate them.
Fuyumi remained still. Silent.
Her fan CAD snapped open with a metallic click, mana threads lacing between each segment like woven starlight. Her fingers moved with mechanical grace, folding and unfolding the fan in a pattern that seemed choreographed—precise, rhythmic, ritualistic. Around her, a subtle shockwave rippled outward, drawing in loose ambient mana and shaping it into a dome-like field. Not a shield. A deterrent. She was setting the pace, bending the field to her tempo.
Across the zone, Sallie broke right—low profile, movement fluid and fast without wasting energy. His briefcase CAD remained in its base configuration, tucked tight under his arm as he weaved through rusted corridors, already tapping into command nodes embedded along the frame.
Each tap lit up a thread of code, configuring his arsenal as he moved.
"Celeste—cover left. Buy me four seconds. I'm patching the language gap."
Celeste didn't answer—she never needed to when the fight had already begun.
Her Grimoire flared, hovering beside her like a sentinel. With a flick of her wrist, a pulse of glowing runes exploded leftward, catching the edge of Torres' early kinetic cast. The redirected shockwave smashed into a rusted wall, warping the metal inward with a thunderous crunch. Dust flared. Celeste didn't flinch.
Her eyes locked forward, her body already shifting into the next casting sequence. The Grimoire's pages turned on their own, syncing to her position and the arc of her next step like they had minds of their own.
Meanwhile, Sallie dove behind a shipping container, his boots sliding across fractured pavement as he crouched low. The briefcase CAD was already open beside him, its control panel glowing dimly in the container's shadow. His fingers moved rapidly, tapping across a hidden command pad embedded in the side panel.
A shimmer of digital text pulsed onto the display:
> [LANGUAGE ENHANCEMENT MODE – ENCRYPTED DECODER SYNCING...]
"Come on, come on…" he muttered, eyes flicking toward the battlefield.
Just ahead, Torres shifted, reorienting toward Celeste now that his line of sight was clear. With a grunt, he unleashed a kinetic burst, mana jets firing from both wrists. The blast tore across the cracked pavement—
Celeste pivoted mid-step, graceful as glass, and drew her hand downward. Her disruptor arc flared, slicing clean through the pressure wave, splitting the burst and sending half the energy skyward, the other skidding uselessly along the ground.
Still controlled. Still two steps ahead.
At the back, Fuyumi remained still, her expression unreadable. Her fan rose, and with it, the air around her sharpened—wind currents hardening into blades of motion, spell threads winding into rigid hexagonal layers.
She hadn't moved an inch. She didn't need to.
She was reading everything.
Sallie smacked the side of his CAD as the decoding lock finally clicked into place. A soft ping chimed in his ear.
[JAPANESE: Audio Sync Established.]
And then—her voice came through.
Clear. Calm. Precise.
"Your spells are shallow. Misdirection doesn't win against structure."
Sallie grinned. The momentary confusion gone, replaced by sharp clarity.
"Cool. Now I do understand you."
And the next round would speak his reply.
Sallie stood, rising from cover with a sharp pivot and a grin still tugging at his lips. In one smooth motion, he launched his first combo—a scatter pulse laced with miscast data, the trajectories deliberately jagged, the signature overloaded with chaotic subroutines.
To an ordinary caster, it would look like a wild volley.
To someone like Fuyumi, it was a challenge.
She didn't bite.
With a calm step to the side, she swept her fan once, and a distortion wall flared into place—fluid, silent, precise. The pulse hit and was swallowed whole, the spell's false vector collapsing harmlessly against her perimeter.
But in rejecting the illusion, she gave something else away—
an opening.
Celeste surged forward, her boots blurring across cracked pavement. Her Grimoire snapped wide, glyphs lining up like blade teeth. She launched a high-speed slicing spell, its edge honed and humming as it flanked Torres from the blind side.
Sallie's hands moved before the flash cleared, tapping his briefcase once—drawing from a pre-packed subroutine nestled between two support modules.
> [SPELL: Vector Jammer – Arc Disrupt Variant.]
A click. A burst.
Unstable mana erupted near Fuyumi's feet, the spell detonation a tangle of warped energy—not meant to harm, but to confuse, to fracture control.
Her wind anchors buckled, the currents unraveling into stray whips of force. For two seconds—an eternity in combat—her control grid collapsed, and with it, her line-of-sight fractured.
