As King Douglas steps down from the podium, applause fades—yet one gaze remains fixed.
Gwen.
The Master of Fire's stare bores into Moto, sharp and unreadable. Moto's excitement flickers into unease, and Mukai catches the change in his expression immediately.
Moto looks around. The fire students are staring too, less with curiosity, more with simmering annoyance. Narrowed eyes. Furrowed brows. Their silent judgment closes in fast, and Moto braces himself.
Then, a sudden rush of cool air. A wall of water rises between Moto and the approaching students.
Mukai, arms folded behind the curtain of water, says firmly, "Behave yourselves."
The crowd shifts uneasily. Most step back with murmured grumbles. Jason, the flame prefect, doesn't flinch. He steps forward, lifts his hand, and with a flick of his fingers, evaporates Mukai's wall in a hiss of steam.
He strides up, his voice casual but laced with venom. "So you're getting your father to hand out spots to your friends now? Must be nice, being the son of the King."
The dig lands. Mukai tenses. Jason isn't just mocking Moto—he's challenging Mukai's worth. If the chosen were just handed their positions, what did any of it mean?
Before anyone can blink, Mukai is in Jason's face, silent fury radiating from him.
"Enough!" Principal Jumbo's voice slices through the tension. He marches forward. "Prefects do not brawl in front of the King's podium."
Jason holds up his hands and backs away, smirking. Mukai lingers, then relents.
As the crowd disperses, Moto approaches.
"Hey… thanks for standing up for me."
Mukai looks aside. "My father's making a mistake. I'll speak to him."
Moto's tone sharpens. "No. Don't. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I have to prove myself."
Mukai turns to leave, but Moto grabs his wrist—firmly. Mukai halts, surprised by the force. Moto's eyes meet his, steady and resolute.
He knows. If he ever wants a peaceful future for his family, he'll need more than good intentions—he'll need power. Recognition. Allies. And this tournament is a chance to earn all three.
"This isn't about a fight," Moto says. "The King's given me a chance to show I belong here. I won't back down. I'd like your help—but I won't let you stop me either."
Mukai searches his face and sees it—that unshakable fire. Not unlike his own.
He pulls his wrist away slowly. "Not a bad speech. But your opponent? He's known for his temper. That spot was meant for his favorite student. He's got one of the highest fire resistances in the academy. And you? You don't even have fire."
Moto doesn't flinch. "Sounds like you know him well. So why don't you help Sheu and me train… and let me worry about the rest."
A pause.
Then Mukai nods. "Alright. Then we're even."
Moto grins. "Bet."
As he turns away, Mukai calls out, "Tomorrow. 5 a.m. My place."
Moto flashes a lazy wave. "Sure. Don't be late."
In the castle's high halls, King Douglas hurries through stone corridors.
A letter has arrived—from the Kingdom of Denga. King Manasseh is returning.
Denga, strongest of the Five Kingdoms, has always been a complex partner. Douglas has been careful—playing politics like chess, slowly gaining Manasseh's trust. A second visit could signal true progress—or just more scrutiny.
He turns to Aritri as they pass through the great corridor. "Begin preparations. He arrives the day after the Trials. Nothing can go wrong."
Later, in the war chamber, Gwen stands silent beside the King, arms crossed, jaw clenched.
"Why didn't you choose my student?" he says through gritted teeth. "Even at ten percent, no one compares."
Douglas responds calmly. "Because it's not just about strength. And I'm asking you—don't go overboard."
Gwen doesn't answer. He doesn't look away either.
That evening, Moto finds himself in the dim quiet of Sheu's house. She sits in the same spot as the day before, staring down at a photo of her and her father, the edges worn from being held too often. The final light of the day casts a fading amber glow over the room.
Moto enters quietly. "Hey…"
She doesn't respond.
He lowers himself beside her, slow and careful—close enough to be near, but not too close. He rests his hands in his lap, letting the silence breathe.
He glances at the picture, then softly asks, "How are you holding up?"
It takes her a moment. "Trying," she whispers, her voice rough from the weight of unspoken grief.
They sit for a while, both grounded by the stillness.
Eventually, Moto opens his bag and pulls out a folded slip of parchment.
"You don't have to say anything now," he murmurs, "but… we've been selected for the Succession Trials. The King's giving us a chance to prove ourselves."
Sheu's eyes narrow slightly. "I'm not going."
Moto blinks. "What? Why not?"
"I don't want anything to do with the King." She sets the photo down carefully. "His story about my father's death doesn't make sense. He told me… he'd never take his own life."
Moto furrows his brows. "But why would they lie?"
"I don't know," she says, her voice steady now. "This was the first time he left without seeing me. They won't even tell me where he went."
Moto studies her face. "You think they're involved?"
She doesn't flinch. "I'll get to the bottom of it. But you should do what you want. I know how long you've waited for this. Just… be careful."
Moto nods slowly, the fire in him clashing with the chill running down his spine. "Okay."