Chương 63: Chapter 61. Krozball

"And for your fifth elective..." Crowley checked his notes, "Advanced Combat Applications. Bold choice." Adom nodded.

"And I'd like to add two extracurricular electives as well," he said.

"Advanced Alchemy from Professor Mirwen's department and Basic Bonding from the Druidic department." Crowley raised an eyebrow.

"An ambitious schedule. Most students struggle with just their core classes."

"I can handle it," Adom said simply. Crowley made the additional notations without comment. The scratching of his quill was the only sound in the office, which now smelled oddly sweet—like toffee candy. Adom hadn't pegged the stern professor as someone with a sweet tooth.

"That gives you a full course load," Crowley said, making a final notation on Adom's schedule.

"Battle magic fundamentals in the morning, followed by elemental theory, practical applications, and tactical studies. Advanced combat and magical artifacts in the afternoon. As for the extracurricular, you'll get an update soon." He handed Adom a folded piece of parchment.

"Your new schedule. Take note that the mission board has been moved to the east wing, third floor. You'll need to complete at least two rank D missions each semester."

"Thank you, Professor," Adom said, taking the schedule.

"You're welcome." Adom didn't move from his seat. His fingers tapped against his knee, betraying his hesitation. Crowley looked up from his desk after a moment.

"Is there something else, Mr. Sylla? A question or concern?"

"Actually, yes." Adom leaned forward slightly.

"During the adventurer exam, we encountered gankers in the dungeon. They tried to kill us."

"I heard. The reports crossed my desk." Crowley's expression didn't change, but his eyes narrowed slightly.

"Then you know no one intervened."

"And that bothers you."

"It should bother everyone," Adom said, more forcefully than he'd intended.

"Senior mages are supposed to monitor all Xerkes students during adventurer exams. Safety protocol." Crowley set down his quill and folded his hands on the desk.

"Yes. They should have stepped in, if not during the encounter itself, then immediately after to ensure your safety and assess any injuries."

"So why didn't they?"

"That's an excellent question." Crowley's voice went flat.

"One I've been asking myself since I reviewed the report." Adom hadn't expected that. He'd been preparing for deflection, perhaps even some institutional defense of a clear failure. Crowley's apparent candor caught him off guard.

"The official explanation," Crowley continued, "is that there was a monitoring gap. A shift change among the observers that wasn't properly executed."

"You don't believe that."

"I believe it's convenient." Crowley's fingers drummed once on the desk.

"Too convenient." A chill ran down Adom's spine. So his suspicions hadn't been paranoia after all.

"Professor Lyvnell was responsible for that shift," Crowley said.

"He's been placed on administrative leave while an internal investigation proceeds."

"And in the meantime?"

"In the meantime, Mr. Sylla, I suggest you exercise caution." Crowley's tone shifted, became less formal.

"Your name has been heard quite frequently in certain circles lately. Even the Emperor knows who Adom Sylla is now."

"Ah."

"You've done nothing wrong," Crowley added.

"But not everyone will see it that way. Prince Kalyon had allies. Supporters. People who likely don't appreciate the role you played in his arrest."

"You think someone at the academy wanted me dead?" The words hung in the air between them.

"I think," Crowley said carefully, "that being a hero is often more dangerous than being a villain. Villains expect people to come after them. Heroes rarely see the knife until it's already in their back." Adom absorbed that, turning it over in his mind.

"What should I do?"

"For now? Nothing dramatic. Keep your head down. Focus on your studies. Take only the required missions, nothing that would put you in unnecessary danger." Crowley paused.

"And perhaps consider who you trust with information about your whereabouts."

"I understand," Adom said.

"Good." Crowley's gaze lingered on him for a moment longer.

"You show promise, Mr. Sylla. It would be a shame to see that promise cut short because you drew the wrong kind of attention."

"Thank you for the warning."

"Don't thank me yet." Crowley gestured toward the door.

"Now, I believe you have a combat athletics meeting to attend, if you still plan to participate this semester." Adom blinked in surprise.

"How did you--""I'm the battle magic professor, Mr. Sylla. It's my job to know these things." The faintest hint of amusement crossed Crowley's face.

"Besides, the new Coach, Viriam has been quite vocal about recruiting new talent after last season's disappointing performance in Krozball. You should give it a try." Adom stood to leave, already thinking about what was discussed just now.

