Yotsuba Main Residence – Clan Meeting Room, Somewhere in Japan
The sliding doors closed behind them with a muted click. Inside the wide tatami-lined meeting hall, the atmosphere was still—calm, yet thick with unspoken tension. Soft paper walls filtered the gray midday light, casting long shadows over the seated members of the Yotsuba Clan.
Tatsuya stood near the center, arms behind his back, composed as always. Miyuki sat beside him in formal posture, her expression serene, though her fingers remained locked together in her lap. Around them, senior retainers of the clan sat in silence, their attention fixed forward.
At the far end of the hall, raised slightly on a platform, sat Yotsuba Maya, head of the clan. She leaned forward lightly with a hand under her chin, her long hair flowing over one shoulder. Her red lips curled into a smirk as she let out a short, dry laugh.
"So. The Empire finally bares its fangs at Japan… and they lead with schoolchildren. How charming."
She gave a soft chuckle again, this one darker, more knowing.
"But not unexpected."
Tatsuya remained unmoved.
"The JSDF and USNA intelligence have confirmed it. The IFRP has mobilized its national magic academies. Every affiliated school is now integrated into their war doctrine. Their cadets are trained for frontline combat."
Maya raised an eyebrow, the corners of her lips curling with a flicker of dark amusement.
"And now the children we once dismissed as 'students'," she said, her voice silk-wrapped steel, "are preparing to kill our own. How poetic."
Her words dripped with irony, not bitterness—like a queen remarking on the elegance of a dagger meant for her throat.
Miyuki glanced toward her brother, her gaze unreadable, lips pressed into a line, but she said nothing. Silence hung between them, thick with memory and dread.
Maya leaned back slowly, each movement deliberate, composed, her spine straight and head high as if seated on a throne rather than a chair. Her fingers laced gently in her lap, the picture of calm—until her next words slipped out like a knife hidden beneath silk.
"It's always the underestimated ones," she murmured, eyes gleaming beneath half-lowered lashes, "who make the first cut."
There was no need to raise her voice. The weight of her words sank deep, echoing in the room like the moment before a blade bites flesh.
"And tell me, Tatsuya… what do you make of this Gabriella Aurelia Mendez? The Empire's 'Sword.' I hear even the Americans fear her."
Tatsuya's reply came cold and clear.
"If what we've seen is accurate—her teleportation capabilities rival Strategic-Class mobility. She's not just a logistical asset. She's an execution weapon."
Maya's eyes gleamed, still smiling.
"Then Japan is about to face more than just soldiers."
No one spoke. The room remained still.
Outside, the faint sound of cicadas buzzed in the distant garden.
Then Maya leaned forward again, voice sharp and measured.
"And I assume you've also been briefed on their… sporting event?"
She let the last two words hang, her tone dripping with detached amusement.
Tatsuya gave a small nod.
"Yes. The Imperial Southeast Asean Games. A display of magical combat between national academies, structured as entertainment—though its real purpose is military filtration."
Maya hummed, slowly waving the fan in front of her lips.
"A public training ground. In other words… a well-dressed weapons trial."
Miyuki shifted slightly. "They're not even hiding it. Victors are immediately pulled into active combat roles. The games are just another filter for their invasion force."
Maya's laugh came low, unhurried. "How very Imperial of them. Turn conquest into sport. It seems the empire has learned how to entertain their citizens while preparing them for war."
Her eyes glinted, half-lidded with a calculating gleam.
"But I wonder… are they training killers who know only how to follow orders? Or something more dangerous—young minds shaped to believe this is normal?"
Tatsuya's answer was plain. "Both."
Maya closed the fan gently, resting it in her lap.
"Good. Then it's exactly what I thought."
She leaned back, smiling faintly as if amused by a private joke.
"They're not building an army. They're building a generation."
The room went quiet again, the weight of her words settling over the seated Yotsuba personnel.
Maya's voice turned slightly more serious, but her tone remained smooth.
"The world always underestimates young magicians. They see uniforms, not weapons. And by the time they realize the mistake, it's already too late."
She paused, her eyes locking with Tatsuya's.
"So. Tell me something, Tatsuya."
Her fan rested untouched in her lap now. No pretense of leisure in her tone.
"Why is it that the Empire sent… schoolgirls into the siege of Jakarta?"
She said it plainly, not out of outrage, not even disbelief—just the calculated intrigue of someone testing the logic behind a brutal strategy. Her lips twitched into something near a smirk.
"Girls in matching school uniforms… flanking armored divisions. Carrying CADs in one hand and rifles in the other."
Tatsuya didn't blink. "They weren't there for symbolism. They were there to kill."
Miyuki sat rigid, her voice restrained but bitter.
"They weren't auxiliaries. They weren't backline support. They fought through buildings. Engaged in close-quarters combat. Some were mounted on… beasts."
Maya let out a quiet breath, nearly a laugh. "Tamaraws. Yes. I've heard."
She leaned back, tilting her head slightly.
Maya's voice carried through the room with cool detachment, but her eyes gleamed with sharp disdain. She watched the flickering images on the monitor—newsfeeds, sporting events, the facade of normalcy. A duel tournament. A Sea Games medal ceremony. Applause. Smiles. Nations pretending the world hadn't already begun to bleed.
She exhaled, slow and deliberate, then spoke—her words like velvet wrapping around poison.
"So while the world claps for televised duels and cheers for the Sea Games," she began, her tone laced with quiet mockery, "the Empire is unleashing girls in sailor collars who are breaching city blocks with mana-laced lances."
She gave a small, bemused shake of her head, as if the absurdity of it all was both laughable and inevitable.
"They send teenagers in pleated skirts to annihilate hardened defenses. And we—" she gestured vaguely to the screen, her fingers delicate but disdainful, "we watch it all unfold like it's still peacetime. As if medals and mascots can shield us from what's coming."
Her voice dropped a shade lower, her gaze narrowing.
"These aren't just girls anymore. They're weapons. Forged in classrooms, polished on training fields, and now—unleashed into cities that will never see them coming."
She leaned back again, lips curling with something between admiration and warning.
