Pentagon Festival [3]

There I was, sitting on a bench and talking to myself, to the dismay of the pigeons around me. "Everything is happening so fast," I commented out loud, causing a commotion among the birds. "Hey, you are my only audience now, so at least pretend you care, okay?"

Despite my 'worldwide fame' for being a class G weakling, my ability to go unnoticed is like a class S hero superpower. "Does no one recognize me because I'm less famous than an extra in a toothpaste commercial? Or is it because I really have no fans? I bet on the second option."

"Oh, and those assassins? I was almost using my Dismantle to chop them up," I murmured, with a wicked look. "But then I remembered that I still haven't mastered the art of 'perfect aim'. Using Dismantle is easy - look, think and zap, target disintegrated. But it's still hard to maintain accuracy.

As the author of this madness, I know very well that killing the servants of the high court does not break any law of the crime underworld. Therefore, if I decided to eliminate these assassins, I would not be technically committing a crime. But, as always, there is a catch.

A class G guy like me taking down an entire squad of trained assassins? That would raise more eyebrows than a conspiracy theory on an online forum. And their leader, probably a class A heavyweight, is not someone you want to draw attention to.

So, even though I have written the rules of this world, it seems that the most prudent thing is to play it safe. Avoiding trouble with the crime court seems to be the best strategy to keep my head, literally, in place.

---

Still sitting on the bench, the author of this incredible Shakespearean drama, thought out loud. "And here I am, the master of puppets, about to cause the biggest twist in Alice del Ferraro's life. Ah, Alice, the romance heroine that I threw into Sam's lap, like a stuffed animal in a claw machine."

In my magnificent plot, poor Alice and Sam have one of those 'almost, but never' relationships, like Ross and Rachel, but without the coffee. And then, because I'm so generous, I gave her a tragic ending. Sam finds out that she was killed and… drumroll… turns into Rambo in a war against the crime underworld. Because, of course, there's nothing like a good revenge to spice up a story.

I laughed, thinking about how the whole thing sounded. "And now, the biggest twist of all: I, the writer, may have to be the executioner. Does that make me the villain or just a writer with a questionable sense of humor?"

I got up from the bench, stretching my arms. "Well, let's go, Dean. Time to find out if you can write a happy ending… or at least one that doesn't end in tears and blood. Or maybe a bit of both, to balance things out."

"Adiós, pigeons! Our chat was more interesting than most of my Tinder dates," I declared with a dramatic wave. My audience of pigeons, clearly uninterested, dispersed without asking for autographs.

At the exact moment I took a step, a woman dressed in a tight suit appeared behind me as if by magic. "Good afternoon, Dean Carleone," she said with a voice that sounded like it came from a spy movie. "I'm here to guide you to the preparation room."

---

In the preparation room, a true arsenal of weapons and equipment of all kinds was available, turning the environment into a kind of paradise for combat enthusiasts. The representatives of each year mingled, each with their own aura and style.

The third-year veterans dominated a part of the room with an almost palpable seriousness. Among them, Luke stood out, the blond, blue-eyed idol of the third year. His gentle expression contrasted with the precise choice of two sharp swords, handled with the delicacy of an artist choosing his brushes.

Next to him, a third-year girl handled an enchanted necklace, which seemed to pulse with a magical energy. The accessory, more than a simple jewel, was an artifact capable of optimizing the use of mana, a strategic choice for the battle that was approaching.

The second-year group had a different energy, more united and collaborative. They chose their weapons together, discussing and evaluating the best options. Among them, Alice del Ferraro, the daughter of the most renowned hero, stood out.

Alice, with her black hair cut in a short and modern style, stood out in the preparation room. Her eyes, also black, shone with an intensity that contrasted with the serenity of her expression. The uniform she wore, tight and well-fitted, outlined the curves of her athletic body, highlighting the way she had trained and shaped her physique over the years.

She moved with a natural grace, each step measured and calm. As she approached a pile of white bands, her skillful hands began to work. She took one of the bands and, with practiced gestures, began to wrap it around her arm. The fabric stretched and adjusted perfectly to her skin, forming a second layer that promised not only protection, but also an increase to her natural strength.

Her agile fingers manipulated the band with dexterity, each turn around the arm was done with meticulous care. She periodically checked the tension of the band, making sure it was not too tight or too loose. With each new layer, her movements became more fluid, as if she were in communion with the material.

Finally, with her fists now wrapped in the bands, Alice clenched her hand firmly, feeling the comfortable resistance of the fabric. It was evident that she did not need conventional weapons; her fists, reinforced by the bands and the training, were her chosen weapons, ready to face any challenge that the tournament presented.

Alice, finishing the wrapping of the bands around her arms, murmured softly, more to herself than to anyone else in the room: "This is good." There was a tone of satisfaction in her voice, a recognition that she was ready for whatever came.

At that moment, a boy with bright green hair and deep black eyes approached her. He carried a spear, which rested casually on his shoulder. With a curious look and a slight smile, he commented: "So, instead of a sharp weapon, you opted for bands, Alice?" His tone was playful, but also admiring. "Alice being Alice," he concluded, shaking his head in a friendly gesture.

