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“Number 3! It seems we’ll get to see our best competitor in only the second fight! How incredible!”

Eating up the news with a side of shock, the crowd roared with anticipation. Cheers were especially loud from the reserved area covered in red and black clothing, the area designated for the Forell Family.

“So soon? I wonder who’s so unlucky to face him...” Jezza mumbled under her breath. “What are you hoping for, Oliver? To fight sooner or later?”

Oli replied with a content shrug. “Doesn’t matter...”

Catching onto Oli’s momentary lack of interest, Jezza chuckled lightly and kept to herself. At the same time, Freele went and drew number 31, putting her down for the final fight.

As Trantor stepped forward next, everyone saw his confidence pause for a moment. The snap of the thin stick filled the area as even the announcer was stunned by the sight.

.....

“Number 4! Trantor has drawn number 4, placing him in the second fight against his younger brother, Trenk!” stated the announcer, leaving everyone speechless for a moment. “Astounding! To have such a match in the first round... It’s beyond anything we could’ve expected!”

“Redraw!” a voice sounded out before newly enthused cheers could make way. A proud man in red and black robes stood up in the center of the Forell Family area. “I demand a redraw! There is no reason for those two to fight so early on! It’s a disgrace to our family!”

“Rules are rules...” sighed an irritated voice, immediately silencing the man’s objections. “Tranton Forell, you may be a mid-perennial but you have no say in how the Institute handles our matters. They drew what they drew and now they will bear the responsibilities given them.”

“... Yes, Dean Jarrit...” Humbly and somewhat shakily, the Forell patriarch bowed his head. “Then we’ll accept the results...”

Trantor took in a sharp breath and stepped aside. His gaze wasn’t on his father or the dean. His gaze fell on his talented younger brother, who only glanced back at Trantor and offered a humble bow of his head.

“Hey, you’ll be fine.” Trantor finally released his held breath as Freele grabbed his hand. Cheering up her lover, Freele reminded him, “He’s still your younger brother. There’s no need to hold back this time. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“Right... Thanks, Freele.”

The couple returned to their seats as the lottery continued. While most everyone still needed to draw a number, the crowd was already riled up to full capacity. There was no way they would get a fight to top the one already planned for the second match, at least not in the first round.

After the fourth and fifth seeds drew their lots, the crowd’s excitement started to gradually die down. They didn’t want to waste all their energy before the fights even began, and they would need to cheer again if another highly ranked competitor ended up facing someone in the top 5. At least, that’s what they were hoping for. But no one in the top five, or even the top ten, was pitted against Freele in the final fight. Seeds seven and ten would be fighting halfway through the first round but that was all.

As they entered the teens, the crowd remained jumpy but wasn’t cheering on command.

When his time came, Worrik showed a shaky smile as he stepped up to the announcer. He stuck his hand in the bag and silently prayed to the creator for a good pull.

“Number 5! How lucky you are, narrowly avoiding our top competitors!”

Heaving a sigh of relief along with some boastful laughter, Worrik stepped aside and waited to see who his opponent would be.

As Oli soon stepped onto the platform for his turn, a surprising voice shouted from the first row of seats.

“You’d better live up to our expectations! As Hurman’s representative, I’m expecting an upset!”

Blinking, Oli paused and turned toward the ornate seats of the hosts. Offering a humble bow, Oli replied, “Lead Assistant Lizbeth, I’m gracious for the praise and will make sure to represent the Practor Family properly.”

Under their breath, the other hosts either chuckled or scoffed. They had no clue where that sudden outburst had come from but their interest was piqued nonetheless. Not only had Lizbeth chosen a favorite before the first fight, though it was likely a tease at their old colleague Hurman, that young man confidently responded in stride, something unusual from a youth not of a noble family.

But the announcer suddenly broke out in shouts the moment Oli drew his stick. “Number 12! The mysterious sixteenth seed will be facing off with the ninth seed in our sixth fight!”

“Oh, ha, ha! It’s your lucky day, Hurman!” Reginol laughed heartily. “It seems you may still have some luck after all! You still have a chance at some early money if your boy’s half decent!”

Ignoring the remark, those of the Practor Family were excited to hear the match-up. Pauller, Sisslia, and Cethlin didn’t know much about Oli’s true strength but they were confident in their family’s assessment of Oli. Leon, Johan, and Shadur had witnessed Oli’s battle abilities first-hand so they were confident in his match against the ninth seed. But Hurman, Jonon, and Keldon kept straight faces, acting according to plan. While they were cheering loudly in their hearts, they maintained stern but proud faces to not show too much confidence in Oli before his betting price would be reevaluated.

“Oh, unlucky...” Jezza sighed from behind. But she was amazed to see Oli acting no different from before, only glancing and shrugging at the sight of his opponent.

“Miss Jezza, please come forward without delay.”

“Of course!” Not wanting to hold up the lottery, Jezza refocused and came forward.