"And the world keeps dancing to the tune of denial… right up until the drums of war drown out the music."
The silence that followed was not empty. It pulsed with a grim truth no one wanted to say aloud—until now.
A beat passed.
"Half the world still thinks they're just students."
Tatsuya's reply was flat. "They're not."
Maya gave a short nod. "Clearly not."
She tapped a finger once against the lacquered wood.
"So that's what they've built. A generation that kills in uniform so the world thinks they're still children."
Her eyes narrowed faintly.
"And no one stopped them."
Maya turned her head, her gaze cutting toward Miyuki with the weight of a blade unsheathed—calm, cold, and deliberate. The softness of family had vanished from her face, replaced by something harder. Sharper.
"Miyuki."
The name hung in the air like a summons.
Miyuki straightened instantly, her posture impeccable, hands folded in her lap, every inch the well-trained magician and heir.
"Yes, Aunt Maya?"
Maya's eyes narrowed, her gaze sharpening like a scalpel about to dissect something delicate.
"If they come—wearing the same uniform you wore ten years ago," she said, voice smooth but coiled with gravity, "girls your age, your rank… if they stand at our gates with CADs and rifles raised, and say they fight for the Empire—"
She paused, letting the silence twist like tension wire between them.
"Would you raise your hand against them?"
Her head tilted slightly, almost curious. Her tone grew quieter, more precise—measured, like an interrogator pressing gently on a fracture.
"Would you fight those who look as you once did, who call themselves protectors of their empire, simply because they were told to be?"
There was no accusation in her voice. Only the kind of question that revealed more than it asked.
Across from her, Miyuki's fingers twitched, the smallest tremor of inner conflict. She didn't speak immediately. She didn't have to. The weight of the question was still sinking in.
Tatsuya said nothing, his silence ironclad but watchful.
Maya leaned in slightly, studying her niece with all the subtle intensity of someone watching a fuse burn. Her voice dropped to a whisper, not because she needed to—but because it made the words strike deeper.
"Or will you hesitate… simply because they look like girls who should be classmates—" her eyes narrowed just a fraction, "not killers?"
The air between them seemed to tighten.
Miyuki's voice came quiet, but steady. Each word placed with conviction, like a dagger pressed gently into stone.
"If they cross the water to kill our people…"
"If they raise weapons in the name of conquest, not defense…"
Her hands curled in her lap, her eyes calm—but unyielding.
"Then uniform or not, they are enemies."
Maya studied her, watching every breath, every flicker of expression. Then, slowly, she leaned back into her chair, folding her hands once more.
A faint smile curved her lips—not of approval, but of confirmation.
"Good."
It wasn't praise. It was a judgment passed—and accepted. A beat.
"Because mercy has no place in what comes next."
___
The simulation room hummed with restrained energy, the air charged with ambient mana that pulsed just beneath the skin like static before a storm. Containment runes shimmered faintly along the walls, etched in deep silver, and the kinetic dispersal arrays embedded in the floor waited in silent readiness. Overhead, the spell markers were dormant—dimmed lights waiting to be awakened by spellcode and intent.
At the far end, an instructor stood by a sleek console, his fingers gliding across glowing panels. He didn't speak, didn't glance back—just ran silent diagnostics, adjusting barrier thresholds with the precision of someone who had done this a hundred times, and expected no surprises.
On the bench closest to the field, Sallie sat with a familiar slouch, one leg outstretched, the other foot tapping idly. His briefcase-style CAD rested against his leg, unfolded and active. It projected a wide, floating interface in front of him, soft holographic light flickering across his unfazed expression.
He wasn't reviewing match footage. He wasn't checking spell formations, nor analyzing combat logs like any other student might before a training match. No simulations queued. No diagnostics running.
He was scrolling through "Crimson Serenade"—the latest episode open, dialogue auto-playing softly in the corner of his interface.
Amid the scent of mana and ozone, and under the quiet discipline of a military-grade training hall, Sallie lounged like he was killing time in a café, not minutes away from a combat simulation.
His eyes skimmed the dialogue-rich mid-chapter scene, right at the emotional climax.
"I would rather burn this empire to ash than let them tell me who I can love," Seraphina said, trembling as she pressed the knife into her palm."
Sallie blinked. One eyebrow slowly arched.
"Bit dramatic."
A second window popped open in response—a comment thread tied to the passage.
[WarlockQueen]: 'My heart just BROKE.'
[AristocratTears]: 'She's literally going feral for love and I respect that.'
[CrimsonSimp]: 'She's not trembling because of fear. She's trembling because she means it.'
Sallie snorted softly, chewing the inside of his cheek.
"Yeah, sure. Or maybe she's just hypoglycemic."
Another line of the chapter popped up.
"Iris didn't flinch. 'Then I'll hand you the match. If it means you live another day free.'"
[User: HellYeahTinyTerror]: 'AND THIS IS WHY IRIS IS THE GOAT.'
[SeraphinaEnjoyer]: 'Nine years old and already outplaying the whole nobility.'
[ImpyLitCritic]: 'The political metaphor is dense here. Love as rebellion, etc. Good framing.'
Sallie exhaled, dragging his finger across the interface to highlight the scene for offline reading.
"This whole story's one long dramatic monologue stitched together with noble guilt and battlefield kissing. No wonder people eat it up."
Behind him, a deep mechanical chime reverberated through the chamber as magic runes locked into place, the walls glowing with faint blue threads of mana. The room was shifting—pre-combat mode engaged. Lights dimmed overhead, and the floor hummed as barrier grids activated in slow, sweeping pulses.
Celeste stood at the edge of the buffer zone, already suited for battle. Her presence was razor-sharp—composed, unyielding. The Grimoire CAD beside her floated with effortless grace, its ethereal pages spinning in perfect synchronicity, runes flickering across the surface in a rhythm only she could command.
Her combat coat was buckled tight, high-collared and form-fitting, the cuffs of her sleeves reinforced and secured. Every detail was intentional—every seam aligned for mobility and defense. Her arms were crossed, shoulders squared, and her eyes never left the field.
