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The city of Taitle pulsed with an uneasy energy. The air was thick with tension, a weight that pressed down on the streets as competitors for the tournament roamed, their presence impossible to ignore. Fights broke out in sudden flashes—shouts, the clash of steel, the crackle of abilities colliding. Some battled openly in the city squares, while others skulked through the ruins of old buildings, waiting for the right moment to strike. Danger lurked in every corner, and the wise kept their distance.

Mizuno was among them, though unlike most, he had no interest in throwing himself into the fray. The medium-height amphibian boy moved like a shadow through the labyrinth of crumbling alleyways, weaving between rusted fire escapes and shattered windows. His bare feet barely made a sound against the damp pavement, his every step careful, calculated. The less attention he drew, the better.

He had seen what happened to those who were careless—warriors too eager to prove themselves, torn down in the first round, their bodies left sprawled in the streets as a warning. He had no intention of being one of them. Mizuno preferred the quiet, the places where the city had been abandoned and forgotten. There, he could breathe, undisturbed. There, he could think.

Pausing beneath a broken archway, he exhaled slowly, his breath curling in the cool evening air. His pale blue hair, damp from the humidity, clung to his face, and he brushed it aside with a flick of his fingers. The distant hum of battle still rang through the streets, but he had managed to stay unnoticed so far. That was how he liked it.

The others could chase glory, fight for whatever prize this tournament promised. Mizuno had different priorities. He wasn’t here for the spectacle, nor for the violence. He had his own reasons for being in Taitle—reasons he kept close to his chest.

For now, he remained in the city’s forgotten places, a ghost among the ruins, waiting for the moment when he would finally have to step into the light.