Spells in mid-cast broke. Her stance shifted, just slightly.
But it was enough.
And Sallie and Celeste were already pressing in, rhythm syncing again.
Distraction. Dissection. Disruption.
The pattern was falling into place.
"Got her," Sallie snapped. "Shift push, now!"
Celeste didn't miss a beat—Grimoire already loaded with her next pattern, she hurled a silence field across the zone edge, cutting off Torres' fallback route.
The Salcedo siblings weren't yelling anymore.
They were syncing.
Pressure mounting. Timing tight. Spells overlapped clean, one casting off the next like links in a chain.
Fuyumi narrowed her eyes.
Torres planted his feet, prepping for impact.
Sallie smiled, eyes locked on the two opponents.
"Alright," he muttered. "Now let's see how well you handle chaos."
Sallie slid across broken pavement, ducking under a redirected pressure blast that tore through a section of simulated piping. Metal screeched. Shrapnel scattered. He rolled to cover, hit the release on the briefcase latch, and slammed the center pad.
The briefcase clicked, whirred—then split apart. Panels rotated outward, core module reshaping. The shell twisted as mana plates locked into a new configuration.
A curved obsidian blade folded out of the spine.
[LOADOUT: Reaper Variant – "Language Siphon" Active]
[Passive Modifier: DMG Multiplier Scales With Opponent English Fluency: LOW = HIGH MULTIPLIER]
The scythe locked into his hands. Dense, jagged along the inside curve. He twirled it once, checking weight, then muttered to himself, "Good news, she hasn't said a word in English."
From a rear side slot, a secondary CAD module ejected—a slim, matte black underbarrel platform.
[Bushwhacker 500 – Buff-Enhancer Submodule Loaded]
[Mode: Ally Support | Rounds: 12 | Effect: Temp Cast Speed Boost + Mana Sync Stabilizer]
Sallie spun the scythe across his back, raised the Bushwhacker, and aimed clean at Celeste's flank just as she was shifting left to intercept Torres.
Thump-thump. Two suppressed rounds fired—non-lethal. Mana-infused. They struck her shoulder and side, instantly activating.
Celeste didn't flinch. Her Grimoire CAD pulsed brighter. She moved faster.
"I felt that," she called out. "Boosted my rhythm."
"Keep the angle," Sallie shouted. "I'll peel Fuyumi."
Torres roared, the sound raw and thunderous, and fired a dense kinetic burst from both wrists—compressed force slamming forward like a cannon shot meant to tear through anything in its path.
Celeste didn't flinch.
She flicked her wrist, her Grimoire spinning once, and released a reflective edge rune. It caught the kinetic wave mid-air, angled perfectly, and redirected it upward into the scaffolding above. The shockwave split, diffused like light through crystal, harmless as mist.
Her movements were sharper now—tighter, faster.
The subtle mana sync from Sallie's support spells coursed through her spell channels, tightening the casting lag, amplifying her control like a second heartbeat threaded through her own.
Across the zone, Fuyumi had recovered—repositioning gracefully, her steps light, her presence quiet. The fan opened again, and the air around her rippled. A controlled burst of slicing wind swirled in her palm, threading around the fan's edge, perfectly tuned—balanced between elegance and lethality.
Sallie sprinted forward.
His CAD had reshaped once again—a gleaming Reaper scythe, its long, black frame trimmed in pulsing deep red glyphs. The blade glowed with ominous pressure, its mana field trembling like it was hungry.
But this weapon didn't just cut.
It listened.
The enchantment pulsed with a passive binding: a twisted sync that fed off miscommunication. Fuyumi's refusal to speak English, her silence behind her language barrier, wasn't defense—it was fuel.
With every word she didn't say, every phrase left untranslated, the enchantment tightened, feeding his swings with denser mana load, condensing meaning into force.
Her silence was his blade.
Sallie's eyes narrowed, and he closed the distance.
One swing. Two seconds. Impact imminent.
He whispered, "Thanks for not talking."
Then he jumped.
The scythe arced through the air—graceful, heavy, brutal.
Celeste's mana blade struck right as Sallie's Reaper curved in from the flank, twin strikes synced perfectly on Fuyumi's disrupted zone.
