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❃𝓖𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓼 𝓲𝓽𝓼 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓯𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 ❃

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Huan nodded at Akira's words, "Agreed. I'm sure we will make a good team, Akira." He smiled warmly, patting Akira on the back.

Akira felt his cheeks warm up slightly at the unexpected touch. Huan's hand was surprisingly cold. He decided to remain quiet, focusing on the conversation around him instead.

He began to observe the little things. Huan didn't seem to actually eat; he would only pick at his food, lifting pieces with his chopsticks before setting them back down. He only took a bite when his friends urged him to.

"You're not hungry, Huan?" Marcus asked, eyeing Huan's still-full plate.

Huan pursed his lips, clearly reluctant, and finally took a small bite. He chewed very slowly, his attention more on the conversation than the food. It seemed like he was trying to avoid eating altogether.

Marcus acted like an older brother, reminding Huan to finish his plate, while Ella pestered him for not eating.

"Huan, you always do this," Ella chided gently. "But you should eat now, or else you won't have any energy for the examination."

Akira couldn't help but smile at how Huan's friends looked out for him. He began to wonder if Huan had an eating disorder, which might explain his thin frame.

"Will there be a written exam?" Jimin asked, his curiosity evident. He seemed like the type who always had questions.

Huan put down his chopsticks. "I don't think so," he replied, always trying to be helpful, even if he sometimes got things wrong.

"There will be, in the finals," Ella said, having finished her plate. "At the end of the year."

The cafeteria was starting to empty out as students left to prepare for the examination. Everyone at their table had finished eating except Huan. Ella and Jimin got up to leave, but Marcus stayed behind. He claimed he wanted to wait a little longer, but it was clear he was ensuring Huan ate something.

Sanji and Akira also needed to leave. Marcus glanced at them and reassured, "Don't worry about us, guys. We'll see you soon."

Akira returned to his dorm room to change into his Fujisawa uniform. The sight of the red nagagi adorned with his family's symbol—a delicate flower with an eye at its center—made him nervous. As he tied the obi snugly above his hips, his thoughts weren't exactly clam. Failure was not an option. As the eldest grandchild of the Fujisawa clan, perfection was not just expected—it was demanded.

Slipping into his hakama, Akira tried to shake off the tension knotting in his stomach. He reminded himself that this wasn't new territory. He had trained for this his entire life. Ever since he could walk, every moment had been dedicated to the eradication of yin creatures—the Fujisawa clan's singular purpose. The grueling training he'd endured daily had shaped him into a formidable warrior—at least that was what grandma said, though it came at the cost of isolation. Under his grandfather's exacting eye, he was often kept apart from other disciples, finding brief solace only in the quiet of his room or the rare warmth of shared family meals.

Even in the clan's spirit-hunting competitions, designed to challenge and unite young disciples, Akira had rarely struggled. At their most recent gathering with the Ōuyáng sect, he'd ranked in the top five as always—a position so consistent it felt immutable. And yet, a deep unease churned in him now. Why? He knew the answer: Huan. For the first time, the examination demanded not just skill but also teamwork. The thought of relying on and synchronizing with someone else filled Akira with dread. He wasn't just bad at communication; he actively avoided it.

As he adjusted the red ribbon tying his long hair into a high ponytail and secured his katana into his shash, Akira tried to steel himself for the challenge ahead. Who am I kidding, I am still nervous.

The place was alive, disciples from clans across Asia moved down and up the hallway, their traditional attire were all different varieties of colour. Flowing robes and uniforms filled the corridors, accented by the gleam of swords or the polished surfaces of guqin and pipa strapped to some students' backs. Monks in orange tōgas passed by, they were as silent as the wind.

Akira's gaze swept across the crowd, wondering where the tech students were—and more importantly, how he would find Huan.

"Hello, Akira," came a voice in Mandarin.

Turning, Akira saw Zhan walking beside him, clad in a traditional green yishang hanfu with his sect's emblem embroidered on the back. A dizi (flute) and sword hung at his waist, swaying gently with his steps.

Akira inclined his head in greeting. "Hi," he replied in Mandarin, his accent evident but not unpleasant.

As the eldest Fujisawa, Akira was proficient in several languages, with Mandarin topping the list.

"Where is Sanji?" Zhan asked. He moved with a grace as expected from him, his long black hair styled into a half-updo bun, the rest cascading like silk onto his shoulders. It was a common style among cultivators—so common that Akira's uncle Akimitsu sported the same look.

