CHAPTER 73 — The Weight of Cards
The arena was still wet with blood.
The medics had cleaned the stone, but a reddish shadow remained, like a memory that water could not erase. Cynthia had been carried away. The White Lady had followed her, without a word, without a backward glance.
Zayn didn't move.
He stared at the stain on the ground. He stared at the spot where Cynthia had fallen. He stared at his hands, resting on his knees, motionless.
Yojuro, beside him, said nothing. He didn't place a hand on his shoulder. He didn't say "it'll be okay." He stayed there, silent, present.
"She'll make it," Zayn said.
His voice was flat, without emotion.
"Yes," Yojuro replied.
"Do you really think so?"
"I do."
Zayn closed his eyes.
The referee stepped forward to the center of the arena. His voice rang out, clear and cold.
"Next match: Rodrigue versus Akamaru."
The crowd murmured. Eyes turned toward the two fighters.
Rodrigue stood. He took his ball, rolled it between his hands. He wasn't afraid. Not yet. He looked at Akamaru, who was already standing at the edge of the arena, arms hanging.
"You and me, huh?" said Rodrigue.
"Yes."
"You look tired."
"I am."
Rodrigue shrugged.
"Then I'll give you a good reason to rest."
He walked toward the arena, the ball under his arm. He didn't look back. He didn't look at Zayn. He focused on the fight.
---
— The Fight —
The referee raised his hand.
"Begin."
Rodrigue attacked first.
He threw his ball. He didn't aim at Akamaru — he aimed at the ground just in front of him. The ball bounced, veered, hit an invisible wall, and came back toward Akamaru from behind.
Akamaru didn't turn around. He reached out, and a card appeared between his fingers. He threw it without looking.
The card struck the ball, deflecting it. The ball rolled to the side.
Rodrigue smiled.
"Not bad."
"You too."
Rodrigue caught his ball, spun it on his index finger.
"But I haven't started yet."
He threw it again. This time, higher, harder. The ball rose, arced, then descended spinning on itself. An impossible trajectory.
Akamaru looked up. He saw the ball hurtling toward him. He didn't have time to throw a card.
He dove.
The ball passed over him, crashed against the ground, bounced, and returned to Rodrigue.
Akamaru stood up, short of breath.
"You're fast."
"You're slow."
Rodrigue attacked again.
He ran toward Akamaru, the ball in one hand. He feinted a throw, then pivoted, struck the ground with his foot. The ball went one way, Rodrigue another.
Akamaru didn't follow the ball. He followed Rodrigue.
He threw a card. It whistled through the air, straight, fast.
Rodrigue dodged just in time, but the card grazed his sleeve. A thin line of blood appeared on his arm.
He didn't stop.
He caught his ball, threw it point-blank.
Akamaru raised his hand. A card appeared, blocking it.
The two fighters stopped, out of breath.
"Can you keep going?" asked Rodrigue.
"I can."
"Are you holding back?"
Akamaru didn't answer. He looked at Rodrigue, then at his cards, then at the ball.
"I'm not holding back anymore."
He threw three cards in one motion.
Rodrigue dodged the first, the second, but the third hit his shoulder. He stepped back, hand to his wound.
"Nice one."
"I'm not playing."
Akamaru advanced. He threw another card. Then another. Then another.
Rodrigue dodged, retreated, shielded himself. But the cards were too fast, too many.
He fell to his knees.
The crowd held its breath.
Akamaru stopped. He looked at Rodrigue, on his knees, short of breath.
"We stop?" he asked.
Rodrigue looked up. He was smiling.
"We stop."
The referee stepped forward.
"Akamaru wins."
The crowd applauded.
Akamaru extended his hand to Rodrigue. Rodrigue took it, stood up, the ball still in his other hand.
"You're strong, Akamaru."
"You're not so bad either."
Rodrigue laughed.
"I'm going to take a nap."
He walked away, the ball under his arm.
Akamaru remained alone at the center of the arena. He looked at his cards. He looked at the crowd. He looked at Zayn, in the distance.
He wasn't smiling.
---
Zayn watched Rodrigue return. His arm was bleeding, but he was smiling.
"You lost," said Zayn.
"I know."
"Are you happy?"
"I'm tired. It's the same thing."
He sat down beside Zayn.
"Cynthia?"
"She's with the White Lady."
"Will she make it?"
Zayn didn't answer.
Rodrigue set his ball on his knees.
"She's strong, Cynthia. She'll make it."
"I know."
Silence fell again.
In the arena, the referee raised his hand.
"Next match: Blanche versus Enara."
---