The heavy, reinforced steel doors hissed shut behind Sora.

The moment the door closed, the roar of three hundred thousand cheering spectators was instantly severed. The blinding, artificial daylight of the arena was replaced by the dim, cool fluorescent lighting of the staging tunnel. The silence in the corridor made Sora’s ears ring.

She took one step forward, the adrenaline that had been flooding her nervous system finally beginning to recede. And as the adrenaline vanished, the reality of her physical condition crashed into her.

A blinding, white-hot spike of agony erupted from her right thigh where Shila’s kick had landed. Sora gasped, her vision swimming with black spots. Her leg simply refused to support her weight anymore, not after what she had done with the pole.

Her knee buckled, and she tripped forward, crashing heavily onto the cold concrete floor of the tunnel.

She grabbed her thigh, her fingers trembling as they brushed over the place.

"Good god’s... it hurts," she sneered through gritted teeth, squeezing her eyes shut as a cold sweat broke out across her forehead. The pain was nauseating, radiating deep into the marrow of her bone.

"Pretty lady such as yourself shouldn’t be fighting hideous monsters."

Sora snapped her head up, her dark eyes flashing open.

A figure was approaching from the deeper shadows of the staging tunnel. It was a young guy, tall and remarkably lean. Unlike the rest of the elite combatants who wore high-end gear or heavily customized armor, this man was dressed in entirely simple, unassuming clothes. A loose, dark fabric shirt and plain trousers that looked like they belonged in a casual market rather than the world tournament.

He didn’t rush over to help her. He didn’t even extend a hand.

Instead, the lean guy simply stopped on the opposite side of the corridor. He casually leaned his back against the wall, slipping his hands into his pockets as he looked down at her battered, kneeling form.

"What I am saying is that you should marry a guy and stay at home. That would be a better option," he said mockingly, a smirk playing on his lips.

Sora’s jaw tightened. She glared up at the lean guy, her silver mana faintly sparking around her fingertips. She wanted to tell him exactly where he could shove his unsolicited advice.

But she didn’t say anything. She bit her tongue, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. This tournament was filled with arrogant elites, and wasting her breath on a misogynistic stranger in a tunnel was beneath her.

Before the tense silence could stretch any further, the gates at the end of the hall hissed open, signaling the entrance for the next set of competitors.

The lean guy pushed himself off the wall. He gave Sora one last, dismissive glance, completely unbothered by her deadly glare, and turned away. He walked down the corridor and vanished through the gates without another word.

Left alone, Sora let out a long, ragged exhale. As battered and exhausted as she was, she forced her hands flat against the concrete and pushed herself up. Leaning heavily against the wall for support, she dragged her injured leg forward, limping her way out of the tunnel and toward the stadium’s dedicated medical center.

Despite the pain and the infuriating encounter, a small sense of relief finally washed over her. The first round of the Solo phase was officially over for her. She had survived. More importantly, she had secured a perfect score.

Because of the number of contestants, she would now be completely free for the next two days, until the second round kicked off on the third day. She let out a dry chuckle. It was a massive stroke of luck to land her match so early and earn a full forty-eight hours of unbothered recovery time. She desperately needed it.

She finally reached the bright, pristine entrance of the medical hall. Standing right by the automated glass doors, pacing like an anxious bear, was Gideon.

The moment the towering guy saw her limping down the hall, his worried frown vanished, replaced by a massive, cheerful smile. He rushed forward, carefully offering his massive arm for her to lean on.

"Sora! You did it!" Gideon congratulated her, laughing brightly. The sheer relief in his deep voice was palpable. "Man, you had me sweating bullets up there. When she hit you with that kick... I really thought it was over."

Sora offered a tired smile, gratefully taking his support. "I’m not going to lie, I thought I was going to lose right there too," she agreed, wincing as she shifted her weight. "My leg went completely dead. But she made a mistake throwing me like that, and I just used it to help myself."

