Chapter 93
Chapter 93
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 92
Chapter Title: How to Survive in Fusion Punk
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Are you telling me to smile?
Jin glanced around needlessly. Then he pointed at his own face with a greasy index finger.
'Me?'
His silent mouthing didn't reach the other person.
The horn blared first.
And so the match began, far fiercer than expected.
With no overwhelming powerhouse in sight, it meant anyone could claim victory—a battlefield-like scene unfolded.
One fighter downed their opponent only for an ambush from behind. Blades clashed, sparks flew. Spells crossed paths, alliances formed, betrayals struck, and survivors were whittled down again and again—
Until the last one standing seized the flag.
A beautiful face splattered with blood smiled on the massive screen.
"Group 10 winner! Michelle Riley!"
The amplified announcer's voice pierced the roaring arena, and the crowd showered cheers and applause on yet another finalist.
Waaaaah!!
Amid the din, Jin let out an ambiguous hiss.
"Tsk."
She made it through.
Still, they were acquaintances, so he'd watched "Michelle—or Monique, whatever her name was"—fight with keen interest.
Honestly? Nothing special.
Decent hand-to-hand, decent mana, decent spells.
If he had to compare, she was like a small hexagon—balanced but unremarkable.
Put nicely, versatile. Less kindly, bland, with no standout edge. Sure enough, the crowd focused more on her looks than her performance.
"She's pretty, though."
"Tall as hell too. 175? 180?"
"Michelle Riley, right? Ever heard of her?"
"Searched around—nothing major. Not famous, I guess."
"Mission accomplished, then. Just making finals jacks up her price. Tons of folks join for that. Anyway, next match."
As interest waned with rote comments, typical for unremarkable bouts—
"……"
Jin silently watched the black-haired woman leave the arena, her hair swaying.
"Puhuu—"
Raf rose with a trembling exhale.
He roughly wiped his sweat-soaked palms on his thighs and mumbled blankly.
"I-I'm heading out."
"Who you talking to? Hey, hey?"
Jin snapped his fingers at the unfocused gaze, but by then, Raf was already shambling toward the arena.
He's gonna collapse before the fight even starts.
Why's this guy such a scaredy-cat?
Jin shook his head briefly.
Then he cupped his hands and yelled.
"Fight on!!!"
*
Long story short, Raf advanced.
"I did iiiit—!!"
On his knees, arms thrust skyward in a roar. Maybe it was the bloodshot eyes, but hugging the flagpole afterward was pure drama.
"Great job!"
The crowd whistled and clapped hotly in response, and Raf waved back enthusiastically.
Jin, cheering along with them, thought:
Damn, he fights better than I thought?
No sign of those shakes—he methodically thinned the competition like a pro.
But that style feels familiar.
Where've I seen it?
He furrowed his brow, rummaging through his memory—
"Your chicken order's up."
"Ooh!"
Distracted by the refilled food, Jin turned back to the arena.
No upsets.
Group 13: Dayer Hakan.
Group 16: Cecil Florence.
The remaining family reps cleared prelims too, drawing the grueling qualifier to a close.
Next up: main bracket draw.
The Sword Saint drew lots, and the called fighters' faces lit the screens.
The drained crowd reignited after hours of hype.
Full belly or not, there's always room for bracket snacks.
Can't miss the draws!
Everyone eyed the Sword Saint's hand and announcer's mouth, swallowing dryly.
"Timothy Hunt! Eanna Solad!"
The bold call split the screen with their live faces—
The man sighed faintly, sensing defeat; Eanna stayed stoic. The crowd erupted in debate.
Eanna takes this easy.
Timothy fought well—bad luck.
Underdog upset possible?
Sell the house and car, bet on Timothy.
...What?!
As gamblers yelled over favorites and longshots—
"Jin Evernight! Kendrick Zahard!"
Jin, mid-sip of cola, snapped his head up at the thunderous call.
His straw-sucking face dominated half the screen; the other showed the young master's twitching brow.
The stands exploded, naturally.
Direct heir vs. branch family!
Same clan, no less!
Historical rarity—stomping feet, bulging veins everywhere.
Jin, facing a top contender right off, shrugged.
Cool, works for me.
Might as well throw down.
His interest in the Rotation started with that first clash with the Cerebellum King, anyway.
Recalling that staredown—
Waaaaah!!
Cheers exploded again.
Jin instinctively checked the screen. Two new faces: a man and woman.
"Cecil Florence! Carlos Gershtein!"
No wonder the uproar.
First family rep vs. family rep.
Florence of spirit arts.
Gershtein of spear arts.
But amid the earth-shaking cheers, predictions skewed hard one way.
No contest. Carlos all day.
Agreed. Thea, maybe. Cecil's rep just doesn't match.
Damn, yeah—makes Thea vs. Carlos sound way heavier.
Sucks. Why'd Thea drop out last minute...
Screw it. Cecil all in—longshot time!!
Jin smirked, eavesdropping quietly.
That longshot guy's been yapping forever.
People still think Thea's alive, huh.
Thea Florence.
Top Escuyer in fame, now just another trophy in the face collector's stash.
Knowing that, Jin felt a nagging unease.
Maybe that's why.
His eyes kept drifting to Cecil onscreen.
