Sparoo, with his usual relaxed demeanor, strode to the center of the arena, his steps unhurried but purposeful. His eyes, calm and keen, held a trace of mischief as he extended a hand to Beatrix. "Ms. Fabia, it's an honor to challenge you," he said, his voice smooth yet respectful.

Beatrix raised an eyebrow, momentarily taken aback by his courteous approach. She had expected arrogance or bravado from a challenger, not this polite calm. Despite her surprise, she shook his hand, her eyes narrowing in curiosity as she replied, "The honor is mine." Her tone was measured, but a spark of determination glinted in her gaze.

The Vice President’s booming voice echoed across the arena, signaling the beginning of the match. Sparoo’s smile remained as he removed his reading glasses with care, folding them and tucking them into his pocket as though he were about to attend a quiet study session rather than a fierce battle. The crowd murmured, noting the casual gesture, some chuckling while others whispered in anticipation.

Then, in one fluid motion, Sparoo reached to his belt and drew two sleek daggers, their polished blades glinting ominously under the arena lights. He held them loosely, with a confident ease, as if they were extensions of his own hands.

He glanced at Beatrix with a calm, intense look. "Ms. 12th," he addressed her formally, a flicker of respect in his tone. "Are you ready?"

Beatrix nodded, her muscles tensing as she assessed her opponent. Sparoo might have seemed unassuming at first glance, but she could feel the faint, restrained energy around him—a quiet, deadly potential that set her instincts on high alert. She tightened her grip on her weapon, a wood-like bow, her ring pulsing faintly with the power of the lightning that lay dormant within.

The crowd leaned forward, eyes wide with anticipation.

Sparoo moved first, darting toward her with sudden, startling speed. His daggers flashed as they sliced through the air, the light catching their razor edges as he closed the gap between them. Beatrix responded instantly, raising her bow to meet his strikes. Steel met wood with a sharp clang, echoing across the arena, as Beatrix’s weapon parried Sparoo’s rapid, precise strikes.

Sparoo’s movements were mesmerizingly fluid, his relaxed demeanor at odds with the lethal precision of each attack. He wove around her, his footwork light and agile, each step measured to keep her off balance. Beatrix gritted her teeth, her gaze locked onto him as she countered his every strike, but she could feel the force behind each blow. Sparoo’s swift and calculated movements forced her to stay on the defensive, his unassuming nature catching even the seasoned crowd off guard.

In the stands, Zeeha, Kyren, and Hiro watched anxiously, their eyes fixed on the unfolding battle. Zeeha’s initial unease was giving way to a grudging admiration. She watched Sparoo’s blades cut through the air with swift, deadly precision, impressed despite herself.

“Who would’ve thought?” Hiro murmured, a trace of tension in his normally light-hearted tone.

Kyren’s jaw tightened, his eyes tracking every move, noting the slightest shifts in Sparoo’s stance.

Beatrix, however, was no novice. As Sparoo pressed his attack, she began to adapt, her body adjusting to his rhythm. She deflected his strikes with her bow, each clash sending vibrations up her arm, but she held firm, looking for openings and exploiting them with expert timing. The intensity between them escalated, their movements a seamless dance of offense and defense, neither willing to give an inch.

But then, in a swift, unpredictable move, Sparoo’s dagger slid past her guard and struck her bow, disarming her. The weapon flew from her grasp, skittering across the arena floor, leaving her momentarily vulnerable. The crowd gasped, a collective breath held in suspense as Beatrix took a single step back, processing the unexpected loss of her weapon.

Sparoo didn’t hesitate. He extended his hand toward her, a silent offer to help her up. But Beatrix’s eyes narrowed with a sudden spark, and she surged forward, striking upwards with her body. Sparoo dodged instinctively, stepping back with a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he recognized her resilience.

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“You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?” she said, a smirk breaking through her steady expression. She raised her hand, her ring glowing with a crackling blue light as she called upon the power within. In a dazzling transformation, the ring released a vibrant, wood-like bow, now brimming with electrical energy. She nocked an arrow, which shimmered with lightning, the air around it humming with raw power.

Sparoo’s eyes widened in genuine surprise. For a moment, his calm expression broke as he registered the threat before him. But quickly, a smile returned to his lips. “Impressive, Ms. 12,” he admitted, admiration clear in his tone. “But now, let me show you my ace.”