There was no room for distraction. No hint of nerves.
Her lips were set in a tight, unreadable line, as if the outcome had already been decided in her mind.
"Onii-sama."
She didn't look at him as the simulation room powered to life around them. Her tone was sharp, clipped—equal parts irritation and disbelief.
"Are you seriously reading a romance novel before a combat match?"
Sallie didn't even glance up, one finger idly flicking the virtual page. "It's trending. And funny. They're in a war but somehow have time for five paragraphs of eye contact and internal monologues about the color of each other's eyes. Peak strategy."
Celeste turned slightly, her Grimoire CAD responding instantly with a subtle shift in mana resonance, sensing her intent. She flicked through stored spell sets, her fingers dancing across her wrist-mounted control surface with practiced precision.
"Focus. We're the first match in our bracket. People are watching."
Sallie sighed dramatically and shut the interface, his CAD folding closed with a soft, mechanical click.
"Fine, fine. We'll do the fight, I'll slap someone around, and then we're back to nobles crying over forbidden love and hairpin symbolism."
He stood up with a lazy stretch, swinging the briefcase CAD in one hand before letting it hum to life with a faint kinetic charge. The core pulsed once, responding to his mood with just the right amount of flair.
Celeste shot him a sideways glance, dry and unimpressed.
"If we lose because you're mentally stuck in a confession scene, I'm rewriting your next draft with my own plot."
Sallie grinned, already walking toward the marked center of the field.
"Deal. As long as it includes a sarcastic older brother who doesn't want to be here and somehow still wins everything by accident."
"Accident? Please. Half your wins are dumb luck and the other half are because you're too lazy to lose properly."
Sallie shot back "Excuse me, I happen to be incredibly efficient. Minimum effort, maximum humiliation."
Celeste said "You mean maximum embarrassment. For me."
He chuckled, stepping onto the platform with all the enthusiasm of someone headed to a dentist appointment.
"Hey, if anyone asks, just say you're carrying your older brother out of sheer sibling love."
Celeste, already syncing her CAD with the arena systems, didn't miss a beat.
"If anyone asks, I'll say I was cursed to be on the same team as a guy who thinks 'Crimson Serenade' is a tactical manual."
Sallie said "It is, emotionally."
"You're emotionally unstable."
The air inside the simulation room grew tighter as the containment barriers flared to life—a faint red shimmer outlining the designated duel zone.
From the opposite entry door, two figures stepped in. Both wore the Fourth High school uniform—blue coat, red undershirt, black trim, standard issue.
Their footsteps echoed as they approached the center platform. One of them, taller, short dark hair, light armored pads strapped across his shoulders, pointed directly at the Salcedo siblings.
"Well, well. The Empire's favorite siblings."
The other—a girl with a buzz-cut and reinforced gauntlet CADs—cracked her knuckles.
"You two ready to get flattened, or you want to stall a few more minutes reading soap operas?"
Celeste stepped forward, face neutral, tone precise. "If you're so eager to lose, we can start now."
Sallie yawned, lifting the briefcase CAD one-handed as it whirred to life, panels shifting into standby configuration.
"Give me a sec. I was just about to hit the confession arc."
The tall boy scoffed, stepping into his side of the combat grid.
"You think this is a joke? This isn't just a school spar. You win here, and your name gets pulled into the national evaluation board. They're watching this."
Sallie blinked once, then scratched the back of his neck. "So?"
"So maybe act like you belong here, Salcedo."
Celeste spoke flatly. "He doesn't need to act. He does."
Her Grimoire CAD glowed faintly, runes flickering across the floating pages. She didn't even glance at the opponents as she took her position.
Sallie stepped next to her, hands sliding into his pockets briefly before letting the CAD fully deploy—briefcase splitting, its frame folding into a hardened module platform at his side.
"Let's just get this over with. I've got novels to ruin and leaderboards to conquer."
The enemy girl grinned, taking a stance. "Then you better hope fiction's kinder to you than we're about to be."
The final second of the countdown ticked away—
3… 2… 1…
Sallie exhaled through his nose, stepping forward in a slow, relaxed gait.
"Let's get this over with."
Celeste was already moving before his sentence left the air. Her Grimoire CAD flared to life beside her, the pages spinning open with fluid, practiced rhythm. Incantation runes cascaded into formation, syncing seamlessly across her HUD like puzzle pieces clicking into place. Each glyph pulsed with measured intent, waiting only for her command.
Her boots struck the floor with disciplined cadence—not rushed, not hesitant. Every step was placed with the kind of poise that came from hundreds of simulations, her posture upright and steady. She didn't run. She advanced—grounded, focused, deliberate—like a conductor walking into a battlefield of symphonies.
At her side, the Grimoire hovered, its mana resonance steady, like a living extension of her thoughts.
Sallie, in contrast, moved with his usual lazy elegance—unbothered but precise. He popped open the briefcase CAD in a single, practiced motion. The case unfolded into a four-panel array, each segment locking into place with a mechanical clack that echoed off the chamber walls like a gun being cocked.
Micro-struts extended outward with a hiss of compressed mana, anchoring into a stable formation around his dominant arm. The briefcase now resembled a shifting, adaptive shield matrix, angular and sleek. Mana capacitors lit up in rhythmic pulses, reacting to his heartbeat and tracking his movements with sub-second accuracy.
Where Celeste moved like a duelist trained in elegance and discipline, Sallie shifted like a street fighter wrapped in high-tech magic—a blur of relaxed posture and devastating efficiency waiting to happened.
"Formation Delta. Hard left sweep," Celeste commanded, her voice clipped and sharp, slicing through the rising hum of mana.
"Yeah, yeah," Sallie mumbled, already moving before the last syllable left her mouth. His cadence lazy, but his timing exact.
Their opponents charged—textbook aggressive formation. Predictable. One moved to the centerline, conjuring a wide barrier-type spell that expanded into a shimmering dome, anchoring across the arena with pulsing arcs of deflection mana. The other surged forward, concussive shells blooming from both gauntlets, the air around them distorting with heat as they locked onto Celeste. Fast. Direct. Blunt force meant to break rhythm.
