In a designated room within the tournament arena complex, Isabel stood with her back straight and fists clenched at her sides. Before her stood two familiar women whose expressions made her sick to her stomach.

The first was a woman in her fifties, elegant, with a strong air of authority. Her long, wavy black hair cascaded like a waterfall over her slender shoulders.

Her face was sharp and beautiful, with the same dark brown eyes as Isabel, only more experienced and colder. Her body was impeccably maintained, with voluptuous curves even her tight navy blue business suit struggled to hide. She was like an older, more mature version of Isabel—Amely Mercedes, her mother.

Beside her stood another, younger woman, perhaps in her early thirties. Her wavy black hair was cut at shoulder-length, appearing wilder and freer. Her face… was almost identical to Isabel's, except for slightly narrower eyes and a taller stature, and of course, the hair. Isabel had inherited their father's straight hair; this girl had their mother's waves. Isolde Mercedes, her older sister.

Isabel felt every muscle in her body tense. This meeting was the last thing she wanted before the match. But as usual, they had come—to "offer support."

The atmosphere in the room instantly turned colder.

Amely wasted no time. She stepped closer, her sharp eyes locking directly onto Isabel's.

"Do not disappoint us in this tournament, Isabel," she said, her voice flat yet laden with pressure. No greeting, no asking how she was. Straight to the point.

Isabel bowed her head slightly, avoiding the direct gaze. "I won't, Mom."

"You must," Amely continued, her tone growing more forceful. "This time, you must truly make us proud. Look at yourself. Fourth rank. Below Yukie, below Alex, and even below that street mutt Maximus."

Isabel bit her lip deeply.

"Look at your sister," Amely went on, her hand gesturing toward Isolde, who stood with a smug smile in the corner. "Isolde, when she was a student at this academy, she was always ranked first. Never dropped. No one could ever rival her. She was the family's pride."

Isolde crossed her arms, her smile widening. Her eyes stared at Isabel with a look that said, "Listen well, sis."

"And the inter-academy tournament?" Amely didn't stop. Her voice was now full of proud nostalgia for Isolde and deep disappointment for Isabel. "Isolde didn't just lead her team to victory. She was the star. In every match, all eyes were on her. Her strategy, her power, her leadership… she made the Mercedes name shine brightly. People still never stop praising your sister in front of me."

She paused for a moment, taking a breath that sounded like an exasperated sigh. Her sharp eyes narrowed, looking Isabel up and down as if inspecting a defective product.

"Can't you be even a little bit like her?" Amely asked, her voice rising with unconcealed disappointment. "You have all the same advantages. The best education, private training, the same genes. But look! Isolde has ambition. She has fire! She fought for the top spot and claimed it. You? You're content being number four, hiding in others' shadows. Why can't you be more like your sister, Isabel? Why must you always be the paler version of her?"

Every word was like a knife twisting in Isabel's heart. She felt heat in her cheeks, a mixture of shame, anger, and helplessness.

Inside, a voice of protest screamed: It's because of Yukie! That monster! She's not a normal human! Isolde wouldn't be able to compete with her either if she were in my position now!

But she didn't dare say it. Not in front of her mother, who only saw results, not the process.

"I… I understand, Mom," Isabel finally spoke, her voice nearly trembling but she managed to hold it back. She lifted her head, trying to meet the gaze.

"I will do my best. I will make the family proud."

"Not will do your best," Amely cut in firmly. "You must do it. Understand that."

She looked at Isabel for another moment, as if ensuring her message was received, then gave a brief nod. "We will be watching. Please give us a good show."

Without another word, Amely turned and walked away. Isolde, before following their mother, stepped closer to Isabel. She leaned in slightly, whispering in a voice only her sister could hear.

"Don't embarrass us, sis," she whispered, her smile full of painful superiority.

Then she turned and followed their mother with confident strides.

Isabel stood alone in the waiting room that suddenly felt vast and empty. Her fists were clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. Her breath came in short gasps, her chest tight with pent-up rage and deep humiliation.

.

.

.

In the locker room, I stood before a full-length mirror, yawning so widely my eyes watered. Last night's chaotic sleep, dealing with Ophelia and Charlotte, still felt in my bones. But at least in this half-awake state, I could see my appearance was decent enough.

