I Was Born With A Bloodline That Ended The World-Chapter 109: Number 3

"NUMBER 3"

"Nia Centris."

On a large stage, Nia climbed up, her expression hard as she walked to stand beside the others. The crowd was loud, but she didn’t look at them.

She faced the instructors lined up there, bowing her head slightly as she moved down the row.

Each instructor offered a quick handshake, some giving short words of praise, others just a nod.

At the end of the line, Mr. Callor stood with a small wooden box in his hands. He gave it to her with a brief nod, and she took it carefully, feeling the weight of it in her fingers.

Only the winners knew what was inside, but she didn’t open it yet. She just held it close, her eyes steady as she turned back toward the crowd.

The cheers rose again, louder now, but she didn’t smile. She just nodded once, acknowledging them without letting any of it touch her.

This was her moment, but she felt like she was already moving past it. There was always more to do, more to fight for, and she wouldn’t let herself be distracted by a single moment of applause.

Number three. It was something most would be proud of. But Nia didn’t look proud. She looked tired and distant, her eyes not meeting anyone’s.

She took her place on stage, waiting for the rest of the top 3 to be called, her lips pressed into a flat line. She didn’t say anything.

The crowd shifted, a few murmurs in the air, but no one else spoke either. The announcer waited a moment, then cleared his throat.

"Number two: Rhian Locke."

For a heartbeat, there was a pause. Then a smattering of applause broke out, half-hearted and hesitant. Some clapped because they felt they should, others because they realized the rest of the crowd wasn’t going to.

Rhian walked forward without any show of emotion. His shoulders were straight, his head held high. The tension in the crowd didn’t touch him.

He shook each instructor’s hand, quick and polite. When he reached Mr. Callor, the older man looked at him for a moment, then handed over a wooden box.

This one was larger, the carvings deeper and more detailed. It was a small but deliberate difference.

Rhian took it with both hands and moved to stand next to Nia. He didn’t smile. He didn’t even glance at the box.

His eyes swept over the crowd, taking in the forced stillness, the stubborn silence.

The weight of it didn’t bother him. He had felt it since he first set foot in this academy. It was nothing new.

He glanced sideways, saw the set of Nia’s shoulders. She was very tense and seemed to not want to be here at all.

He stood beside her, the box in his hands. The crowd said nothing more. But he felt the promise in the quiet.

This wasn’t the end. Not for him, not for her. The final number hadn’t been called yet. But for Rhian, the real fight was still ahead.

It wouldn’t be over until he had that Harman boy under his boot.

Rhian took a slow breath, pushing the thought down. Thinking about it didn’t make him happy. It just made him angry.

The announcer’s voice rang out again, sharp and clear.

"NUMBER ONE, AND THE WINNER OF THE TOURNAMENT, JUSTIN HARMAN!"

The crowd erupted. Clapping, whistles, loud shouts of praise that echoed off the stone walls of the coliseum. It was a sea of noise that washed over everything else.

People stood and cheered, some of them calling out his name like it was a prayer.

"That’s a real man right there!"

"He’s a god!"

"Look at him, doesn’t even look tired!"

Justin stepped onto the stage, calm and confident, like he’d already known this was coming. His eyes were steady, but there was a small smile on his face as he accepted the cheers.

He shook the instructors’ hands one by one, polite and smooth. When he reached Mr. Callor, he took the final box, this one large and inlaid with silver, gleaming in the torchlight.

He turned as he moved back to stand in the middle of the stage. His head turned just a fraction, his eyes finding Nia first, just a moment’s glance, not long, not lingering. Then he looked at Rhian.

It wasn’t a long stare, but it was there. A small quirk at the corner of his mouth, a hint of amusement like he was daring Rhian to say something.

Rhian didn’t move, his face cold as he watched him.

From the crowd, more voices rang out, a mix of excitement and blind adoration.

"He’s so perfect, it’s unreal."

"Look at those eyes, he’s so calm!"

"Justin, we love you!"

A few others made jokes that drew quick laughter.

"I’d let him ruin my life, and I’d thank him for it!"

"Marry me, Justin!"

Justin didn’t seem to hear them, or if he did, he didn’t react. He just stood there, tall and still, the box in his hands like a trophy.

Rhian watched him, the cheers ringing in his ears. He didn’t care about the voices or the shine of the silver box. All he saw was the same calm look on Justin’s face.

It wouldn’t be over until he wiped that calm away for good.

Mr. Callor stepped forward and cleared his throat.

"That’s it," he said.

Surprisingly, that seemed to catch most of the students off guard, at least, those not in the top three. Whispers rose in small waves, heads turning as they looked around in confusion.

Mr. Callor’s gaze swept the crowd. "What? We told you only three would be rewarded. There are no participation trophies in this world," he said, his voice calm but firm.

He paused, letting the quiet settle over the group before he continued. "These three up here Nia, Rhian, and Justin, they’ve proven themselves. They’re the academy’s best, and they have incredible potential. You can be like them, but only if you put in the work."

He looked over the students, his eyes sharp. "You can’t spend your days gossiping and wasting time on things that won’t help you. This environment, this academy, it’s built to make you stronger. You have all the training resources you need, the simulations are open and as close to real battle as you’ll find without a monster breathing down your neck."

A few heads dropped. Others shifted uncomfortably. But no one spoke.

Mr. Callor gave a final nod. "Don’t waste it," he said simply. Then he stepped back, leaving the three champions on the stage with the weight of the moment hanging heavy around them.