"One more thing," Crowley said as Adom reached the door.

"If you notice anything unusual— anything at all—come to me directly. Not the Headmaster, not campus security. Me." Adom nodded, understanding perfectly. Crowley wasn't just warning him. He was offering protection.

Sam was leaning against the wall outside Crowley's office, tossing a small mana orb from hand to hand. It glowed a soft blue, casting strange shadows across his face.

"So?" he asked as Adom emerged.

"How'd it go? Did the old man give you a hard time about your electives?" Adom shook his head.

"Not really. Said 'bold choice' about Advanced Combat Applications, but that was it."

"Let me see." Sam snatched the schedule from Adom's hand before he could protest.

"Battle magic fundamentals, elemental theory, tactical studies... You practically copied my schedule."

"Or you copied mine," Adom said.

"I registered first, so technically, you're the copycat."

"We registered at the same time."

"Details, details." Sam handed the schedule back.

"Did he mention the mission board?"

"East wing, third floor. Two rank D missions minimum per semester." They walked through the vaulted corridors of the academy's main building, passing groups of students still buzzing about Crowley's announcement. A few pointed at Adom, whispering behind their hands. He pretended not to notice.

"You'd think they'd never seen someone stop a traitor prince before," Sam muttered.

"I'd prefer if they hadn't seen me do it at all," Adom replied. As they passed through the courtyard, the late morning sun beat down on them. The heat was a welcome change from Crowley's chilly office.

"Did Crowley say anything else?" Sam asked, his tone deliberately casual. Adom considered what to share. Crowley's warning had been pointed—trust no one with information about your whereabouts. But this was Sam.

"He thinks the ganker situation wasn't an accident," Adom said quietly.

"The 'monitoring gap' excuse is just that—an excuse." Sam's expression darkened.

"So someone did want us dead."

"Me dead," Adom corrected.

"You were just unfortunate enough to be there."

"Hey, I'm plenty important enough to assassinate on my own merits," Sam protested, before his face broke into a grin.

"But I'll let you have this one." The new Combat Athletics Club building loomed ahead, a squat stone structure with reinforced walls and a distinctly battered appearance. Magic-resistant materials made up most of its construction, allowing for the more physical aspects of magical combat to be practiced within. Two massive oak doors marked the entrance, carved with scenes of battle that shifted slightly when you looked at them too long. Sam sighed dramatically.

"Welp. Time to go suffer again and become better versions of ourselves."

"You're starting to sound like Hugo," Adom said with a chuckle.

"I'll take that as a compliment, actually. Man's built like a mountain." Adom pushed open the doors, and immediately something in his brain clicked. [Flow Prediction] activated without conscious thought, his senses extending outward, sampling the currents of movement around him. The world slowed to a crawl in his perception. A body was hurtling through the air directly toward them, arms windmilling. Three point eight seconds until impact. Adom's hands moved through a smooth pattern.

[Levitate] The spell emerged from his fingertips with minimal effort, a controlled burst of counter-gravity. He didn't weave it immediately. Wait, wait... timing was everything. Two seconds. One second. Now. The spell snapped into place at the last possible moment, catching the flying figure just before impact. The world snapped back to normal speed. A young man hung suspended in mid-air, inches from Adom's face. His expression cycled rapidly from terror to confusion to recognition.

"Oh!" The suspended student grinned, upside-down.

"The transcendent nerds!" Adom released the spell gently, allowing the student to right himself and land on his feet.

"Hey, Kaius," Adom and Sam said in unison, greeting their senior. Kaius brushed himself off, seemingly unbothered by his recent airborne adventure. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, and his training uniform was torn at the shoulder.

"Good catch, Adom!" Phil shouted from deeper in the room, lowering the leg that had presumably launched Kaius across the training hall.

"Thanks, Phil!" Kaius clapped him on the shoulder.

"Excellent reflexes! Most third-years would've screamed and frozen up."

"I was just lucky," Adom said, downplaying his skill.

"Nah, that wasn't luck." Kaius narrowed his eyes, studying Adom with newfound interest.

"That was pure talent. The way you waited until the last moment to maximize the spell's efficiency? That's veteran spellcasting." Sam coughed loudly.

"So, uh, what happened to you anyway? Did Phil decide you needed flying lessons?"