She barely raised her fan in time.
But the damage was already building.
Sallie didn't let up.
The moment Fuyumi's fan caught his opening scythe swing, he twisted the haft sharply in his grip, pivoting hard on his heel, using the momentum to bring the blade down in a brutal low sweep. The red-etched edge scraped low across the ground and sliced upward toward her side.
Steel clanged. Mana flared. Sparks snapped.
She parried again—barely. The fan's folded ribs flared with defensive runes as she redirected the arc. Every motion from her was precise, calculated, but tightening. Her steps edged back, her posture compressed. The fractured metal platform beneath her boots grated as she was pushed step by step into a corner she couldn't see coming until it closed.
Sallie was already inside her guard without distance, guard or mercy.
He shifted his stance again—close, tight, relentless. Rapid strikes followed: a flurry of tight arcs, low chops, and abrupt feints that threw off rhythm. It was like a corner combo in a fighting ring—only every strike burned with mana flare, every motion heavy with intent to break rather than dance.
Clang. Crack. Scrape.
Fuyumi parried high. Then low. Then midline. The fan blurred in her grip, redirecting strikes one after another, but the pace was wrong—her magic was built for range, for control, for shaping the battlefield with layered wind. This wasn't her tempo.
This was Sallie's chaos.
And she was barely holding it together.
Every second she remained silent, every clash where she didn't speak, didn't counter with a command or a cry—his scythe grew brighter. The enchantment burned hotter, stacking power with each unsaid word, feeding off the miscommunication like it was fuel for the fire.
She gave him deflections instead of dialogue—
And the scythe listened.
Sallie moved in again, caught her wrist with the back of the shaft, spun the weapon around with a practiced twist, and slammed the flat of the blade toward her ribs—a stunning, nonlethal strike meant to shatter her footing.
Fuyumi blocked—just barely.
But the impact still forced her back, feet sliding, breath catching, her mana veil flickering around her chest.
"What's wrong?" he grinned, eyes locked. "Spell routine getting shaky?"
No response.
"Still not gonna talk, huh?" His grin widened. "Then I'm still gonna hit."
He surged forward again.
Celeste's movement was sharp—razor-cut efficient, her body gliding between steel plating and broken terrain like every step had already been mapped. Her Grimoire CAD circled her like a sentient drone on overclock, its pages snapping open and shut with such speed they left light trails behind her shoulders.
Every spell she cast landed with snap-quick force—shaped silence bursts that interrupted casting flow, slicing pulses that cleaved mana strings out of sync, disruptor wedges that bent kinetic force off trajectory.
And still, Torres charged—CADs burning white-hot, his momentum a living wrecking ball of pressure and heat.
Celeste didn't flinch, block, or run.
She baited him in, let him commit, and then—at the last second—sidestepped with surgical grace, pivoting hard and launching a short-cast arc slash low and wide. It cut into his charge, not to kill, not to knock out—but to bleed his cast speed, mana sync, his tempo.
She wasn't finishing him. She was isolating him—locking him in place, out of sync with Fuyumi, off tempo from himself.
And across the field, Sallie kept the pressure up.
The Salcedo siblings were two weapons forged for different tempos—but dancing in perfect sync. One fast, wide, suppressing. The other close, precise, punishing.
Sallie's boots hit the floor hard, a loud crack of steel against steel as he stepped through the echo of his last strike, coat flaring out behind him.
Fuyumi barely recovered—breath coming shallow, fan tight to her shoulder, arms tensed. Her eyes were locked on his scythe, pupils narrow, focused—but her stance was starting to fray.
Sweat lined her cheek, hair clung to her skin, the silence around her was louder than ever.
Still no English, no words, still fighting the way she was taught.
And the scythe felt it.
The briefcase-turned-weapon pulsed, and for the first time, its glow deepened—black-red veins spreading along the shaft like blood under glass. The blade edge shimmered faintly, rippling with compressed power.
> Passive enchantment: Language Barrier Sync – CRITICAL POINT REACHED.
Sallie stepped forward again—this time slow, deliberate.
Sallie stepped forward—not in a rush, not with pressure.
Deliberate. Measured. Like he already knew what would happen.
He swung the scythe, its edge shimmering with that deep red-black glow, the kind of mana that didn't just cut—it disassembled meaning, unraveled spell structure, and twisted control into chaos.
