The previous victory for humanity brought a small sense of relief to both the President and Johan.
For the first time since the Celestial Colosseum had opened, the President did not immediately massage his temples when the scoreboard lit up with humanity's victory.
Even Johan let out a quiet sigh of relief.
They had begun to believe that magic could still be defeated by steel, that illusions could be overcome by logic, and that myths could be shattered by science. Now, they carefully considered who would be worthy enough to represent humanity next.
But on the other side, The Ancient One appeared restless. For the very first time, the creature no longer saw humanity as a species to be underestimated. Not merely because of their cunning, but because of their strength and the unpredictability of the way they thought.
The Ancient One's sharp gaze turned toward Johan, the President's assistant.
In his mind, every human victory had surely been born from that man's intellect. Strategies, traps, calculations that surpassed even divine logic itself.
With a heavy tone and a sly smile stretching across his face, he spoke.
"You have already claimed victory in the previous match. Therefore, please announce your next representative, O President."
His voice echoed throughout the arena. Calm—yet layered with hidden malice. Even Libra merely glanced at him with an indifferent expression.
She knew there was ill intent behind that challenge.
But she remained silent in order to preserve balance.
The President and Johan exchanged glances. They began sorting through the list of candidates they had prepared.
Yet before a decision could be made, a massive roar suddenly shook the human stands.
Both of them turned.
Beneath the shadow of the grandstands, the silhouette of someone slowly stepped forward with unwavering confidence. His eyes were wild, yet strangely calm, though his sturdy frame was not particularly tall.
As he walked toward the center of the arena, the light from the Colosseum dome gradually revealed his appearance. A man covered in tattoos from his neck down to his arms. Wearing a worn-out T-shirt. Jeans. Bandages wrapped around both hands.
He stopped in the middle of the arena with a confident grin, hands resting on his hips. His gaze swept across the mythology stands as though he were casually deciding what drink to order.
"Look at that. What's that idiot doing?"
"No idea. But it seems like he wants to represent us."
"What?! Him? Ridiculous. No matter how you look at it, he's nothing but muscles and… an annoyingly challenging grin."
"But look at his eyes. They're the eyes of someone who's spent too much of his life fighting."
The cheers grew louder. Some mocking, some laughing. Yet the man only smiled wider.
Then he spread his arms open, as though every insult sounded like fans singing praise to him.
"Thank you for such an enthusiastic welcome! You're all wonderful people!" he shouted proudly.
"Tiago 'Ghost' Moreira has entered the ring! Now ring the bell!"
The entire arena suddenly fell silent.
Even the mythology faction, who had initially looked down on him, now stared with curiosity.
The man had come without weapons, without armor, without any protection whatsoever. Only his body, his courage, and a grin that openly challenged death itself.
Then the mythology stands erupted as well—not in admiration, but in ridicule.
Waves of laughter filled the Colosseum.
The President let out a rough sigh. His brows furrowed anxiously.
"Ah… so it's him, is it?" The Ancient One sneered mockingly. "A rather fitting representative for the level of a casual brawler."
The President gave no reply.
And after only briefly lowering his shoulders in relief, he once again returned to massaging his temples.
But Johan, standing beside him, narrowed his eyes at the man below. The name "Ghost" echoed inside his mind because it was not an ordinary nickname.
He had heard it before in the underground world, among black-market records of illegal fights and cartel fugitives.
And if humanity had a devil that once fought against hell itself...
Perhaps he was the one standing in the arena right now.
"Mona! Get me a microphone!" Johan ordered through the walkie-talkie he pulled from his suit pocket.
Within seconds, the table before the President automatically opened, revealing a metallic microphone engraved with the symbol of the world.
Johan lowered his posture, bringing his lips close enough for his voice to echo across every corner of the Celestial Colosseum.
"Good evening, sir," he said calmly yet firmly. "What business do you have standing in the center of the arena?"
The question was met with another wave of laughter from both humanity and mythology alike. Johan's voice echoed with perfect clarity despite the absence of magic, causing Libra to glance toward him, visibly impressed by technology capable of rivaling the resonance of heavenly spells.
Tiago smirked crookedly before shouting loudly,
"To fight, obviously! My fists are already itching to punch—you! You! You! And even you little short guys!"
A huge burst of laughter exploded across the arena. One dwarf in the front row immediately punched the air in anger.
"Hey! Hey! Does 'short guy' mean tiny in human language, huh?! Listen here! Our bodies may be small, but the gods gave us brilliant minds and skillful hands. Remember that, you stupid human!"
Tiago chuckled.
Then he bounced lightly on his feet while loosening his wrists.
"Oh yeah? Then show me those gifts in the arena! Let's see how 'skillful' you really are!"
The cheers that once supported him instantly shifted into mockery.
But Tiago only responded by raising both hands and shamelessly flipping his middle fingers toward every direction.
The thunderous cheers transformed into furious curses.
"How dare you! Do you want to experience my illusions, arrogant human?!"
"Come down here! My axe has been craving human blood!"
"You want to drown at the bottom of the sea, foolish human?"
Tiago merely snorted.
He covered both ears, pretending not to care about the insults raining upon him.
"Impressive…" whispered a woman in the human stands. "It hasn't even been two minutes, and he's already made every mythology race his enemy."
"I kinda like him," the man beside her replied. "That confidence makes me feel like he's the real deal."
The roaring only intensified—not just from mythology, but from humanity itself. Several large men in the stands began getting swept up by Tiago's sarcastic energy.
"You think your illusions make you tough, huh? Hey fox! Fight me next!"
"I'll butcher you, cow! I'll turn your meat into the signature dish at my restaurant!"
"Tch! All bark and no bite? Fight me in the desert arena later, mermaid!"
Cheers and insults merged into a storm of chaos.
The once heavy and suffocating atmosphere of the Colosseum had now turned into pure emotional mayhem.
From her throne, Libra merely let out a quiet sigh. Her gaze shifted toward the two factions now screaming at one another.
Meanwhile, The Ancient One laughed softly.
A low laugh that stabbed through the air like a dagger.
"Hahaha… look at them. Even before the battle has begun, humanity and mythology are already devouring one another," he said with a grin.
"What a beautiful spectacle."