Verren watched as Renn left the arena after winning.
He was exhausted—spent. But victorious.
Verren didn’t hesitate any longer.
He turned from the pillar and leapt back to the outside area of the arena.
The chaos of cheers in the building continued, but none of it touched him.
Verren had made his decision.
He would walk to the other end of the arena—toward the waiting rooms—and speak with Renn directly.
Even if the boy refused at first, Verren was sure of one thing.
He was going to take that youth as a disciple.
That thought had barely finished forming when—
"Ladies and gentlen!" the comntator’s voice bood again, carried by the arena-wide enchantnts. "We’ve just witnessed one of the greatest fights this coliseum has ever seen!"
The crowd roared.
"But it’s not over yet! Up next is another match! The winner of the next match... will be facing Renn Noah in the Grand Finals!"
Verren paused mid-step.
He turned his head.
Then ca the nas.
"In just a few monts, the other two of the powerful four—Uga and Mic Nor—will be facing off!"
Verren stopped completely.
That na.
Mic Nor.
The mont he heard it, he closed his eyes. He knew it well.
Verren opened his eyes.
"I see," he muttered under his breath. "So he’s here too."
"If he’s here... then no matter how talented that youth is, he can’t possibly win."
Grand Knight Verren narrowed his eyes.
Even he knew he couldn’t hold a candle to Michael.
How could soone weaker than him hope to succeed?
And worse... Renn wasn’t even at his peak again.
But Verren didn’t stop walking.
Michael’s presence didn’t deter him.
His goal remained unchanged.
Renn was still his focus.
*
Renn didn’t reply.
Not imdiately.
But as Verren stood across from him, having just delivered his sharp and clinical verdict, the signs were there.
Renn’s jaw clenched. His shoulders, tight. His fingers, still dusted from his match against Prince Rui, curled slightly at his sides.
And on his face—not anger, not fear. But reluctance. A deep, gnawing reluctance that clawed its way up from his gut and showed itself in the stiff lines on his face.
It was the kind of expression one wore when faced with an unavoidable truth.
Verren recognized it.
"I know what you’re thinking," Verren said, softer now. "You want to prove wrong. That you’re not outmatched."
Renn said nothing. His gaze fell to the ground for a brief second, then rose again.
"You want to fight him," Verren continued. "You want to face him anyway."
Still, no answer.
But Verren didn’t need one.
He could see it in Renn’s eyes—that stubborn refusal to yield.
It was admirable. It was foolish. It was familiar.
Verren let out a small, amused breath.
"You remind of myself at your age."
"Is there a reason why you still want to fight?"
Renn’s silence stretched between them.
It was full—full of unspoken thoughts, clenched pride, and raw, aching realization.
After what he’d seen, after the battle that shook the entire coliseum, Renn couldn’t lie to himself.
He had thought his fight against Prince Rui was the pinnacle. That surviving—no, winning—against a youth of imperial bloodline was proof that he belonged among the monsters. That he could stand on the sa level.
But then Michael fought Uga.
And the truth hit him like a cold wave.
He didn’t just lose the throne he thought he was close to—he realized he was never even in the palace.
Michael wasn’t soone he could "compete" with.
And Uga? That gentle giant he had barely registered as a threat before? That boy could’ve flattened him with raw power alone.
He clenched his jaw harder.
Even exhausted, Renn didn’t want to show weakness in front of this old man.
The reason he hadn’t act out even with everything the man had said was because he had a feeling that this old man in expensive looking armour could probably kill him with a flick of his finger.
This only made Renn further depressed.
It was like he was facing monsters left and right today for no reason.
Renn asked the only thing his mind could form clearly through the haze of exhaustion and internal crisis.
"...Why are you here?"
His voice was quiet. Grand Knight Verren didn’t respond right away.
The man’s gaze, calm and sharp like a drawn blade, didn’t waver.
"I asked first," he said simply. "Answer , and I’ll answer you."
Renn’s brow furrowed.
That was fair.
He let out a breath and finally spoke, voice low. "I’m not doing this because I think I can win," Renn admitted, his voice sharper now, more grounded. "I’m doing it because... this is for my goal."
"This is probably the closest I can get to my goal and it’s right in front of ."
"I see."
Verren stepped forward once, the tal of his armor clinking softly.
"And now, your question."
He placed his hands behind his back and straightened fully. The pressure that had quietly rolled off him since their eting beca suddenly clear—dense, vast, and absolute. Like standing beneath a stormcloud that hadn’t yet struck.
"You caught my interest."
Renn’s eyes narrowed slightly.
"I watched your fight. From start to finish."
Renn looked at him carefully now, guarded but not dismissive.
Verren’s next words ca slowly, but with unmistakable weight.
"I want to guide you."
That made Renn blink.
"Guide?"
"I want you as my disciple," Verren said plainly.
No flourish. No grand declaration. Just a truth dropped like a stone into still water.
Silence fell again.
Renn wasn’t sure what to say.
Verren looked down at Renn—not in condescension, but in clarity.
"You’re not ready for Mic Nor. That’s not shaful. But you are ready for more. And I can show you the path—if you’re willing to walk it."
Renn’s lips parted.
Then he closed them again.
The old man certainly radiated power, but that alone wasn’t enough for Renn to accept on the spot.
He didn’t even know who the man was.
Becoming soone’s apprentice wasn’t a decision to be made casually—especially not with a stranger.
Besides, Renn wasn’t particularly interested in becoming anyone’s disciple to begin with.
Right now, his focus was on how he could win this competition and use it to elevate his family’s status.
It was then that Verren asked him another question.
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