Wayne barely processed the words before YT was already moving.
He blitzed through the air. Damien got his hand up at the last second, catching the fist — just barely — and shoved him back. YT landed clean, weight already resettled.
Panic swept through the stands. Students scrambled for the exits.
"Who are you?" Damien said.
"Doesn't matter." YT tilted his head. "But in the spirit of your tournament — I'll tell you my power." He reached back, fingers finding something beneath his clothing at the lower spine. "Stonefish."
He drew two blades from his back. Asymmetrical, neon blue, the light along their edges something between a glow and a warning.
"Now," he said. "Start thinking of some creative last words."
He slashed.
Damien moved — barely. He blocked and redirected, the longer blade scraping past his guard.
Mr. Han stepped between them.
YT's shorter blade caught him on the way through. A graze. Nothing more than that.
Mr. Han dropped.
He didn't move. His face said everything — jaw locked, eyes wide, every muscle fighting something invisible and losing. The most excruciating pain of his life, worn completely still.
In the chaos of the emptying stands, Tyrone stood. He looked at Tina first. Then at the arena floor — at YT, at Damien already being pressed back, at Wayne still in his seat watching the fight calculate itself.
He made a decision.
He took Tina's hand and walked.
Damien caught the movement from the corner of his eye. Saw Tyrone's back. His jaw tightened.
Coward.
No time for it. YT was already coming again — slashes quick and precise, each one forcing Damien a step further back.
Wayne ran in as the last students cleared the exits.
"X4."
His aura quadrupled, the weight of it dropping into the air around him.
"Bondfire."
A burst of fire shot forward. YT cut through it with the shorter blade, barely adjusting his angle, and kept driving the longer one at Damien's center. He twisted mid-motion, released the blade, and punched Wayne clean in the face.
Caught the blade on the way back. Slashed down.
Damien hooked his wrist with his foot, redirecting the cut.
"You should worry about yourself," YT said, already resetting. "You're the one I'm actually trying to kill."
He drove the blade at Damien's chest.
"Ocean Water."
The torrent that erupted was high-pressure, enough to force YT back a step — then he was through it anyway, closing the gap despite the current, another perk of Stonefish written in the way he moved. Damien killed the water fast before the blades became invisible in it.
YT kept coming.
Wayne watched the exchange and felt the number in his head. Anyone can multiply by four. That's just the habit. But the operation itself doesn't stop there.
He looked at his hands.
X5.
The jump in output was instant — sharper, heavier, the air around him changing quality.
He threw the Bondfire again. Bigger this time, the flame carrying more mass behind it.
It connected.
Not with YT.
YT had already moved. The fire hit Damien's counter instead, the impact breaking his guard for a half-second.
Wayne went cold.
YT was in front of him before the thought finished.
A high kick. Wayne blocked.
A low kick. Wayne blocked.
YT stepped forward with the falling momentum of the second kick and the spinning backfist came from somewhere Wayne couldn't track in time.
His jaw. Black.
Damien wheeled toward the sound of Wayne hitting the floor.
"Wayne—"
Nothing.
He swung toward YT, arm coming forward — YT raised both blades, forcing the punch to stop short of contact. Damien pulled back.
He shifted, wind building from his core, pushing outward in a powerful continuous gust. YT lifted off the ground.
YT pressed skin back over his lower spine. Two blue needles came out from between his fingers, thin as wire, and sliced clean through the gust.
Damien redirected at the last second. Near miss.
The moment YT's feet found the ground he dashed.
Relentless. Every exchange precise, no wasted movement — he was calibrated for this specifically, for someone Damien's level, and it showed.
Damien managed to knock one blade from his grip. His hand came up.
YT dropped, rolled under him, and came up on the inside.
The punch caught Damien in the side.
He froze.
Then the pain arrived — deep, wrong, a burning that moved. Blood ran from his side as YT pulled his hand back. Poison spikes along his knuckles, neon blue beneath the red, already doing what they were designed to do.
Damien's legs went first.
He hit the floor.
The neurotoxin spread through him in slow, deliberate waves.
Above him, the arena lights were very bright.