At this moment, Ron was seated in the control room on the fourth floor.
On the table in front of him were over thirty gray pipe openings.
All their lids had been removed, and the pipes extended outward—snaking through the ceiling and floor.
This room had only recently been constructed as part of the arena's renovation.
Every five pipes are connected to one floor—linking the four corners and the central ceiling.
Along the pipes, amplification magic arrays had been engraved, ensuring Ron's voice could be transmitted simultaneously across all seven floors.
This system obviously wasn't built just to announce:
"The tournament begins."
With so many participants, even with Mimic Grass displaying match listings, there would still be players who couldn't read.
So:
Staff on each floor would announce upcoming matches
If players still failed to check in, the control room would broadcast their names
If they still didn't appear → automatic forfeit
In noble competitions, literacy wasn't an issue.
A noble who couldn't read would be utterly humiliated.
But among commoners?
Illiteracy was completely normal.
Andy's situation—being sent to school—was actually rare.
So Ron built this system.
Simple by modern standards.
But in this world?
Using magic arrays for public service—especially for commoners—was unheard of.
Ron stood up and let two staff members take over the console.
He moved to the side to rest.
Nora sat beside him, ready to handle incoming issues.
The tournament proceeded smoothly.
No grand opening ceremony.
Just… matches.
Staff used Mimic Grass to record every duel.
At noon, recordings were replayed on the walls—
Match replays.
Andy only fought once that morning.
Three minutes.
Victory.
Clean.
Each player needed to complete 10 matches in 7 days.
Then rankings would be calculated:
Top 300 → advance
Out of 1800+ participants
A brutal elimination rate.
At lunch, Ron asked:
"How did Mia do?"
Mia glared at him while biting her chopsticks.
"Are you targeting me?!"
"Out of 1800 people, I had to face Wardson?!"
"Rigged! This is definitely rigged!"
Soren (the commentator) looked confused.
"Isn't that proof of fairness? Even a princess faces top players."
Mia snapped.
"Soren!"
"You kept praising me the whole match!"
"I got completely crushed! Wardson didn't even lose a single point!"
Soren shrugged.
"I'm your brother. Of course, I cheer for you."
"And losing to Wardson isn't shameful."
"Think of it this way—you used up your bad luck early."
Mia turned away.
"Hmph! Nonsense!"
Ron held back laughter.
Honestly—
Soren's commentary was unexpectedly excellent.
Not technically deep like Betty…
But incredibly entertaining.
He joked.
He teased players.
Even mocked himself.
And because he was a prince—
No one dared complain.
After lunch, Ron grabbed two portions of grilled meat.
One he tossed to the ground.
A shadow emerged—snatched it—and vanished.
The other he brought back to the control room.
He sat beside Nora and began feeding her piece by piece.
Nora, focused on work, instinctively opened her mouth—
Then suddenly—
Ron leaned in.
Peck.
"Mm… Boss…"
Nora blushed.
"There are people here…"
The nearby staff quickly turned their heads away.
For some reason…
Their stomachs felt even fuller than before.
"No one's looking now," Ron said casually.
Nora couldn't help but laugh.
Then obediently took another bite.
"One bite, one kiss," Ron grinned.
"Food and affection included. Good service, right?"
"Don't…" Nora whispered—
But still leaned forward.
The meal took nearly an hour.
By the time they finished—
It was 1 PM.
Afternoon matches began.
Ron finally let Nora go and walked through the arena.
The most crowded areas:
Andy's stage (1st floor)
Wardson & Rowell (3rd & 4th floors)
Betty (7th floor)
But even regular matches drew large crowds.
Latecomers sat by the walls—
Watching replays via Mimic Grass.
Some even paid for specific match replays.
Despite the massive crowd—
Everything remained orderly.
No major issues.
Back in the control room, Nora reported:
"At this pace, preliminaries may finish in 5 days."
Ron nodded.
That meant—
The original goal (before April) was easily achievable.
He opened the system panel.
✔ 100 participants — complete
✔ 1000 spectators — complete
Only the completion of the tournament remained.
Ron stretched.
Beside him, Nora continued working.
Far away, in the private experimental zone—
His puppet body was also busy.
Three hundred chapters.
Even Ron—no, even the author—felt a bit emotional.
But the real story?
Was just getting started.