Aaron's eyes darted around the busy stadium, looking for the locker room entrance, his first match coming up quickly.
Where is that damn door that Akari talked about!
Plunging through the ever-densifying crowd with his disguise on the verge of slipping away, he finally spotted the guarded gate at the farthest edge of the room.
Thank the crab…
Weaving between hordes of spectators, he made his way to the front of the onlookers who waited for one of the challengers to emerge from the doors.
Aaron, however, was already hidden behind a veil, his figure appearing as a random shopkeeper he had met along the way.
Stepping up towards the stout-looking guard at the door, he whispered to him.
"Aaron Grimstall. I'm here for my match."
There was a pause from the white-haired man as he squinted to get a better look at the boy's appearance.
"Nope. You're not him."
The disguised boy blinked, then sighed, realising his mistake.
One second and you'll be really surprised…
Holding his hand out in front of the older man's face, he snapped loudly, drawing the attention of a decent fraction of the crowd.
Eyes immediately glared at the back of his head, making his mind foggy as the attention drew the gaze of a certain overly protective deity.
Loud gasps echoed through the room as his skin peeled backwards, bones reshaped themselves, and hair fell out and rapidly regrew.
Now, in place of the balding shopkeeper, stood a fifteen-year-old challenger from Strava who awaited the start of his match.
The people around, along with the guard, went silent for a moment, in awe of the sudden transformation that seemed to defy their common sense.
Heh… I bet they're shocked—
"He's a fake!"
Aaron's brow furrowed in confusion as he whipped his head around to stare into the audience, spotting a random man pointing at him and glaring accusingly.
"What…?"
Posing the question, he watched as the bystanders looked between him and the promotional posters with the faces of the contestants, which covered the walls, their heads whirring for an answer.
"YEAH HE'S A FAKE!"
Another voice boomed through the crowd, the dumbstruck look on the boy's face a clear indication of his thoughts.
What the hell is wrong with these people…
Sighing, he reached into his overcoat pocket to grab his badge, yet, as he grazed through the slit, he came to another realization.
I-It's not here…
Looking around wildly, he prayed that he would see it right beside him on the floor, but, unfortunately for him, he wasn't so lucky.
"MAKE HIM SHOW HIS BADGE FOR PROOF!"
"THE REAL AARON GRIMSTALL IS BUFF!"
"NO, THE REAL ONE HAS PURE BLOND HAIR! HE HAS BLUE STREAKS!"
The shouts and demands continued endlessly until hundreds of people were debating so loudly that it drew the attention of a certain individual at the far end of the entrance hall.
"MAKE HIM LIFT HIS PANTS FOR US TO SEE HIS LEG!"
"YEAH! THE REAL ONE HAS A METAL LEG!
"NO! MAKE HIM REVEAL WHAT ARTIFACT HE'S USING TO CHANGE HIS APPEARANCE!"
"HAVE HIM—"
Suddenly, without any transition or time to fade out, the noise stopped, every single person in the audience looking up simultaneously.
Wisps in the shape of jellyfish floated through the air like balloons, their magenta hues bathing the chamber in a cool glow.
They loomed over the spectators like flying lanterns, their radiance captivating their souls and shifting their attention away from the boy.
Silently, Aaron watched as one of the civilians reached up and touched the exterior of the mystical creature.
POP!
The jellyfish that came into contact with human skin exploded in a massive burst, along with all its siblings, spewing magenta pus onto the crowd below.
"AHH! HELP!"
"IT'S IN MY EYES!"
"NO ITS IN MY NOSE!"
"I-ITTTTSSSS INNNNNN MYYYYYY MOOOOOOUTH!"
The blond boy, being the only one who somehow managed to avoid the sudden shower of goo, just stared blankly at the chaos that erupted in the already cramped hall.
Everyone was in a state of frenzy, trying to wipe away the vile substance from their bodies, and even the guard beside Aaron was panicking, covered in the same strange goop.
While people ran in all directions, a narrow path began to form between them as though some mysterious force was at play, and a figure slipped through it with the elegance of a dancer, quickly advancing towards the stumped boy.
Aaron's eyes slowly began to analyze the dark silhouette coming towards him, a white cloak covering their form.
Who wore a white—
He froze, remembering the meeting he had stumbled upon only a few days prior.
Straightening his posture and reinforcing his mind defense just in case, he readied himself as the approaching Marshal stopped in her tracks, meeting his eyes with a smile.
"Hello Mr Grimstall."