In the mirror, my tall figure was clearly reflected. My ash-gray hair was messy, some strands sticking to my forehead. I was wearing the representative uniform of Nine Stars Academy.

The long black combat jacket, ending at my waist, fitted snugly on my frame, emphasizing my broad shoulders and slim torso. The high collar was simple, giving a sharp impression.

Underneath, a tight-fitting, solid black bodysuit perfectly hugged every muscle, almost like a second skin. Straight tactical pants and modern lightweight combat boots completed the look, giving me a battle-ready yet streamlined appearance.

Subtle silver accents on the shoulders and upper back gleamed faintly under the lights, while a small emblem of nine arranged star-points was pinned over my left chest, right above the heart. Not a bad look.

Suddenly, another reflection appeared in the mirror behind me.

Maximus Treybern.

He stepped closer, and in the mirror's reflection, I saw his hand about to land on my shoulder. But before his touch could connect, my hand moved quickly, roughly swatting his arm away.

Maximus stopped, his face slightly creased with annoyance. But he quickly hid it.

"Adam," he said, his voice flat but with an undercurrent of irritation. "We're on the same team today. Wouldn't it be better if we put our personal issues aside? For the academy's victory?"

I turned around, now facing him directly. A thin, cynical smile touched my lips.

"Screw you."

Maximus let out a short, mirthless chuckle that sounded both annoyed and amused.

"Still that arrogant, huh? Fine."

He stepped a little closer, his voice dropping to a whisper only the two of us could hear. "You heard about Alex?"

I remained silent, just staring.

"He and his family were slaughtered. Killed by their own servants. And you know the most shameful part?" Maximus continued, his eyes never leaving my face, searching for a reaction. He leaned in slightly, whispering.

"Before he died, Alex was raped. By several men. Can you imagine how humiliating that way to die must have been?"

Maximus chuckled again, this time with a tremor of disgust and… something else, maybe a kind of dark satisfaction in his voice.

Inside, I thought: Would you still be laughing if that was going to happen to you?

"I'm so curious," Maximus went on, still with that thin smile, "what his final expression looked like when he was being humiliated like that."

I smiled inwardly. His expression was very satisfying. And I always pictured it in my mind.

Suddenly, Maximus leaned in even closer, his voice becoming a whisper amidst the locker room's bustle.

"But I have a hunch," he hissed, "that the one behind it all… was your mother." His eyes narrowed. "You must have whined to your mom, asked her to get revenge for you. I understand people like you all too well. Always using your parents to solve your problems. Can't handle things yourself."

He paused for a moment, then asked in a challenging tone, "So? What are you going to do to me?"

I whispered back, my voice just as cold. "You'll just have to wait and see."

Maximus pulled back a little, his smile growing wider, more arrogant. "I should be the one saying that."

Hearing that, I seriously questioned his intelligence. Was he stupid? Or brave? Perhaps both. How could he, after learning what happened to Alex—which he himself suspected was Delilah's doing—still be this arrogant? Still dare to challenge me directly? Did he have a plan? Or was he just that overconfident?

One thing was certain: Maximus wouldn't stay quiet. He was definitely planning something. And yeah… I couldn't wait to see what he'd try with that tiny brain of his. Slowly, I would crush him. And it would start with what he was most proud of.

As if reading my thoughts, Maximus suddenly extended his hand, a fake, friendly smile plastered on his face. "Let's cooperate well for this tournament, Adam. For the academy."

I saw the cunning glint in his eyes, ready to crush the bones in my hand to teach me a lesson and simultaneously show who was stronger.

I extended my hand. The moment our hands met, Maximus immediately exerted his strength. The muscles in his forearm tightened, his grip like iron clamping down. He must have been hoping to hear a crack or at least see a pained expression on my face.

But the opposite happened.

The confident expression on Maximus's face shifted to surprise, then disbelief, and finally... He felt my hand, which should have been crushed, not yielding at all. Instead, I began to exert my own strength.

I squeezed.

Crack.

The sound of small bones in his hand cracking was clear between us. Maximus choked, his eyes bulging. His face paled. His knees trembled, and he was forced to buckle, struggling to hold back a groan of pain threatening to escape his lips. Cold sweat immediately beaded on his temples.

He stared at me, and for the first time, there was something else in his gaze—shock and panic.

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