The noble girl snapped her grimoire open with a flourish, pages fluttering like white wings. Pride swelled in her posture as she lifted her chin, voice ringing loud enough to scrape against the stone tiers of the colosseum.
"Winter Magic: Raging Blizzard!"
The sky obeyed at once.
Ashen clouds stitched themselves together overhead, their bellies heavy and swollen. A low thunder rolled—not with sound, but with pressure—and then the air shattered into a storm of ice. Needles of frost rained down in merciless sheets, snow spiraling violently until the arena vanished beneath a suffocating white veil.
Cold bit deep.
The ground vanished under accumulating drifts, the temperature plunging so fast it stole breath from lungs. Spectators recoiled as several unfortunate bystanders brushed against the falling frost—only to crystallize in an instant, bodies caught mid-motion as glittering statues of ice.
The noble laughed, sharp and shrill, sound tearing through the blizzard.
"Hahaha! Dance! Dance, you pitiful rat!" she screamed. "Twirl beneath the embrace of my beautiful magic!"
Xierra did not move.
She watched the storm with calm eyes, pale lashes dusted with snow, breath steady despite the brutal chill. She had to admit—quietly, honestly—that the girl before her wielded considerable power. Had Yuno faced this opponent, his battle would not have ended in seconds.
But still.
She brushed stray snow from her shoulder with an almost bored flick of her fingers. Around her, the frost never touched skin.
Inari's form flickered into visibility the moment snow grazed his fur; his once-translucent coat turned into a literal ghostly white. He shook himself sharply, scattering ice in all directions, though crystalline tips clung stubbornly to his fur.
"This is... irritating," Xierra murmured under her breath, eyes never leaving her opponent as she scanned her grimoire with deliberate care.
Inari huffed softly, padding closer to her boots. "You could say that again, Master. I look like I lost a fight with a snowbank."
Around them, the murmurs rose—then sharpened into complaints as teeth chattered and tempers frayed.
"What the hell is she doing?!"
"Hurry it up already—I can't feel my hands!"
"She's enjoying this. I swear she is!"
Xierra heard them all.
Yuno did too.
From the sidelines, he leaned forward, brows drawn together as the storm howled. "She's taking her time," he said quietly, voice tight with concern. "Does she always do this?"
He remembered her younger self—gentler, hesitant. And then the change, slow but sure, after that promise years ago. Xierra had grown brighter, braver. Loved by the village children, cherished by the elders. Loved so easily, so deeply.
"...That might be why," he whispered, barely aware he'd spoken aloud.
Unbothered by the chaos, Xierra lifted her gaze at last. Her smile curved faintly—cooler than the blizzard itself. She noticed the faint shimmer surrounding the captains, protective barriers warding off the cold. A few skilled mages bore the same glow.
Others did not.
Her eyes drifted upward, catching on William's masked face. He returned her look with a gentle smile, untroubled.
Xierra's expression tightened.
She looked away.
The smile vanished.
Her stare snapped back to the noble girl—sharp, focused, cutting like a drawn blade. The air around her seemed to still, even as the storm raged on.
Inari's ears flattened instinctively. He lowered his voice to a whisper only she could hear.
"...It's been a while since I've seen you this angry, Master."
Snow screamed through the arena.
And Xierra stood at its center, unmoved, unbowed—ready to answer the storm.
The noble scrambled back, boots skidding against the frost-slick stone as jagged pillars of ice erupted at her command. They rose hastily, uneven and sharp-edged—walls built more from panic than precision. From behind them, she glared, chin lifted in defiance despite the tremor in her limbs.
"What is that look?!" she shouted, voice cracking against the storm. "Stop staring!! Are you opposing me?!"
Xierra did not answer right away.
She lowered her gaze to her grimoire, fingers brushing past familiar pages before pausing—deliberate, certain. A quiet breath escaped her, almost regretful, as she tilted her head.
"I suppose I should have done this from the start," she murmured, voice hushed but unwavering.
"Astral Summoning Magic—Ukanomitama-no-Kami... Kitsune."
The air changed.
Inari stepped forward, clearing his throat as though amused by the entire affair. A sharp smirk curved his muzzle—and then his body began to grow.
Larger.
And larger still.
