The stadium hadn't stopped shaking since Tristan's victory. Yet when the announcer's voice rang out again, a hush rippled through the stands.

"Semifinal Match Two—Aston Rhyner versus Vincent Fairbanks!"

From the western gate, Aston emerged, Gray padding silently at his heel. The cat's fur shimmered faintly under the arena lights, his sharp gaze fixed ahead. Mirage, perched on Aston's shoulders, flew back towards the entrance and landed atop a beam. Unlike others who flaunted power, Aston's stride was measured, his hand brushing briefly over Gray's head before dropping back to his side.

From the opposite gate came Vincent Fairbanks. His uniform gleamed with the subtle embellishments of wealth—polished trim, a sash marked with his family's crest. He walked with an easy arrogance, smiling faintly at the applause from Trade Division students in the crowd. At his side stalked his beast—a Crimson-feathered Drake, lean yet powerful, its wings lined with smoldering feathers that hissed as they brushed the air. Every breath exhaled sparks, its scales aglow like ember-forged steel.

Vincent tilted his chin toward Aston, voice loud enough for the crowd to catch. "Rhyner, was it? I'd almost feel bad for you. To think the tournament dragged you this far just so you could lose to me." He smirked. "Be grateful—at least you'll look respectable when you're beaten."

Gray growled low in his throat, but Aston knelt briefly, hand resting on his spirit beast's shoulder. His voice was low, steady, meant only for the cub. "Not the new skill. Not yet. Keep it clean. Show them only what they're ready to see."

Gray's ears flicked back, a silent acknowledgment.

The referee raised a hand. "Semifinals, match two—begin!"

—

The Crimson-feathered Drake struck first. With a powerful sweep of its wings, it sent a spray of embers cascading forward. The sparks swirled, forming a burning wall that rushed across the arena.

Vincent smirked, voice sharp and confident. "Engulf him, Ashfire Wave!"

The inferno roared closer, heat prickling against Aston's skin even from a distance. But Gray was already in motion. His form blurred, his movements a predator's dance, weaving through fire with uncanny precision. His claws scraped against the dirt, leaving narrow gouges.

"Gray," Aston's voice rang clear. "Cut the gap."

The tiger cub darted forward. Flame licked at his fur but left no mark—his speed too great, his path too deliberate. In moments, he was at the drake's flank, obsidian claws flashing.

Surgical Claw.

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The strike carved a line so fine it seemed unreal—until a burst of sparks erupted from the drake's wing, crimson feathers scattering like burning leaves.

The crowd erupted.

"He cut it—he cut through a drake's wing!"

Vincent's smug expression faltered, but only for a breath. His hand clenched. "Crimson Spiral!"

The drake reared, wings snapping outward as it spun. A cyclone of fire whipped around its body, the vortex dragging Gray back with sheer force. The kitten's paws dug into the ground, claws anchoring him as heat pressed against his fur.

Aston didn't flinch. His voice was calm, measured, almost too quiet. "Stay low. Wait for the opening."

The drake lunged out of its spiral, its jaws wide with searing flame. But Gray moved at the last instant, slipping beneath its maw. His claws carved across its underside, shallow but precise—weakening, forcing blood to mix with fire.

Vincent's teeth clenched. "Damn you—!"

The drake staggered, smoke and sparks flying from its wounds. It tried to take to the air, but one wing faltered, clipped from Gray's earlier strike. The crowd roared again, sensing the shift.

"End it," Aston whispered.

Gray pounced. His obsidian claws carved across the drake's neck and shoulder, the cut clean, leaving the beast writhing in pain. With a final bellow, the Crimson-feathered Drake collapsed, sparks scattering uselessly into the dirt.

Silence clung for a moment—then the referee raised his hand.

"Victory—Aston Rhyner!"

The stadium erupted. Shock, disbelief, awe.

"Hah! The Fairbanks heir has been defeated!"

"Even that kitten can put down a drake!"

"That's Tristan and Aston now—both in the finals!"

Vincent's face burned crimson, but not from fire. His arrogance shattered, he winced as he felt the pain of having his essence bond severed by the fainting of his drake.He glared at Aston before he got teleported away.

Aston only reached down, running a hand along Gray's head. The cub licked his knuckles once, purring faintly as if victory were only a step in a long hunt yet to come.

Tristan Graves stood in the waiting tunnel, his Infernal Fang Cheetah crouched at his side. His crimson eyes tracked Aston as he walked off the field, Gray padding quietly at his heel. For a long moment, Tristan's jaw was set, unreadable. Then the faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth—sharp, hungry, predatory.

"So it's you," he muttered under his breath. His hand rested on his beast's head, firelight flickering in his gaze. "Good. At least the finals won't be boring."

The Cheetah growled low, flames licking along its claws as though sharing its master's anticipation.

Back in the arena, the announcer's voice carried over the storm of voices:

"Ladies and gentlemen, your Singles Arena finalists—Tristan Graves… and Aston Rhyner!"

The stadium erupted anew. Half the crowd roared Tristan's name, their cheers deafening. Others shouted Aston's, though scattered, their voices rising with feverish momentum. The divide was clear—Tristan, the academy's golden predator, and Aston, the boy who refused to bow.

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