Jae-hyun was already awake.

  He'd been staring at the ceiling for the better part of an hour, arms folded behind his head, listening to Ironspire wake up outside his window. The distant clatter of carts. A rooster somewhere doing its absolute worst. The faint smell of bread creeping under the door.

  Tournament day.

  Tournament. Day. You. Arena. People watching. Someone actively trying to hurt you. For sport. Today.

  He sat up. Pressed both palms flat against his knees. Breathed once, slowly, the way Kael had shown him.

  Breathe. Watch. Wait. Move.

  Breathe. Watch. Wait. Move.

  Breathe. Watch. Try not to have a breakdown in the inn bathroom. Move.

  "Right," he said to the empty room. "Let's go."

  The streets were already alive when he stepped outside.

  Tournament days in Ironspire were apparently an event. Vendors who normally sold produce had swapped their wares for painted scarves in arena colors. Children darted between the legs of adults clutching hand-drawn betting forms. A pair of bards had set up near the main gate, playing something that was supposed to sound heroic and mostly just sounded loud.

  Jae-hyun walked through it all with his combat wraps already wound around his knuckles, the folded notes and copper token in his pocket, and the expression of a man walking toward something he'd rather not walk toward but had already accepted was happening.

  Okay. It's fine. It's a tournament. People do tournaments. Adventurers do tournaments constantly. This is completely normal.

  I am going to get absolutely destroyed in front of hundreds of people.

  No. Stop. Stop that.

  Statistically—

  I said stop.

  He bought a skewer. Ate it in four bites. His stomach barely registered it.

  I'm not even tasting this. This is a tragedy. Perfectly good skewer and I can't even taste it. The nerves are stealing my food. That's genuinely the cruelest part of all of this.

  The others were waiting at the arena entrance.

  Renn was practically vibrating. He had cleaned his daggers to a mirror shine — purely out of habit, since weapons weren't allowed inside the tournament ring — and was shifting his weight from foot to foot like a man whose body had decided today was a sprinting day. "THERE he is! Our F-rank! Our longshot! Our beautiful underdog!"

  "Please stop," Jae-hyun said.

  "I bet on you, by the way."

  Jae-hyun stopped walking. "You what?"

  "Two silver. On you. To win." Renn grinned so wide it looked structurally unsound. "If you pull it off, I'm eating real food for a month."

  No. No no no no no. That is not— you can't just— I was already barely holding it together and now there's STAKES—

  "Renn—"

  "No pressure."

  That is entirely— that is the definition of— I am going to lose this man's two silver and he will look at me with those sad eyes and I will have to live with that forever—

  "That is entirely pressure—"

  "No pressure," Renn said again, clearly having the time of his life.

  Kael appeared at his other shoulder, quiet and steady as always. He gave Jae-hyun a single look — the kind that communicated you're ready without a single wasted word — and then turned toward the arena entrance. "Bracket's posted. Come see."

  Thank you, Kael. You reasonable, sensible, non-gambling man. I love you.

  The arena's entrance hall was carved from the same dark stone as Ironspire's walls, rune-lit along the ceiling in pale gold light. Tournament officials in guild livery moved briskly between clusters of participants. The smell of iron, sweat, and nervous energy hung in the air like something living.

  Ah. So this is what collective dread smells like. Good to know.

  The bracket board was mounted beside the check-in desk — a wide panel of polished wood with names chalked in neat columns, match pairings already assigned. Sixteen participants. Four rounds. One winner.

  Jae-hyun found his name near the bottom.

  Round One — Match 7: Jae-hyun (F Rank) vs. Dorin (D Rank)

  He stared at it.

  Dorin. The name from Kael's annotated scouting notes. D-rank warrior, power type. Aggressive opener.

  Oh. That's funny. That's really funny. Of all sixteen people in this bracket I drew the one guy specifically flagged as aggressive opener. Ha. Hahaha. The goddess is watching this from wherever she is and she is absolutely losing her mind right now. I hope she's enjoying herself.

  He looked at Kael. "Dorin."

  "I know."

  "Power type."

  "I know."

  "Aggressive opener."