His relaxed air shifted as he held up his daggers, and the arena lights dimmed slightly, intensifying the glow around him. Flames ignited along the length of his blades, flickering to life with a fierce, fiery light. An electric aura began to emanate from his body, intertwining with the flames to create a formidable, crackling energy. His movements became a blur, his form almost impossible to track as he lunged forward, his speed amplified by the combined power of fire and lightning.

Beatrix wasted no time, releasing the lightning arrow with a sharp twang. Sparoo dodged, moving with supernatural agility, the arrow streaking past him and dissipating in a shower of sparks. She fired another, aiming to catch him off guard, but Sparoo anticipated her move, his enhanced speed allowing him to dodge with fluid precision. His daggers left fiery trails in the air as he closed the distance between them, each strike precise, powerful, and relentless.

Beatrix met his attacks, blocking and parrying with her bow as the intensity of their clash filled the arena with flashes of sparks and flames. She gritted her teeth, refusing to back down as she fired another lightning arrow at close range. Sparoo deflected it with a twist of his blade, sending a burst of light scattering around them.

“You’re good, Sparoo,” Beatrix admitted, her breath coming in sharp bursts. “But I won’t go down easily.”

Sparoo’s eyes blazed with determination, his voice unwavering. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, Ms. 12.”

He unleashed a series of rapid strikes, each one aimed with lethal precision. Beatrix fought back with everything she had, but Sparoo’s relentless assault began to overwhelm her defenses. Her bow, once unyielding, began to show signs of strain under the intensity of his attacks.

Finally, with a decisive, well-placed blow, Sparoo disarmed her once more. Her bow flew from her grasp, clattering to the floor a final time. Beatrix stood unarmed, breathing heavily but refusing to back down, her eyes meeting his with a defiant spark. Sparoo’s daggers, still blazing with fire and lightning, were poised for the final strike.

“Yield,” Sparoo said, his voice firm yet respectful, his eyes holding no malice.

Beatrix looked at him, her expression a complex mix of frustration and respect. She knew she had been bested. With a slow nod, she signaled her surrender, and the crowd erupted in applause, recognizing the skill and intensity they had just witnessed.

The Vice President’s voice echoed through the arena, heavy with authority. “Sparoo is victorious. He is now the 12th GA,” the Vice President declared. Then, with a grin, he added, “And for a twist, Sparoo, you are granted three wishes for defeating a GA. Tell us what they are.”

Sparoo paused, his hand on his chin as he considered his options. After a moment, he spoke clearly. “First, I don’t want any of the GAs touching me. Second, I want immunity in the next elimination round. And third, I’d like a decent dorm—a bit better than what we have.”

The Vice President laughed, a booming sound that filled the arena. “HAHAHAHAHAHA! Very well, Sparoo! But I’ll tell you, that last wish might not make much sense with the merge coming up. Still, I’ll grant you a high-class dorm.”

As the crowd continued to cheer, Beatrix descended into the audience, where Vilon and Zeeha were quick to meet her.

“It’s alright, Beatrix,” Vilon said, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You’re still in the game. We can bounce back.”

Zeeha nodded, her face sympathetic. “I’m sorry, Beatrix… I didn’t know much about him either. I couldn’t offer any useful advice.”

Beatrix gave them a faint smile. “It’s alright, you two. Honestly… I’ve been wondering why I’m even in the GA position. Maybe I really don’t deserve it.”

As she spoke, the Vice President’s voice rang out once more, signaling the next match. “Now, we have the 13th GA, Plumie Riri!”

Plumie Riri stepped forward, a playful smirk on her face as she scanned the crowd, her eyes resting on Kyren and Hiro. They tensed, recalling her earlier teasing. Despite her confidence, no one dared to step forward.

The Vice President nodded. “Plumie Riri retains her position as the 13th GA.”

Plumie’s smirk widened as she threw a knowing glance at Kyren and Hiro, her gaze lingering.

“That b***h really wants something from us, Kyren,” Hiro muttered, a hint of irritation in his voice.

Kyren only watched her, his eyes narrowing in thought, as the battles continued in the arena.