The way she said "reasonable" made it sound like an insult.
I pulled up my status screen, checking my Schema Point total. The number sat at 3,015, untouched since I’d blown a thousand points on Apollo’s tournant banner. The new abilities humd beneath my skin. Lightning Rod, Kinetic Absorption, Steel Body. Sovereign’s Mandate, turning my bonds into tactical advantages.
I had the tools.
The question was whether I had the balls to use them.
"What’s the ti limit on accepting?" I asked.
"Sunrise." Nike gestured at the window, where the first hints of dawn were just starting to stain the horizon. "In approximately four hours, the sun rises, the tournant begins, and this offer expires. You either commit now, or you never get the chance again."
"Why ?" The question ca out rougher than I intended. "Seriously. There are prodigies in this academy with decades of training. S-Rank potentials from families that have been producing champions for generations. Why invest in so street rat with a fake Aspect and a complicated past?"
Nike moved closer, and her presence filled my vision entirely. She slled like ozone and victory and sothing tallic that reminded of blood.
"Because prodigies are boring," she said simply. "They win because they’re supposed to. Because everything in their lives has been engineered for success since birth. Their victories are predictable. Expected. Hollow."
She tapped my chest, right over the regenerator brace.
"But you? You’re interesting. You’re the underdog. The reject. The Zero who shouldn’t exist. Every ti you win, it’s a middle finger to the natural order. Every ti you survive sothing that should kill you, it proves that rit matters more than bloodlines." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "And when you finally take the crown, when you stand at the top and prove that a stray dog from Graystone Park is worth more than all their precious legacies combined? That’s when it matters. That’s when victory ans sothing."
I looked into those molten gold eyes and saw my own reflection. Battered. Exhausted. Marked with hickeys and scratches and the evidence of too many fights in too short a ti.
But still standing.
Still swinging.
Still too stupid or too stubborn to quit.
"Nel," I said, not looking away from Nike’s gaze. "What are the odds?"
Nel’s voice ca through soft, almost gentle. "Statistically? If you fight clean and fair? Thirty-seven percent chance of victory, assuming optimal performance from everyone on your team and catastrophic mistakes from your opponents."
"And if I don’t fight clean?"
"Then the odds beco whatever you make them." Nel paused. "But you know that already. You’re asking to talk you out of this."
"Are you?"
"No. Because we both know you’re going to say yes. You’re too much like him to do anything else."
She ant Kaelen.
The old . The one who’d walked into yakuza headquarters ard with nothing but a knife and audacity, who’d bet his life on a World-Ranked Hunter not killing him, who’d survived by committing completely when everyone else hesitated.
I exhaled, long and slow, letting the last of my reasonable objections bleed away.
"Alright," I said to Nike. "I’m in. I’ll win your tournant. I’ll dominate it so thoroughly that people forget the Sentinels ever owned this place. And when I beat Julian in the finals, I’ll make sure everyone understands that pedigree ans dick when you’re flat on your back staring at the sky."
Nike’s smile turned radiant. Victorious.
"Good." She extended her hand, and when I grasped it, power surged through our connection. The quest locked into place with a weight that settled into my bones, heavier than any title or ability. "Then let’s make you a champion."
The bronze and gold notification expanded, filling my vision completely.
[Nike’s Challenge: Accepted]
[Objective: Win the Inter-Guild Tournant]
[Sub-Objectives:]
Remain undefeated throughout all preliminary matches
Secure victory in at least 80% of individual challenges
Ensure Onyx Hounds maintain first-place ranking throughout tournant
Personally defeat Julian Valerius in single combat during finals
[Additional Condition: The Watcher’s Eye]
[Nike will observe your performance directly. Cowardice, surrender, or failure to commit fully will result in imdiate quest failure and penalty application.]
I felt her presence settle over like armor. Not controlling. Not restricting. Just there. Watching. Waiting to see if I’d live up to the faith she’d placed in .
"One more thing," Nike said, her voice cutting through the power surge. "Your won. The five souls bound to yours. They’ll be fighting tomorrow too. So of them on your team. So of them separated by the bracket structure. You need to understand sothing."
She moved close enough that I could see the flecks of bronze in her golden irises.
"Victory demands sacrifice. Sotis you win by letting soone else take the hit. Sotis you win by watching people you care about bleed. If you try to protect all of them equally, you’ll fail. If you try to keep them safe instead of letting them fight, you’ll fail. You need to trust that they’re strong enough to survive without you holding their hands."
I thought about Natalia, taking a death beam ant for . About Cel, facing down the Arborist while I’d been busy burning. About Skylar, Emi, and Akari, all of them choosing to stay despite knowing what I was.
"They’re not fragile," I said. "They’re killers. Every single one of them."
"Good." Nike stepped back, her form beginning to fade. "Then prove it tomorrow. Show the world what your pack can do when you let them off their leashes."
She was almost gone, just a shimr of bronze and gold in the air, when I called out.
"Hey. Nike."
The shimr solidified slightly.
"Why do you care? Really. You’re Victory itself. You’ve seen countless champions rise and fall. What makes different?"
Her voice ca from everywhere and nowhere.
"Because you remind of soone. Soone who also rose from nothing, who also collected the broken and forgotten, who also burned so bright that the gods themselves had to take notice."
Then she was gone completely, leaving only the scent of ozone and the weight of impossible expectations.
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