"Lost a bet," Kaius said with a shrug.

"Thought I could block his Rippling Earth technique. I was wrong." Kaius rolled his shoulders, wincing slightly.

"You two here to register for this semester's club activities?"

"Yeah," Sam said.

"Can't let these muscles go to waste."

"What muscles?" Kaius snorted, then turned to Adom.

"And you! Have you grown a bit since last semester?" Before Adom could answer, Kaius had him in a headlock, roughing up his hair with enthusiastic abandon.

"Slow down, nerd! You're making the rest of us look bad. Leave some glory for Sam here."

"Can't—breathe—" Sam leaned against the wall.

"Don't stop on my account. This is the most entertainment I've had all day."

"Some friend you are," Adom muttered. Kaius finally released him, giving him a friendly shove.

"Hugo's down at the Krozball pitch with most of the others. We'll be joining them soon for practice."

"Hugo's still club leader?" Sam asked.

"Seventh year and still running us into the ground." Kaius shook his head.

"Man's a machine. Go find him—he'll want to see you two anyway." They left Kaius and Phil to their training and headed toward the rear of the building, where a short tunnel led to the Krozball pitch. The smell of sweat and dirt grew stronger with each step. The pitch was a circular field roughly sixty yards across, ringed by waist-high barriers. Various platforms of different heights floated above the field, constantly shifting positions.

The ground itself was marked with intricate patterns that glowed faintly, indicating power zones and penalty areas. Hugo was in the center of it all, barking orders at a group of students attempting some kind of formation drill. Even from a distance, his presence was imposing. He spotted them and held up a hand, halting the drill. The students collapsed dramatically onto the ground, panting.

"Adom! Sam!" Hugo's booming voice carried across the field.

"Good to see you!" He jogged over to them, sweat glistening on his forehead. Despite having clearly been drilling for hours, he seemed barely winded.

"Here to sign up for this semester?" he asked, hands on his hips. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

"Yeah," Adom said.

"If you'll have us."

"Of course we'll have you." Without missing a beat, Hugo reached into his dimensional ring and pulled out two forms and a quill.

"Just sign here." Sam and Adom exchanged surprised glances.

"You carry around club registration forms in your dimensional ring?" Sam asked.

"Of course." Hugo said this like it was the most natural thing in the world, like carrying emergency rations or spare socks.

"Never know when you'll find good recruits."

"That's..." Sam paused, searching for the right word.

"Efficient," Adom supplied.

"I was going to say 'deeply weird,' but sure, efficient works too." Hugo didn't seem bothered. He simply handed the quill to Sam, who took it and began signing the form balanced against the barrier wall. Adom glanced around the pitch. Several students were engaged in a practice match on the far side, the Krozball—a leather-bound sphere roughly the size of a human head—zipping between them at alarming speeds. [Flow Prediction] triggered again, a half-second alert that set off alarm bells in Adom's mind.

He pivoted, one hand shooting out to pluck the Krozball from the air just inches from the back of Sam's head. The impact stung his palm, but he managed to keep his grip on the ball. Sam turned, quill frozen mid-signature.

"What the—""Sorry!" called a student from across the pitch, waving frantically.

"Bad pass!" Hugo stared at the ball in Adom's hand, then at the distance it had traveled.

"Damn," he said quietly.

"Lucky," Adom said.

"I just happened to turn at the right moment."

"That wasn't luck," Hugo said, eyeing him with newfound interest.

"That was instinct. And control." He took the ball from Adom's hand.

"Most people would have swatted it away. You caught it clean."

"I played catch with my father sometimes," That was true. Surprisingly.

"Nothing special." Hugo studied him for a moment longer, then broke into a grin.

"Have you ever considered playing Krozball, Adom? I know you can use Fluid, so you're qualified for it."

"Not really, no." Another lie. Crowley had just suggested it this morning.

"Well, you should." Hugo tossed the ball back across the pitch.

"We're holding tryouts for the team today and tomorrow. Tournament coming up in a few months."

"Tournament?" Sam perked up, handing the signed form back to Hugo.

"Inter-academy championship," Hugo explained.

"Hosted by Aelwin Academy this year. We haven't won in five years."

"Six," corrected a passing student.

"Thank you, Mira," Hugo said without looking at her.

"Six miserable years."

