For the audience—
It made no sense.
One moment, the human had been smashed into the wall.
The next—
He had begun absorbing mana.
Not just nearby mana.
Not just atmospheric mana.
Everyone felt it.
Lesser gods clutched their chests.
High divinities frowned as their reserves dipped.
Even ancient beings at the top balcony felt a subtle pull.
Then he formed something.
A dense sphere of terrifying compression.
The barrier flickered.
The air thinned.
Fear spread.
And just as it was about to fire—
It disappeared.
Vanished.
As though erased.
Now—
Arin lay unconscious against shattered stone.
One arm gone.
Blood staining white marble.
Kaelthar stood motionless.
And in front of him—
The God of War.
Leaving.
Slowly.
The crowd stared in silence.
"…What just happened?"
"Was that some kind of illusion?"
"Did the War God intervene?"
"Why?"
The referee, pale and stiff, descended onto the battlefield.
He glanced at Arin.
Unconscious.
Severely injured.
Then at Kaelthar.
Standing.
Alive.
Breathing.
Shaken.
The referee swallowed.
His voice trembled slightly as he raised his hand.
"U–uh… a–according to the conditions of incapacitation…"
A long pause.
"…The winner is… Kaelthar."
The announcement echoed awkwardly across the Arena.
There were no cheers.
Only confusion.
Scattered, hesitant applause followed—more out of obligation than enthusiasm.
Even Kaelthar did not react.
His eyes were still fixed on the place where that condensed force had almost erased him.
He understood something the crowd did not.
He had seen death.
And it had not hesitated.
---
The Celestial Balcony
Above the Arena, silence lingered among the remaining Elder Gods.
Most had returned after feeling the mana disturbance.
They had not missed it.
They could not.
Solmireth, the Former Sovereign, leaned back in his throne.
A slow, thoughtful smile curved his lips.
"Remarkable."
There was no fear in his voice.
Only intrigue.
"An unrefined discharge," he continued softly. "No technique. No divine channeling. Just… excess."
Nytherion, God of Void, spoke next.
Low.
Measured.
"That was not divine inheritance."
His eyes darkened faintly.
"It felt… older."
Zerathion, God of Order, was rigid.
"This is precisely why irregular variables destabilize structured systems."
His tone was cold.
"An uncontrolled absorption of that magnitude could have annihilated the arena."
Dravakar returned to his seat without speaking.
His expression was unreadable.
But his fingers tapped once against the armrest.
Once.
Aurethion, God of Light, frowned openly.
"That power does not belong in Heaven."
Myrathiel, Goddess of Fate, narrowed her eyes slightly.
"The threads twisted."
Her golden strands shimmered faintly.
"For a moment… destiny fractured."
That sentence carried weight.
Illunara, Goddess of Illusion, exhaled softly.
"Well… he certainly made the semi-finals memorable."
Lumethis, Goddess of Wisdom, closed her eyes.
"He did not intend mass destruction."
"No," Solmireth agreed gently. "But intention matters little to consequences."
Then—
Their gazes shifted.
To her.
She remained seated upon her throne.
Serene.
Unmoved.
Her expression calm.
Unreadable.
But there was something faint at the edge of her lips.
Amusement.
Not loud.
Not obvious.
Just a subtle curve.
"That child…"
Her voice was soft, yet it carried absolute authority.
"…continues to surprise me."
There was no anger.
No disappointment.
If anything—
Interest.
Genuine interest.
And that unsettled more than outrage would have.
---
The Infirmary
Below, the medical staff rushed forward the moment the winner was announced.
White-robed divine healers surrounded Arin.
Sacred sigils activated.
Time-accelerated regeneration circles flared beneath him.
His severed arm was recovered instantly.
Divine reconstruction began.
Bone knitted.
Muscle reformed.
Nerves reconnected.
It took effort.
Even for divine medicine.
Because the damage was not clean.
It was recoil.
Self-inflicted annihilation.
