In the premium spectator section, Niamh sat with tears streaming down her face while she clutched a handkerchief that had long since become useless. Around her, the arena was pure chaos as people celebrated or mourned the leaderboard results, but she barely registered any of it. All she could see was Jade's name glowing on that massive display—rank twenty-four out of a thousand—and her heart felt like it might burst from the overwhelming mixture of pride and bittersweet ache.
"He did it," she whispered, voice breaking slightly. "He actually did it."
Beside her, Lio was on his feet and screaming at the top of his lungs, both fists pumped in the air as he jumped up and down like someone half his age. "YES! YES! THAT'S MY BROTHER! RANK TWENTY-FOUR! DO YOU ALL SEE THAT?! THAT'S JADE FROM NEXARION!" He grabbed the stranger next to him and shook them enthusiastically. "That's my BROTHER up there!"
The stranger looked bewildered but caught up in Lio's infectious excitement, and they started cheering too even though they had no idea who Jade was. Lio released them and spun back to Niamh, his face split by a grin so wide it had to hurt. "Niamh! He's in the top thousand! Top TWENTY-FOUR! Can you believe it?!"
"I can believe it," Niamh managed through her tears, and she was smiling even as she cried because how could she not?.
Lio dropped back into his seat and immediately pulled her into a fierce hug that nearly knocked the breath from her lungs. She hugged him back just as tightly, both of them clinging to each other as years of watching Jade train and push himself past every reasonable limit finally paid off in the most spectacular way possible.
"He's going to the Imperial Academy," Lio said into her shoulder, voice muffled but thick with emotion. "No matter what happens from here, he's guaranteed admission. He's got a future now. A real future."
"I know," Niamh whispered, the bittersweet ache in her chest intensified until it was almost painful. Because yes, Jade had secured his future, and yes, she was desperately proud of him, but it also meant he'd be leaving. Going off to the academy where she couldn't follow, where she couldn't protect him or make sure he was eating properly or remind him to rest when he pushed too hard.
Her baby was growing up and moving on, and she was happy for him even as part of her heart broke at the thought of letting go.
Lio pulled back and must have seen something in her expression because his own face softened with understanding. "He'll be fine," he said quietly. "You know he will."
"I know," Niamh repeated, wiping at her tears with trembling fingers. "It's just—he's been with me since he was a baby. Since I found him in that junkyard all those years ago. And now he's grown into this amazing young man who's competing at the empire's highest levels, and I'm so proud I could burst, but I'm also terrified of what happens when he doesn't need me anymore."
"He'll always need you," Lio said firmly. "Maybe not in the same way, but you're his mother. That doesn't change just because he's going to the academy."
Niamh nodded and managed a watery smile, and then they both turned their attention back to the displays as commentators began analyzing the leaderboard and discussing which fighters would likely advance to top twenty. Jade's name kept appearing in the discussion, paired with clips from his speed demonstration and speculation about what talent could produce those results.
"They don't even know," Lio said with a laugh that bordered on slightly unhinged. "They're all trying to figure out if he's a speed specialist or physical enhancement, and they have no idea he hasn't even used his real abilities yet."
"Let them speculate," Niamh said, composure returning as she tucked her handkerchief away. "Jade will show them the truth when he's ready. Until then, we get to watch everyone underestimate him and be proven wrong." She paused, then added with motherly concern, "I hope he's eating properly in the break room. He tends to forget when he's focused."
"I'm sure the tournament provides meals," Lio said, though he sounded uncertain. "They have to, right? Can't have fighters collapsing from hunger mid-match."
"Should we check on him ?, is that allowed ," Niamh asked doubtedly. "To make sure he's resting and eating and not just sitting in meditation the entire time."
"You know he's probably doing exactly that."
"Which is why I need to check on him." She settled back in her seat with furrowed brows.
She was proud and terrified and heartbroken and overjoyed all at once, and she wouldn't have it any other way.
------------------
Three thousand light-years away on Herculio Prime, Aurelien sat in his private viewing room with his eyes fixed on displays that showed the arena during its break period. He'd been sitting in this exact position for three days straight with minimal breaks for sleep or food, and Rowan had stopped trying to convince him that obsessive viewing habits were unhealthy somewhere around hour forty-eight.
The past seventy-two hours had been educational, and he'd watched every single one of Participant 847,392's matches. All thirty of them. From multiple camera angles. Some of them he'd watched dozens of times, and the hooded fighter's speed display against the rank 61 alpha had been seared into his memory with perfect clarity. Seventeen strikes in two seconds with overwhelming power.
Something in Aurelien's instincts screamed every time he watched that replay, and he'd given up trying to suppress the reaction.
