CHAPTER 130: UNFAIR SKILL

Chapter 130

The arena erupted with cheers as the final match of the day was announced. The crowd’s energy soared as the names "Silver Wing" and "Little One" echoed across the sky-filled stadium.

Silver Wing was the first to appear. He walked with quiet confidence, his attire a sleek, white athletic suit streaked with blue. His silver hair shimmered under the arena lights, and his eyes—just as silver—glowed with a calm, ethereal intensity. Not a single emotion flickered on his face. It was the composure of someone untouchable—unshakable.

Then came the other contender—a young man with short black hair and a smile that seemed to melt away all tension in the audience. He walked with ease, waving lightly to the crowd. Despite his nickname, there was nothing timid about his presence. This was none other than Little One—the underdog turned fan favorite.

The two stood face-to-face at the center of the stage. No hostility. No tension. Just mutual respect—and the thrill of battle.

The announcer’s voice boomed across the arena, filled with theatrical flair:

"On the right, we have Silver Wing! A man whose skills once silenced an entire battlefield. A master of swordsmanship—though today, he’ll be fighting barehanded. Cool, calculating, and devastating."

"And on the left, we welcome Little One, one of the famed A6! Don’t let the nickname fool you—many once mocked his stature, but those who’ve fought him know better. Small but mighty, lovely yet deadly! He’s charisma and chaos rolled into one!"

The crowd roared in approval, camera lights flashing like stars in daylight. The announcer grinned and raised his hand high.

"Now—two legends take the stage. Only one spot remains in the final eight of the Tournament of Power! They’ve both secured top-ten rewards, but the quarterfinals demand more than rank. Who will rise—Silver Wing or Little One?"

He snapped his fingers, sending a thunderous bang through the air.

"Let the final match of the day... BEGIN!"

But there was no immediate clash. Instead, Little One tilted his head and smirked.

"Silver... You know you can’t beat me, right?"

Silver Wing gave a faint shrug.

"We won’t know until we try."

Little One chuckled.

"You’ve got jokes now? I like that."

With a burst of speed, Little One dashed forward, fists blazing. Silver Wing didn’t hesitate—he met him halfway, and the two collided in a flurry of close-range strikes.

Unlike the chaotic storm of earlier battles—like Kalen versus Clara—this match seemed tame, even underwhelming to the casual observer. But to the trained eye, it was anything but. Their movements were precise, deliberate. Each strike, each dodge was calculated to perfection.

To most of the audience, it looked as though Silver Wing was overpowering Little One. His taller frame and broader build made him seem like the big brother dominating a playful sibling. But fighters in the crowd knew better—this was a chess match disguised as a scuffle.

Silver Wing launched a heavy punch toward Little One’s head, but it was swiftly ducked. In a blur, Little One spun low, lashing out with a powerful roundhouse kick. The sudden counterattack was too quick—even Silver Wing couldn’t fully react.

But just before the kick landed—two silvery arms burst out from Silver Wing’s back, crossing in front of him and absorbing the full impact with a metallic clang.

Little One leapt back, an exaggerated scowl on his face.

"You just had to ruin the fun, didn’t you?" he huffed, feigning outrage.

Silver Wing merely shook his head. There had never been an agreement to hold back skills. He could’ve continued trading simple blows, but that would’ve been a waste of time. No more playing around—it was time to fight seriously.

"He’ll use his skill soon... but I need to land a solid hit before he does," Silver Wing thought, determination flashing in his silver eyes.

With a fluid motion, two of the gleaming wings on his back detached, twisting and morphing mid-air into dual silver swords. The moment they solidified, he surged forward like a bullet, blades gleaming under the arena lights.

Little One’s eyes lit up with excitement. He charged too, meeting Silver Wing head-on. The initial exchange was furious—blades clashing against enhanced fabric, sparks flying. Little One’s green combat suit absorbed the hits with surprising resilience, but even that had its limits. Cracks began to appear, and the playful smile on his face slowly shifted into focus and urgency.

One misstep—just barely dodging a downward slash—and Little One leapt back, creating an astonishing amount of distance in a single bound. The crowd gasped. The sheer range of his jump looked supernatural. But it wasn’t a skill of his—it was the suit’s active augmentation, and even that was starting to wear thin.

Silver Wing narrowed his eyes. The smile on Little One’s face had returned—but this time, it held a darker edge.

He’s about to use it.

Without hesitation, Silver Wing twisted one of his swords and hurled it at Little One like a spear.

But it passed straight through where he stood.

Gone. As if he had vanished from existence.

Silver Wing’s instincts screamed. He spun just in time—his silver wings flaring up to block his right side.

BAMMMMM!

A thunderous impact followed, and Silver Wing was sent skidding across the battlefield, his boots carving harsh lines into the stone floor. He barely had a moment to breathe before summoning the thrown blade back to his hand. He slashed at the empty air—his movements precise, calculated.

And for a second—he felt it.

Resistance.

But just as quickly, the pressure vanished.

A second later, pain bloomed in his chest. A blow landed clean—powerful enough to lift him off the ground and send him tumbling through the air like a broken comet. He bounced across the arena before twisting mid-air and landing with practiced grace.

But his face was far from composed.

"Why the hell is his ability always such a damn headache..." he muttered through gritted teeth, irritated.

He had trained for years. Honed his senses. Studied this very opponent. He had thought, just maybe, he wouldn’t be at a disadvantage this time.

But no—he was wrong again.

"This is so unfair..." he grumbled.

