CHAPTER 62: “SHOWDOWN OF THE ZENITH WEEK.”

The crowd’s cheers dipped for a moment—like everyone caught their breath at once.

The arena lights dimmed just a little, then focused on the opposite corridor. A low hum rolled across the stadium floor, the kind of bass you didn’t hear so much as feel in your chest. Then the names appeared, slowly, one after the other on the sky-screen.

"Aegis Squad – Independent Entry."

People started murmuring.

Then the doors opened.

Five of them walked out together—no hesitation, no theatrics. Just solid footsteps that echoed off the polished floor. And when the lights hit them full, there was a hush.

The kind that spread fast. One person whispered something and it leapt through the whole arena like wildfire.

"Is that... Rovan?"

No mistake.

Rovan Hale. The "Thunder Vein." B-rank Hunter, veteran of the Broken Ridge campaign. That scar across his mouth wasn’t cosmetic—it was a clean slash from a mountain wyrm. He walked with his left hand in his pocket, the other resting on the grip of a short-axe strapped across his back. The moment people recognized him, tension cracked through the stands.

Behind him came Mirae.

Short, slim, covered in a sleek bodyweave suit with no insignia. But her eyes were black—not colored, black. Void Sorcerer. The last of the Fallborn from Sola District. She didn’t speak. Never did. People who tried talking to her usually stopped mid-sentence like they’d forgotten why they started. Her presence was like a hole in the air—silent, sucking everything toward it.

Third was Korren, a heavyset brawler with reinforced gauntlets etched with control runes. Former mercenary turned hunter. Famous for dismantling an entire black-market beast ring in the Outer Territories by himself. His nickname stuck after the footage leaked.

"The Grinder."

He cracked his knuckles as they walked. Just once. Loud enough for the sound team to mute the mics for a second.

Fourth came Isha, twin blades on her back, walking slightly behind the others. Slender build, but her movements were tight. Clean. The kind that came from constant repetition, not talent. She was the only one who looked around the arena, lips curved in a quiet smile. A lot of older instructors whispered her name under their breath.

"That’s Isha Taran. From Sector Nine’s rogue trials."

She’d gone through them voluntarily. Alone.

Last was Ash.

No surname. Just Ash.

Youngest-looking of the five, probably around Lucian’s age—but the way he carried himself said otherwise. He had a stitched patch on his left sleeve: "Null Ward." That was a special clearance code, reserved for units who face stuff not even public records touched.

The kind of things erased before they were understood.

Ash glanced around once, then up at the scoreboard. No reaction. Just calm eyes under black bangs, hands in his coat pockets.

They didn’t say a word.

Didn’t need to.

The crowd knew who they were.

Whispers turned to nervous chatter. Some younger teams looked away. Others leaned forward, eyes wide. The challenge wasn’t just from a strong team—it was from a collective of solo legends. Veterans. Killers. People who should’ve never been grouped.

Until today.

Inside Class Zero’s corridor, no one said anything for a moment.

Lucian’s gaze stayed fixed on the field. He wasn’t tense. Just watching.

Silas tilted his head. "Huh."

Evelyn raised a brow. "You recognize them?"

"No," Silas said. "But the crowd does."

Reia blinked slowly, shifting weight to one side. "They’re not ranked. That’s odd."

"Independent," Evelyn noted. "They probably didn’t go through academy rankings."

"They didn’t," Vyn muttered.

Everyone looked at her.

He shrugged, barely moving. "They’re not students."

Lucian’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Back in the stands, even instructors started checking their terminals.

Garos sat in the main director’s booth, arms crossed as he watched the feed.

"They’re stacking the board early," he muttered.

Athena’s voice came through his earpiece. "Not my doing."

He snorted. "Didn’t say it was."

"Then what’s the problem?"

"Those five aren’t just a challenge. They’re a message."

"Who sent it?"

Garos didn’t answer right away.

The light shifted on the arena floor, signaling the countdown. Both teams now stood at their marks—Class Zero on one end, Aegis Squad on the other. The simulation gates shimmered, terrain slowly forming in between them. Towering stone ruins, collapsed archways, broken bridges, old tech scaffolds—like a graveyard of past wars.

Perfect for a mid-combat test.

The crowd grew quiet again as the final five seconds ticked down.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

The gates dropped.

Lucian stepped forward, calm, measured. Reia flanked left, quick but fluid, eyes scanning. Evelyn raised a hand, glyphs already forming behind her shoulders. Silas grinned slightly and loosened his stance. Vyn didn’t move. Not yet.

Across the field, Aegis Squad didn’t rush.

They separated instantly, fanning out like clockwork—Rovan took the high ground on a broken pillar, Mirae faded into a shadowed tunnel, Isha moved right with her blades unsheathed. Korren stomped forward straight down the middle, drawing attention. Ash didn’t move at all.

He just stood there.

Watching Lucian.

And for a split second, Lucian felt it. Not pressure. Not fear. Just awareness.

Ash wasn’t reading the field.

He was reading him.

That kind of stare only came from someone who’d been through things people didn’t talk about. Who’d seen a fight where holding back even a second meant dying.

Lucian didn’t flinch. He didn’t smile either.

He just adjusted his collar, cracked his knuckles once, and vanished into motion.

The simulation had officially started.

And everyone watching knew—

this wasn’t a normal match.

This was a war between the future and the ghosts that refused to stay buried.

And for the first time since Zenith Week began...

nobody could guess how it would end.

A low voice echoed through the arena, deep and steady:

"Now entering the field... Class Zero versus Aegis Squad."

The lights pulsed once, matching the heartbeat of the crowd.

"Showdown of The Zenith Week."

Cheers rose again, but this time with weight. This wasn’t just another match. It felt like the kind of battle that would be replayed for years.

Up in the broadcast booth, one of the older commentators exhaled slowly.

"...This one’s not just a challenge. It’s history in motion."