"I don't know..." Adom said, playing reluctant.

"Just think about it," Hugo said, handing him the quill.

"With reflexes like that, you'd make a hell of a Spear." Adom signed his name on the form, mind divided between careful restraint and subdued excitement. He wasn't even sure why he was hiding his intentions from Hugo. Some mischievous impulse, perhaps. In his first life, before everything went wrong, he'd had that streak—the unnecessary subterfuge, the small deceptions just for the pleasure of being clever. He thought he'd outgrown it long ago, but apparently old habits die hard.

He didn't strictly need the Combat Athletics Club anymore. His private training with Kalan was more advanced, and the missions would provide practical experience. His schedule was already packed to bursting. But this wasn't about training. This was about opportunity. For the past few months, he'd spent every spare moment trying to decipher the book he'd received from Law. The tome had resisted all his efforts—conventional translation methods, magical analysis, even historical comparison.

He'd even taken it to Biggins. If anyone could crack the code, it would be him. But even the old dragon – fifteen thousands years old – had been stumped.

"Fascinating artifact," the Aelarion had said, adjusting his tiny spectacles as he examined the book.

"There are similarities to Giant runic systems, but the variations are... significant." The only concrete information Biggins could offer was a translation of the runes on the cover: " Grimoire of the Primordial Runes." Primordial runes. Natural runes. Like the one on Eren's back. The sorceress from Veyshari had said the same thing: "To understand the writing within, seek the Giants. They alone preserve the knowledge of the First Script."

Which meant Adom needed to reach the Giant Highlands in the far north of the continent, beyond the Frozen Wastes. A journey that would take months under normal circumstances, requiring permits, supplies, guides, and a very solid justification to be there. Unless an opportunity presented itself.

"The tournament circuit works like this," Hugo was saying, pulling Adom back to the present.

"Four academies, four locations. Round robin format. Each academy hosts one round."

"And we travel to each one?" Sam asked. Hugo nodded.

"First round is at Xerkes—that's us. Second at Lireth Academy in Olden Kingdom. Third at Verron Institute in Cascadia. Finals at Aelwin Academy in Northhaven." Northhaven. The northern city-state that sat at the edge of the Frozen Wastes. Less than two weeks' travel from the Giant Highlands.

"Teams stay for a week at each location," Hugo continued.

"Three days of competition, four days of cultural exchange. It's a diplomatic thing as much as a sporting event." Adom suppressed a smile. A week in Northhaven, with a valid reason to be there, academy backing, and minimal supervision. He couldn't have designed a better opportunity himself.

"Actually," Adom said, the words coming out before he could second-guess himself, "I'd like to—" He hesitated.

"You'd like to what?" Hugo prompted.

"I'd like to try out. Today, if that's possible." Sam's eyebrows shot up.

"Really? One time you said Krozball was, and I quote, 'an exercise in pain for minimal gain.'""I've had a change of heart," Adom said smoothly.

"Figured I should expand my horizons." Sam gave him a sideways look.

"Since when are you interested in team sports?"

"Since now," Adom replied, hoping his friend would drop it. Hugo didn't seem to care about his motivations.

"Excellent! We could use someone with your reflexes. Tryouts start in—" A whistling sound cut through the air. Adom's [Flow Prediction] triggered yet again, giving him just enough time to snatch another errant Krozball heading straight for Sam's back. [+1 White Wyrm's body] [+1 Healing Factor] The impact was harder this time, stinging his palm. The ball had been traveling much faster than the previous one. Sam whirled around.

"What the hell?!"

"Oh come on!" shouted a different student from across the pitch.

"That was nowhere near you, Talef!"

"That was nowhere near me?" the student named Talef yelled back.

"It was heading straight for third years, you idiot!" Hugo took the ball from Adom's hand, his expression thoughtful.

"That's twice now. In the span of what, three minutes?"

"Coincidence." Hugo glanced back at the pitch, then at Adom.

"Know what a Spear is in Krozball?"

"Vaguely." Another lie. Adom knew the positions and rules intimately from his previous life. His father being a die hard fan of Krozball had made sure of that.

"Defensive specialist. Intercepts passes, protects teammates, occasionally makes precision counter-attacks." Hugo spun the ball on his fingertip.

"Requires exceptional spatial awareness, reflexes, and the ability to read the flow of the game."