Stepping up for her dead genius sister, she feigned nonchalance—but up close, her eyes quivered with nerves.
Carlos, meanwhile, just stood arms crossed, bored as hell.
The stark contrast had folks calling it for him already.
The draws continued.
Final main bracket:
16 entrants, 8 matches, 4 groups.
Jin landed in Group 2.
In other words, Ryukard in 3 and Carlos in 4 wouldn't cross paths unless it was finals.
(One'd be out by then, of course.)
A bit disappointing, honestly.
Be nice to pick fights with nothing but top seeds.
Jin rose, thinking thoughts that'd terrify most.
Ughhh. A groan escaped. Tailbone throbbed from sitting so long—not to mention his ass felt flattened.
Tapping his butt with a fist, Raf—fresh from treatment—slapped his shoulder.
"Well, if it isn't the finalist himself, Jin! Right?!"
"Heh."
Jin chuckled at the bandaged face.
"Bet you can't feel a thing right now."
"Pain? Finalists don't know the word."
Their eyes met; right hands clapped in a near-high-five shake.
"Good work." "You too, man."
Light well-wishes exchanged, they grinned and headed out—
"Greetings."
A polite voice blocked them. Sword at the hip—Jin tilted his head.
"Who're you?"
The stranger replied calmly.
"I'm the messenger."
"Messenger for who...?"
The curt answer:
"The Sword Saint seeks you."
Why's he calling for me?
Jin scratched his head.
He'd go, sure—but no clue why.
Gonna off a rival for his son's win?!
Absurd fantasy in mind, he followed the self-proclaimed messenger briefly.
Next thing, Jin was in the arena's VIP lounge.
Fidgeting like a first-timer, a low voice slipped into his ear.
"Sit comfortably."
The Sword Saint, hands behind back, gazed out the window.
"Ah, yes sir."
Jin plopped on the sofa.
The man turned slowly from the window, faint smile as he sat opposite.
"Pleased to meet you. Gale Anarion."
"Jin. Jin Evernight."
Proudly dropping his 35 million credit name, Jin eyed the middle-aged man.
Sword Saint.
Up close—maybe two paces away—he felt... oddly unremarkable.
Blended into nature, like.
The teapot tilted smoothly—who knew when his hand reached it? Jin blinked involuntarily.
Just watching warped distance like a fool.
"Whoa."
"Hm? Something wrong?"
"Nah, nothing big..."
As Jin trailed off, the Sword Saint offered a cup.
"Nothing big?"
Jin sheepishly replied.
"Just feels like I'd never land a hit... haha."
"Never hit me? With what?"
Intrigued, urging more—too late to play it off.
Jin subtly raised his clenched right fist.
"This."
"……"
Brief silence—
Then the Sword Saint burst into hearty laughter.
Jin joined right away.
Why laugh? Dunno. Just do it.
Office hack #1: Laugh when the boss does.
(Watch for rage-laughs, though.)
This? Genuine—head thrown back.
Their laughs filled the room till Jin's cheeks ached; the Sword Saint finally stopped.
"Landing a fist on my face ain't easy."
"Fair point."
Jin thumbs-upped; more laughs.
Okay, stay still this time.
Cheeks hurt.
Sipping the handed tea—slurp. Nice throat feel.
No tea expert, but the warmth spreading to his chest was choice.
As he savored, the Sword Saint spoke, smile finally gone.
"Sudden invite—thanks for coming."
"No biggie. Had to."
The man continued softly.
"Called you for personal curiosity. Mind answering honestly?"
Courteous ask.
Hard to believe this guy's young days earned "Light Sword" rep.
Position makes the man? Or man the position?
Either way, current Sword Saint screamed "good guy."
Jin nodded without hesitation.
"Sure. Ask away."
"What's your relation to Ro Kan?"
"...?"
Jin froze.
He'd spill his underwear color (navy) gladly, but this? Words jammed up.
Not guilt.
What even was their deal?
Kidnap buddy?
Sem pai?
Unwittingly speechless awhile, the Sword Saint waited patiently.
How much time passed?
Finally, Jin settled on an answer he bought.
"...He's my master. Yeah."
The Sword Saint's pupils dilated.
"Master-disciple?"
"Kinda like that..."
Jin nodded awkwardly.
And thought:
Ro Kan did awaken my super senses.
Master it is.
My call—who cares what he thinks.
No mind-reading.
Done deal, firm tone now.
"Yup. Master."
"...As I thought."
The Sword Saint murmured, face clearing.
"No wonder he overlapped with you."
"You know Ro—er, Master?"
"Of course."
Nodding naturally, he spoke.
"...Rival who always lit a fire under me. Half-step ahead every time. Drove me mad."
His eyes drifted to hazy past, not present.
"No regrets on my bloody youth—but one: never settling things with him. Rotation was perfect chance, but I chased total dominance, blind to else. By the time certainty hit my blade, he'd left the family."
Jin sorted the monologue.
Ro Kan and Sword Saint: same age (hard to buy).
Sword Saint saw him as rival.
No decisive clash.
Back to now.
Eyeing Jin's cheek-scratch, the Sword Saint spoke slowly.
"Never dreamed our paths would link like this. His disciple and my son."
Hm?
Hand to teacup paused.
"...Pardon?"
"Make finals by all means. My son'll be there."