She pulled out her tablet and brought up footage from the first match. Satori’s face appeared on screen, frozen mid-swing with that insufferable grin plastered across his features.
"Watch," Petrova commanded.
She played the match in slow motion. Showed Julian exactly where Satori moved, how he positioned his body, when he activated his abilities. Every detail catalogued and analyzed.
"He’s faster than his file suggests," she said. "But you already knew that."
"Yes."
"His Kinetic Absorption has a threshold. Notice here." She paused the footage. "When Kenjiro’s wind blade hits him, there’s a fraction of a second where he staggers. The absorption isn’t perfect. It’s converting maybe ten to fifteen percent of the impact at best."
Julian leaned forward. "So if I hit him hard enough..."
"Hard enough, fast enough, and often enough." Petrova nodded. "Your Quantum Disruption should theoretically destabilize his ability to absorb kinetic energy. But he countered that sohow during your first fight."
"His stats are wrong," Julian said flatly. "His file says C-Rank across the board. But he moves like mid-B minimum."
"I know." Petrova’s expression didn’t change. "Which is why I’ve filed a formal inquiry with the VHC about his registration. Falsifying Aspect ratings is a felony. If he’s been lying..."
"He has been."
"Proving it is different than knowing it." She closed the footage. "But that’s for after the tournant. Right now, you need to focus on one objective: making him submit."
Julian’s hands curled into fists. "How?"
"Hit what he cares about." Petrova’s smile turned vicious. "He’s predictable despite all his chaos. He’ll always protect his healer. Always position himself between threats and that Kuzmina girl. Use that. Force him to choose between winning and protecting them."
"That’s..."
"Ruthless? Necessary?" Petrova stood. "This is war, Julian. Not a friendly sparring match. The Onyx Hounds have humiliated this guild. They’ve stolen our recruits. They’ve taken our ranking. And that boy has made you a laughingstock on international television."
Julian flinched.
Petrova’s expression softened fractionally. "You are better than him. You know this. I know this. Your entire bloodline knows this. But knowing and proving are different things." She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Prove it. Not for . Not for your father. For yourself. Show the world that breeding and training matter. That soone who manifested at seven and has dedicated their entire life to perfection is superior to a late bloor with a stick."
She left without waiting for a response.
Julian sat alone again.
His phone buzzed with a ssage from his mother.
"We’re watching from ho, darling. Your father is very proud, even if he doesn’t say it. I believe in you. Just do your best."
His best.
Right.
Because his best had been so impressive lately.
He stood and walked to the small mirror mounted on the wall. His reflection stared back with sapphire eyes that looked tired despite the perfect hair and expensive gear.
Twenty-eight years of Valerius breeding.
Twelve years of Aspect training.
Seven years of being told he was destined for greatness.
And here he was, preparing to fight soone who’d been a Zero six months ago.
Soone who had no right to be his equal.
Soone who grinned at him like they were friends while systematically dismantling everything Julian had ever worked for.
Julian’s reflection smiled back, sharp and cold.
He’d show Satori Nakano what real power looked like.
What discipline and training could accomplish when applied correctly.
What happened when street rats forgot their place and tried to run with wolves bred for the hunt.
The semifinals started in sixty minutes.
That was enough ti to prepare.
Enough ti to center himself.
Enough ti to rember every single lesson his father had beaten into him since childhood about what it ant to be a Valerius.
Julian pulled on his golden gauntlets, feeling the familiar weight settle against his knuckles. The Quantum Disruption humd beneath his skin, ready to be unleashed.
This ti would be different.
This ti, he wouldn’t freeze.
This ti, he’d make his father proud.
Or die trying.
Aaron stirred on the dical cot.
"Jules?"
Julian turned. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I got hit by a telekinetic freight train." Aaron sat up slowly, wincing as his ribs protested. "But I’ll live. You?"
"Fine."
Aaron’s expression said he knew that was a lie but was smart enough not to push. "Your dad call?"
"Yes."
"Bad?"
"When isn’t it?"
Aaron swung his legs over the side of the cot, testing his weight. "For what it’s worth, you’ve been fighting well. Better than usual. More aggressive."
"Not aggressive enough, apparently."
"You can’t let him get in your head, man." Aaron stood, walking over to clap Julian’s shoulder. "You’re one of the best fighters I’ve ever seen. You just need to believe it."
Julian wanted to believe Aaron.
Wanted to accept that sowhere beneath all the disappointnt and pressure and impossible expectations, he was actually good at this.
But belief required evidence.
And lately, all the evidence pointed toward Julian being exactly what Satori had called him in the arena.
A spoiled prince playing at being a warrior.
"We should go," Julian said instead. "The bracket waits for no one."
They walked together toward the arena entrance, passing other teams preparing for their own matches. The Strikers were doing group stretches and laughing about sothing. The Vipers studied tablets with tactical information.
The Onyx Hounds stood in a loose circle, looking like they’d wandered in from a street fight.
Satori was in the center, his ridiculous bat resting on his shoulder while those five girls orbited him like planets around a sun.
The purple-haired one—Kuzmina—had her hand on his chest. The blue-haired healer was fussing over his bandages. The one with the knives leaned against his back. The President’s sister stood at his left with perfect posture. And that tan girl with the chains was whispering sothing in his ear that made him laugh.
Julian’s hands curled into fists.
That should have been him.
Surrounded by powerful allies. Respected. Admired. Loved.
Instead, Julian had Aaron and three other Sentinels who barely spoke to him anymore unless absolutely necessary.
The rest had transferred.
Or requested reassignnt.
Or simply stopped showing up to training.
Satori noticed Julian watching. Those dark eyes locked onto his across the prep area.
And then the bastard smiled.
Not a grin. Not a smirk.
Just a small, genuine smile that sohow felt worse than mockery.
Like Satori pitied him.
Julian’s Aspect flared involuntarily, purple energy crackling around his fists.
Aaron grabbed his arm. "Don’t. Not yet. Save it for the arena."
Julian forced the power down, burying it deep where it couldn’t escape without permission.
Maximus Hype’s voice bood across the speakers.
"Ladies and gentlen! Welco back to the Inter-Guild Tournant semifinals! Our next match features two teams who have made this competition absolutely unforgettable!"
The crowd roared.
Julian took a breath.
Centered himself.
Rembered every lesson. Every drill. Every sacrifice.
This was his mont.
His chance to prove that bloodlines mattered. That training mattered. That he mattered.
He walked toward the arena tunnel, Aaron falling into step beside him.
Behind them, Professor Petrova’s voice cut through the noise.
"Make them bleed, Julian. Show everyone what the Argent Sentinels are truly capable of."
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