"Sounds... complicated." Sam said.

"It is. Most Spears train for years." Hugo tossed the ball high into the air, caught it behind his back.

"But some people have natural talent." If Adom made the team, he'd have his ticket to Northhaven. From there, reaching the Giant Highlands would be challenging but doable. It was perfect.

"Tryouts are this afternoon," Hugo said.

"Give me thirty laps around the pitch to warm up, then I'll put you through the basics."

"Thirty laps?" Sam's eyes widened.

"You're joking."

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Hugo asked, completely straight-faced.

"No, but I was hoping." Hugo's expression remained stern for a moment longer, then cracked into a grin.

"Five laps. But don't tell the others I went easy on you." Five laps later, Adom was barely winded. The physical conditioning from the past few months had carried over more than he expected. Hugo watched him with the calculating eye of someone assessing livestock at market.

"Not bad," he said as Adom completed the final lap.

"Now let's see what you can do with a ball." He tossed the Krozball to Adom, who caught it easily and threw it back to Hugo.

"The basics of Krozball are simple," Hugo explained.

"You've got an oval field, three hoops of different heights at each end. Move the ball through the opponent's hoops to score—one, two, or three points depending on which hoop. First to fifty points wins, or highest score when time's up." He spun the ball on his fingertip.

"Seven players per team. Three Runners lead the offense and scoring drives. Two Blockers who protect teammates and disrupt opponents in duels. One Keeper guards your hoops, redirecting incoming shots. And one Spear—" he caught the ball with a quick snap "—that's the position I see for you."

"The Spear intercepts passes, protects vulnerable teammates, makes precision counter-attacks, and reads the game flow. You'll be the tactical brain on the field, anticipating plays before they happen. Everyone can score, but while Runners focus on point-making, you'll be setting up plays and striking when they least expect it." Hugo tossed the ball to Adom again.

"No magic. It's all about martial arts and Fluid control—enhancing passes, curving shots, creating opportunities through duels. The best Spears have exceptional spatial awareness and reaction time. They see the patterns others miss."

"Everything else is pretty vague," Sam commented from the sideline, where he'd decided to watch rather than participate.

"It gets clearer when you actually play," Hugo said as he turned back to Adom.

"I saw it last time, but, it's been a while, so, how about we give it a try?" Adom nodded as Hugo led him toward the center of the pitch where several students were gathered. Some faces Adom recognized—Talef from their year, Mira who was a fourth-year known for her vicious right hook. Others were strangers.

"Listen up," Hugo called, and the chatter died immediately.

"This is Adom Sylla. Third-year." The silence turned appraising.

"The prince guy?" someone muttered.

"He's trying out for Spear today," Hugo continued, ignoring the comment. A tall girl with braided brown hair scoffed.

"We already have a Spear."

"We need depth, Serena," Hugo replied calmly.

"And options. Tournament's coming up." Adom recognized Serena now. Fifth-year. Rumored to have broken three noses in last year's tournament against Lireth.

"Fine," she said, eyes narrowing at Adom.

"Let's see what the princeling can do." Fantastic. The typical underdog intimidator. Why are these kids always in these kind of situations? Adom thought. Smiling at her. Hugo clapped once, sharp and authoritative.

"Positions. Standard seven-on-seven. Adom, you're with blue team." He pointed to a group wearing blue training vests.

"We don't have a Runner yet," Hugo added, glancing at Adom.

"But that shouldn't matter for this tryout. You focus on Spear duties—intercept, protect, disrupt." Hugo led Adom to a storage locker at the edge of the pitch and pulled out gear: padded arm guards, chest protector, leg braces, and a lightweight helmet.

"Standard issue," Hugo explained, handing him the equipment.

"Reinforced with runic enchantments. The arm guards have momentum runes to help with ball control. Helmet's got perception enhancement—widens your field of vision." Adom strapped on the gear, which felt both foreign and familiar. The weight distributed evenly across his body, the padding firm but flexible.

"These are old," Hugo said, handing him a pair of gauntlets last.

"But good. Dwarf-forged, with reaction runes. They'll help you process what you're seeing faster." The gauntlets were surprisingly light, made of some metallic alloy Adom identified as [Knitsteel]. Intricate runes traced the knuckles and palm, barely visible unless you knew to look for them.

