The silence after Aston's group stepped away hung heavier than applause could.

The seven of them filed to the edge of the staging floor, their spirit beasts settling near their handlers. Mirage preened her feathers with faintly glowing talons, Gray tucked against Aston's boots, Shelldon clacked his claws quietly as if proud of himself.

At the long judge's table, five pairs of eyes remained trained on the stage.

Elder Michael was the first to move. His quill tapped once against parchment before he leaned forward and began writing. His expression betrayed nothing—save for a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth, almost as though he were holding back a smile.

Beside him, a professor from Support and Healing Division kept her posture perfectly still, but her panther spirit's tail flicked once in approval. She bent slightly to jot notes, eyes sharp with evaluation.

The representative from the Spirit Alchemy Division whispered something under her breath before pressing her pen firmly to paper, scoring quickly. The Engineering Division's judge only hummed, adjusting his spectacles as he wrote with slow, deliberate strokes. Finally, Elder Valenne, assigned as the Council's observer, leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs with deliberate grace, the faintest smirk on her lips as she added her tallies.

Not a word of praise. Not a single comment. Only the scratching of quills.

But that silence spoke louder than cheers.

—

The next group was called in almost immediately. The emcee's voice cut through the charged hush, forcing the audience back to the flow of the event.

"Up next—team Verdant Crest, representing the Spirit Alchemy Division!"

A squad of four filed onto the platform, robes lined with the green and silver of their strand. Their beasts were small and agile—sproutling familiars, a scaled brew-hound, and a pair of essence-bonded beetles. Instead of spectacle, they built efficiency. Cauldrons materialized at the corners of the platform, glowing with stabilizing arrays. In a coordinated performance, their beasts funneled ingredients into vats while their handlers stirred, extracted, and filtered in unison. Within ten minutes, they presented a finished tri-elixir kit—three synergizing brews, volatile yet stable, their vapors weaving into the academy's crest above them.

The crowd applauded with genuine surprise. Alchemy wasn't known for visual drama, but their execution was flawless.

"Spiritcraft into artistry…" murmured the emcee. "An impressive showcase!"

The judges scribbled their notes quietly, the Alchemy representative's lips twitching faintly upward.

—

Dozens of groups followed. Some thrilled, others faltered.

A combat-specialist team from the Spirit Combat Division wowed the crowd with synchronized beast strikes, their paired maneuvers tearing apart conjured dummies in flawless unison. Their finale—a full-field spirit resonance pulse that collapsed an illusory fortress in seconds—had even the students cheering on their feet.

An Engineering group built a portable barrier dome live on stage, tested it against their beasts' assaults, and demonstrated its multi-layer resilience by timing its recharge cycle perfectly to match attack intervals.

From the Healing Division, a group orchestrated an "injury simulation" where summoned beasts deliberately struck down their handlers, and their healers restored them with such speed that not even a scratch remained.

Some fumbled. One squad's spiritlight formation collapsed halfway, leaving them scrambling as their beasts went off-cue. Another miscalculated a summoning sequence, nearly igniting their platform before officials smothered the flames.

Each time, the crowd reacted with waves of pity or amusement—but the judges remained impassive, their quills scratching steadily, their eyes unblinking.

—

Hours later, the final team stepped off stage. The audience's energy had ebbed and surged so many times that anticipation now pooled like a rising tide.

The emcee reappeared at center stage, voice ringing bright with ceremonial force.

"Ladies and gentlemen, after a long day of brilliance, sweat, and spirit, the scores are in!"

The crowd roared. Students stamped their feet, clapped, and shouted out names, their excitement feeding back on itself until the whole arena shook.

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"Third place," the emcee announced, "with a total score of ninety-eight points, is… Team Goldenspire, from the Spirit Combat Division!"

The combat team strode forward, heads held high. Even third place was a triumph, and the cheers that met them proved as much.

The emcee raised his hand. "And now—for first."

The arena stilled. A thousand breaths caught at once.

"In a rare outcome not seen in over a decade," the emcee declared, "two teams share the top rank, each with a perfect one hundred points!"

Gasps and cries swept the crowd.

The emcee drew the words out, savoring them. "First… representing the Spirit Alchemy Division, Team Verdant Crest!"

