"Well, hello there, Ralph's little friend!" Zigrane sneered, standing tall and arrogant.
"Hi! I'm not your friend!" Spinner shot back, already annoyed.
"Exactly! I don't hang around with weaklings like your crew," Zigrane replied with a smirk.
Meanwhile, Michael, observing from the stands, turned to Torren. "Hey… I never really thought about it before, but what happens when speed magic is used against speed magic? That's gotta look insane."
Torren nodded. "Huh. I hadn't considered that either. Should be interesting."
"Especially since they're at different ranks," Michael added thoughtfully.
In the arena, Spinner was determined. "I can't lose. If I do, I'm out of the tournament for good. It doesn't matter if he's called the strongest — I have to win!"
The elder raised his arm. "Begin!"
Spinner dashed forward but chose not to use magic right away. As he reached the arena's center, Zigrane flashed a crooked grin and activated his speed magic, darting in circles around Spinner.
Michael watched intently. "It's just like what Spinner did to me back then…"
Spinner remembered, too — circling Michael with ease during their old match. That memory burned in his mind, so he tried the same now, activating his own speed magic and sharpening his senses.
Zigrane rushed in to strike — but Spinner spun and slammed a fist into his gut, sending him flying into the arena wall.
Zigrane grunted, staggering to his feet. "What was that trick you just pulled, punk?!"
"Insulting people's kinda rude, you know," Spinner said, grinning.
"Like I care!" Zigrane snapped.
The battle continued Spinner now landing blow after blow. Zigrane struggled to connect, and the crowd murmured with growing surprise.
Ralph watched from the sidelines, arms crossed and amused. "Heh. This is the guy I'm fighting next?"
"Is that all you've got?" Spinner taunted. "I really overestimated you."
Zigrane's eyes narrowed. "Alright, now I'm angry."
"And what made you so mad?"
"You humiliated me — in front of everyone! I missed again and again while you actually hit me!" Zigrane growled.
Michael flinched "Just like with me. He said the same thing. But this time… he's furious. That's bad."
Zigrane smirked, twisted with rage. "You won't hit me again!"
Spinner's mind raced. "It's now or never. I've got to win this!"
He rushed forward, throwing a punch — but Zigrane was ready. He vanished and reappeared behind him.
"Too slow!" Zigrane said, landing a brutal hit and sending Spinner tumbling.
Spinner recovered and repeated his earlier strategy, but Zigrane moved with frightening precision now. He dodged with a snarl and retaliated with a full-force strike.
Spinner was flung nearly to the arena wall. He barely stayed upright.
Zigrane didn't let up. He hammered Spinner with hit after hit until Spinner collapsed, breathless.
"I can't move… why can't I get up?! I can't lose… not like this!" Spinner thought desperately.
"Three! Two! One! The winner is participant 136 — Zigrane Vaynran!" declared the old man.
The crowd clapped, but Spinner lay motionless, tears streaking his face. He had lost — and he knew it.
But Zigrane wasn't done.
"The match ended a while ago! No reason to stay in the arena!" the old man called.
Zigrane ignored him, walking toward Spinner, fury in his steps.
"Hey you, dirt-eating loser! Get up!" he shouted.
Spinner looked up weakly. "Can't you see? I can't even stand… You… unfortunately won."
"I said, GET UP!" Zigrane roared. "You haven't paid for humiliating me!"
Michael stood, tense. "What's he planning to do now?"
"Looks like it's about to get serious," said Torren.
Zigrane raised his leg. "Since you won't stand — take this! Every one of my kicks!"
He began kicking Spinner mercilessly.
Cries of outrage rippled through the crowd. Michael, Torren, Ralph, Renald — all of them glared, anger rising.
Michael clenched his fists. "Sorry, Torren. I'll be right back. Gotta teach this guy a lesson."
He ran toward the arena.
The elder, arms folded, watched quietly. "If no one steps in within thirty seconds… I'll punish Zigrane myself."
Just then, the old man noticed movement. Someone — Michael — was sprinting straight toward Zigrane.
"Hmm?" he murmured, lips curling into the faintest of smiles.