"Twenty minutes," Hugo announced.

"Standard rules. First to twenty points or time's up." He blew a whistle, and everyone moved into position.

"Just stay behind me," muttered a stocky guy on Adom's blue team.

"I'm Lorn. Blocker. I'll keep the worst off you until you get your bearings." Adom nodded, then assessed his temporary teammates. Besides Lorn, there was another Blocker—a girl with a buzz cut, two Runners he didn't recognize, and a lanky boy who appeared to be their Keeper. The seventh position—the third Runner—remained unfilled. On the red team, Serena took position as Spear, with Mira and Talef as their Runners. Hugo held the Krozball up, his face suddenly serious.

"Begin!" He threw the ball high into the air, and chaos erupted. The world slowed as [Flow Prediction] kicked in. Adom tracked the ball's arc, calculating its descent. Red team's tallest Runner was already moving to intercept, his jump timed perfectly. Adom moved without thinking. Three quick steps, a pivot, then he launched himself upward. His hand closed around the ball a fraction of a second before the opponent's, and then they were falling together. Impact. Hard ground against his shoulder.

The other player's elbow digging into his ribs. Adom tucked the ball against his chest, rolled, and came up running. Two red team players converged on him—Blockers, from their size. One feinted left while the other came straight at him. Basic pincer maneuver. Adom passed the ball to Lorn just before the first Blocker slammed into him, driving all the air from his lungs. He hit the ground hard, skidding several feet. [+1 White Wyrm's body] The pain faded almost instantly, his enhanced healing already working.

Adom pushed himself up in time to see Lorn bulldozing toward the hoops, red team in pursuit.

"Cover left!" shouted the blue Keeper, and Adom understood immediately. Red team's third Runner was making a flanking move, hoping to intercept Lorn from the side. Adom sprinted to cut them off. The Runner saw him coming and grinned.

"Princeling wants to dance," he said, dropping into a combat stance. Adom didn't respond. His awareness expanded, taking in every detail: the Runner's slightly forward weight distribution, the tension in his right shoulder indicating a planned left feint. The Runner lunged, exactly as Adom predicted. One-two combination, fast but telegraphed. Adom slipped past the first strike, deflected the second with his gauntlet, and countered with a palm strike to the sternum. Not enough to injure, just enough to disrupt.

The Runner stumbled back, surprise clear on his face.

"Lucky shot."

"Adom!" Lorn's voice called. The ball was coming back his way, passed by a blue Runner now being pursued by Serena. Without looking, Adom reached up and snatched the ball from the air. [Flow Prediction] made it simple—like catching a leaf floating gently down rather than a leather projectile traveling at speed. Serena changed direction instantly, charging toward him. This would be different. She was no ordinary opponent. Adom had seconds to act.

The nearest blue Runner was open, but Serena would intercept any standard pass. He needed something unexpected. His gaze caught the floating platforms above the pitch. An idea formed. He bounced the ball once, hard against the ground, and slapped it with his palm as it rebounded. The ball shot upward, hitting the underside of a platform and ricocheting at an impossible angle toward his teammate. The blue Runner caught it, momentarily free of defenders, and charged toward the hoops.

"That's not standard Spear play," growled Serena as she skidded to a stop beside him.

"Improvising," Adom replied.

"We'll see how creative you are after this." She didn't wait for his response, already sprinting back into position as the blue Runner lined up a shot at the middle hoop. The shot went wide, rebounding off the rim. Red team recovered the ball, and the game reversed direction. The next five minutes were a blur of movement, impact, and split-second decisions. Adom intercepted three passes and disrupted two scoring attempts. His body moved on instinct, [Flow Prediction] constantly active.

[+2 White Wyrm's body] [+1 Healing Factor] The score stood at 8-7 in red team's favor when Hugo called a brief pause to reset.

"Not bad," Lorn said, slapping Adom on the back.

"For a first-year." Adom nodded, breathing hard. Despite his enhanced stamina, the pace was grueling. Every muscle burned with exertion.

"They're targeting you now," Lorn continued.

"Serena doesn't like being shown up."

"Noticed."

