My Borderline Supervillain-Slash-Hero System-Chapter 161 Arriving In Time

The names of the ten chosen participants blazed in brilliant letters across the sky-high screens, reflected in the cheering faces of thousands below.

Moments later, the names spread across the five stages, each glowing title met with a fresh wave of applause and speculation.

Excitement swept through the crowd like wildfire.

Vendors shouted, people placed bets, and the air buzzed with raw anticipation.

Yet, among the sea of eager faces, three figures wore frowns—Han, Dan, and Asphalt. They stood with their gazes fixed on the holographic display above Stage Three.

"If he doesn't show up in five minutes, he'll be disqualified," Dan said anxiously, her hands clenched.

"He'll make it," a calm voice reassured.

Henry appeared beside them, his expression steady.

Asphalt crossed his arms. "He's really unlucky—to end up in the second round already."

Yes. Zane's name glowed under Stage Three.

Fortunately, Teacher Ronaldo had been assigned as the referee for that match.

Above the vast stadium, colossal holographic screens flickered to life, streaming advertisements, sponsorships, and messages from powerful organizations eager to bask in the spotlight of the academy's annual tournament.

Then, the announcer's booming voice echoed through the arena:

"Heagle Ironsong, Rank 483, versus Jo Jo Hollowmere, Rank 491—please step forward to Stage One within three minutes!"

Two students in academy uniforms confidently strode toward Stage One.

"Bumble Tantri, Rank 258, versus John Yelby, Rank 246—Stage Two."

"Caelus Veyloris, Rank 3, versus Zane Carter, Rank 15—Stage Three."

"Rajesh Stormwrath, Rank 197, versus Strella Brightweather, Rank 183—Stage Four."

"And finally, Zeal Winchester, Rank 25, versus Mercia Gorgon, Rank 26—Stage Five."

"Everyone whose names have been announced," the announcer continued, "please step onto your respective stages within five minutes."

One by one, the chosen participants entered their arenas—

except for Stage Three, which stood eerily incomplete.

Camera drones buzzed overhead, capturing every detail and projecting the contestants' faces onto the colossal screens above. The crowd roared with excitement, though an undercurrent of curiosity rippled through them.

Referees took their positions on each stage, while the main broadcast switched to highlight reels—flashing clips of previous duels, interviews, and breathtaking battles from Mars.

This wasn't just a tournament.

It was a global spectacle—a celebration of strength, skill, and prestige that defined the academy's legacy.

And yet… the second round could not begin.

All eyes turned toward Stage Three, where only one contestant—Caelus Veyloris—waited, standing tall beneath the spotlight.

"Where's the other one?" a teacher muttered.

"He wouldn't dare be late, would he?" another replied.

A murmur spread across the audience, growing louder by the second.

On the platform, Ronaldo folded his arms with a faint smile.

"There are still four minutes left," he said coolly. "Rules are rules."

The arena dimmed slightly as rhythmic music began to play, the massive screens now showing legendary battles from previous years—epic clashes of mana and might that had gone down in history.

The countdown continued.

Tension crackled in the air, palpable and electric.

Every eye—teacher, student, and spectator alike—remained fixed on Stage Three. 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚

They could feel it.

Something big was about to happen.

Time drifted as the crowd placed bets and argued over favorites. With two minutes left, the announcer called, "You may begin the matches. Please start."

Referees at the other stages nodded to one another and began the duels according to protocol—everything moved on schedule. Only Stage Three remained motionless; one contender had not yet appeared.

"Teacher Ronaldo," the announcer said, voice steady over the roar, "since the candidate has not arrived in time, please decide the result by default."

"No," Ronaldo replied, calm but firm. "There's still thirty seconds."

He checked his watch and fought the urge to scowl. Kiddo, one more minute, that's all I'll give you.

Though the other four fights kicked off, most eyes stayed glued to Stage Three—it belonged to Group One, and the tension was palpable. Ronaldo sighed and addressed the crowd. "Since Zane Carter (Rank 15) is not present in time, the match is considered—"

A thunderous voice cut him off from the far end of the stands. "Wait! Participant Zane Carter is here!"

The stadium exploded into applause. Heads turned as two figures moved into view. Shelby strode in beside a handsome youth and slapped the other's back. "Alright, go on. Break a leg."

Zane nodded, expression unreadable, and climbed onto Stage Three. Ronaldo's lips curved into a small smile. "Good to see you again, kiddo."

Zane inclined his head and turned to his opponent—Caelus Veyloris, Rank 3. Caelus moved with the poise of nobility: silk shirt, tailored pants, a faint, disdainful smile that screamed privilege.

"I know all about you," Caelus sneered. "On Mars you extorted money from me and others. You'll pay for that. I don't go easy on nobility who get robbed."

He settled into a stance, blade flashing. Ronaldo stepped forward. "Bow."

"I will not bow to this low-life," Caelus spat.

Ronaldo shrugged. "Then he will not bow either. Begin." He stepped back to his platform.

Caelus unsheathed his sword and swept it through the air, stretching as if flexing a muscle. "Aren't you drawing your sword?" he mocked.

Zane said nothing. He remained still—an island of calm under the stadium lights. The silence stung Caelus' pride.

With a roar, Caelus lunged and unleashed a blindingly fast sequence of slashes. The first technique—smooth, precise, and breathtaking—seemed certain to cut Zane in two. The audience inhaled as one.

But when the air cleared, Zane was standing in a different spot, perfectly unharmed. Gasps and whispers rippled through the crowd. Caelus' brow tightened; he had expected a cut, not an empty space.

"Python Stance—Strike!" Caelus hissed, and his body rocketed forward with renewed fury. He struck faster, harder—blade after blade—unleashing a continuous storm for two full minutes. Sweat beaded on his forehead; his arms trembled, but he did not pause.

Zane did not move a muscle that would betray effort. He dodged—again and again—appearing in new positions as each attack completed, as if the air itself were rearranging him.

When Caelus finally halted, gasping and dripping with sweat, Zane remained composed and dry. He looked at the other boy with the faintest of smiles. "Is that your best?" he asked, voice low.

Caelus' face flushed with anger. He sheathed his sword with a sharp, frustrated motion. "If that wasn't my best, then try your best," he snapped. "Otherwise I'll finish this quickly."

The crowd buzzed, electrified. The match had shifted—what had begun as an expected clash of rank and pride had become a study in speed, composure, and something far more curious: whatever Zane was using, it was not ordinary evasive technique.

Ronaldo watched from his platform, expression neutral but attentive. The seconds stretched. Everyone leaned forward. The next move would tell them everything.