  "I know." Kael's expression didn't change. "Which means he'll come at you fast and hard from the bell. He won't probe. He won't feel you out. He'll commit immediately." A pause. "That's actually good for you."

  Jae-hyun blinked slowly. "...How is that good for me?"

  "Because he'll use his skill early. Probably within the first exchange. Which means you won't have to wait long."

  Oh. That's… actually a decent point. If he just charges at me immediately he'll use the skill immediately and I can copy it immediately and then—

  And then I still have to fight a D-rank warrior who is definitely larger than me.

  Baby steps.

  "Okay. Okay. That's… actually a decent point."

  "It usually is," Kael said.

  Humble too. Great.

  Aria appeared beside them, having done her own quiet survey of the bracket. She looked at Jae-hyun's pairing, then at him.

  "Dorin is straightforward," she said. "Powerful, but not creative. He wins by overwhelming people before they can think. Don't let him do that."

  Right. Don't let the large man whose entire career strategy is hitting people very hard hit me very hard. Crystal clear. Perfect advice.

  "Right. Don't let the D-rank warrior whose entire strategy is hitting hard hit me hard." Jae-hyun nodded. "Solid plan. Very specific."

  "Jae-hyun."

  "I'm listening."

  I'm also dying internally but yes, I am listening.

  "You've read him. You know what's coming. That already puts you ahead." Her eyes were steady, calm, the specific kind of calm that wasn't indifference but something more deliberate. "Use it."

  He held her gaze for a second.

  She means it. She's not just saying it. She actually believes—

  Okay. Don't make it weird. Keep it together.

  "Yeah," he said quietly. "Okay."

  The arena floor was exactly as the diagram had shown, and also nothing like it.

  The diagram had given him measurements. Stone floor. Circular. Thirty meters across. Central medallion. Ledge drop.

  What the diagram had not conveyed was the size of everything else.

  The seating rose in steep tiers around the arena floor, already half-filled with spectators and filling faster. The noise was immense — layered and echoing off the stone walls until it became something physical, something you felt in your chest rather than just your ears. Banners hung from the upper rails, red and gold, snapping faintly in the wind that moved through the open roof.

  This is significantly more arena than I was emotionally prepared for.

  The stone floor gleamed dully under the morning light. The central medallion — a carved circle of interlocking runes — sat at exact center, already worn smooth from years of boot traffic.

  Okay. It's just a circle. It's a big circle with a lot of people watching. A lot of people who have paid money to watch. Who have placed bets on other people to beat me. Who are currently looking at this bracket and seeing F-rank and doing the math—

  STOP.

  He flexed his wrapped hands slowly. Once. Twice.

  Breathe.

  Around him, other participants moved in and out — some with the loose, easy confidence of people who'd done this before, some with the specific tight-shouldered tension he recognized because he was currently experiencing it himself. A pair of D-rank fighters laughed loudly about something near the water barrel.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Must be nice. Must be genuinely wonderful to be the kind of person who laughs before a fight. What a life.

  A woman in light armor sat alone against the wall, eyes closed, lips moving faintly, possibly in prayer.

  Yeah. Same.

  He checked his stat panel out of habit, closed it without lingering, and tucked his hands behind his back.

  A tournament official appeared at the tunnel entrance, holding a parchment. "Match Seven. Jae-hyun and Dorin. To the floor."

  That's me. That's my name. Okay. Okay. This is actually it. I'm walking out there. I, Jae-hyun, former high school student, current F-rank adventurer, am about to walk into a professional fighting arena in front of hundreds of people.

  If the goddess can see me right now I hope she feels something.

  Jae-hyun exhaled once.

  Then he walked out.

  The crowd noise hit him like a wall the moment he stepped onto the arena floor. Not deafening exactly, but present — a constant pressure behind the eardrums, a living thing pressing in from all sides.

  Don't look at the crowd. Do not look at the crowd. You look at the crowd and it becomes real and if it becomes real—

  He looked at the crowd for half a second.

  Yep. Real. Lots of people. All looking at me. Some are already pointing. A kid up there just pointed. Why is there always a kid pointing—

  Eyes forward. Centre medallion. Walk.

  He moved toward his starting position on the left side of the central medallion.

  Dorin was already there.

