And so, the fateful day arrived.
My stomach had been hurting since morning, but Lucia came and smacked me awake.
"Come on, pull yourself together! Leader! How are you supposed to fight like this? Your opponents are all skilled fighters, you know!"
"...Can't. My Treasure Weapon isn't charged."
I was completely sleep-deprived.
My perfectly capable little sister looked down at me with a contemptuous glare and spoke.
"I already took care of it."
My stomach really did hurt. I wanted to go back to the capital right now.
Riesz, who had apparently been doing mock battles with Luke since dawn, blinked and stared at me, saying with puzzlement: "Klye, you really do look unwell. You're always calm no matter what happens, so..."
I'm ALWAYS unwell! Good grief.
It seemed I couldn't just stay curled up in bed forever. Reluctantly, I sat up.
Citry was there too, clasping her hands together with her usual smile.
"Now, now, Klye. If the Klye on the tournament bracket isn't the real Klye, then the real Klye isn't Klye, and if the real Klye isn't Klye, then Klye is—"
Citry was bugging out... I must have bonked her head too many times.
Apparently she'd really taken a liking to being the straight man, though. Without missing a beat, she started lining potions in front of me with a cheerful smile.
"This one's smoke, this one's explosion, this one's poison, this one's paralysis, this one's sleep, this one's healing salve, and this one's a mana potion—"
Her head might be bugged, but her functions were still intact...
No, wait. Not yet. I still didn't know for sure. There was still a possibility that the Klye listed among the participants wasn't me. After all, if a lookalike existed, there was no reason the real deal couldn't also be there. (Makes no sense.)
I was so tense and anxious I felt like throwing up.
Lucia said with exasperation: "Haaah... If you didn't want to compete in the Martial Emperor Festival, why did you even get tickets in the first place?"
"Because I wanted to watch."
If I was being more honest, I'd gotten them because I figured Luke and the others would want to see it. But I never imagined it would turn into this.
At that point, Luke—who had been stuffing an enormous piece of bread into his mouth and munching away with gusto—swallowed hard and then bellowed at the top of his lungs, first thing in the morning: "I see! In other words — the battlefield is the best premium seating there is!"
That's not watching anymore. That's not watching anymore. That's dying. And it's not just stray bullets flying your way.
No, it's fine. It's fine. I'm not participating. I'm not. So there's nothing to be afraid of.
I turned to Citry, whose screws were still a bit loose, to confirm.
"Just to double-check — the Martial Emperor Festival does allow you to forfeit, right?"
"Um... I believe the system was in place, yes."
"Oh hell no! I won't let any punk do something so lame! If there's anyone like that, I'll turn 'em into rust on my blade before they can forfeit!"
"Luke, you might not know this, but — wooden swords don't rust, you know?"
"...Hm."
"...Haaah."
Lucia let out a deep, weary sigh at the usual Luke-and-others exchange.
Danger. I'd be turned into rust on Luke's wooden sword.
It's fine, it's fine. It's not me. I never once said I'd participate, and the tournament bracket was just a lookalike.
Even if, by some miracle in a million, I did end up participating, my opponent wouldn't be Luke, so it'd be okay. Surely they'd give me enough time to surrender.
Taking a deep breath, I let a smile spread across my face.
When humans have nowhere left to turn, all they can do is laugh.
"Well then... shall we go create a legend (in a manner of speaking)?"
"Oooooooooh!"
§ The Martial Emperor Festival venue. The colosseum in the very heart of Crito was already wrapped in a maelstrom of frenzy, even before the gates had officially opened.
Cheers and jeers. The stinging tension of a battlefield on your skin. People wielding all manner of weapons overflowed through the grounds — it looked like the prelude to war.
And in truth, the Martial Emperor Festival *was* war.
Sometimes, for a Hunter, pride meant more than life. This tournament was not only about deciding the strongest, but also reliably produced fatalities every year.
"Oy, oy, what's wrong, Klye? You're looking pretty rough today!"
"Same as always."
"You really okay? You're a weakling, you know? It's only the first round!"
I regrouped with the Footprints cheer squad, including the Black Gold Cross and Star's Holy Thunder.
Apparently my complexion was clearly awful from Sven's and Klyus's perspective.