His form expanded with terrifying grace, shadow swallowing frost as his paws pressed into the arena. In moments, he towered over the battlefield, vast enough to eclipse the girl's fragile defenses. He held himself back from igniting his tails, instinctively aware that a single careless flick could reduce the colosseum to cinders.
Pitch-black fur shed the frost as he grew, ice sliding uselessly from his coat. Translucent fox-spirits drifted around his towering silhouette like wandering stars, their pale forms circling his highest peaks. Above them, parts of the sky bled into a deep, ominous scarlet.
The arena trembled.
Gasps rippled through the stands—sharp, frightened, reverent. Several captains stiffened in their seats, eyes widening as pressure bore down on their senses.
Inari's slanted golden gaze swept across the colosseum, cutting through bravado and arrogance alike. The faintly glowing violet markings along his face pulsed softly, radiating something ancient and unforgiving.
He moved.
One massive paw descended, crushing the ice pillars as though they were made of glass. They shattered instantly, collapsing into glittering frost that scattered across the stone and melted into the ground.
Including the one she hid behind.
The noble froze.
Inari leaned closer, immense face lowering until his breath alone sent her hair fluttering. Color drained from her skin, leaving her pale and shaking, eyes wide with pure terror. Her knees buckled violently, fear overtaking pride as her body trembled uncontrollably.
"What... is this... presence...?" she whispered, voice barely audible.
"Surrender," Xierra said calmly.
She stepped out from behind Inari's paw, one hand resting against his fur, grounding him. Her touch was gentle, almost affectionate.
"And you won't be hurt," she added. "Good work, Inari."
The noble shrieked, fury and fear tangling together.
"N-Never! I would never surrender to a peasant like you!" she screamed, teeth chattering as cold gnawed at her own body. "Kneel! Bow down! All you have to do is become my loyal dog! Why do you dare disobey me?!"
Her words rang hollow.
The tremble in her legs betrayed her long before her body gave out. She collapsed onto the frozen stone, still glaring upward through sheer force of ego, refusing to admit defeat even as terror swallowed her whole.
Xierra exhaled slowly, disappointment softening her features.
"Inari," she said quietly. "You know what to do."
"Yes, Master."
His voice rolled through the colosseum—deep, resonant, unavoidable.
Inari lifted his head and howled.
The sound was strange—low and whistling, soft yet overwhelming, as though it resonated inside bone rather than air. He raised a massive paw, shadow falling over the noble—
—and she fainted.
Her eyes rolled back, body going slack before he could touch her.
Inari clicked his tongue in annoyance as his form shrank, darkness folding neatly back into a fox-sized body. He hopped lightly onto Xierra's shoulders, entirely visible now, golden eyes sweeping over the silent crowd with a sharp side-eye.
"How disappointing," he muttered. "I was looking forward to taunting her a little longer."
He glanced at Xierra, a grin returning. "I do hope you have treats for me, Master."
She laughed softly, patting his head. "Yes, yes. You did well, Inari. Very well."
Her gaze drifted back to the unconscious noble sprawled across the frost, face pale and hollow.
"I am not here to play," Xierra said quietly, voice steady as she turned away. "I am here to fulfill my promise—and to reach my dreams. Empty words from someone who does not understand effort or respect will never stop me."
She walked back toward the sidelines.
No one spoke.
The captains remained frozen in place, expressions unreadable, breaths held. The spectators stared, unmoving, minds struggling to catch up with what they had just witnessed.
A beast—or a monster?
A spirit—or a god?
A predator—or a protector?
As Inari's tails swayed gently behind her, none of them could say.
But one truth lingered, heavy in the air:
Xierra was not someone to be underestimated.
.
.
.
The heavens above the colosseum began their slow descent into dusk.
What had once burned in molten orange softened into embers of red, the color thinning as it bled into a vast stretch of deepening blue. The sun slipped away without ceremony, leaving behind only a faint afterglow that clung to the clouds like a memory reluctant to fade. Shadows stretched long across the stone arena, settling into the grooves worn smooth by countless battles before this one.
At Xierra's feet, Inari padded in lazy circles, his steps unhurried, tail swaying with idle rhythm. He yawned wide enough to show sharp fangs, then seemed to count his own movements, claws tapping against stone as if the passing seconds amused him. When boredom finally won, he drifted toward Yuno and Asta, weaving between them without care for their curious stares. He reminded them of a fox wandering through strangers' territory—unbothered, unimpressed.