"It was genius!" Gideon praised enthusiastically, his eyes wide with awe. " Absolutely brilliant. Commander Maddox would be proud."

Hearing her grand-uncle’s name made Sora’s smile falter slightly, but she nodded. "Thanks, Gideon."

"I’ve got to head back up to the box to watch the rest of the bracket," Gideon said, checking the time on his communicator. "Get yourself fixed up. We’ll be cheering for the others."

Gideon waved and hurried back. Sora stepped through the sliding doors into the medical hall.

The facility was state-of-the-art. A senior doctor—a high-ranking Healer class—immediately ushered her onto a pristine white examination bed. A series of machines washed over her leg as the doctor ran diagnostics.

"You took quite the blunt force, Miss Maddox," the Healer noted, his brow furrowing as he analyzed the readout. "The muscle tissues in the quadricep are severely torn, and there are three distinct, thin hairline fractures running along your femur."

"Can you fix it?" Sora asked tightly.

"Of course," the doctor smiled reassuringly. "But magical healing requires cellular stamina. I can knit the bone and mend the tissue, but it will take roughly two days of intensive healing sessions so your body doesn’t reject the rapid cell growth. You will have to come and see me two times a day until the second round."

Sora nodded, lying back against the pillow as the Healer placed his glowing hands over her thigh. A warm, soothing sensation penetrated her skin, instantly dulling the agonizing, white-hot throb.

After the twenty-minute treatment session, Sora felt exponentially better. She could walk without needing to lean against a wall, though a dull ache still lingered deep in the bone. She thanked the doctor and made her way back up.

Watching others fight was a part of planning strategy!

As she walked, her mind inevitably drifted.’ I wish Hide were here,’ she thought with a bitter sigh. ’He could heal this instantly.’ During their training, she had seen Hide reattach severed limb in a matter of seconds.

He had once told her, that he possessed a unique storage artifact that had capabilities equal to an A-Rank Healer. Sora shook her head, wondering for the hundredth time how he got his hands on something so unfathomably powerful.

But right now, it didn’t matter. He wasn’t here.

When Sora finally stepped back into the luxurious viewing box the atmosphere was slightly lighter. Rol, Claire, and the rest of the support staff immediately turned and congratulated her.

"Flawless execution," Claire nodded, her red eyes showing a glint of genuine pride. "Securing the full 300 points in the first match sets a perfect tone for the rest of the rounds."

Sora smiled, taking her seat. She looked down at the arena, her eyes widening slightly. The flat, barren alloy floor had completely transformed. Massive, synthetic trees and thick underbrush had sprouted from the ground, altering the battlefield to resemble a dense, small forest.

The environmental manipulation of the World Tournament was truly terrifying.

Down in the synthetic woods, two new contestants were engaged in a brutal clash. Sora scanned the screens, looking for the lean, arrogant guy who had mocked her in the tunnel, but she didn’t see him. His match must have already ended while she was in the medical bay.

Of course it had been twenty minutes.

The matches continued relentlessly for the rest of the day. The sheer variety of talents and combat styles on display was a stark reminder of how dangerous this global stage truly was. From their squad, after Sora, only Evelyn was chosen for the first day.

The tension in the room spiked when Evelyn’s name finally flashed on the screen. Her match was the last one of the schedule—the 59th match of the day.

By the time Evelyn returned to the box, exhausted but victorious, the massive digital sun on the arena dome was dimming into artificial twilight. The first day of the First round was officially over.

The team quietly filed out of the spectating box, back to their allotted compartment.

Sora walked into her designated bedroom, dropping her cloths onto a chair. She let out a long, heavy sigh and fell backward onto the plush mattress. There was still an hour left until dinner, but she didn’t feel like moving.

She stared up at the pristine white ceiling, the quiet isolation of the room allowing the dark, creeping anxiety to return.

The first day of the tournament had officially concluded. She had fought, bled, and won.

And yet, there was still no news of Hide, and no sign of her grand-uncle.