Victory, as it turned out, was a fleeting thing.
It lingered just long enough to be felt—just long enough to echo through the arena in cheers, to ripple across the city in rumor, to settle briefly in the bones of those who had earned it—and then it was gone, swept aside by the relentless machinery of the tournament.
Less than an hour after their triumph, Skygate Academy was no longer the center of celebration.
They were the next scheduled act in a far larger performance.
That was the nature of the National Championship.
It did not allow anyone to rest on success.
It demanded proof, again and again, until only one remained capable of standing.
The corridors beneath the Imperial Championship Arena had transformed in the aftermath of the first round.
What had once been a tense, controlled environment filled with quiet preparation had now erupted into something far more chaotic—an ever-shifting tide of movement, sound, and emotion that refused to settle into any single rhythm.
