As the morning light filtered through the blinds, casting long shadows across the room, Blake was hunched over the tournament bracket on his tablet. The names and faces of teams flickered on the screen, a digital coliseum where hunters were pitted against each other. His eyes narrowed as he traced the path Ken would have to take to victory.
Meanwhile, Ken was a study in contrast, the embodiment of calm as he lifted weights that would crush a normal man. The clink of metal resonated in the room, a rhythmic sound that seemed to underscore his unwavering focus.
"Are you not tired of working out?" Blake asked, his curiosity piqued by Ken's seemingly inexhaustible energy.
"Not really, not as long as I can increase the weight indefinitely." Ken's voice was steady, betraying no sign of fatigue as he effortlessly performed a 1500 kg deadlift.
Blake took a bite of his breakfast, the mundane act a stark contrast to Ken's superhuman feat. "Do you not get hungry?" he inquired, seeking to understand the enigma before him.
"I can eat, but never felt the urge of hunger," Ken clarified, setting down the barbell with a soft thud. "Anything interesting?"
"Yeah, they brought in the team ranked just below the top 32 to replace me, and you'll potentially face Danny's team last." Blake's tone was matter-of-fact, but there was an undercurrent of concern.
Ken, placed in the opposite bracket from Danny’s group, was the underdog—a role he seemed to relish. "So, you're going to win the tournament. How much would you win from the bet?"
"Around 3 billion dollars last time I checked. It's guaranteed," Ken replied a hint of amusement in his voice.
Blake choked on his food, coughing as the number sunk in. "You alright?" Ken asked, his brow raised in mild concern.
"Yeah," Blake managed, clearing his throat. The idea of such wealth was staggering, even to someone accustomed to luxury. To think Ken stood to win 3 billion dollars on top of the tournament's 50 million dollar prize—it was almost beyond belief.
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Ken wrapped a towel around his waist as he stepped out of the steam-filled bathroom. "What's the rule for exploring outside the tournament place?" he asked Blake, who was engrossed in his tablet.
Blake looked up, his expression serious. "No, unless you forfeit, they want to protect any sort of external influence on you at this point," he replied succinctly.
Ken's brow furrowed in confusion. "Ahh, so how does your visit not affect the tournament already?"
Blake set the tablet aside. "Well, I didn't mention this, I forgot, but once I entered your suite and stayed overnight, I couldn't leave without you forfeiting the tournament. It's a strict rule. I wasn't planning to leave anyway, but there have been cases in the past in lower ranks where people were bribed to leave their teammates without notification and then their group would have been forfeited automatically from the tournament."
"But you are not my teammate, so I am not sure how this applies to me." Ken clarified.
"That is true, however - since I've stayed over the night, now I am considered part of your cabal. And I can, I won't, but I can reveal your strategy to the other teams if I leave this room. So, they placed it as a safeguard - only the leader can forfeit and allow people to leave. Right now, I cannot leave this room without your explicit permission and goodwill. People who would leave would get jailed and would be getting severe punishment - the kingdom does not look nicely upon those that reject their leaders."
"And your teammates, before you forfeited?" Ken asked, pouring two cups of coffee, one for himself and one for Blake after getting confirmation.
Blake accepted his cup with a nod. "I discussed it with my team before I forfeited. I told them about your potential power level, and they agreed to forfeit. They knew they wouldn't win the prize anyway; we were already paid upfront. Plus, I was the leader, they didn't have a say in anyhow, however stark that sounds."
"Well, I guess that makes sense - you don't want to promote practice that you can just uprise against your leaders...well,
As Ken settled onto the sofa, he flicked on the TV, landing on a cartoon. A turtle on the screen sent a beam from its posterior, vanquishing the villain. Ken chuckled at the absurdity, trying to catch the show's name.
Blake, catching Ken's puzzled look, asked, "What are you looking up regarding Naked Turtle?"
Ken's face went blank for a moment before he burst into laughter. "Naked Turtle, you say?" He coughed, making a mental note of the name, and continued watching, amused by the show's oddities.
Later, as the TV played in the background, Ken mused aloud, "What do you think I should do with the money I'll win?"
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Blake leaned back, considering. "Should you win, you'll need to keep it safe. Unfortunately, I don't trust anyone I know to manage it. But you could deposit it in any major bank; they wouldn't dare cross you."
Ken nodded, then pressed further. "But what should I do with the money?"
"You won't ever need to worry about food, so consider buying a house that suits your style, get comfortable, buy clothes, whatever you want. And set aside some for investment."
"Investment, huh?" Ken pondered. "What about starting my guild?"
Blake's response was cautious. "That could be a money sink in this competition. They might freeze you out. I know Flare, my ex-guild, would freeze you out."
"In a better nation?" Ken proposed.
"That might work, somewhere with better management and less corruption. But the challenges might be similar."
Ken nodded slowly. "Baby steps, then."
----
Sir Leonard sat in the same room, the one bathed in the soft glow of the fountain's light, which cast long, dancing shadows across the walls. The room was a testament to his wealth and taste, with its sleek, modern design and the high-tech gadgets that adorned the space. The silent footage of Ken played on a screen that seemed to float in mid-air, a marvel of Leonard's telekinetic abilities.