Alice looked at him, a calm resolve in her eyes. "My fists are already my weapons, Noah." she answered with serenity. "I don't need anything else besides that." As she opened her bandaged hand, she revealed the scars on her fingers - marks of past battles and intense training. They were symbols of her dedication and skill.

With her eyes fixed on her fist, Alice reflected for a moment, a fierce determination rising within her. "Today I will show my father my strength," she thought, a silent promise to herself and to the fate that awaited her in the tournament. It was a moment of affirmation, not only as a fighter, but as the daughter of the strongest hero, ready to follow her own path.

Noah, with a slight smile on his face after Alice's words, seemed to have a special admiration for her. "I'm really in love with this girl," he thought, his gaze revealing more than his words said. He was about to continue the conversation when a sudden sound interrupted his thought.

The noise of the door opening captured the attention of everyone in the room. Heads turned and curious looks fixed on the entrance, waiting to see who would arrive.

"Today's stars are finally here…" Luke commented, with a mix of respect and expectation in his voice.

Entering through the door, Sam appeared first, his presence immediately noticed by everyone. Right behind him, Ellie and Diana walked, both exuding confidence and determination. Silence fell over the environment as everyone watched the trio enter the space.

Chloe and Blake entered next, completing the group of prodigies. Chloe, with her elegant and calm posture, and Blake, with a more reserved expression, made an interesting contrast with the others.

Luke watched the group with a confident smile, thinking to himself: "So these are the famous prodigies that appear once every millennium?" His smile did not hide the excitement of facing such talents in the tournament that was approaching.

Luke's expression changed slightly to one of confusion as he realized that there was still someone else to enter. "Is there still one missing?" he wondered, frowning slightly. "Oh, yes, there's that guy from class G… What was his name again?"

Before Luke could remember, Ellie's voice cut through the air, tinged with impatience and irritation. "Come on, Dean, why are you parading around like a princess? Didn't you have breakfast?" She shouted toward the door, with her hands on her hips and an expression of exasperation.

The answer came in the form of an equally angry scream from Dean. "Shut up! Do you have any idea of the side effects of a teleport?!" He exclaimed, his voice echoing through the hall. With firm steps and a visibly annoyed countenance, Dean crossed the threshold of the door, revealing himself to those present.

"And why are you yelling at me, huh?" Dean snapped back, looking directly at Ellie, his expression mixing irritation and defiance. His gaze then swept the room, noticing the surprised and curious expressions of the other representatives, who watched the scene with a mix of interest and surprise.

Dean, feeling the weight of the stares fixed on him, thought with a touch of irony, "Do I look like an exotic animal for them to stare at me so much?" He could almost hear the gears of gossip turning in the room. "Oh yes, of course, what is a class G like me doing here in the middle of these monsters, right?"

Resolute in ignoring the curiosity of others, Dean walked with determined steps toward Chloe. But, on the way, his eyes met those of a girl with short, black hair. It was a brief, but intense encounter - Dean's blue eyes clashed with her black ones. It was Alice. Their gaze crossed for an instant, loaded with a mix of curiosity and silent recognition, before Dean diverted his attention to Chloe.

Dean approached Chloe and Blake with a casual expression. "So, who are my opponents in the fights?" he asked, keeping his usual tone of disinterest.

Chloe turned to him, with a slight expression of surprise. "You didn't see the confrontations on the Pentagon portal?" she asked, looking a bit perplexed by Dean's inattention.

With a raise of eyebrows, Dean feigned surprise, but soon returned to his relaxed expression. "Oh, no, I didn't even look. Who am I going to fight against?" he asked, as if the information was a mere curiosity.

Chloe sighed, resigned with Dean's lack of preparation. "You will face Noah from the second year. Class C-. He is a very strong opponent and one of the favorites to win," she explained, emphasizing the seriousness of the challenge.

Dean let out a thoughtful "hmmm". His gaze then shifted to a nearby katana, as he considered his options. "Maybe I'll just let him hit me and pretend to be defeated by a single blow. It makes sense, since he's class C-," he planned in his mind, calculating the best way to keep a low profile and avoid unnecessary complications.

Blake, with an equally unconcerned expression, leaned slightly toward Dean. "Do you think you can beat him?" His question was direct, his eyes fixed on Dean, who was still focused on the katana.

Dean, without taking his eyes off the sword, answered with a half-joking, half-serious tone. "Oh, he'll give me a lot of trouble," he said, approaching the wall where the katana was displayed. It was an elegant weapon, with the handle and the blade completely black, exuding an air of mystery.

Reaching out to grab the sword, Dean felt the tension in the room grow. Blake, watching closely, threw another question: "Are you going to lose?"

That question made Dean hesitate for an instant, his hand hovering in the air, almost touching the handle of the katana. "Lose? I hate losing, especially to a side character like him. If only it was against an important character, that way my pride as the author of this world would remain intact, but…" Dean thought, pondering the implications. He knew that winning could attract a lot of unwanted attention, and to ensure a victory, he would have to resort to Dismantle, his secret technique.

With a firm movement, Dean finally grabbed the handle of the katana, feeling the cold and rough texture against his skin. "Don't be silly," he replied to Blake.

[...]

Author's note:

What did you think of the chapter? Leave a review about what you think of the story so far.

Sorry for the delay 😘