Celeste didn't blink.
From her Grimoire, Counter Spell 03-B launched—a layered force-break array that pulsed outward in a precise arc, the pages of her CAD aligning like gears in motion. Delay tags kicked in milliseconds before impact, striking not at the core of the barrier, but at the left flank—a strategic feint.
The shield held—but it wavered, and more importantly, it pulled the caster's attention just a second too long.
That was all Sallie needed.
He ducked low under the shellcaster's sweeping advance, his movement fluid and fast, far quicker than his usual lethargy implied. His briefcase CAD snapped into a defensive wall, absorbing a glancing blow as he slid across the polished floor, shoulder-first. The impact sparked across his shield plates, kinetic discharge flaring like a strobe.
He came up spinning, already repositioning.
Their coordination wasn't flawless. It was asymmetrical, chaotic on the surface—but in motion, it clicked. Celeste distracted and controlled. Sallie disrupted and punished.
"Too slow."
He snapped his arms upward, and the briefcase CAD responded with flawless obedience—locking into armored shield mode mid-slide, its metal plates folding and snapping into place with a resonant clack. The shield struck the shellcaster's left leg with brutal precision, the force of the impact spinning the girl off balance, her momentum crashing into her own spell rhythm.
Her guard broke. Just for a breath.
Celeste was already there.
Pulse Bind—Two-stack compression.
Her Grimoire flashed once, then fired. Chains of compressed blue mana shot outward, wrapping around the caster's limbs like serpents made of energy. The bindings latched, locked, and sealed, snapping tight with a forceful hum. The girl's momentum halted—frozen mid-step, wide-eyed.
"Cut left, now!" Celeste barked.
Sallie didn't reply. He didn't need to. He just moved.
No sarcasm. No half-hearted shuffle. Just clean precision—a pivot, a step, and he was where he needed to be. His movements were deceptive: casual on the surface, lethal in execution. Despite every sarcastic jab, every drawling complaint, every shrug of "I'm just here for fun," in motion—they were one machine.
Disruption veil incoming—right side!
Celeste's voice fired through the channel like a tripwire alarm. Sallie shifted left a half-second before the veil dropped, the air warping into a shimmer of interference magic. The pulse missed him entirely.
Celeste's follow-up was immediate—a timed mana vent release, spiking energy in just the right pattern to cancel the field's frequency before it could settle. The veil crackled, flickered—gone.
The barrier caster, back on his feet, lunged again, trying to reclaim tempo.
Sallie stepped into him this time.
The briefcase was already responding. Mid-motion, the panels collapsed inward, then extended outward in a burst of reinforced steel and mana. The CAD elongated, forming a brutal, angular short-blade staff hybrid, the edges humming with reactive energy.
One motion, One shift. The lazy swordsman was gone.
"You wanted serious."
Both hands locked onto the frame, fingers tightening as mana surged through the CAD's core. The weapon responded instantly—hardening with a vibration pulse, the metal rippling with a dense hum, its edges condensing into a blunt-force configuration. It wasn't meant to cut. It was meant to break.
He swung.
The briefcase-turned-hammer crashed into the barrier caster's left shoulder with the force of a steel battering ram. The impact sounded like a cannon going off in close quarters—the boy's body folded, legs buckling as he slammed sideways into the polished arena floor.
The entire simulation chamber trembled, and the containment field flared, blue arcs of mana flickering violently around the edges to absorb the excess shock.
> [Critical Impact Registered. Target incapacitated.]
The voice of the system was cool, detached—unmoved by violence.
Sallie let the weapon fall into a relaxed rest on his shoulder, his posture returning to lazy ease as if he hadn't just flattened someone into the floorboards. He gave his wrist a slow roll, like a pitcher between innings.
"Next," he said, voice casual, almost bored.
Celeste already had the last opponent locked down, her movements sharp, efficient—clinical. Her spell matrix flared in a controlled spiral, ribbons of blue and silver light cascading from her Grimoire. The gravity field dropped in a pulse, anchoring the enemy's legs to the floor like they were sinking into stone.
The opposing caster struggled, movements sluggish and strained, mana lashing out in desperation—but it was too late.
Celeste's fingers flicked, a final gesture. Her Grimoire turned a page, and a binding glyph unfolded in midair, spinning like a wheel before snapping into place with a soft crack.
The spell hit.
The enemy's motions froze—caught in a static loop, body held in perfect suspension, spells unraveling mid-form.
Sallie didn't move.
Didn't lift his CAD. Didn't cast.
He just stood there, weapon resting on his shoulder, watching Celeste do what she always did—control, contain, execute.
She was methodical. Unshakeable. She didn't need flair, didn't need the crowd. She just needed the equation to resolve.
And as the system called the match—he smirked.
He never had to finish a fight she already solved.
[Match Over. Victory: Salcedo Siblings.]
The lights shifted. Containment faded. Spectator windows reset.
Sallie let the last of the mana pulse fade, the hum of the weapon dissolving into silence. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he collapsed the CAD into standby mode, the panels folding back into their sleek, compact briefcase form.
No victory pose. No celebration. Just motion smooth as exhaling.
He tucked the briefcase under his arm, casual as ever, like he'd just come back from grabbing coffee—not walking off a battlefield.
Celeste turned to him, still catching her breath.
"You're lucky we were synced."
Sallie yawned.
"We're always synced. Just don't like showing it when no one's watching."
She shook her head, muttering. "You're the worst."
The moment the match ended, the combat simulation room didn't go quiet—it went dead silent.
Every student stationed around the viewing panels, seated on benches or leaning against rails, stared at the screen feeds and holographic playbacks with the same look:
Stunned disbelief.
The Salcedo siblings stepped off the simulation floor like it was routine. Sallie with his lazy stride, briefcase swinging loosely at his side. Celeste with her sharp posture, coat unwrinkled, Grimoire CAD folding shut without a word.
But the room behind them was frozen.
Students whispered.
"That was… coordinated."
"Like military-grade execution. No hesitation."