But the blade didn't land.
It passed through air, missing Fuyumi by a breath.
Just an inch. No contact. And yet—she staggered.
Her eyes snapped wide, shock blooming across her face as if she'd taken a direct hit to the chest. Her fan twitched in her grip, faltering for just a heartbeat—casting focus disrupted.
The air around her pulsed, and her uniform shimmered as the mana displacement wave from Sallie's near-miss detonated across her protective layer.
The spell didn't strike her.
The silence did. The enchantment, now fully synced, turned her linguistic refusal into a psychic payload—the damage wasn't physical. It was structural.
> [SIMULATION FLAG: ARMOR BREAK – CRITICAL THRESHOLD EXCEEDED]
Half of her outer combat attire tore away in the backlash—
The simulated weave short-circuited, threads of digitized mana shorting out with visual static.
Her shoulders were exposed, combat skirt shredded to the hip on one side, her boots misaligned, throwing off her balance.
She stumbled once—just once—
Then froze.
Completely exposed. Flustered. Unarmed. Out of form.
Fuyumi let out a shriek—not in pain, but in pure mortified embarrassment.
Her voice cracked through the arena, loud and high-pitched:
"IYAAAA! Nani kore!? Stop looking! Don't look at me!"
Her hands snapped up to her chest, cheeks burning, fan raised not to block a spell but to cover her face. Her casting HUD glitched with emotional override prompts.
Across from her, Sallie just exhaled, shaking his head slowly, resting the scythe back across his shoulder like a casual prop.
He didn't move in. He didn't need to. He'd already won.
Celeste saw the signal—the burst of exposed mana, the simulation flicker of armor failure from Fuyumi's collapsed defenses—and she moved instantly, boots cutting across the fractured platform in a hard sprint.
Her Grimoire flared open, casting wide and fast. A silence dome detonated over the battlefield, slamming down on both Fuyumi and Torres like a curtain of null.
Fuyumi never recovered. Still crouched, still flushed red, her fan clutched to her chest, she was paralyzed by embarrassment, shoulders hunched, knees locked. Her HUD registered no active spellcasting, no movement.
The sim hadn't marked her as defeated— But she wasn't fighting anymore.
Across the field, Torres turned to intercept Celeste's charge—
Too late.
Her mana blade ripped across his side just as Sallie pivoted around him, low and fast. His air-cast swept wide, a burst of compressed pressure lashing across Torres' legs, breaking his stance and forcing him to drop low.
The Salcedo siblings pressed in, in perfect unison.
No words, wasted motion. Just tempo. Pressure. Execution.
Torres grunted, trying to cover Fuyumi's exposed flank, but Celeste was already there, driving another cast buffer into his core. His knees locked again—posture staggered, spell sequence disrupted.
Sallie stepped in close, calm and casual, his scythe resting lazily over one shoulder. It was the calm before a collapse.
Torres braced—both arms wide, dual-core kinetic suppressors glowing hot, his stance low and rooted. He expected a charge.
He got choreography.
Sallie moved first. Scythe low. Body loose. Steps measured, like the floor told him where to go. He slid left, feinted right, shoulder dipped—then spun in tight, rising with a hook-swing from the Reaper's bottom edge.
Torres flinched, just slightly—enough for his weight to shift.
Exactly what Sallie wanted.
Celeste fired.
Her Grimoire cast three spells in perfect sequence:
A silence burst to mute reaction time.
A mana drag to slow CAD output.
A mobility snare to strip movement range.
None meant to harm. All meant to pin.
To lock Marcelo Torres in place long enough for her brother to carve him apart.
Sallie slid in again, smooth and cold, the scythe tracing a wide arc that forced Torres to throw up a barrier. The moment the shield lit, Sallie ducked low, dragging the Reaper's shaft against the ground, sending sparks flying as it scraped metal—throwing off Torres' footing again.
Torres fought back, tried to charge a kinetic burst at close range. His arms lit—CAD turbines spinning—
Too slow.
Celeste stepped in, cast clean. A precision dispel from the flank clipped his right wrist just as the burst reached ignition.
The spell fizzled—dead in his palm.
Sallie didn't hesitate.
He brought the flat of the Reaper's blade down, smashing into Torres' forearm. The impact twisted him sideways, buckled one leg, and dropped him to a knee.