  He was bigger than the notes had implied. Not just tall — wide. Broad shoulders, thick forearms, the kind of build that suggested he hadn't stopped lifting things since he was old enough to pick them up. He wore minimal armor — leather over the chest, bracers, boots — clearly prioritizing mobility over protection. His expression was the relaxed confidence of someone who'd won by doing the same thing many times before.

  Oh. That's a large person. That is genuinely, legitimately a large person. Kael said power type. He didn't say— I mean technically D-rank could mean a lot of things, it could mean finesse, it could mean speed— nope. That's a power type. That's a textbook power type.

  I'm going to get hit so hard.

  Dorin looked at him across the twelve meters of stone floor and his eyes did the thing — the quick flicker of assessment, the mental card being filled — and then the slight loosening of his shoulders. The specific body language of easy match.

  Then Dorin grinned. Not a friendly grin. The grin of a man who'd already decided how this ended.

  "F-rank," he called across the stone, loud enough for the nearest tiers to hear. "They really let anyone in these days, huh?"

  A ripple of laughter from the crowd.

  Oh fantastic. He's a talker. Because this wasn't stressful enough already, the large man who's about to try to remove me from the platform is also a comedian.

  Jae-hyun said nothing. Just held the look, kept his posture loose, kept his face neutral.

  Good. Look at me and see nothing. Relax. You go right ahead.

  Dorin seemed mildly entertained by the silence. He rolled his neck, the crack of it audible even over the crowd noise. "Don't worry, kid. I'll make it quick. Try not to land on your head."

  More laughter from the crowd. Someone in the upper tiers whooped.

  Sure you will.

  The head judge raised a hand. The crowd noise dropped.

  "Match Seven. Ironspire Adventurers' Invitational, Round One. Jae-hyun, registered F-rank. Dorin, registered D-rank." A pause. "Standard rules. Ring-out, submission, or knockout. No lethal force. Participants, to your marks."

  Jae-hyun stepped to the edge of the central medallion. Twelve meters across, Dorin did the same. Their eyes met. Dorin gave him a brief nod — the professional courtesy of someone who expected this to be over quickly — then pointed at him with two fingers and made a short sharp gesture. You. Me. Done in ten seconds.

  Jae-hyun nodded back.

  Cool. Very cool. In about four seconds one of us is going to be significantly more injured. But the nodding was nice. Good vibes before the violence.

  Breathe. Watch. Wait. Move.

  The judge's hand dropped.

  "Begin."

  Dorin moved immediately — not a half-second of hesitation, already in motion before the word finished echoing — exactly as predicted, with the committed forward surge of someone who'd won countless matches by winning the first five seconds. His footwork was heavy but fast, the ground vibrating faintly under the impact, his right arm already loading. The air around him shifted slightly, a faint tremor of energy building in his forearm.

  "DONE!" Dorin roared, closing the distance fast, arm cocked, the tremor spiking bright—

  THERE. That's it. That's the skill activating. Copy it. COPY IT—

  Not yet. Let him fully commit. WAIT—

  He is VERY CLOSE—

  WAIT—

  Jae-hyun didn't move forward. He moved sideways.

  Not backward — sideways, just like Renn had drilled into him for two days. Not retreating, not panicking, just redirecting the angle. Dorin's charge wasn't stopped by it, but it was disrupted — he'd expected resistance or retreat and got neither, and his momentum carried him slightly past his intended mark.

  The crowd made a noise. A collective oh that rolled through the tiers like a wave.

  Yeah. Oh is right.

  Dorin stumbled half a step, recovered, spun around. His easy grin was still there but something behind it had sharpened. "Hah. Quick feet for a dead man." He reset his stance, cracking his knuckles loudly. "One trick. Cute."

  It's not the only one.

  He loaded again. Same arm. The energy tremor built faster this time, sharper and more committed, the air around his fist humming faintly.

  Good. One more time. Really commit—

  Please also don't hit me—

  "HERE WE GO!" Dorin surged — a real one, his whole body behind it, that tremor spiking sharp and bright—

  [Minor Copy Activated] [Skill Acquired: Iron Surge (D Rank)] [Duration: 24:00 — Efficiency: 15%]

  YES. YES I HAVE IT. I HAVE HIS SKILL. I, JAE-HYUN, JUST STOLE A D-RANK WARRIOR'S SIGNATURE MOVE AND—

  The fist was still coming.