The alchemists surged to their feet, faces flushed with shock and pride. Their supporters shouted themselves hoarse.

"And tied with them… representing the Scouting Division—Team Shadowhide!"

For a moment, Aston almost thought he'd misheard. Then the sound hit him—an eruption of cheers, disbelief, and wild applause, washing through the arena in a wave.

Gray startled, tail flicking, while Mirage lifted her wings and let out a proud, ringing cry. Verdy nearly tumbled off Rowan's shoulder in excitement. Lumine and Oriel hovered near Seria, their wings shimmering in radiant resonance. Even Shelldon clicked his claws rapidly, shell plates flaring with faint spiritlight as if joining in the celebration.

Aston's team exchanged wide-eyed looks. Then Rowan grabbed Kai's shoulder, laughing. Lyra covered her mouth with both hands. Seria's lips quirked into one of her rare, small smiles.

"We actually did it," Kai breathed.

"We tied for first," Rowan corrected, though his grin betrayed nothing but pride.

The emcee concluded, "Both teams shall share the champion's benefits and recognition. Their victory today sets the tone for the rest of the festival!"

Thunderous applause drowned the rest of his words.

—

When they finally left the stage area, the seven of them collapsed into a cluster near one of the side corridors.

Rowan still couldn't stop grinning. "Perfect score! Do you know how insane that is?"

"It's more than insane," Lyra said, cheeks flushed. "It's impossible. And yet—"

"We're proof," Kai cut in, eyes bright.

Seria, however, lifted a hand to steady them. "Don't get complacent." Her voice was calm but cutting. "This was one event. The festival is not won by a single showcase."

Rowan frowned. "You're saying we shouldn't celebrate?"

"I'm saying," Seria replied firmly, "that the singles arena preliminaries start this afternoon. And the team arena lineup will be announced any moment. We cannot afford distraction."

Her words cooled their laughter, but not their pride. Aston caught her eye briefly and gave a small nod. She was right. Winning the showcase was powerful, but the real battles lay ahead.

Still, for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself the satisfaction. They had performed not just as a group, but as one. And for that, they had carved their names into the festival's history.

—

The announcement came less than an hour later.

The bulletin boards and spirit terminals across campus lit up with bold letters:

[Singles Arena Preliminaries — Brackets Released]

Students surged toward the boards like a tide. Voices rose in sharp bursts of speculation and excitement. Some groaned at their matchups, others cheered when they spotted weaker opponents in their bracket.

Aston's group pushed through the crowd until they reached one of the main displays. Names scrolled down the glowing panel in neat lines, bracket numbers branching into trees of elimination.

"There." Lyra pointed, eyes scanning quickly. "Bracket Fourteen. That's me."

Aston traced further down until his gaze caught his own. Bracket Seven. Gray shifted at his feet, Mirage clicking her beak softly from her perch above.

"Bracket Twelve," Seria said, her voice calm but resolute.

Three names. Three brackets.

Rowan exhaled slowly, folding his arms. "Well, looks like it's on you three now."

Kai gave a sharp nod, expression steady. "We'll be in the stands. Just focus on fighting—don't hold anything back."

Lyra glanced at them both, her usual composure carrying a rare edge of excitement. "I'll see you in the later rounds."

Seria lifted her chin, the faintest smirk on her lips. "If you can keep up."

Aston's gaze lingered on his friends. He didn't say much—just nodded once, the quiet promise of effort in his eyes.

"Good luck," Rowan said, clapping his shoulder. "We'll be watching."

Kai added, "Make it count."

The three of them—Aston, Seria, and Lyra—turned toward the designated gates for their brackets. The crowd streamed with them, buzzing with anticipation. Above, banners of spiritlight shimmered into being, marking each arena.

The preliminaries were about to begin.

Aston walked in silence, the noise of the crowd fading to a dull hum in his ears. Shadow Ops had tasked him with proving himself by placing in the top three of any festival event. He had already cleared that hurdle—the showcase victory was enough to satisfy their demand.

At least top 3… I already got first in an event…

So now… what?

Should he lay low or give his all in the arena?

For now, he will just wait and see.

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