"Second half will be worse. Just so you know." Hugo blew the whistle, and they resumed. Red team came out aggressive. Talef and Mira executed a complex passing sequence that left blue's defense scrambling. Adom read the pattern too late—Talef had already launched a shot at the highest hoop. Three points. 11-7. Blue team's Keeper retrieved the ball, looking for an outlet pass. Adom created separation from his defender and received the ball near midfield. Immediately, both red Blockers converged on him.

No time to pass. Adom tucked the ball and spun, using the momentum to slip between them. He broke into open field, racing toward red's hoops. Serena materialized in his path, stance wide, eyes predatory.

"End of the line, princeling," she said. This was it—a formal duel challenge. Adom couldn't avoid it without surrendering possession. He slowed, settling into his own stance. The rest of the pitch seemed to fade away, players stopping to watch the confrontation. In Krozball, duels were decisive moments—pure physical combat with the ball as prize. Serena attacked first, a fluid combination of strikes aimed at his midsection. Adom deflected each one, the gauntlets' reaction runes humming against his skin.

He countered with a sweeping kick that she easily avoided, followed by an elbow strike that grazed her shoulder. She was good—extremely good. Serena smiled, a predator's expression.

"That all you got?" She launched into another sequence, this one faster and more complex. A strike slipped through Adom's defense, catching him in the ribs. Another tagged his shoulder. [+1 White Wyrm's body] Pain flared and faded. He couldn't match her technique—she had years of experience on him. But he had something else. The next time she attacked, Adom didn't try to block. Instead, he let [Flow Prediction] guide him, shifting just enough to avoid the worst of each strike while absorbing glancing blows.

Confusion flickered across Serena's face. His movement pattern made no sense to her.

"Stand and fight properly," she growled, frustration creeping into her voice. Adom didn't respond. He maintained his distance, letting her exhaust herself with increasingly wild combinations. Then, when [Flow Prediction] showed the perfect opening, he struck. One precise hit to her leading wrist, disrupting her rhythm. A quick step inside her guard. A shoulder check that sent her stumbling back. Serena recovered quickly, but the moment was all Adom needed. He spun away from her, the ball still secure.

"That's not—" she began, but Adom was already moving. The highest hoop loomed ahead—the three-point target. Narrow and distant, it was considered nearly impossible from this angle. Adom didn't hesitate. He channeled Fluid into his arms—not for a barrier or shield, but to enhance his natural motion. The ball left his hands in a smooth arc, spinning perfectly. The pitch went silent as the ball sailed toward the hoop. Time seemed to slow. The ball hit the rim, circled once, twice, and then dropped through.

Three points. 10-11. For a moment, no one moved. Then Lorn let out a whoop, rushing to slap Adom on the back.

"Holy shit! Did you see that?" Hugo's whistle cut through the celebration.

"Reset positions! Game's not over!" But something had changed. The blue team moved with new energy, and Adom found himself at the center of their strategy. Passes came his way more frequently, teammates created space for him to operate. The next ten minutes were even more intense than the first half. Adom intercepted five more passes, assisted on two scores, and scored once more himself. His body was one massive ache, but he pushed through it.

[+3 White Wyrm's body] [+2 Healing Factor] When Hugo's final whistle blew, the score stood at 19-18 in blue team's favor. Victory. Barely.

"Water break!" Hugo called, and everyone trudged toward the sidelines. Adom collapsed onto a bench, muscles trembling with fatigue. Someone handed him a water skin, which he drained in seconds.

"So," Hugo said, appearing beside him.

"Still think Krozball is 'an exercise in pain for minimal gain'?" Adom managed a tired smile.

"The pain part was accurate." Hugo laughed.

"That's just a taste. Real matches are twice as long and three times as brutal." He paused, studying Adom.

"But you've got potential. Raw, unrefined, but real."

"Thanks," Adom said, removing the helmet. Sweat poured down his face.

"That three-pointer was impressive," Hugo continued.

"Even more impressive was winning that duel against Serena. She's been undefeated in practice matches for two years." Across the pitch, Serena was watching them, her expression unreadable.

"Think I made an enemy?" Adom asked.

"Probably. She'll either hate you forever or demand to train with you exclusively." Hugo shrugged.

"Either way, you made an impression." Adom wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

"Sooo, am I in? Did I make the team?" Hugo stared at him, baffled.

"After what you just did?" He shook his head, then broke into a grin.

"Coach Viriam is going to make you his new favorite project." He extended his hand.

"Welcome to the team, Spear."