  OH THAT'S STILL COMING—

  Jae-hyun threw himself backward — not elegantly, not smoothly, more like a controlled fall that was maybe forty percent controlled — and the strike passed close enough that the displaced air hit his face like a slap. He hit the stone floor on his shoulder, rolled, came up on one knee, breathing hard.

  Okay. That was close. That was very, very close. If that had connected I would currently be a different shape. But it didn't. I'm on one knee and I look stupid but I am alive and I have his skill and this is FINE—

  Dorin stood across from him, chest rising and falling, expression recalibrating. The easy confidence had sharpened into something more focused. "Still standing? Huh." He tilted his head, something almost like respect flickering across his face before it hardened again. "Gotta give you that one."

  He started forward again, slower this time, reading the distance carefully. "But you can't dodge forever, F-rank. Your legs get tired. Your brain gets slow." He tapped his own temple. "And then I win. Simple math."

  Maybe. But let's check your math first.

  Jae-hyun straightened slowly, rolling his wrapped knuckles, and called up Iron Surge.

  The energy that built in his arm was weaker than Dorin's — a pale copy, a whisper of the original, like comparing a candle to a torch — but it was there. A faint shimmer, barely visible, running from his shoulder to his fist.

  Dorin's eyes tracked it. Recognized that something was wrong before his brain caught up with what. His feet slowed.

  His expression, for the first time, did something new.

  It went uncertain.

  "...The hell is that?" Genuinely thrown, staring at the shimmer running up Jae-hyun's arm. "What kind of skill—"

  Yeah. Surprise.

  Jae-hyun moved first.

  Not a charge — he didn't have the weight for that to work, charging Dorin head-on would end with him bounced off the floor like a sad rubber ball — but forward, closing distance fast, forcing Dorin to react rather than initiate. The moment Dorin's body began its automatic counter-response — the weight shift, the loading arm, the muscle memory of a hundred previous wins — Jae-hyun cut sideways again, used the gap that opened when Dorin's momentum committed the wrong direction, and drove his Iron Surge-charged fist into Dorin's ribs from the side rather than head-on.

  The impact hit like something considerably heavier than he was.

  OH. THAT WORKED. THAT ACTUALLY—

  Dorin staggered.

  Not down — not even close to down, because Dorin was a D-rank warrior built like a load-bearing wall — but staggered. His footing broke. His momentum went wrong.

  "WHAT—" Dorin barked, stumbling, feet scrambling for purchase. "How are you— you're F-rank—"

  And suddenly he was three steps closer to the arena's edge than he'd been thirty seconds ago.

  The edge, Jae-hyun registered, and his pulse spiked into something that was half terror and half something dangerously close to excitement. The edge is right there. If I can just keep him moving—

  He pressed forward. Inside Dorin's preferred distance, no room to reset, forcing reaction after reaction.

  "Stop moving!" Dorin growled, swinging wide — Jae-hyun ducked it, felt the air displacement ruffle his hair. "STAY STILL—"

  Absolutely not.

  Don't stop. You are not strong enough to trade hits with this man. You are a bicycle and he is a freight cart and the only winning move is to never stop being annoying—

  The edge was close now. Two meters. One.

  Dorin felt it. His eyes flicked back for just a fraction of a second — confirming what his feet already knew — and he planted hard, trying to stop, trying to grab—

  There it is.

  Jae-hyun had seen this in sparring. The desperate plant-and-pivot when someone ran out of space, the last-ditch anchor. So instead of resisting he redirected, using Dorin's own planted resistance against him, one hard shove at the shoulder while the man's weight was already fighting itself—

  Dorin went over the ledge.

  The crowd erupted.

  Jae-hyun stood at the arena's edge, chest heaving, staring at the space where Dorin had been.

  He didn't move for a second.

  Then two.

  I won.

  I actually— that was— I WON. I BEAT HIM. I, JAE-HYUN, THE GUY WITH THE TRASH SKILL, JUST BEAT A D-RANK WARRIOR IN FRONT OF— HOW MANY PEOPLE ARE IN THIS ARENA RIGHT NOW— IT DOESN'T MATTER I BEAT HIM I ACTUALLY BEAT HIM—

  His hands were shaking. Not from nerves this time.