They stabilized him and transported him swiftly to the Arena infirmary.
---
Awakening
Darkness.
Then light.
Then pain.
Arin's eyes snapped open.
"…What the—"
A sharp pulse throbbed through his skull.
He winced and grabbed his head.
Memories returned in fragments.
Kaelthar's fist.
The wall.
The crowd.
"Absorb."
The sphere.
"Survive."
The recoil.
"…Ah. Shit."
He turned his head slowly.
White ceiling.
Divine lamps.
Soft ambient glow.
He blinked.
Then looked down.
His arm was there.
Fully attached.
Wrapped in glowing medical bindings.
He flexed his fingers cautiously.
It responded.
"…I'm never doing that again."
His voice was hoarse.
His entire body felt like it had been struck by a mountain.
There was a faint knock.
Then the door opened.
Caelum entered quietly.
As always—composed.
Silver eyes assessing.
Arin stiffened slightly.
He felt strangely nervous.
"…Hey."
Caelum approached the bedside.
His gaze briefly scanned Arin's condition.
"Are you well?"
"Uh… yeah. Just a small headache. Minor internal collapse. Casual stuff."
Caelum did not smile.
"I see."
Silence lingered between them.
Arin avoided eye contact for a moment.
He remembered.
He had given permission.
He had let Cutie off the leash.
He had meant to.
Why?
He wasn't entirely sure.
Caelum spoke calmly.
"I never expected you to be so reckless."
The words were not accusatory.
But they were direct.
Arin looked at his hands.
"…Yeah."
He exhaled quietly.
"What was I thinking…"
The memory of the crowd's voices flickered faintly in his mind.
Trash.
Fraud.
Nothing.
He had never cared before.
So why now?
Caelum observed him carefully.
"I suppose…"
He paused slightly.
"You are still human."
Arin looked up.
"…What does that mean?"
"It means," Caelum replied, "that pride can wound even when one pretends otherwise."
Arin didn't answer.
He stared at the ceiling.
His mind was unsettled.
He had planned to surrender.
He had been relieved.
Then—
Something shifted.
A sharp, unfamiliar sensation.
Not anger.
Not humiliation.
Something closer to—
Refusal.
"I almost killed people, didn't I?" Arin asked quietly.
Caelum did not answer immediately.
"The barrier would not have held."
Arin swallowed.
"And Kaelthar?"
"He lives."
Arin closed his eyes briefly.
Relief mixed with lingering discomfort.
"And the match?"
"You lost."
"Oh."
He let out a long breath.
"…Good."
Caelum studied him.
"You seem pleased."
"I finally lost."
There was a faint, tired smile on Arin's face.
"That was the plan."
Caelum shook his head almost imperceptibly.
"You are truly incomprehensible."
Arin hesitated.
He had questions.
What had happened after?
Why had the blast vanished?
Why had he survived that recoil?
Why did it feel like something had intervened?
But before he could ask—
Caelum turned toward the door.
"Rest."
Arin blinked.
"Wait— what exactly—"
"I will inform you of the details later."
His tone was firm.
Measured.
Controlled.
Which meant—
There were details.
And they were significant.
Caelum paused at the doorway.
Without turning back, he added quietly:
"Do not unleash that power again without understanding it."
Then he left.
The door closed softly.
Silence returned.
Arin stared at his reattached arm.
Flexed it slowly.
Cutie was quiet.
Very quiet.
Almost content.
"…You enjoyed that, didn't you?"
No response.
Just faint warmth.
Arin sighed.
"I need to figure you out."
Outside the infirmary window, the Arena lights dimmed.
But throughout Heaven—
Conversations had already begun.
The tournament had shifted.
The Irregular was no longer an amusing anomaly.
He was a variable.
And variables—
Demanded attention.
Arin closed his eyes again.
Trying to sleep.
But even as he drifted—
He felt it.
Something had changed.
Not in Heaven.
In himself.
And that realization was far more unsettling.