"I'm not sure," Akira replied. "I think he's with his partner."

They walked on, their conversation light. Soon, they arrived at the examination hall's entrance, where an android awaited them.

"Please sign in by scanning your Clan pass," it instructed, bowing politely.

Akira and Zhan scanned their passes, and the android's eyes lit up as it processed the information.

"Thank you. Please proceed to Gate 4," it said, gesturing toward a pair of ornate doors.

The two made their way to Gate 4, where Akira spotted Huan instantly. Clad in a sleek tech suit. The suit's black material was lined with glowing blue circuits that pulsed rhythmically. Gadgets adorned his belt and wrists—a compact drone, a datapad, and energy guns tucked into holsters.

Beside him stood Marcus. They were speaking with two others: a boy their age with tanned skin and dark hair, and a girl with curly hair, dark skin, and piercing blue eyes.

"Is that your partner?" Zhan asked, his sharp gaze on Huan.

Akira nodded. "Yes."

Zhan narrowed his eyes slightly. "He doesn't seem like he belongs with them..."

"What do you mean?" Akira asked, curiosity flickering.

"Never mind," Zhan said after a pause, striding ahead. "We should find our partners and prepare."

Akira didn't press, instead turning his attention back to Huan, who had noticed him and smiled warmly.

"Hi, Akira!" Huan called out. "Come over and meet the others!"

Akira bit his inner cheek, bracing himself for the introductions. Socializing was not in his skill set, but he would try—for Huan.

"Hi, I'm Adi," the guy said with a wide grin, extending a hand toward Akira. "Nice to meet ya!" His energy was infectious—too much, in Akira's opinion—but it made sense. He was Huan's friend, after all.

"And I'm Tayla," the girl chimed in, holding out her hand. "Marcus's girlfriend."

Of course, Marcus has a girlfriend, Akira thought. Makes sense. He's hot. And in this suit? He looks even hotter.

Akira smiled politely, shaking both their hands before glancing over his shoulder. Zhan was already gone. Probably went to find his partner. Why linger with someone you don't know?

"Well, nice meeting you," Adi said, already stepping away. "I should get back to Gate 5. My partner's probably wondering where I am."

"Same here," Tayla added with a cheerful wave. "Ella's at Gate 5, too. Good luck, guys!" She turned and strode off, Adi following close behind.

"I didn't know you had a girlfriend," Sanji's voice cut through the air, startling both Marcus and Huan.

Marcus let out a nervous laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Sanji, don't sneak up on us like that!"

Sanji smirked beneath his mask, his arms folded as if pleased with himself. "Sneaking up is what I do. I'm a shinobi, remember." His appearance was striking: tightly bound hair with a single strand framing his face, a black yoroi reinforced with cuffs at his wrists and ankles, and a light blue haori tied at the waist, the symbol of his clan emblazoned across the back. Twin katanas rested on his back, and Akira didn't doubt there were more hidden weapons beneath his attire.

"Why do samurais and shinobis wear sandals, but cultivators get boots?" Marcus asked, half-joking.

Sanji raised a brow. "At least we're not barefoot like monks and siddhas."

"It's tradition," Akira interjected, trying to suppress a smile. "We stick to whatever we can."

An announcement blared overhead: "All students, prepare at your stations! The gates will open soon!"

Marcus and Huan reached for their masks, which unfolded seamlessly into sleek visors. Sanji, meanwhile, twirled a kunai between his fingers before giving Akira a pointed look. "Aren't you going to wear your family's fox mask?"

Akira hesitated, pulling it from his sleeves. It was striking—a white base adorned with black and red flowers that curled across one corner. But it was the four eye holes that always made him feel awkward: two in their usual spots and two more—one above his left eye, the other below it.

Huan tilted his head, curiosity lighting his face. "Why the extra holes?"

Akira fumbled for an answer. "Uh... it's for... something future-related, I guess." He winced at his own vagueness, knowing full well he couldn't explain it properly.

From the corner of his eye, Akira spotted a Fujisawa disciple donning her identical fox mask. The clan's disciples always matched perfectly, down to the smallest detail. But Akira wasn't just a disciple; he was family.

He sighed. There was no getting around it. It was his clan's legacy—his legacy. With a reluctant breath, he slid the mask on.

