Now, with that kind of impact and weighted scrutiny, how could millions of people possibly lose sight of one Luca Kyros in the span of a blink?

Unthinkable, right?

But apparently, entirely possible, as that was exactly what happened when the golden-eyed cadet stepped onto the field.

He vanished.

The air in the stadium seemed to skip a beat, the collective breath of the audience hitching as their eyes frantically scanned the arena for a trace of white clothes, golden eyes, or black hair.

There was a heartbeat of absolute, agonizing suspense—a vacuum where the roar of the crowd usually lived—and then, inexplicably, he reappeared.

So close that it definitely felt wrong.

He didn’t just arrive; he manifested like a glitch in reality, his body bent low, ducking right into the personal space of the Federation cadet. He was at neck level, poised in a predatory crouch that screamed of an impending strike. His face was dangerously close to Capturer B’s, but instead of a soldier’s grimace, Luca wore a big, giddy smile that reached his sparkling eyes.

In that localized moment of slow motion, the world narrowed down to that proximity.

Capturer B’s eyes widened to the point of tearing, his pupils shrinking as the sheer, overwhelming aura of the Kyros heir slammed into him. It was a vicious dawn of dread.

There was no time to move, no time to parry, and certainly no time to escape the gravitational pull of the disaster standing inches from his nose.

He was going to die!

The thought shrieked through Capturer B’s mind.

He couldn’t physically brace—his muscles, surprisingly, even his implants were locked in a state of sensory overload—so he attempted to psychologically brace for the impact of a fist he was certain would end his career, and possibly his life.

In the stands, the crowd surged to their feet. The shock was so sudden and the movement so bold that hundreds of people stood frozen, hands hovering near their faces, unable to even cover their mouths in their sheer surprise.

Capturer B let out a pre-emptive, high-pitched screech of pure terror.

"AAAAAAAA—!"

Only to choke halfway through.

Because the suffocating killing intent that came with the blow he was expecting suddenly evaporated into thin air.

But make no mistake, it connected.

Luca’s fist completed its motion.

A tap.

The gentlest of gentle taps.

Yes.

Luca didn’t shatter his ribs; he simply tapped the cadet lightly on the chest. It was a touch so soft it wouldn’t have bruised a peach, but the arena’s sensors didn’t care about intent.

BEEP!

A bright, holographic red X flared to life over Capturer B’s head, marking a legal hit.

The sound of the buzzer, usually a background drone in the chaos of the match, felt deafening.

It was as if every other noise in the universe had been sucked away, leaving only the fading echo of the cadet’s scream and the frantic thumping of his heart as he clutched his chest, looking, for all the world, like he was having a cardiac arrest.

The stadium remained in a trance-like standstill.

"..."

"..."

Even the fighting on the other side of the field had drifted to a halt. It felt like an eternity had passed before the clock of reality finally started ticking again, prompted by a loud, dramatic sigh that carried over every speaker in the building.

"Oh no!"

Luca’s expression was one of genuine mortification and worry.

He stood there, hands on his waist, looking at the quivering cadet. "Even the lightest taps count as a legal hit?! Then how am I supposed to experiment?"

Since his first and only encounter with the sensor had ended with it breaking outright, Luca had no choice but to make a detour for what was clearly an important test.

And now that they were experiencing it firsthand, it made sense—his husband and the others were probably having just as much trouble holding back when the sensor was this sensitive.

Phew!

"Host! What about hitting the extremities?" D-29’s voice prompted helpfully.

The worried cloud on the mad—err, curious scientist’s face vanished instantly, replaced by a lightning-fast straightening of his posture. His eyes practically glowed with renewed excitement.

"Oh!"

Without a second thought, Luca reached out to tap Capturer B’s arm. To everyone watching, it looked like a strike that would send the cadet flying across the stadium—the speed and the weight behind the movement were terrifying. But at the last micro-second, the momentum died.

Tap.

No buzzer. No large red X.

Luca’s expression morphed from concern to utter elation.

He threw his head back and actually screamed, "Yes! That actually worked!"

"!!!"

The collective gasp from the audience was so loud and heavy that some people’s knees actually weakened.

They absorbed the weight of that statement with a growing sense of horror underscored by a surprising sense of excitement that made them rethink their morals.

Experiment?

He was experimenting?

He wasn’t trying to win; he was trying to find a way to stay in the game without accidentally finishing it too early.

Though, if they had really asked him, then they would have learned that he was doing it not because he was trying to prolong the match but more so that he could have more chances to check each specimen

Then, just like that, the spell that had choked the stadium shattered.

Screams of frantic excitement filled the air, a roar of noise that drowned out everything else.

Meanwhile, Capturer B—the man who’d basically scared himself to hell and back by preparing for death twice in sixty seconds—simply let his eyes roll into the back of his head and fell backward, fainting before he even hit the dirt.

Luca didn’t even notice how the bleachers practically came alive around him. He was too busy bowing politely to the passed-out Capturer B, thanking the unconscious man for his time while carrying on a perfectly casual conversation with D-29.

"Host! If the third strike would send the specimen to jail, then we should try to make the most of the first two hits," the system chimed in.

"Yes, unfortunately, that is the case!" Luca sighed, sounding genuinely regretful. "I was hoping a lighter tap wouldn’t be counted when close to the sensor. But apparently, a direct tap on the chest would count!"

"Thankfully, hitting the limbs lightly is considered fine! It’s really good that we tested it first!"

"Yes, Host! Fortunately, there are seven Decorative Personnel. If we budget them properly, then we should be able to test several things!"

At that moment, as if coming to an acceptable conclusion, Luca Kyros shifted his gaze. His head moved with a slow, deliberate precision toward the direction of Decorative Personnel D.

The supposedly cloaked agent froze. For a fleeting, delusional second, he’d actually thought he’d escaped the grasp of DG’s leader while the boy was distracted by the fainted cadet. He’d remained perfectly still, his systems screaming that he was invisible to the naked eye.

But how could that be?

Luca had specifically made preparations for him.

And as that gaze locked onto the exact coordinates of his "hidden" position, Decorative Personnel D realized with a jolt of pure terror that the budgeting of his life had just begun.

He just didn’t expect the countdown to start with "Hello! This is Luca Kyros—"

"!!!"