Tilting his head upward, he squinted at the darkening sky.
"Master," he murmured, voice kept deliberately low, "when are they going to announce the results?"
Xierra glanced over her shoulder, eyes briefly scanning the arena floor. Several examinees still lingered near the edges, hesitant to approach the center as if crossing some invisible threshold. Her gaze drifted higher—to the second level, where the nine captains stood. Behind each of them were mages clad in matching robes, their presence orderly and restrained. Squad members, she realized. None stepped forward. Instead, whispers rippled among them, restrained but unmistakable.
"I don't know," Xierra replied softly. Her tone was calm, almost lazy, despite the tight coil forming in her chest. "Let's wait a little longer."
She exhaled, slow and measured, then turned back toward the balcony. The examination—hours of magic colliding with magic—had finally drawn to a close. Victory and defeat had unfolded in equal measure. Some examinees carried the glow of triumph, others the weight of quiet devastation. Laughter had faded. So had tears.
What remained was anticipation.
Xierra stood beside Yuno, her hands folded loosely before her. Her eyes stayed fixed on the captains, though they seemed drawn again and again to the figure at the center—the captain of the Golden Dawn. When William rose from his seat, the ambient noise softened instinctively, as though the air itself leaned in to listen.
"And that marks the end of the examination," William announced, his voice steady, carrying easily through the arena.
A collective swallow passed through the crowd.
"Now," he continued, and that single word tightened every breath below, "each examinee will step forward when their number is called. The squad captains will raise their hands if they wish to have you join their team."
Reactions rippled through the examinees—stiffened shoulders, clenched fists, carefully neutral expressions. Yuno remained composed, gaze forward, posture unshaken.
"It is up to the examinee to accept the offer," William went on, "or decline it. If more than one captain raises their hand, the decision will rest with the examinee."
A faint smile touched his lips, gentle but unyielding.
"However," he added, "if there are no offers, the examinee will not be able to join the Magic Knights."
That was all.
Simple words. Heavy consequences.
"Examinee number one," the exam staff called. "Step forward."
The numbers followed, one after another, each announcement echoing like a heartbeat.
"Examinee number thirty-two. The Purple Orca."
Another pause.
"Examinee number seventy-eight. The Crimson Lion Kings."
A sharp intake of breath from somewhere in the crowd.
"Examinee number one hundred sixteen," the exam staff announced. "No offers."
The silence that followed felt colder than any spell cast that day.
Xierra swallowed as the numbers crept closer to hers. Her fingers curled into the fabric of her sleeve, then loosened again. Her thoughts spiraled, unruly and relentless.
What if they feared her magic?
What if they didn't trust her?
What if she wasn't enough?
A voice passed close by her shoulder—low, bitter.
"I guess I should've expected it..."
She flinched, just barely, as a failed examinee walked past her, disappointment clinging to his words like frost. The sound lodged itself in her chest, pressing down hard.
Her breathing hitched.
What if I fail?
Three more numbers to go...
"Examinee number one hundred forty-one, no offers."
Xierra barely managed to keep the sound trapped inside her throat.
She lifted both hands, fingers fanning out as they covered her face, shoulders hunching in on themselves. A strained groan slipped through her palms before she could stop it, the pressure of waiting gnawing mercilessly at her composure. Her confidence—so carefully built—felt like it was being peeled away layer by layer.
Inari climbed up her arm and settled against her shoulders, his weight warm and grounding. He pressed his cheek against hers and spoke in a low murmur meant only for her ears.
"Master, breathe," he coaxed gently. "Slowly. You're shaking."
She let out a thin exhale.
"You'll be fine," he added, nuzzling her temple. "I'm sure of it."
The numbers continued without pause.
Each call was answered almost immediately—hands raised, or not. Decisions made in heartbeats. Examinees stepped forward, then returned. Some walked back stiffly, faces unreadable. Others turned away altogether, exiting the colosseum with their shoulders slumped, dreams left behind on cold stone. Cheers broke out elsewhere—friends embracing, tears of joy glinting beneath the torchlight.
Xierra heard none of it.
Badum. Badum.
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, drowning out every sound.
Badum. Badum.