Celeste followed in step, her Grimoire casting disruption nodes that pulsed to her brother's timing.
She cast where he opened. He struck where her glyphs bent defense.
The rhythm was unbreakable.
Measured. Exact. Lethal without needing to kill.
Torres tried to rise—one last time.
Sallie stepped behind him, slow, final.
"Too late."
The Reaper scythe rested gently across Marcelo's neck—
Not pressed, just positioned.
The sim recognized the intent. Sensors flared.
> [CRITICAL POSITION LOCKED. MATCH OVER.]
VICTORY: SALCEDO PAIR
SYNC RATE: 96%
The arena lights dimmed. The mana fields dropped.
Sallie let the scythe dissolve, the CAD folding itself down, his breath steady. He looked over to his sister.
"Still undefeated."
Celeste didn't smile.
But she didn't argue either.
The simulation field powered down with a low hum. Mana dampeners receded. Barrier lines dissolved into faint light and vanished beneath the arena floor.
Overhead, the referee's voice rang out through the intercom:
"Match concluded. Victory: Salcedo siblings. Class representatives confirmed. They will advance to represent Section Four in the interclass finals."
A round of applause filtered in from the observation deck above—faculty, classmates, and tech observers clapping through the reinforced glass. Camera drones drifted in closer, auto-tracking the winning pair.
Sallie didn't look up. He was already locking his CAD back into briefcase form, still grinning, not a single burn mark on his coat.
Celeste stood quietly beside him, eyes sharp, breathing even, arms crossed. The Grimoire CAD floated down to her hip and powered down without a sound.
Across the arena, Fuyumi blinked once, then twice—finally registering the aftermath.
Her hands shot up to her chest.
She spun, dropped to a crouch, yanked the wrecked fan CAD across her chest and covered herself as best she could, cheeks burning crimson. Simulation drones snapped away automatically, following protocol—but not before half the student deck had seen it.
Angela, watching from the staff platform, covered her face and sighed. "Sallie... again?"
Celeste didn't even look at her brother. She muttered, "Onii-sama... Ugh!!! you idiot!!!"
Sallie just raised both hands in mock innocence, glancing toward the crowd with a lopsided grin.
"Not my fault she wouldn't talk."
A tech drone dropped a towel from the rafters.
The next match wouldn't be starting anytime soon.
The internal class match chamber cleared slowly, lingering with the quiet aftershock of combat. The observers behind the glass had begun to leave, murmurs spreading between students, staff, and evaluation personnel. Some glanced back at the floor below—specifically at the girl still crouched in a simulation-issued towel, shoulders hunched in silent fury.
Fuyumi sat against the edge of a scorched panel wall, her fan-type CAD folded tight in her lap, hair draped forward, hiding half her face. Her uniform had auto-repaired halfway. The rest stayed torn.
Sallie stood near the center of the floor, arms folded behind his head, still in the middle of cool-down. Celeste stood to the side, arms crossed, refusing to make eye contact with him.
"Alright, can someone explain," Sallie said loud enough to carry, "why she didn't say a single word in English that whole match?"
No one answered. Fuyumi didn't look up.
He pointed toward her with the flat of his briefcase. "You had ten whole minutes. Dozens of opportunities. You could've yelled at me, screamed, trash-talked. But nooo. Silent treatment. So I had to use the enhancement mode."
Celeste groaned under her breath.
"Do you know how many CAD energy cycles that burns?" he went on. "That mode scales to multilingual resistance—it wasn't meant for full combat application. But nooo, you just had to be a cultural enigma."
Fuyumi finally lifted her head. Her face was red. Cold.
"You used a combat tool to exploit a communication gap," she snapped, in perfect English now. "You weaponized language."
Sallie blinked. "Oh, so now you speak it?"
She stood fast, towel slipping slightly—she caught it and held it tighter, glaring. "I was testing your adaptability."
"Really? Because from my perspective, it looked like you were handing me a power multiplier on a silver platter."
Fuyumi stepped forward. Her tone cut. "You don't adapt, Salcedo. You exploit. That's not strategy. That's just sleaze wearing armor."
Celeste stepped between them, hand raised, tone flat. "Enough."