Did it make him feel proud? Powerful? Not exactly. Wearing the mask carried the weight of his lineage, a solemn reminder of the legacy he bore. Each stroke of red and black on its surface spoke of tradition, duty, and the expectations of countless generations. It wasn't a choice—it was an obligation, one he couldn't deny.

Adjusting the katana at his side, Akira swept his gaze over the crowded station. The tech students all looked the same, their sleek, standardized suits rendering them almost indistinguishable. In contrast, the cultural students stood like vivid brushstrokes on a muted canva. His gaze shifted to Huan, who looked way to relaxed.

"You didn't bring your sword?" Akira asked, his voice low but clear.

"Woliu? No," Huan replied without hesitation. "I'm not as skilled with it as I need to be."

Akira only nodded.

Ahead of them, the massive gates loomed over them. Above, a digital map displayed the arena's layout—a decayed urban sprawl of fractured buildings, overturned vehicles, and streets littered with debris.

A commanding voice broke through the quiet murmur of the station, amplified over the intercom:

"Rule 1: Stay with your pair at all times. Do not get separated.
Rule 2: Eliminate as many yin creatures as possible. Collaboration is key.
Rule 3: Each yin creature defeated adds to your shared score. Work together to succeed."

As the gates began to glow, Akira tightened his grip on his katana. This wasn't just another test. It was a stage—to prove yourself, to prove you are ready.

Gate 1 groaned open, the sound reverberating through the chamber like the growl of a waking beast. The first group of students surged forward, their faces tight. Weapons glinted in the harsh light as they disappeared into the wasteland, boots crunching against shattered asphalt. Gate 2 followed, and then Gate 3, each new group bursting forth with a nervousness that lingered long after the gates sealed shut behind them.

At Gate 4, Akira's gaze wandered to the observation deck above. Figures shifted behind the tinted glass—examiners and clan elders, watching intently. Their judgment felt as heavy as the katana at his side, a reminder that every step he took was being measured. He clenched the hilt tighter and his pulse quickened.

A quiet nod from Huan pulled Akira back into the moment. Huan stood steady, his power gun ready, his expression calm. Even now, he seemed unshakable. Nearby, Marcus adjusted his holster with a sharp tug, his movements brisk. Sanji rolled his shoulders lazily, as if preparing for a casual walk, though the glint in his eye betrayed a readiness to strike.

The speakers crackled, and the commanding voice rang out:
"Gate 4, prepare to enter!"

The gate rumbled, sliding open to reveal a crumbling urban landscape bathed in an unnatural, shadowy glow. Jagged remains of buildings loomed like broken teeth against the horizon. A low fog clung to the ground, curling around the twisted metal and debris that littered the streets. The air was dense, humming with an electric charge that set Akira's nerves on edge.

They stepped forward as a unit, the world beyond the gate swallowing them in eerie silence. Akira's feet crunched softly against loose rubble, the sound muted and swallowed by the oppressive stillness. He adjusted his grip on his katana, every instinct screaming at him to stay alert. Something was out there—he could feel it.

Then the roar came.

It ripped through the air like thunder, shaking the ground beneath their feet. Akira froze, the sound punching through his chest and sending a chill down his spine. His eyes darted to Huan, who had already taken position, power gun raised. Marcus cursed under his breath, his hand hovering near his weapon, while Sanji let out a slow breath, his blade half-drawn, gleaming in the dim light.

Akira swallowed hard, his knuckles whitening as he tightened his hold on the katana. The roar had come from somewhere close—a warning, a challenge, or maybe both. The silence that followed was even worse, stretching thin and brittle, ready to shatter at the slightest provocation.

He took a deep breath, forcing his body to move, to steady itself for what was to come. The arena wasn't just a test anymore. It was alive, hostile, waiting for them to make the first mistake.

And the first mistake could be their last.

With a sharp inhale, Akira braced himself. Guess it's time to fight...

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Word meanings:

Siddha- Indian cultivator, Masters of yoga and alchemy (mostly focused on medicines from what I have seen and found.)

Yogi- Indian cultivator, practitioners of yoga known for control of their body and mind (mostly focused on meditation like yoga(also yoga is an umbrella term with a lot of other meanings which I am not gonna explain bc we are currently in east asia and I didn't do that much research)

Yishang hanfu- to lazy to describe shit.