It struck her ribs like a trapped bird.
Badum. Badum.
She wanted—needed—quiet.
Badum. Badum.
Her fingers curled tighter at her sides.
Two more numbers to go...
"Next," another number was announced, "examinee number one hundred sixty-four."
Xierra's head snapped up.
Her pale-blue gaze followed Yuno as he stepped forward, his movements unhurried and his expression smooth as still water. He didn't look back. He never did—not when it mattered like this.
The arena fell into stunned silence.
Hands rose.
All of them.
Gasps rippled outward, disbelief blooming like wildfire.
"What...?"
"You're kidding—"
"All of them?!"
Every captain stood with their hand raised high, eyes locked on the boy with the four-leaf clover grimoire. Even Dorothy stirred, head tilting in his direction despite her closed eyes, as if drawn by instinct alone.
The colosseum erupted—cheers, murmurs, astonished laughter colliding into a chaotic roar.
Xierra tried to smile.
She really did.
But her face wouldn't obey her, her thoughts tangled too tightly around the pounding in her chest. Even with Inari's steady presence, her pulse refused to slow.
She was afraid.
Truly afraid.
Her voice slipped out, barely louder than a breath. "What if... what if I don't get an offer?"
Inari turned his head to her, ears flicking. "Then you walk out with your head high," he replied quietly. "That's all."
Her lips trembled.
"What if I go back to Hage like that?" she whispered. "Everyone's waiting. What am I supposed to say?"
She squeezed her eyes shut and brought her hands up again, this time slapping her cheeks lightly.
"No," she muttered, forcing herself upright. "Stop it. Don't spiral." Her voice steadied, just a little. "Yuno will worry if he sees me like this."
She watched him tilt his head upward, gaze fixed on a captain he had admired for years. When he spoke, his voice carried—clear, unwavering.
"Please allow me to join the Golden Dawn."
Cheers broke anew.
Badum. Badum.
The sound returned instantly.
Xierra inhaled sharply and straightened her spine.
"I won't back down," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.
Badum. Badum.
"Whatever happens," she whispered, fingers curling into her shirt over her heart, "it happens."
Inari leaned closer, his grin soft but confident. "We'll make it," he said. "One way or another."
She glanced sideways at him. "You sound too calm."
He chuckled, tail flicking as it brushed over her hair. "Because even if you don't get in," he said gently, "it won't be the end of your story, Master."
She snorted quietly, tension loosening just a fraction. "Fair enough."
"Examinee number one hundred sixty-five," the staff called.
One more number to go...
Asta stepped forward, eyes shut tight, replacing Yuno as he returned to Xierra's side. With a sharp breath, he lifted his chin and snapped his eyes open, bracing himself for judgment.
It was silent.
Not a single hand rose.
The balcony stood frozen beneath the fading sky, nine captains gazing down at Asta with expressions carved from indifference. No murmurs followed. No whispers stirred. Even the air seemed to hold its breath, thick and unmoving.
Badum. Badum.
Xierra's chest tightened.
"He... didn't pass?" she whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop them.
Badum. Badum.
Her heartbeat stuttered—not with fear for herself, but with disbelief sharp enough to sting. Inari, perched against her shoulder, said nothing for once. His tail stilled, ears angled forward, golden eyes fixed on the boy standing alone in the arena.
Badum. Badum.
Xierra's lips parted, brows drawing together. Concern tangled with anger until she couldn't tell which burned hotter. Her throat closed, voice snagging uselessly as she stared ahead.
"That doesn't make sense," she breathed. "Asta fought harder than anyone..."
The silence was shattered.
"I'm not surprised." The voice cut through the stillness like steel dragged across stone.
Finral flinched visibly, scrambling forward in a failed attempt to follow his captain. "Captain Yami?!"
The captain of the Black Bulls rose from his seat, cigarette still lit, smoke curling lazily around him. His gaze remained sharp, unreadable. "Combat skill doesn't mean much," he said evenly, "if it comes from something suspicious."
Xierra stiffened.
"Suspicious?" she echoed under her breath, disbelief flickering in her eyes. "What does he mean by that...?"
Yami Sukehiro exhaled smoke and continued, tone flat, merciless. "In the end, what matters most for a Magic Knight—"
The pressure dropped without warning.