"They didn't even talk half the time. Just moved."
Another group sat by the screen hub, still replaying the moment Sallie turned the briefcase into a sledgehammer and folded his opponent.
"That was the lazy guy, right? The guy who naps behind the library and writes those weird romance novels?"
"Yeah. The guy who once skipped an exam to hit a tournament bracket in some shooter game."
More murmurs followed.
"And her? That's Celeste. The one always gossiping with Angela during lunch."
"I thought all she did was yell at him for not cleaning the dorm kitchen."
The commentary flowed in under breath, but the tone had changed—no longer mocking. It had shifted.
"They argue like hell. But in that ring? That wasn't random. That was trained."
"That was drilled, synced—like they've been doing it since they could walk."
One student leaned back in their seat, muttering to no one in particular.
"I thought they were just dysfunctional siblings. Turns out they're the most dangerous pair in our class."
Near the exit, the next dueling pair stood stiffly, watching the Salcedo siblings walk out.
"We're up next, right?"
"Yeah."
"...We're screwed."
__
The simulation room reinitialized with a mechanical hum—panels resetting, mana regulators venting heat as the next match prepared to launch. The containment dome reformed in silence. Magical lights pulsed across the arena walls, bathing everything in sterile blue.
Celeste stood at the starting line, Grimoire CAD hovering to her right, already unlocked and active. She didn't look at her brother. She didn't need to.
Sallie stepped in behind her. He rotated his neck once and let out a short, lazy breath. The briefcase clacked open again—but this time, he tapped the interface mid-air with one hand.
"Customization module, load preset: Flex Loadout Alpha."
The briefcase shimmered briefly as a black, circular hat materialized from its compartment. He grabbed it and dropped it onto his head, tilting it just slightly sideways.
"There. Now I'm stylish."
Celeste didn't react. "Focus, Onii-sama."
"I am," he muttered, eyes narrowing under the brim. "I just look good doing it."
The screen flickered, then locked onto the opposing team's data: Section 1-C.
Two silhouettes formed across the arena grid as mana levels registered and tactical profiles loaded in real time.
The first—Rafael Dizon—stood poised behind a pair of disc-style CADs, both already hovering near his shoulders, their surfaces etched with glowing trap runes. His specialty was clear: field control and spatial manipulation, a classic trap deployment magician trained to choke movement and punish aggression.
Beside him, her stance low and aggressive, was Clarisse Mendoza—a close-quarters specialist, her compression blade CAD already extended, crackling with dense mana. Her boots were anchored, weight forward, eyes locked like a blade waiting to leap. She was fast, brutal, and by the look of her footwork, very used to tearing through containment grids.
The screen pulsed once more.
[Section 1-C: Dizon | Mendoza. Ready for deployment.]
Sallie tilted his head slightly, briefcase still tucked under his arm.
"Traps and a blade? That's cute."
Celeste's eyes narrowed slightly, already cycling through counter-formation paths.
"Cute gets you killed."
The countdown resumed.
[DUEL ROUND 2: BEGIN IN 3… 2… 1…]
The dome pulsed—match start.
The dome pulsed, a resonant thrum of mana signaling the start of the match. The moment the light dimmed, the field came alive.
Celeste moved instantly—fluid and purposeful, shifting left like a chess piece snapping into its opening play. Her Grimoire CAD hovered at her side, runes flaring to life in organized spirals. Four linked spell threads activated in seamless succession: staggered freeze traps, layered pressure hexes, a displacement field, and a silent delay loop preloaded beneath her stride.
Her casting field was a web, and she was already weaving it.
Sallie stayed where he was. No rush. No tension.
He tapped his briefcase, and the panels unfolded with practiced efficiency. The components slid, rotated, and locked into place with a metallic click—revealing a matte black DMR-style CAD, sleek and angular. It was a design modeled after one of his old favorites—something he'd once dominated the leaderboards with in a digital FPS bracket.
He sighted it lazily, shoulders loose, breath even.
"Let's set the mood."
The rifle hummed. Then fired.
A single spell shot arched through the air—not aimed at an enemy, but high above Celeste's position. The bolt rippled with oscillated support mana, a specialized amplifier burst designed to boost casting within its radius.
It struck the center of her grid.
The effect was immediate.
Celeste's Grimoire surged, her threads locking in tighter, brighter, faster. The staggered freeze traps hardened like glass catching sunlight, their edges sharpened. The hex layers deepened, their glyphs shifting from pale blue to sharp silver.
A system chime echoed in her HUD.
[Spell Output Boosted: +30%]
She didn't break stride. Didn't glance at him. But the corner of her mouth lifted—just barely.
Sallie shifted his grip, sighted down the scope again.
The mood was set.
And the battlefield was no longer even.
"Thanks," she said flatly.
"Anytime."
The trap caster from Class 1-C moved fast, snapping his wrists as the twin disc-style CADs spun outward—launching a cluster of suppression mines into Celeste's casting zone. The mines streaked through the air in an erratic arc, their mana signatures pulsing with destabilizing interference, primed to rupture on proximity.
Celeste didn't flinch.
Two fingers traced a glyph mid-air—binding two active threads in a tight coil. Her Grimoire flared, and the paired symbols collapsed into a compressed pulse, detonating outward in a clean, spherical burst of anti-construct mana.
The mines disintegrated mid-flight, reduced to harmless static before they ever reached detonation range.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the field, the blade-wielder surged forward—Clarisse Mendoza, quick and direct. Her compression blade CAD carved a shallow trail of mana across the floor, aimed low and fast toward Sallie's rifle, intending to disarm him in the first strike.
Sallie grinned, teeth showing, eyes gleaming beneath his lazy posture.
"Seen this move in a dozen games."
He didn't dodge. He let the attack come in.
The rifle dematerialized instantly, dissolving into light particles before the blade could connect. With barely a pause, the briefcase restructured, folding inward and re-extending with a snap-pulse into a one-handed axe form—compact, angular, and radiating a sharp hum of compressed mana nodes.
In one motion, he stepped in.
