His teammates stared at him blankly. That kind of miracle wasn't much of a chance at all.

"No other way?"

Sergio snapped his fan shut and fixed his gaze on a single figure within the scroll's shifting image. "There's another variable. I get the feeling Axel's been hiding something. Let's wait and see."

Axel? The name drew quick glances between them. Rumors had already spread from the other academies—Axel's support abilities were frightening, and he'd two Original Instruments on top of that. If even that was just a cover… then the bastard was terrifying.

"I haven't heard of any major families backing him," one of them muttered.

Sergio's smile faded. He kept his eyes locked on the sky-born painting, all traces of amusement gone.

.....

"Finally—my moment!"

Perched near the top of a pine tree that stretched fifty meters into the air, Yakov could barely contain his excitement.

"This kind of map! Let's see what I can do!"

The instant he'd seen the terrain, he'd known it was his stage. He scrambled higher, settled into place, and activated his Holographic Vision.

With the enemy scattered, his fuzzy-range vision could sweep nearly ten kilometers in every direction. If he could regroup his team first, they could crush Stormwatch piece by piece.

Suppressing his grin, Yakov pushed his mental power outward, stretching, searching. Minutes passed. His smile faltered.

"What the hell? This place is huge!" Ten kilometers to the east—nothing.

He was about to pull his senses back when suddenly—

Cold.

A bitter chill slammed through him, cutting straight past his Force shielding. His breath caught. His body locked up, stiffening as he lost balance and dropped from the tree.

"Well hidden, weren't you? Right under my nose."

The lazy voice drifted past his ear. Yakov's heart sank as he crashed into the snow, staring up at a figure who wore an expression of pure contempt. His detection had seen nothing—the bastard had hidden all his mental power, staying invisible until Yakov practically landed on top of him.

Damn it. Yakov spat blood, fury burning in his chest. Of all the opponents he could stumble across, it was Octavius—the weakest psychic in Stormwatch. And yet, Yakov knew deep down… he was certainly no match for him.

He forced the cold out of his body with raw Force, but dread gnawed at him. He braced to fight, gathering power—until his mental field brushed against another presence.

"…Axel?"

A spark of hope lit in his eyes. He burst from the snow with renewed strength—

Only to dodge frantically as jagged icicles screamed through the air. Two missed. One drove straight through his shoulder. Blood sprayed.

"Fuck!" Yakov clutched the wound, glaring at Octavius. "Fine. You want a fight? You got one!"

His psychic force surged, pressure rolling across the frozen air. Octavius froze for a split second, face tightening. He knew too well how deadly those psychic awakeners' instant-kill techniques could be. He hadn't trained his shields enough to shrug one off.

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He raised his guard—only to blink in shock as Yakov's aura suddenly collapsed, his figure flung backward.

"See you later!" Yakov cackled, half-mad, before vanishing into the snowstorm.

"…The fuck?" Octavius stared, stunned for half a heartbeat. Then his expression darkened, and without another word, he tore off after him.

"Come on, baby—move!"

Yakov burst forward, faster than he had ever run before, his shoes glowing faintly with power.

They were only an F-grade Original Instrument—entry-level gear, given as a reward from the academy—but even so, the speed boost was incredible. The drawback was brutal: heavy Force consumption and a long activation window.

In the last Capture the Flag match, Yakov hadn't dared use them. Not even at full speed could he outrun Yara. But now? He had no choice.

"Running, huh?" Octavius's voice carried a thread of irritation as he followed. He knew exactly where Yakov's speed came from—the Instrument. Once its effect burned out, the Force gap between them would reassert itself. He could take his time then. But for now, being tricked into this chase pissed him off.

"How far? How far is it?" Yakov's chest heaved as he felt his Force bleeding away. He needed Axel—now. If Axel healed him, then together, the two of them could crush Octavius.

The trees thinned. They burst out of the forest and onto an open plain of snow. Yakov's body screamed in protest, fire burning in every muscle. His psychic detection, his Force healing, his speed shoes—all of it running at once had pushed him past the brink.

"Axel!" Relief flashed in his eyes. In the distance, he caught sight of a familiar figure sprinting toward him. His lips curved in joy—

Shhhk.

An icicle ripped straight through his abdomen.

Yakov's face went pale. The next moment, his body disintegrated into white light, scattering across the snow.

High above, his name dimmed on the sky list, the word eliminated stamped beside it.

"Well, well." Octavius's smile widened. "Looks like I'm lucky. Someone else was here all along."

And now he saw him clearly. Axel, sprinting at top speed, closing the distance—ten seconds at most.

"A fourth-level support Awakener, huh?" Octavius muttered with pride. "Terrence, watch closely. I'll show you I'm worth being your teammate—"

His words cut off.

A crimson arc slashed across his vision. For one heartbeat, Octavius saw nothing but blood-red steel. His pupils shrank—then his body burst into white light.

"This… impossible…" His disbelief lingered in the air long after he vanished.

Two seconds later, Axel skidded to a halt where Yakov and Octavius had just fallen. He lowered his blade, shook his head with regret, and murmured, "Damn. A step too late."

He had felt Yakov's Force signal through their mental link and rushed here as fast as he could. Just before he could cast Abundant to heal him, Octavius had struck. With no time to waste, Axel ignited the Red Flame Blade and went straight for the kill.

What surprised him was how easily Octavius went down. A single blow—and gone.

.....

"Hell yes!"

Somewhere across the snowy plain, Vaughn clenched his fist, cheering as Yakov's elimination lit up the scroll. But his excitement lasted only a few seconds—until another name flickered and dimmed.

"Octavius eliminated too?!" His grin collapsed. He frowned, muttering under his breath. "Did he run into Yara… or Umar?"

The rest of Stormwatch thought the same thing—except Percy.

Because right in front of him stood both Umar and Yara.

"Your team's that stacked, huh?" Percy's right hand was bent, blood dripping from a wound on his leg. The pain didn't bother him—he'd expected this. Even one-on-one, he couldn't have beaten Yara. With Umar beside her, his odds were nonexistent.

But what really shook him was the bigger question: if these two were here… then who the hell had just taken Octavius out so fast?

"Swish!"

Umar didn't bother answering. With Yara pinning Percy in place, he blurred forward, a shadow tearing through the snow.

A heartbeat later, Percy was gone—his body exploding into white light, swept from the battlefield.

"Another one down."

Standing where Percy had fallen, Umar wiped the blood from his nose.

To be fair, Percy had earned his rank as the ninth-strongest psychic Awakener. Even fighting two-on-one against Umar and Yara, he'd still managed to counterattack, landing a psychic shock that rattled Umar to his core.

Umar turned back, breathing hard—only to notice that Yara wasn't celebrating. Her expression was tight, serious.

And then he saw why.

Not far ahead stood a young man with light brown hair and a cheap, fire-red leather jacket. A branch dangled casually from his mouth, his hands folded lazily behind his head. He looked completely at ease, like he was out for a stroll.

Umar's chest tightened. Terrence. The Starcrest family's golden son.

Unlike Umar and Yara, who were tensed and ready to fight, Terrence's eyes sparkled with interest. "So it wasn't Octavius you took out. That means it was Axel, huh? He's stronger than I thought."

He spoke as though they were sharing drinks at a bar. His teammates had just been eliminated, yet he didn't look remotely angry. If anything, he seemed entertained.

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