It crushed down like an invisible weight.
Examinees gasped, knees slamming against stone as bodies buckled under the sudden mana. Grunts and strained breaths filled the arena. Xierra sucked in a sharp breath, muscles locking as pain flared along her limbs.
Yuno froze beside her, jaw clenched, unable to move.
"—is magical power."
The words landed heavier than the pressure itself.
Yami leapt down from the balcony with a dull, echoing thud—and the world seemed to tilt.
Darkness folded in on itself around him, void and shadow coiling together in an unseen spiral. It was not mana that flared or roared, but something far more suffocating—dense, bottomless, like standing at the edge of a starless abyss. His presence dragged at their bodies the way gravity dragged at planets, pulling them down, pinning breath to lungs, forcing knees to bow as if the arena itself acknowledged him as a singular, crushing force.
It felt deadly.
Not sharp or violent, but absolute—an inevitability that pressed down on bone and will alike. Even the air thickened, every inhale weighted, every exhale stolen too soon. To resist it was to invite pain.
"You've got none," Yami said bluntly, eyes fixed on Asta. "That's reality. No one wants you."
Xierra's breath hitched.
Though the words were not meant for her, they struck all the same, reverberating through her chest with a cruel familiarity. Memories surged unbidden—Asta standing alone, laughed at, belittled, cast aside for something he had never chosen. Her fingers curled tightly at her sides, nails biting into skin.
She tried to step forward.
Agony speared up her legs.
Xierra sucked in a sharp breath, a soft hiss escaping her lips as her knees threatened to buckle beneath the crushing pull.
"Master," Inari murmured, his voice low yet unwavering as he slipped down and placed himself firmly before her boots, tail braced, stance wide. "Don't move. His power is far beyond yours right now."
The fox's golden eyes remained fixed on Yami—alert, wary, respectful in the way only ancient beings could be when facing something truly monstrous.
Her jaw trembled. "But Asta's—!"
"He'll endure," Inari replied, glancing back at the boy. "I can feel it."
His stance widened, tail low, body tense. "No matter what happens, I'll protect him, too. Worry not."
Xierra swallowed and forced herself to still, eyes never leaving Yami as he loomed over Asta's much smaller frame.
"You want to be the Wizard King," Yami continued, taking another step forward. The air groaned under his weight. "That means surpassing us."
Asta's green eyes widened, reflecting the abyss standing before him. His lips parted, trembling as if the words were lodged somewhere deep in his chest, buried beneath years of doubt and derision. For a heartbeat, nothing came out.
Then his hands curled into fists.
His knuckles whitened, nails biting into skin as he anchored himself against the pressure, against the world that seemed determined to press him flat. His shoulders shook—not with fear, but with something fierce and unyielding, something that refused to bow even as the universe itself loomed overhead.
"Even if I don't get in today," Asta said, his voice unsteady yet ringing clear through the suffocating silence, "even if I fall again and again—"
He raised his head.
Not in defiance, but in resolve.
His gaze locked onto Yami's without wavering, bright and stubborn as spring breaking through frozen soil. It was the look of someone who had been denied everything—magic, status, acceptance—and had chosen to stand anyway. Even if the world rejected him. Even if society cast him aside. Even if the very laws of mana deemed him an anomaly unworthy of existence.
"One day," Asta declared, his voice no longer shaking, "I will become the Wizard King!"
The words did not explode.
They endured. Held on for too long to be a dream of a fifteen-year-old boy from a village by the edge of Clover. Held on too heavily to be a dream of someone who had no magic. And held on too close for someone who didn't have anything to want something.
They cut through the oppressive gravity like a single, steady heartbeat—fragile, human, and impossibly strong.
Xierra felt it then.
A warmth unfurled in her chest, soft but persistent, as embers rekindled after a long winter. Her throat tightened as her eyes stung, and she pressed a hand over her heart, as if to steady it.
Against all reason, against all rejection—
Asta still believed.
And somehow, that belief felt heavier than any power Yami had unleashed.
She smiled.
Beside her, Yuno did too.
Yami burst into laughter, deep and booming, drowning out every other sound. He pulled the cigarette from his lips and laughed harder before pointing straight at Asta.
For a moment, the crushing pressure vanished.