Bianca Santoro, the Multimage herself and the second-seeded Marshal in the tournament, now stood before him, her rainbow colored braids spilling out from beneath the hood of her pristine cloak.
"Ms. Santoro, it is an honor to meet you here."
Bowing his head in respect, he heard the woman chuckle slightly, her hand moving to throw something at him.
Catching it without looking, he heard her voice come out quietly.
"A pickpocket stole it at the entrance. Try to hold onto it this time."
Furrowing his brow, Aaron looked downward only to find his challenger badge wound up in a ball within his palm.
Relief welled up in his chest as he looked up at the woman; however, in that brief moment of distraction, she had already vanished, gone before a single spectator could take their eyes off the goop covering them.
So that's the Multimage… She looks younger than her portrait in Corvassa made her seem…
Groaning, he turned around, finally facing again the guard who was peeling the magenta puss of his face.
"Sir, is this all I need?'
He held out his badge to the man, and the guard inspected it for a brief moment before his eyes widened with surprise, and he slammed a red button on his desk.
"Y-you're good to go, Mr. Grimstall!"
His voice was shaky and fearful as if he was afraid the boy would hurt him for doubting his identity, but whenAaron vanished into the inner halls of the building without another word, the man let out a sigh of relief.
"T-that pickpocket was supposed to do a better job…"
…
Stepping into the men's locker room, Aaron gazed around nervously, wondering if he might run into Raphael before their match and wishing he wouldn't, if only to avoid exchanging awkward greetings with his opponent.
As he walked through the dimly lit chamber, he heard one of the showers running in the distance, the sound of humming coming from within.
"Hello…?"
Calling out to be polite and let the other person know of his presence, he heard a startled high note of the singing before the showering individual's voice came out.
"Dammit, Aaron! Ain't your mama tell you not to interrupt a man's shower?"
Ezra's yell resounded through the stony room, and soon after, the sound of the running water stopped, replaced by wet footsteps and grumbled curses.
Laughing softly under his breath, the blond boy entered the shower hall, noticing Ezra, who had just buckled his pants.
"Eh? You tryna catch me with my pants down or somethin'?"
His words were harsh, but he was grinning at Aaron as he walked over.
The two friends clasped their hands together in a firm handshake, pulling closer and giving each other a strong pat on the back, one that hummed through the blond boy's body like a hit from a low-level terror.
"How's the wound doing?"
Gazing down at the black-haired boy's bare chest, Aaron's eyes were immediately attracted to the bulging mark on the skin that had been burned white like the sun.
"Eh, it's fine. Doc said he ain't ever seen anythin like it though. Healing magic ain't work on me, so all I got is these bandaids."
Patting the area above the injury proudly, he smiled and slapped Aaron across the back once again.
"You'll get revenge for me, right? I'm expecting you to beat his noble ass to the green planet!"
Turning his back to the turquoise-eyed boy and going to grab his shirt, he heard his friend gasp audibly.
"Ezra… Those scars…"
Streaks of purple and black covered the boy's back, their grotesque shape and size matching the chain marks that twisted around his neck like snakes.
Aaron, of course, knew about the scars just below his friend's chin, which he constantly covered with a black scarf—but the ones on his back were completely new to him.
Ezra gazed back at Aaron, a solemn and sad look coming across his face in an instant.
"Oh…"
There was none of his usual enthusiasm, his expression pale, and his hands quickly reaching for his shirt.
"They're nothing…"
Grabbing his white button- up, he hurriedly covered his scars and began fastening it, his fingers trembling slightly.
One button after another, the silence between the two boys deepened.
This heavy impasse continued for a long while, long enough for Ezra to finish getting dressed.
Fully clothed and ready to go, he straightened up, but didn't move, his face turned away from Aaron, and his eyes dark, as if he was going through some inner turmoil.
Watching the boy go still like that, Aaron finally mustered the courage to speak again.
"Ezra… You don't have to talk about it if you don't want too but—"
He was cut off by the black-haired boy, who waved his hand in dismissal.
"No, no, no… I've been meaning to talk to you about it since you already know about my neck…"
Above them, a metal pipe shrieked as their eyes locked on one another, two turquoise ones and one of each red and blue.
With a sigh, Ezra continued.
"When I was born, I was sold into slavery. Didn't know my mom, didn't know my dad. I didn't even know I had a sister until they both kicked the bucket."
His gaze turned downward, his face filled with longing, and his heart filled with sadness.
"Each of the people who owned me treated me like a pig or worse… Whippings, beatings, and even…"
The boy paused, his eyes clouding over as he recalled the memory.
"Hangings…"