Little One’s skill—Minikin Form—was the stuff of nightmares. It allowed him to shrink to a size even smaller than an insect, virtually invisible to the naked eye. Yet unlike most miniaturization skills, his power came with zero trade-offs.

His speed, strength, durability—they all remained the same.

A cheat ability in every sense.

Silver Wing didn’t have time to sulk. He straightened up, eyes burning with resolve.

With swift movements, he stabbed his two swords into opposite corners of the stage. Then, he summoned two more from his wings, planting them in the remaining corners—forming a square perimeter. One final blade remained in his grip.

He closed his eyes.

His silver hair rustled gently in the rising wind.

Silver Wing spun sharply to the right—eyes shut, instincts burning—and brought his blade down with all his might. The weapon sliced through the air, and the crack of impact echoed across the stage.

There was a blur. A flash of green.

And then—boom—a small figure was sent flying, tumbling through the air before crashing just shy of the arena’s edge.

Little One’s body rapidly expanded back to full size as he skidded to a stop. For a moment, he just sat there—wide-eyed, stunned.

He looked up at Silver Wing, a rare glint of admiration in his eyes.

"You’ve grown, Silver," he said with a crooked, brotherly smile.

Despite his nickname, Little One was actually older—once a senior member and mentor figure to Silver Wing back in their Strong Guild days. They had sparred countless times, and Little One had always walked away the victor. Even after they both became part of the elite A6 unit, the pattern hadn’t changed.

Until now.

This time, Silver Wing had landed a clean hit—and not a light one. Had it not been for the exceptional durability of Little One’s combat suit, that strike might have sliced him in two.

Little One’s gaze shifted to the four silver swords embedded in the corners of the stage. His smile widened.

"Clever bastard..." he muttered under his breath.

He thought he understood. The swords had amplified Silver Wing’s senses, extending his perception to pinpoint an otherwise invisible opponent. He wasn’t entirely wrong—but it wasn’t quite that simple.

In truth, the swords emitted subtle streams of air energy, converging inward toward Silver Wing. Where the flow fluctuated—where it stuttered, or pulsed irregularly—it indicated movement. Like ripples across still water, they marked the disturbance caused by Little One’s presence, no matter how small.

"Alright, enough talking," Little One grinned. "Let’s see if you can keep up now."

And with a blink, he vanished once again.

Silver Wing closed his eyes, tuning into the flow of energy.

There—right side!

He slashed.

Missed.

Something slammed into his cheek.

BAM!

His head snapped to the side, blood spraying from his mouth. Staggering, he narrowed his eyes and tried again. The air shifted—

Left!

Strike—miss.

BAM! Another blow.

Then—

Right. BAM!

Front. BAM!

Back. BAM!

Left. BAM!

Silver Wing was being battered from all sides, his body bruising, blood dripping from his chin onto his torn uniform. No matter how sharp his senses were, Little One’s speed and size made him nearly untouchable.

Gritting his teeth, Silver Wing dismissed the four swords from the corners with a sharp flick of his will.

His eyes opened—steely and resolute.

There!

Hovering mid-air a few meters in front of him, glowing faintly with green light, was Little One in his miniaturized form—visible now only because he’d stopped moving.

Silver Wing lunged, blade raised.

But at the last moment, Little One shrank even smaller, slipping around the blade like a breeze through cracks in a wall. He returned to full size behind Silver Wing—his fist already cocked.

BAM! A brutal punch to the face.

But this time, Silver Wing responded instantly.

CRACK! His own fist met Little One’s jaw with solid force.

The smaller man staggered back, eyes wide—not from pain, but from shock.

His gaze dropped to Silver Wing’s hand.

Wrapped tightly around his knuckles, glinting under the arena lights, was a silver gauntlet—elegantly crafted, clearly forged from his wings just like his swords.

"I quit," Silver Wing’s voice echoed across the arena.

The silver gauntlet on his hand dissolved into shimmering particles, reshaping into wings that folded neatly onto his back. Without another word, he turned and began walking away, his expression unreadable.

There was no shame in his stride—just calm acceptance.

He knew how this would go. If the fight dragged on, the pattern would repeat. He’d lose. No point wasting more energy on a battle he couldn’t win—not today.

Little One blinked in surprise, lowering his guard. "Wait... You’re just walking away?"

Silver Wing didn’t stop walking.

"Why do I feel like you’re holding back?" Little One called out.

Silver Wing chuckled softly. "I could say the same about you."

He paused at the edge of the stage, glancing over his shoulder.

"Good luck in your match tomorrow."

Then he was gone, leaving only the whisper of wind in his wake and a faint smile on his lips.

He wasn’t going to win this tournament—not with monsters like Han and the others in the mix—but the experience had taught him plenty. One lesson stood out:

Little One could fly.

That shouldn’t have been possible. And yet it was—just one more secret hidden in that ridiculous green suit.

Little One stared after him, lips curled into a quiet smile.

He’s changed.

He still remembered the younger Silver Wing, the kid whose only goal was reaching Class S and earning the title of Hero. Reckless. Headstrong. Always chasing a goal too fast, too hard.

But now—he was calmer. Wiser. Still burning with ambition, but no longer consumed by it.

The match official finally raised his hand.

"Winner of the final match: Little One!"

Applause filled the arena, but the crowd was already turning toward the giant floating screen above. The quarterfinal bracket had appeared, displaying the next set of matchups.

Gasps and murmurs echoed across the stadium.

Han’s gaze shifted up, and his eyebrows twitched ever so slightly.

He saw the name beside his.

"Of all people... it had to be him," Han sighed internally.

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To be continued...