I'd given up on clearing up the misunderstanding, but everyone seemed convinced I was fighting. You could've told me! If you thought that, you should've said so sooner!
I suppressed the overwhelming urge to bolt and said with forced cool: "This is a warrior's bad complexion."
"Huh? What'd you just say?"
No good. It wasn't just Citry. My brain was bugging out today too.
"I, uh, was thinking too hard last night and couldn't sleep well."
Not a lie. It had been a while since overthinking kept me from sleeping. Being able to fall asleep easily was one of my few good qualities— "Yeah, I get it, Klye! I was so hyped I couldn't sleep either — practiced my swings all night long!"
Luke, who was obviously pumped up, roared despite the crowd.
Hey, stop it, Luke! Don't lump me in with you!
"W-well, I worry for nothing, then! Hmph! Just don't make a fool of yourself!"
"Couldn't sleep from thinking too much... So you're raring to go? That's unusual."
"Mastaa, do your best! I'm fully prepared — I bet my entire fortune!"
Tino clenched her fist with a tense expression, cheering me on.
It's fine, it's fine. Tino's entire fortune would be covered by Citry anyway.
No — it's not me. I'm not a participant. The faithful shall be saved. I am not a participant. I will absolutely not enter. I will not.
I said to Tino with a gentle smile: "Tino, you're a hopeless girl, aren't you?"
"!? Eh!?"
The nerve of Tino, not even considering the possibility that someone with the same name existed. Truly hopeless.
§ The entrance gate. I tried to enter by showing my ticket, but the receptionist's eyes went wide.
"Klye Andrich...? Wait — you already entered earlier, didn't you?"
"Eh!?"
At those unexpected words, my eyes flew open.
Citry and the others behind me were stunned too. Citry quickly interjected: "Perhaps you mistook him for Klahi Andrihhi?"
"No... there's no mistake. He already entered."
The receptionist looked me up and down with a suspicious squint.
Could this be... could it be?
Yes. After all, I had no memory of signing up to fight. Ha ha, there was no way I'd mix up competing with spectating.
Funny how quickly my mood improved. A smile spilled across my face before I could help it.
Good grief, how confusing. Who was this Klye Andrich, anyway?
Wanna make a bet?
Lucia looked up at me with narrowed eyes.
"What are you looking so happy about, Leader?"
"I'll have you re-enter, please."
At Citry's words, the receptionist glanced at my arm and said: "Ah — did you lose your competitor's bracelet too? I told you it couldn't be reissued... Come on, don't lose it again. Now then, good fortune in battle."
While I was still relaxing from the wave of relief, a bracelet was snapped onto my wrist with a click.
Ha ha, a competitor's bracelet. Don't need one — I'm not a competitor.
"Klye Andrich, you're in the first round, so head this way."
"Do your best, Klye!"
Ha ha ha, that Andrich isn't me, so it's fine.
"The waiting room is this way."
Ha ha ha, the waiting room — what would a spectator be waiting for? The only things I wait for are fights and booze.
The door slammed shut.
That sound finally snapped me back to reality.
The waiting room was clean but utterly unremarkable — an empty room with nothing noteworthy.
The only furniture present was a chair and a table. And a small refrigerator. Looking up, the ceiling was right there. There was nowhere to hide, either.
Why — why did it come to this?! Just refuse clearly!
My brain had gone completely blank from the sheer relief of it all.
I looked around, but there was no one who could explain this situation.
But the biggest problem was that the real Klye—the one who was supposed to be waiting here—was nowhere to be found.
There was literally nowhere to hide in this waiting room.
Hanging onto a thread of hope, I opened the small beverage refrigerator.
"Klye? Is this where you are?"
Inside were just a few bottles of water. Oh no — I hadn't expected anyone to actually be in there, but the real Klye was seriously nowhere.
No, wait. I still didn't know for sure. There was still a possibility that Klye Andrich was a liquid creature? There shouldn't have been any species restrictions on Martial Emperor Festival participants— "Klye? Is this Klye? Or is this Klye? Or maybe this one?"
"Mew!?"
I was pulling out water bottles one by one in a desperate bid to escape reality when one of them let out a scream.
And with that, I came back to my senses for the second time.
"Wait — the toilet..."
No good. No time for escapism. No time for hearing phantom sounds.
The real Klye — where was he?!