Yami straightened, the void-like weight that had pinned them to the ground loosening its grip as though it had never been there at all. The darkness coiling around him receded, drawn back into the man's broad frame like a beast returning to its master. What remained was not menace—but attention.
His gaze stayed on Asta.
Not dismissive. Not cruel.
Evaluating.
Then, slowly, a grin spread across Yami's face—sharp-edged, unapologetic, alive.
"You're interesting," he said, voice rough with amusement and something quieter beneath it. "Join the Black Bulls."
Asta blinked.
Once. Then twice.
The world seemed to tilt beneath his feet. "...Huh?"
Yami snorted, already turning as if the decision had been obvious from the start. He hooked a thumb toward himself without ceremony. "And you don't get to refuse."
"Whaaaat?!" Asta yelped, his voice cracking, disbelief crashing over him in waves.
"I'll give you a hellish time," Yami went on, laughter rumbling low in his chest. "You'll hate half of it. Probably all of it." His grin widened, feral and unapologetic. "So brace yourself."
"Whaaaaaat?!" Asta echoed again, spiraling somewhere between panic and awe.
Then Yami stopped.
He turned back.
The grin faded—not entirely, but enough. The sharp humor dulled into something grounded, something real. Smoke drifted lazily from his cigarette as his eyes narrowed, no longer testing, no longer weighing.
They believed.
"Then you would prove them wrong," Yami said, his voice steady, carrying farther than any shout. "Every last one of them."
Asta stilled.
"And become the Wizard King."
The words settled gently this time—not as a challenge, not as mockery, but as an offering. A hand extended where there had once been a wall.
Asta's breath hitched. His eyes shone, wide and bright, brimming with something fragile and overwhelming. His lips trembled before he could stop them, and when he bowed—deep, sudden—it was clumsy, earnest, and full of gratitude he couldn't yet put into words.
Xierra felt her chest ache in the best way.
She smiled, warmth spreading through her like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. In that moment, she understood—this wasn't just acceptance.
It was recognition.
Someone had finally looked at Asta and seen not what he lacked—but what he refused to lose.
Xierra let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
She watched Asta flush, a grin stretching across his face as years of scorn cracked under a single moment of acknowledgment.
"Yes, sir!!"
Yuno and Xierra turned to one another at the same time.
Their smiles were wide and unguarded, the kind that came from shared history and unspoken understanding. Without thinking, their hands found each other—fingers lacing together as they leaned closer, laughter spilling out in hushed voices.
"Yes," they breathed together, almost giddy.
At Xierra's shoulder, Inari released a slow exhale. His tails flicked once, tension finally easing from his frame. He would never say it aloud—not in front of anyone—but the thought of that loud, stubborn boy disappearing from their days had unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
The fox clicked his tongue in mock-irate. "Hmm, I suppose I'd miss the idiot if he were gone."
But peace, as fleeting as it was, never lingered long.
The murmurs began as whispers, slithering through the colosseum like cracks spreading across glass. Disbelief turned to sneers, admiration soured into contempt. Whether they had passed or failed, the participants shared the same poisonous curiosity.
A magicless boy.
The Black Bulls.
A joke of a squad for a joke of a knight.
Inari's ears flattened.
Xierra barely had time to react before the air shifted—thickening, warping, bending beneath a pressure that did not belong to humans. The fox stepped forward, his form swelling instinctively, shadows clinging to his outline as if eager to obey.
"Inari—!" Xierra hissed under her breath, panic tightening her chest.
Too late.
He planted himself between her and the crowd, gold eyes darkened to molten amber. The space around him bowed inward, as though the world itself recoiled. Conversations died mid-syllable. Bodies shrank back, some pressing against stone walls, others stumbling over their own feet.
"Would you pesky little humans shut your mouths?" Inari snapped, his voice low but sharp enough to cut. "Do you truly have nothing better to do than gnaw at the life of a boy who's already fought harder than any of you?"
The captains stirred, some rising from their seats—but none advanced.
Yami, meanwhile, barked out a laugh from the balcony. "Oi, this just keeps gettin' better!"
Inari's gaze flicked briefly upward, unimpressed, before returning to the trembling crowd.
"Accept him for who he is," he continued, teeth bared in a grin that promised ruin. "If you have enough breath to gossip, then you have enough time to train. Otherwise—" his tails swayed lazily, embers flickering at their tips, "—I'll be happy to burn that arrogance right out of you."