He had wagered everything on himself, that Ken. The potential winnings were astronomical—nearly 3 billion dollars. The forfeiture by Blake's group had sent shockwaves through the betting circles, inciting outrage and financial despair among many. Those poor souls had not seen it coming.
The default photo on Ken's profile seemed to mock him with its simplicity. I'll need to have a word with you, Sir Leonard murmured to the image. To understand why you haven't used your formidable power against the Hunter Corp.
With a heavy sigh, he rose from the antigravity chair, his gaze drawn to the expansive window. Beyond the glass, the grand stadium loomed, a coliseum of modern-day gladiators where the tournament would unfold in all its glory. Perhaps tomorrow will reveal your true capabilities, he mused, a sense of anticipation hanging in the air.
The creatures in the tanks around him stirred, their movements reflecting the tension that Sir Leonard felt. His study, a sanctuary of thought and strategy, was alive with the silent whispers of the city below and the quiet hum of technology at work. The stadium, visible in the distance, stood as a beacon of the upcoming trials, its lights shimmering like a crown jewel under the night sky.
----
The team huddled around the tournament bracket, eyes tracing the paths that could lead them to the final showdown. Danny's team was relieved; they wouldn't face Ken immediately—a stroke of luck or perhaps a twist of fate determined by the mysterious allocation of tokens. To clash with Ken, they would have to navigate through the gauntlet, facing five other teams first.
Sarah broke the silence, her voice steady with the weight of the upcoming challenge. "Have we decided what we are going to do for our match-up tomorrow?"
Danny stood tall, his gaze fixed on the bracket. "We'll deploy Zeus and John to the front lines, while you and I will concentrate on neutralizing their damage dealer. Once we take them out, I expect their support will fold."
Zeus, nonchalant as ever, took a bite of his hotdog. "Ken's up first tomorrow. It'll be interesting to see how he handles the spotlight."
Danny turned to the group, his determination clear. "For now, we focus on our preparation. Get some rest."
----
The dawn of the tournament day heralded a surge of electric anticipation. Blake, ensconced in the disheveled comfort of his room, was the picture of relaxed focus, his gaze locked on the televised spectacle before him. His casual demeanor was a stark contrast to the charged atmosphere of the arena where Ken stood, poised and ready at the epicenter of the stage.
As the sea of competitors buzzed with nervous energy, Ken's presence commanded attention. The cameras, drawn to his charisma, zoomed in, and with the flair of a born showman, he bestowed upon the world a confident, captivating smile - he cringed internally. The arena, vast and echoing with the footsteps of myriad hunters, was but one of many stages set for this grand event, each stadium a battleground for warriors of varying ranks.
The announcer's voice, robust and resonant, filled the air, "Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to our 200th Rank Royal, it is with great honor to introduce you to our host this year... SIR LEONARD." The ensuing applause was a tidal wave of sound, sweeping through the stadium, its force felt even at the heart of the arena where Ken stood, a solitary figure amidst the storm of excitement.
Sir Leonard, embodying the gravitas of his position, stepped forward. "Welcome, it is my great honor to host you in this magnificent city—a city that nurtured me from childhood. We convene this tournament not only to display our might to the world but to catalyze our collective growth. Entrusted by our king with a singular mission, I stand before you committed to delivering an unforgettable spectacle. Join me in saluting our valiant hunters!" The crowd's response was a deafening symphony of cheers and admiration, a testament to the reverence held for the competitors.
As the echoes of applause receded, the announcer delineated the rules with clarity, "No killing, but beyond that, all is fair game. Our barriers stand impenetrable, safeguarding the audience, while our cameras, reinforced, will capture every moment. With the kingdom's premier healer in attendance, rest assured that as long as life's ember burns within you, you shall be made whole. So fight with valor, and let your talents shine!" The crowd's cheer, now laced with a note of triumph, embraced the tournament's unyielding nature.
"The battles will encompass all ranks, from the esteemed S to the tenacious C, unfolding concurrently. Each rank shall anoint its champion, who will be bestowed with a monetary prize. So, let us—" Sir Leonard's voice, interjecting with authority, sliced through the announcer's address.
"There's a surprise," Sir Leonard proclaimed, "those who ascend to the top 3 in their respective rank shall be granted the esteemed right to select a weapon from the kingdom's archive, befitting their rank." This revelation infused the atmosphere with a fresh wave of excitement, as hunters and spectators alike pondered the prestige and might of such a reward.
"Well, there you have it, Ladies and Gentlemen! SIR LEONARD, and let the 200th rank royal commence!" The announcer's exuberant declaration marked the beginning of the festivities. Balloons soared, and wyvern pilots streaked the sky with trails of Blue, Gold, and Red—the kingdom's colors unfurling above. As the kingdom's melody swelled, a musical tribute to the land's heritage, the tournament sprang to life, a celebration of courage, skill, and the indomitable spirit of the hunters.