  Holy shit.

  HOLY SHIT.

  He almost laughed. Caught it. Pressed his lips together hard because if he started laughing right now in the middle of the arena floor in front of everyone he was never going to stop and it would be very weird.

  Keep it together. Keep it together. You are a serious person. You are a composed and serious person who wins tournaments. Totally normal. Completely expected. This is just—

  I BEAT A D-RANK WARRIOR—

  The judge's flag went up, the bell sounded, and the announcement came sharp over the crowd roar.

  "Ring-out. Match Seven — Jae-hyun advances."

  There it is. Official. They said it out loud. In front of everyone. Jae-hyun advances. Me. That's me. I advance.

  He looked down at Dorin in the lower tier. The man was already getting up, unhurt, shaking his head slowly with the expression of someone running a full internal audit of the last ninety seconds.

  He looked up at Jae-hyun. Held the look for a long moment.

  "...What the hell are you?" Not angry. Just honest. The question of a man who'd done the math and gotten a wrong answer.

  I'm still figuring that out myself.

  He gave a short nod.

  Dorin nodded back. Then sat down on the lower tier's bench and stared at the arena floor like it owed him an explanation.

  Jae-hyun turned away from the edge.

  Don't run, he told himself, walking back toward the tunnel at a perfectly measured, totally calm, absolutely professional pace. Do not run. You are not going to sprint off this arena floor like a kid who just won his first race. You are calm. You are composed. You are—

  His stat panel flickered quietly at the edge of his vision.

  Name: Jae-hyun Level: 8 Exp: 44/120 (+22) HP: 225/240 Mana: 150 Strength: 22 Agility: 24 Skill: Minor Copy (F Rank) Stored Skills: [Iron Surge (D Rank) — 23:41 Remaining] Party: [Aria, Kael, Renn]

  He looked at it while walking.

  Twenty-three minutes. Three rounds.

  Use it or lose it.

  He almost smiled. Then he did smile, just for a second, just for himself, just small enough that nobody in the crowd could see it from where they were sitting.

  One down.

  Renn's voice hit him from the tunnel entrance before he was even halfway there, loud enough to echo off the stone walls and probably half the city outside. "THAT'S MY BOY! SOMEONE'S EATING REAL FOOD THIS MONTH!"

  "You're embarrassing," Jae-hyun called back.

  "I AM THRIVING!"

  He really did bet two silver. He really believed that. That's either the most touching thing anyone's done for me in this world or the most delusional. Probably both.

  Kael was beside Renn, expression flat as always, arms folded. But as Jae-hyun reached them, he gave a single, small nod. The kind that meant more than shouting.

  Thanks, Kael. You get it.

  Jae-hyun stopped beside them, leaning his back against the tunnel wall, tilting his head back and letting out a long, slow breath he felt like he'd been holding since dawn.

  His hands were shaking slightly. He tucked them into his pockets before anyone could notice.

  Aria appeared a beat later, approaching from the direction of her own preparation area. She stopped in front of him. Looked him over with the quick efficiency of someone checking for damage, then looked at his face.

  "Well?" she said.

  He pulled the copper tournament token from his pocket. Turned it over once. Put it back.

  Keepsake. Or memorial. Depending. That vendor was funnier than he knew.

  "I survived the first thirty seconds," he said.

  She looked at him for a moment. Then the corner of her mouth moved — that rare, quiet expression he'd seen exactly four times since he'd met her, the one that was warm and genuine and that he was absolutely not reading into.

  Not reading into it, he told himself firmly. Not even a little.

  "Good," she said simply. "Now do it again."

  He pushed off the wall.

  Right. Three rounds left. Whoever's next is going to look at that bracket, see that the F-rank just put Dorin over the ledge, and actually think about it for the first time. The easy-points assumption is gone now. They'll come in ready.

  Good, he thought, and was faintly surprised to find he meant it. Good. Come in ready. Come in with your best skill.

  I'll take it.

  Three rounds left.

  Let's find out what I'm made of.