But Fuyumi didn't stop. She took another step forward, the towel clutched tight with one hand, the other still holding her fan CAD.
"You think it's clever, don't you?" Her voice cracked—anger barely controlled. "Messing with my language just to trigger your magic system. Is that what you're proud of?"
Sallie opened his mouth, grin still in place, but Celeste cut him off with a sharp look.
"Don't."
Fuyumi went on. "You didn't even fight me. You bypassed the fight. You used a trick to humiliate me. In front of everyone."
Sallie raised both hands. "You were the one not talking—"
"Because I was trying to stay focused!" she snapped. "Because I was taught that a clean spell sequence was better than emotional outbursts and taunts."
She pointed her fan at him, towel still clinging to her shoulder. "And you turned that into a target."
Celeste stepped forward now, fully between them. She glanced once at her brother, then turned to Fuyumi.
She switched to Japanese. "I apologize on his behalf, Nakamura-san. That wasn't part of any plan. He's just… cunning. And reckless."
Fuyumi's eyes narrowed, shoulders still trembling. "And you accept that? His methods?"
Celeste held her ground. "No. But he's my brother. And I try to keep him in check. Every day."
Celeste stepped closer, lowering her voice. "He's always been like that. That's just how he fights. Trust me, it gives me headaches too."
Fuyumi gave a small, tired breath through her nose. "It only worked because of you. Without your magic, it would've been over."
Celeste offered a slight nod. "We're only complete as a pair. But yeah—I'll teach him some manners. Again."
Fuyumi finally turned her head just slightly. "Next time we fight… I won't stay quiet."
Celeste gave a short smile. "Then it'll finally be fair."
Fuyumi stepped out, disappearing down the hallway, silent except for the drag of boot soles over tile.
Celeste stood still a moment, then turned back toward the center of the sim room—where Sallie stood, leaning lazily on his scythe-shaped CAD like none of that had just happened.
She walked back slowly, arms crossed.
"You made an international student lose her top and her temper," she said in deadpan. "That's a record even for you."
Sallie blinked. "It was a strategic field test."
Celeste stopped in front of him, eyes narrow. "You don't even remember what she said."
"Not really. But the scythe did."
She sighed, hard. "Onii-sama… you're lucky we're not getting expelled."
Sallie slung the scythe back into briefcase mode. "Lucky? No. Just calculated."
Celeste stared at him for a long second. "I'm never letting you talk to a transfer student again."
"Too late. I'm writing a formal apology."
"In English?"
"Auto-translated. Probably."
Celeste turned and walked off.
He followed. Still smiling. Still undefeated.
The lights in the sim chamber dimmed to standby as students filtered out, but a crowd still lingered near the holo-display wall in the observation gallery above. The replay was on loop—slowed footage of the final moments between the Salcedo siblings and their opponents playing frame by frame.
The moment the scythe missed Fuyumi by inches.
The passive pulse, her uniform flickering, mana thread disintegrating, combat layering torn away.
The towel. The silence. The look on her face.
And Sallie, walking away like it was nothing.
A group of students gathered near the projection panel—those who'd been eliminated in the earlier brackets. Uniforms wrinkled. Some with healing patches still glowing faint under their sleeves.
"Bro," one of them muttered, "he didn't even touch her."
"It was the enhancement protocol," another said, leaning in. "You see that scythe mod? It's tied to that language barrier subroutine he runs. It scales the output based on how low the opponent's English profile is."
"That's banned in most tournaments," someone else added.
"Not here."
One leaned back, arms crossed. "He literally made her uniform combust because she didn't speak English."
A pause.
Then someone muttered, "Kinda genius."
Another snorted. "Kinda perverted."
"You think the instructors are gonna say something?"
"Not before the finals. Salcedo siblings are representing Section Four tomorrow. No way they're benching the only pair that actually ran full-sync casts under pressure."
Further back, a girl whispered to her partner, "Celeste didn't even blink. Like she knew he was gonna do it."
"He planned it," the other replied. "You think that loadout was just sitting in his CAD by accident?"
The crowd watched as the replay looped again.
Sallie's scythe. The empty swing.
Fuyumi flinching. The digital threads breaking apart.
And Celeste stepping into the silence like it was scripted.
Someone murmured from the side, "They're monsters."
Someone else replied, "Yeah. And tomorrow, they're our monsters."