He caught her strike with the flat of the axe, the clash resonating like struck iron. Sparks of mana flared. The blade skidded off the angled deflection, her weight overcommitted to the attack.
Sallie rotated with the momentum, pivoting low. His axe swept wide in a calculated rotational counter, catching her shin with the flat edge and knocking her off-balance. She stumbled, her stance broken, footing compromised.
"You come at me like that," he said smoothly, twisting the axe once in hand, "you're asking to get parried."
Sallie stepped cleanly past the staggered blade-wielder, boots tapping against the floor with casual momentum. Without breaking stride, his CAD shifted again, folding and reconfiguring with practiced fluidity. In seconds, the weapon had reformed into a sleek, short-barreled pistol, its frame matte black with faint blue pulses tracing along its barrel.
He lifted it effortlessly—no aim assist, no pause—and fired twice.
Each disruption round screamed through the air, their paths laced with traced velocity coding—lightweight spells that twisted speed into cutting force.
The first shot clipped the edge of the opponent's shield, destabilizing the outer layer and fracturing the mana flow. The second struck squarely—dead center.
> [Shield Integrity Broken. Spell Layer Collapsed.]
The dome flickered and vanished, leaving the trap caster exposed.
Mid-field, Celeste remained poised, feet planted in a perfect caster's stance. Her Grimoire spun open to its mid-section, pages glowing with rotating glyphs, each one pulsing in sync with her breathing. She was in the middle of a timed glyph chain, a slow-cast meant for high control at medium range.
From her hand, she launched a bind hex—the spell floated like a drifting net, precise but deliberate. The trap caster reacted, side-rolling behind cover, ducking low behind a kinetic shield plate.
He might have made it.
Until Sallie fired again.
A single tracer round, this one not meant to hit, but to pressure. The mana flare flared wide and loud—flashing across the caster's peripheral vision and forcing a reaction. The trap caster flinched, shifted out of cover—
Right into Celeste's line of fire.
She adjusted seamlessly, pivoted her Grimoire, and swiped downward with authority.
"Lattice Fall."
A dozen glyphs blinked into formation above the enemy's head, forming a glowing grid that crackled for a half-second before it collapsed downward like a magical guillotine.
The air rippled with compressed gravity, slamming into the ground beneath the trap caster and locking him into a sudden downward force field. His limbs buckled, mana threads snapping as the spell bore down, pinning him flat.
[Target Immobilized. Combat Potential Nullified.]
Celeste exhaled once—calm. Measured.
Sallie blew imaginary smoke off the barrel of his pistol and winked.
"Teamwork makes the nightmare work."
Her voice didn't rise. No celebration. She was already turning to support.
Sallie was still toying with his loadout. "Alright. Let's finish this one old school."
The briefcase CAD unfolded yet again, snapping open with a mechanical flourish. Its panels realigned into a sleek, reinforced melee baton, its surface glowing faintly beneath a shimmering digital skin overlay—black with streaks of crimson, etched with pixelated flame decals. The end crackled with a pulsing mana reservoir, primed for blunt-force acceleration.
Sallie grinned, twirling the weapon once in his hand.
"FPS loadout: Urban Rumble."
Celeste rolled her eyes, her tone flat.
"You are the only person who names his gear skins in real combat."
"Don't judge art." He gave the baton a casual flip, catching it behind his back like a showman before a duel.
Across the field, the remaining opponent was already backing off—defensive barrier up, posture tight, mana signature flickering from overuse. Every breath was labored. Their retreat was methodical, but desperate.
Celeste didn't waste time. She raised her Grimoire and cast a quick glyph sequence, her fingers drawing arcs of light as she whispered:
"Amplify: Kinetic."
The spell locked onto Sallie, targeting his movement matrix.
In an instant, his legs flared with propulsion glyphs, veins of mana lighting up beneath his boots and calves. The baton in his hand began to pulse, force energy compacting along its shaft.
Then he blurred forward, launched by the boost, a streak of motion barely visible to the eye. The simulated air cracked as he closed the distance in under a second—the opponent barely had time to brace.
Sallie's strike came in low, then rose in a clean, rising arc—a blunt slash across the chest, the kind that didn't need to cut.
Just break.
The hit collapsed the opponent's barrier, then lifted them off their feet and sent them crashing backwards, skidding across the arena floor.
> [Critical Strike Confirmed. Opponent incapacitated.]
The field lights dimmed, the system locking in final results.
Match Over. Victory Registered: Team Celeste & Sallie.
Sallie exhaled with a satisfied sigh, resting the baton across his shoulders like a bat.
"Urban Rumble always delivers."
Celeste lowered her Grimoire, eyebrows raised just slightly.
"And somehow, you still made it look like a game."
"Life imitates loadouts."
She didn't smile, but the corner of her mouth twitched. Just a little.
The crowd didn't speak. Just watched.
Sallie stood upright, removing his hat and dusting it. "Two down."
Celeste joined him at the center. Didn't smile. Didn't speak.
They just walked off together.
Perfect sync. No wasted steps. No backtalk. Not this time.
Angela leaned against the railing above the combat floor, arms folded, her short blue hair slightly frizzed from the static discharge of the simulation field.
She didn't move as the match ended.
Didn't blink as the Salcedo siblings walked off the platform—no celebration, no smug looks, just silent coordination, the same sync they fought with since the first round.
Her eyes tracked them to the exit, her breath slow, mind catching up with what she just saw.
"That's who they really are…"
She clenched the rail lightly.
"Not the lazy brother who hides behind sarcasm. Not the grumpy sister glued to her gossip circuit. That was practiced. Sharpened. Real."
Angela had watched Sallie half-sleep through lectures, skip training modules, mock strategy drills with cheap FPS one-liners.
She'd seen Celeste lecture him, roll her eyes, complain about everything he wasn't doing.
And yet—in that ring?
"Not a single wasted move."
She watched Sallie move with that same infuriating ease—reading enemy patterns before they formed, his eyes flicking between stances and spell traces with a casual sharpness. He shifted CAD loadouts mid-strike, transitioning from rifle to axe to baton as fluidly as if he were cycling builds in a ranked match.