Silence crashed down, heavier than before.
The fox released a final pulse of pressure—not enough to crush, but more than enough to warn. Then he scoffed. "Hmph. Even devouring this entire place wouldn't satisfy my hunger."
"Inari!" Xierra hissed again, this time sharper, her face burning.
The spirit shrank back to her side with a disgruntled huff, though his glare lingered on the crowd like a drawn blade.
When the chaos finally settled, sweat clung to Xierra's palms. She kept her gaze lowered, heart racing—not from fear, but embarrassment. She could feel eyes everywhere, captains included.
The referee cleared his throat, voice wavering. "E-Examinee number one hundred sixty-six."
Xierra flinched.
She swallowed and stepped forward, shoulders squared despite the tremor in her breath.
At her side, Inari leaned close and muttered quietly, "If they reject you, I'll bite their heads off."
"What?!" Xierra whispered back, horrified.
Yuno and Asta stood at the sidelines, watching intently. Asta clenched his fists, eyes bright with hope. Yuno's gaze was steadier—but no less focused.
"All who wish to offer," the referee announced, "please raise your hands."
Then—as though an unseen conductor had brought his hand down—every captain raised their arm.
It was not hurried, nor hesitant. Nine hands rose with the inevitability of a tide answering the moon, each motion deliberate, weighted with intent. Mana stirred in the air, subtle yet unmistakable, brushing against Xierra's skin like a thousand watchful gazes. To the captains, she was no longer merely an examinee standing on borrowed ground—she was a spark struck against stone, a singular flame that each of them had glimpsed and refused to let slip past.
The stadium erupted a heartbeat later, sound crashing outward in stunned disbelief.
Xierra's breath hitched. Relief flooded her so quickly her legs nearly failed her, warmth rushing through veins that had been wound tight for far too long. For a moment, she could only stand there, stunned, the world blurring at its edges.
At her shoulder, Inari lifted his chin with quiet pride, tails swaying lazily as if this outcome had been inevitable all along.
But the tension did not vanish—it coiled tighter.
Nine captains.
Nine paths.
Nine futures, all reaching for her at once.
Xierra took a steadying breath and stepped forward, boots echoing softly against stone that still hummed with residual mana. The roar of the crowd dulled, as if swallowed by the weight of her choice. She felt the captains' gazes sharpen, some curious, some appraising, others burning with open interest—like suns aligned, each demanding to be chosen.
She lifted her chin, spine straight, and raised her voice. It did not waver.
"Please," she said, bowing her head just enough to be respectful, but never submissive, "allow me to join the Crimson Lion King."
For a split second, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Shock rippled through the stands.
"All of them raised their hands too?!"
"Those three are insane!"
"Why not the Golden Dawn?!"
The referee lifted his voice over the chaos. "Examinee number one hundred sixty-six—Crimson Lion King."
Xierra exhaled, smiling softly.
Behind her, Asta cheered loud enough for all of them. Yuno watched her with quiet pride.
And for the first time since stepping into the colosseum, Xierra felt it settle in her chest—
She had earned her place.
Xierra turned on her heel with a flourish that felt almost defiant, pride bright in the lift of her chin as she looked back at Yuno and Asta. The hall still thrummed with low murmurs—stone pillars towering like silent judges, banners cascading overhead in disciplined lines of color—but for a minute, her world narrowed to the expressions she had carved onto their faces.
Yuno's composure had cracked, just barely, eyes widened in something like disbelief.
Asta, on the other hand, looked as though steam might burst straight from his ears.
She laughed—light and free—at the sight of him unraveling. Asta's hands clawed into his hair, fingers tangling so violently it looked as though he meant to tear the disbelief straight out of his head, boots scraping against the marble as he paced in tight, furious circles.
"What are you doing?!" he shouted, spinning back toward her, eyes wild. "Are you crazy?!"
Xierra stared at him for a heartbeat, the noise washing over her like harmless static. Then she blinked once and tilted her head, her smile sharpening with mischief. "You don't get to call me crazy," she said, laughter lacing her voice. "Not when you're like this."
Her gaze slid, pointedly, past him—brief, knowing—toward Yuno. "And definitely not when he trains like a madman every time rivalry's involved."