It was getting worse, too. Each match intensified the pull instead of satisfying it, like drinking saltwater that only increased thirst. By now, Aurelien could identify the hooded fighter's silhouette from any angle instantly, could recognize their movement patterns within seconds.
It was driving him slowly insane, and he still couldn't stop watching.
Standing by the doorway, Octavia cleared her throat softly, and Aurelien forced himself to tear his eyes away from the displays long enough to acknowledge her presence. She stood near the doorway with her usual professional composure, though there was something in her expression that he couldn't quite read.
"My lord," she said carefully, "I've completed the tactical assessment you requested on the left general's battle. Would you like me to present findings now, or should I wait until after the break concludes?"
"Leave it on my desk," Aurelien replied, voice rougher than he'd intended. "I'll review later."
Octavia hesitated, which was unusual enough that Aurelien actually looked at her fully instead of letting his attention drift back to the displays. Her jaw was tight, and her fingers had curled slightly into fists at her sides before she consciously relaxed them.
"You've been watching Participant 847,392 very intensely for three days, my lord," she said, voice carefully neutral. "More intensely than you've monitored anything since the Tartarus campaign. I wanted to ensure there wasn't a security concern I should be aware of."
Her tone was perfectly professional, her expression controlled, but something flickered in her eyes before she locked it down completely.
Before Aurelien could respond, Rowan's voice cut in from somewhere near the refreshment area where he'd apparently been lurking. "What Octavia is delicately trying to say is that you're acting like someone who's either identified a massive threat or developed an unprecedented fixation, and she's trying to figure out which one it is so she knows how worried to be."
Octavia's expression didn't change, but her posture stiffened slightly at having her concern voiced so bluntly.
The massive man grinned unrepentantly as he approached with a fresh pot of tea. He poured a cup and set it firmly on the table beside Aurelien's chair, then settled into his own seat with the casual familiarity of someone who'd earned the right to ignore hierarchical boundaries.
"And what I'm NOT so delicately saying," Rowan continued cheerfully, "is that whoever this hooded fighter is, they've got you more twisted up than I've seen since we got out of Tartarus. This is unprecedented territory, Boss."
Aurelien was quiet for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice carried an edge of frustration that he rarely allowed himself to show. "I don't know what this is. I don't know why I can't stop watching. This doesn't make logical sense, and it's driving me insane that I can't explain or control it."
Rowan leaned back in his chair with an expression that suggested he was about to say something either very wise or very stupid. "Have you considered that maybe this isn't something you're SUPPOSED to control? That maybe your instincts are recognizing something before your conscious mind catches up, and fighting it is just making everything worse?"
"That's not helpful," Aurelien said flatly.
"It's not MEANT to be helpful. It's meant to be honest." Rowan's grin softened into something more genuine. "Look, I don't know what's happening here either. But I know you, Boss. I know that when you fixate on something this intensely, it's usually because some part of you recognizes significance that logic hasn't processed yet. So maybe instead of fighting it, you should just... accept that this matters somehow and figure out why later."
Aurelien was quiet, turning that suggestion over in his mind.
"I've flagged Participant 847,392 for recruitment," Rowan added casually. "Regardless of tournament outcome. Someone who can capture YOUR attention this thoroughly has got to be worth recruiting, and I'm not letting another organization snap them up while we're busy overthinking everything."
Aurelien's head turned sharply. "You did what?"
"Flagged them for recruitment," Rowan repeated with exaggerated patience. "You know, that thing we do when we identify exceptional talent we want working for House Herculio? I filled out preliminary documentation, ran background checks on their planet of origin, started drafting contract terms that would be competitive with other major houses."
Aurelien nodded slowly. It was sound tactical thinking, even if Rowan's presentation made him want to throw something.
"My lord," Octavia said, and her voice had returned to its usual professional neutrality, any hint of personal feeling completely buried now. "If you'd like me to assist with recruitment preparations, I'm happy to help compile whatever documentation Rowan hasn't already completed."
"Appreciated," Aurelien said simply.
Octavia nodded once, expression perfectly controlled, and withdrew without another word. The door closed behind her with a soft click.
Rowan settled more comfortably into his chair. "The break ends in two hours. Semi-finals start after that. You planning to watch his every match again?"
"Yes," Aurelien said without hesitation.
"Figured." Rowan grinned. "Then I guess we're in for another few days of this. Try to eat something this time? You're running on caffeine and obsession alone."
Aurelien didn't respond, but he did reach for the tea Rowan had prepared earlier.
On screen, the hooded fighter's image appeared again as commentators reviewed top performers, and Aurelien's eyes tracked the movement automatically.
Two more hours until semi-finals began.
Two more hours until he could watch them fight again.
....