It wasn't just reaction. It was anticipation.
Precision wrapped in laziness.
Brutality hidden beneath a shrug.
His laid-back facade was just that—a facade. Beneath it, everything was calculated, deliberate, lethal.
And Celeste—she was a symphony of structure and control. Her layered spell systems unfolded with mathematical elegance, glyphs snapping into place with exactitude. She cast not with flash, but with intention, framing spell windows so precisely that each layer landed in perfect tempo with the battlefield.
She didn't just time her spells with the flow of the fight—
She timed them with Sallie's rhythm, as if she could see three seconds ahead, already knowing when he'd duck, when he'd parry, when he'd retaliate.
Their synergy wasn't just practiced.
It was instinct.
One moved like a glitch in the system, the other like the code behind it.
"That wasn't random. That's years of fighting together. That's battlefield calibration. That's not sibling banter."
Angela exhaled through her nose, still watching the exit door close behind them.
"They've been hiding it. This whole time, they've been hiding what they really are."
Her fingers tightened slightly on the rail, jaw flexing as the next team entered the simulation platform.
"And the empire's watching them now too."
She straightened, turned, and walked off quietly.
"So much for playing it safe."
___
The arena dimmed again, lights shifting into combat configuration as containment fields activated with a sharp pulse. Arcane safeties locked into place—walls sealed, and atmospheric mana filtered in.
On the far side, their opponents stepped forward.
On the far side of the arena, their next opponents stepped forward, mana signatures pulsing as the system initialized combat readouts.
The first—Jomar Velarde—gripped a custom Kriss Vector-style CAD, its polymer-black frame glinting under the simulation lights. Sleek and compact, the weapon was built for rapid-fire elemental bursts, its recoil buffer system calibrated to near-zero delay. A close-quarters killer, it pulsed with charged rounds ready to deliver precision destruction at high speed. Every part of him—his stance, the subtle bounce in his steps—screamed combat experience.
Beside him stood Alyssa Reyes, a magician from Class 3-A, calm and composed. She wielded a card-based CAD system, her fingers already dancing over the deck strapped to her thigh. Each card shimmered faintly with layered enchantments—pre-encoded spells, drawn one by one with the finesse of a gambler and the control of a tactician. Her casting style was elegant, tactical chaos wrapped in order—and every flick of her wrist promised a new trick, a new threat.
The system pulsed once more.
Sallie tilted his head, eyes already analyzing the loadouts.
"Vector-type. Compact suppressor. That's a mana dump platform."
"And card-caster girl? She's probably a mid-range buffer or trap bait."
Celeste stood beside him, Grimoire CAD humming in its orbit, light rotating through runic phases.
"They'll try to box us in. Sweep and harass from both flanks."
Sallie rolled his shoulder with an easy shrug, the kind that made it seem like this was all just a warm-up. His fingers tapped the surface of the briefcase CAD, and it responded immediately—reconfiguring with a smooth, metallic shift. Panels folded inward, then snapped forward in a burst of precision engineering.
In seconds, it had reshaped into a custom PDW—a sleek hybrid between a machine pistol and a carbine, built for tight corridors and rapid engagement. The weapon gleamed matte black, accented with faint mana-laced grooves along the barrel for elemental mod syncs. Compact, fast, and built to keep pressure on an opponent until they couldn't breathe.
Sallie gave the grip a quick spin, checking balance.
He smirked. "They wanna spray? I'll give them something they won't outgun."
"Don't get sloppy," Celeste said, stepping forward.
"Don't get jealous when I do it stylish," Sallie shot back.
"Jealous of what? Your kill-death ratio?"
"Hey—3.2 on solo queue, thank you."
The countdown began.
[ROUND 3 – BEGIN IN 3… 2… 1…]
They moved instantly.
The Kriss Vector CAD user—Velarde—dashed wide, his movements tight, practiced. The CAD's muzzle flared with a rapid series of elemental bursts, each one a compressed-air shot tuned for maximum knockback over damage.
No pause. No rhythm. Just relentless fire.
Twelve shots in four seconds, the vector's recoil system compensating with perfect balance—a storm of pressure meant to stagger Sallie before he could so much as set his stance.
Sallie didn't flinch.
He dropped low, rolling under the trajectory of the first wave—the shots screaming just inches overhead, ruffling his coat with sharp gusts of wind. As he moved, his CAD snapped and split mid-motion, reconfiguring into dual-wield mode: a pistol in his right, and a short blade CAD in his left, mana already coalescing along the edge in a subtle shimmer.
Still mid-roll, he fired two counterbursts, not aimed at Velarde—but at the floor.
The shots struck the ground with pop-crack discharges, leaving behind glowing deflection sigils—mana-etched nodes that pulsed just long enough to catch the next volley of incoming rounds.
When the next wave of air bursts came screaming toward him—they snapped into the sigils and ricocheted, splitting off in erratic angles.
The field cleared. The pressure lifted.
And Sallie had a clear path in.
He launched forward, twin CADs glowing, the smile on his face now razor-sharp.
"Guy's good with his trigger, I'll give him that."
Celeste was already in close, her movement fluid and calculated. Her Grimoire pulsed with high-speed command execution—three glyphs activating in tandem, forming a tight loop of personal shielding layered with mobility pulses. It wasn't brute force—it was range control, perfectly timed to deflect the opening wave of spell cards that Alyssa Reyes had just released.
The first salvo—an arc of piercing flame and kinetic bind traps—crashed harmlessly against the layered defense, mana flaring but not breaking through.
Across from her, Alyssa's fingers moved with rapid elegance, sliding two shimmering cards from her deck: Stasis, then Break Pulse—a combination meant to freeze movement, then shatter defenses with a sudden pressure shock.
Celeste's response was immediate. Surgical.
She launched a short-range bind spell, a sharp-edged glyph that spun forward like a disc. It clipped the motion of the Stasis card by milliseconds, locking Alyssa's wrist in a partial freeze—not enough to disarm, but just enough to disrupt casting flow.
Celeste didn't wait.