Asta sputtered, words tangling uselessly on his tongue.
The next thing she knew, he was on her.
He lunged forward with reckless momentum, hands clamping onto her shoulders as he shook her back and forth like a living rattle, frustration finally boiling over. "Then why didn't you choose the Golden Dawn like that handsome jerk over there, damn it!!"
Her vision blurred—faces smearing into banners, banners into light. Xierra tried to steady herself, breath hitching as her balance slipped. She lifted her hands, tapping insistently against his wrists.
"Asta—stop shaking me—!"
"...I would like to know the reason as well."
The interruption cut clean through the noise.
A hush rippled outward, subtle but immediate, like wind skimming across tall grass. Asta froze mid-motion, hands loosening as Xierra's feet found the marble once more.
William Vangeance had risen from his seat.
He stood with an effortless grace, white mantle falling in soft folds around him, mask catching the light like polished ivory. His gaze lowered to Xierra—not sharp, not cold, but intent in a way that felt far heavier than accusation.
"It is unlike me to interject," William explained calmly, voice smooth and measured, "but I find myself compelled to ask."
His violet eyes lingered, thoughtful. "You strike me as someone who would aim for the position of Wizard Queen. Judging by the familiarity you share with those two, I assumed you pursued the same dream—or at least one of similar gravity."
Xierra stiffened.
She nodded slowly, pulse quickening. She had not expected him to pry, let alone in front of everyone. Around them, whispers bloomed like cracks in ice—curious, startled, almost reverent. This, she realized distantly, was not something that happened often.
Why would he care so much about where I go?
Her gaze flicked to the mask, skepticism curling quietly in her chest.
Asta, still buzzing with energy, had not quite released her—until a sudden impact echoed sharply through the hall.
Inari's tail came down across Asta's face with a sound that rang.
"Stop shaking my master, you brat," the fox snarled, teeth flashing.
Asta yelped and stumbled back, clutching his cheek.
William's lips curved, not quite into a smile, but into something softer—an expression touched with faint amusement, as though the sudden turn of events had merely piqued his curiosity rather than disturbed it. The mask hid most of his face, yet the calm in his posture was unmistakable. Even the light filtering through the high arches seemed to pause around him, waiting.
"If that is your ambition," he continued, voice smooth as polished glass, "then would it not be... prudent to align yourself with the squad most likely to elevate you toward it?"
The question hung in the air, deliberate and weighted. Xierra felt it settle on her shoulders—not as pressure, but as expectation. She drew a quiet breath, fingers curling slightly at her side, already preparing to answer—
—when another presence rose to meet William's.
Fuegoleon Vermillion stood.
The movement was unhurried, yet it carried the quiet authority of a flame that did not need to roar to be felt. Broad shoulders squared, crimson cloak shifting like embers caught in a slow draft, his violet eyes gleamed with restrained satisfaction as they fixed upon the masked captain.
"Vangeance," he said, his tone cordial but unyielding, each syllable measured, "I fail to see why you must attempt to take a new member from my squad." His gaze flicked briefly toward Xierra—affirming his support. "Her decision has already been made."
A beat passed.
Then, from another corner, a lazy chuckle cut through the tension.
Yami leaned back in his chair as if the entire exchange were little more than an entertaining sideshow. Smoke coiled languidly from between his fingers, drifting upward and dissolving beneath the vaulted ceiling. "She chose," he drawled, voice rough and unconcerned. "End of story."
His dark eyes slid toward Xierra, sharp beneath their indolence. "She's free to do whatever the hell she wants."
For a moment, the hall seemed to hold its breath.
William regarded the two captains in silence. The faint glow of mana around him remained steady, unreadable. Behind the mask, his violet eyes lingered—assessing, calculating. For the briefest instant, something keen and incisive flashed within them, like light catching on a blade—
—and then it was gone.
He chuckled softly, the sound low and genuine, as he inclined his head in concession. "My apologies," he said, tone gentle, almost self-effacing. "It appears I have been misunderstood."
His gaze returned to Xierra, attentive now rather than persuasive.
"I only wish to hear her reasoning," William added, voice warm with invitation rather than demand. "If that is acceptable... Examinee number one hundred sixty-six."
To Be Continued...