Finally, they reached their section. The seats were staggered in tiers, offering a decent view of the battlefield not close enough to catch any direct Pulse shockwaves, but near enough to feel the tension.
To their left sat a group of sharply dressed older men. Veterans, maybe. They weren't talking. Just sitting still, eyes fixed on the arena as if waiting for a familiar scent to rise from the dust.
One of the older men glanced over and gave Gin a faint smile. It was the kind of nod you gave a stranger you'd be fine sitting next to casual, inviting, without a word.
"Why are you waving?" grumbled the man in the green shirt beside him. "Now they're gonna come over and get all chatty."
His friend in red chuckled, the grin never leaving his face.
"They remind me of my grandkids."
Gin smiled to himself. He wanted to sit near them. The man in green reminded him of his master back in his world gruff, serious, impossible to impress. The one in red? Just like his master's younger brother. Loud, cheerful, always cracking jokes, but both of them sharp as hell when it came to the game. Always arguing, always watching.
They might've been old, but Gin could tell these two didn't miss a thing.
Unfortunately, neither Tabaki nor Iwaizumi had much of a choice now the old men had already made room. The friendly one gave the bench a firm pat.
"Come on then, sit. First time at the Dome?"
Gin sat without hesitation. Iwaizumi followed, quiet as always, while Tabaki dragged his feet and muttered under his breath.
"Great. Just what we need old geezers shushing us every time something cool happens."
The friendly man laughed, deep and easy.
"We're not that crusty. Yet." He shot Tabaki a wink. "Name's Jiro."
The Grumpy old man rolled his eyes. "Now you're giving them your name? Tch. Should've stayed home today."
Jiro only grinned wider and jabbed a thumb at the grumpy old man a few seats down. The man sat stiffly, arms folded, eyes glued to the arena below like a soldier on watch.
"That's Kenta. Don't mind him," Jiro said with a grin. "He doesn't like kids except his nephew's son. Hates loud noises, ironically. And don't even get him started on the new rulebook. But he's sharp. Real sharp. Knows more about Pulse fights than half the trainers out there. Oh, and he's also a Guild—"
"That's enough, Jiro," Kenta cut in, voice dry. "You know I don't like people knowing too much about me. Blabbermouth, as always."
Jiro scratched the back of his head, chuckling. "Heh, sorry, Kenta. Anyway… welcome!"
Gin already liked Jiro. They hit it off right away laughing, joking, with Jiro happily giving him a tour of the Dome's high-tech systems. He explained how the hexadome ceiling projected slow-motion replays, how the high-def zoom could track even the dilation of a fighter's pupils in real time.
"This screen here?" Jiro pointed to the far-right section labeled A1. "Triple-split AI analysis. It shows the replay, estimates stamina drain in real time as a percentage, and tracks Pulse flare readings all at once."
"Estimated stamina drain? How do they even measure that?" Iwaizumi asked, visibly intrigued.
"Well," Jiro started, "fighters go through medical evaluations before matches. They record things like heart rate, oxygen levels, and endurance thresholds. With enough data, the system can calculate an estimated stamina level. Kinda like walking on a treadmill if you keep increasing the speed, eventually you find someone's max and average output. That gives a baseline."
He pointed to the screen again. "That's the old-school method, anyway. Nowadays, they use more advanced sensors and tech. Some of its even embedded in the fighter's gear in some cases."
"Whoa…" Gin blinked, soaking it all in like a sponge.
Jiro pointed to another screen labeled B1, where complex patterns pulsed in rhythm with the fighters' movements.
"That's the Captcha display," he explained. "Each fighter has a unique Pulse signature like a fingerprint, but for their pulse type."
He leaned in again, gesturing to a rotating set of panels displaying multiple camera angles. "And here's the crowd favorite the view system. Best angles, close-ups, aerial shots, thermal overlays. No blind spots, ever."
Then he raised three fingers, smirking. "Now, the rules. Only three, but they're strict. One: no killing. Two: no use of performance drugs you're out. Three: no fixed fights. Ever."
"What happens if someone breaks a rule?" Iwaizumi asked.
Jiro's grin turned razor-sharp for a second. "They disappear. Not just from the league from everything."
A beat passed before he laughed and waved it off. "Kidding. Mostly. But seriously, especially with fixed fights? You're looking at jail time. The Federation doesn't mess around. And since betting is legal, it messes with a lot of money."
Gin sat in awe, a quiet realization settling in. Sitting with these men Kenta and Jiro alongside Tabaki, and Iwaizumi felt like the step he needed to get back on track. But even as they talked, his mind wandered. Could they help him answer the real question? The one about Pulse… and the loopholes no one ever really thought to explain?
Above them, a large screen rotated images of past fighters, each face lingering for five seconds before fading into the next. Tabaki sat with his arms crossed, squinting at the display until something else caught his attention.
A voice soft, light, and clear drifted in from behind.
"Excuse me… is this seat taken?"
He turned. The girl who spoke stood out instantly, draped in an elegant cloak that shimmered subtly under the arena lights. Her presence exuded quiet luxury. Two men flanked her, also in cloaks, but their stance was unmistakable guards.
Tabaki blinked, caught off guard. "Uhh no! It's free," he stammered, sitting up straighter.
As she moved to sit between the two guards, the taller of the men broad-shouldered, stoic sat to her right, effectively blocking her from full view. But in that brief moment before he did, Tabaki caught a glimpse.
Her black hair fell smoothly across her forehead, just enough to frame the top of her emerald eyes. Her features were delicate, composed almost regal. He didn't realize he'd been staring until the guard moved.
Still blushing, Tabaki jabbed Iwaizumi in the ribs, whispering quickly, "Dude… there's a gorgeous girl sitting beside those guys. Total knockout."
Iwaizumi, skeptical, leaned sideways to try and see but the large cloaked man glared back at him with eyes like stone.
"What are you looking for, boy?" the man said, voice low and firm.
Iwaizumi quickly straightened, coughing. "Uh nothing. Just… stretching my neck."
Gin turned slightly, finally taking note of the newcomers seated beside Iwaizumi and Tabaki. He was amused not just by their cloaked presence, but by the subtle shift in atmosphere they brought. Something was different now. The crowd around them roared to life, cheers swelling as the lights dimmed and the spotlight hit the center of the arena. The show was about to begin.
Amid the growing noise, Gin leaned slightly toward Jiro. "By the way, Mr. Jiro," he asked casually, watching the audience rise to their feet in anticipation, "how exactly does someone win one of these fights?"
Jiro grinned, eyes still on the Hexadome. "Simple," he said. "You either knock your opponent out… or send them flying out of the dome."