Her Grimoire spun with a click, and she unleashed a force triplet—a tri-layered blast sequence, each pulse calibrated for staggered impact. The first struck center mass, pushing Alyssa off balance; the second aimed low to break stance; the third followed from above, collapsing just as Alyssa tried to reset her footing.
It wasn't just a counter.
It was domination by tempo.
Where Sallie played with unpredictability, Celeste played like she was five moves ahead—and the board was already hers.
"You can't outplay textbook spells with gimmicks," she muttered.
Sallie dropped low again, knees bending into a tight coil of motion as he pivoted behind the Vector shooter in a fluid, predatory arc. His CAD flickered with a shimmer of mana, responding to the shift in intent. The weapon collapsed and reformed into full melee mode—a baton configuration, now wrapped in a crackling hardlight coating, its surface glowing with thin veins of reinforced energy.
He swung hard, the baton slicing through the air with a hum of built-up force. The Kriss-user reacted fast, raising his CAD to intercept—steel clashing against reinforced polymer. The block held—briefly.
But Sallie wasn't aiming to break through.
He was aiming to use the contact.
From the grip of the baton, a surge of mana pulsed outward—a compact burst of kinetic disruption, funneled through the frame like a detonation charge. It detonated point-blank, right as their weapons locked, sending a shockwave through the opposing caster's arm and knocking him backward, boots skidding across the floor.
Before he could reset, Sallie's pistol re-materialized in his free hand, synced through his CAD interface.
He aimed at center mass.
One charged round.
No hesitation.
The shot hit the Kriss-user square in the chest, the impact blooming with a hard thump of force magic, flattening him against the containment barrier and dropping him to the ground in a dazed sprawl.
[Target Down. Impact Registered.]
"Nice hardware," Sallie called out lazily.
"Shame you didn't bring a backup loader."
The card-wielder—Alyssa—turned sharply, eyes narrowing as she spotted her teammate being overwhelmed. Her hand darted toward another card, ready to deploy a countermeasure.
But Celeste was faster.
She snapped her fingers, and her Grimoire flared wide, pages folding outward as it deployed a synchronization tag—a luminous glyph that pulsed once and synced her spell output directly with Sallie's current field frequency.
"On three," she called across the comm link, tone crisp.
"Already firing on two," Sallie shot back, a smirk in his voice.
Celeste rolled her eyes, but still matched his angle perfectly—pivoting into spell alignment like it was second nature.
Sallie's concussive round detonated with pinpoint timing. The Kriss-user's body launched into the air for a half-second, limbs flailing, CAD thrown wide.
Mid-air, Celeste's Grimoire snapped downward, projecting a single glyph beneath the airborne target.
A mana spike sigil bloomed under his trajectory.
He dropped straight into it.
> [STUN FIELD TRIGGERED. TARGET NEUTRALIZED.]
The arena lights pulsed once in confirmation as the containment field swallowed the blow.
Alyssa, still mid-draw, threw down a final displacer glyph, wide-spread and raw—desperate. The air warped as the spell erupted, scattering in a cone meant to send both siblings flying.
But Celeste pivoted, stepped in, and threw a flat-bind seal forward like a thrown blade. The glyph latched onto the displacer mid-cast, clamping it shut before the wave could unfold.
Behind the caster, Sallie strolled in, almost casual.
He snapped the briefcase CAD back into its original form, steel edges gleaming in the simulation light, and with a fluid upward swing, he drove it like a rising hook into Alyssa's midsection—precise, blunt, and final.
She crumpled, her body folding around the impact.
The simulation field caught her fall, flickering blue as it cushioned the blow.
[MATCH OVER. VICTORY: SALCEDO SIBLINGS.]
The arena dimmed. The field shut down.
Sallie flipped the hat off his head, caught it mid-air, and placed it back on casually.
"Three for three."
Celeste dusted her sleeves, giving him a side glance.
"Let's hope you're this coordinated when you clean the apartment."
"Now you're asking for miracles," he muttered, walking off.
The simulation field dimmed to standby. The defeated opponents were carried off to the med bay—still conscious, dazed, humiliated. The audience had already started shifting their attention to the next scheduled match, but the Salcedo siblings remained on the stage platform.
Sallie sat on one of the reinforced floor blocks, elbows on his knees, head slightly down—not in exhaustion, but with a familiar holographic interface glowing softly from his briefcase CAD, now resting across his lap.
"Huh…" He scrolled. Eyes narrowed slightly. Thumb tapping idly.
"So they really think she should've confessed before the duel? That's the part people are hung up on?"
He clicked into the comment thread. Hundreds of them.
[User: InkHellfire] – 'That tension was unbearable. I yelled at my screen. She HAD the opening.'
[User: EchoKnight] – 'The delay made it better. Battle before love. Keeps it raw.'
[User: BurnedQuill] – 'I'm begging this author to stop hurting me emotionally. Just one happy moment.'
Sallie grunted. "You people act like this is your love life."
He leaned back, legs stretching forward. Still reading.
Celeste, still standing upright with her Grimoire CAD slowly folding shut, glanced over at him.
"You're reading comments again?"
"They're reacting in real time. Can't ignore feedback, sis."
She folded her arms tightly. "We just finished our third match. You're still sweaty, the med team is hauling off people we practically hospitalized, and your first thought is literary critique?"
Sallie kept scrolling, completely unaffected.
"They're not critiquing. They're worshipping. There's a difference."
Celeste stared. "...Onii-sama."
"Mmh."
"You're insufferable."
"You say that like it's new information."
She sighed sharply and turned away from him, walking toward the prep exit.
"We have two more brackets tomorrow. Try to pretend you're not a distracted mess next time."
Sallie waved a hand without looking. "Not distracted. Just multitasking."
She stopped at the door, didn't look back.
"Keep reading your praise. I'll be preparing for the next fight. Like a normal person."
He looked up briefly. "Prepare all you want. But if you die before I can finish the next chapter, I'm reviving you just to yell at you."
Celeste kept walking. "Then write faster."
Sallie looked back at the comment section.
"Not wrong."