"CHAMPIONS!"

Hugo's voice cracked on the word as he hoisted the Inter-Academy Championship cup above his head, the crystalline trophy catching the arena lights and throwing rainbows across thousands of screaming faces.

Confetti cannons exploded from every corner of the stadium. Gold and blue streamers rained down like metallic snow while the Xerkes fight song blared from the amplification crystals so loudly that several windows in the upper decks actually shattered.

Coach Viriam was sobbing. Not crying—full-on, shoulder-shaking, snot-running sobbing as he grabbed random players and hugged them like they'd just returned from war.

"Thirteen years," he kept saying to anyone who would listen. "Thirteen years we've been shut out of this tournament, and now look! LOOK!"

The scoreboard still glowed with the final numbers: Xerkes Academy 48, Aelwin Academy 45. Three points. After ninety minutes of the most brutal, exhausting, beautiful Krozball any of them had ever played, it had come down to three points.

"GET DOWN HERE!" Serena screamed at the crowd, waving her arms like she was conducting an orchestra of chaos. "GET DOWN HERE AND CELEBRATE!"

She didn't need to ask twice.

The barriers that were supposed to keep fans in the stands lasted approximately four seconds before being overwhelmed by a tide of delirious Xerkes supporters. Students, faculty, random citizens of Northhaven who had decided they were Wildcats fans as of five minutes ago—they all poured onto the field in a wave of jubilation that made the earlier celebrations look restrained.

"GHOST! GHOST! GHOST!"

The chant had started the moment the final whistle blew and showed no signs of stopping. If anything, it was getting louder as more people joined in. Someone in the crowd had even composed a song about Adom on the spot, and it was spreading through the celebration like wildfire:

"He came from nowhere, moves like smoke,

The Ghost of Xerkes, their master stroke!"

Adom was trying very hard to disappear into the crowd, but it wasn't working. Every time he moved, another group of fans spotted him and erupted into fresh cheers. Sam had found him somehow and was jumping up and down while still managing to keep one arm around Adom's shoulders.

"You did it!" Sam kept repeating. "Ten duels! Ten!"

That was the number everyone kept mentioning. Ten duels in forty-five minutes of game time—an absolutely insane pace that had Aelwin's coaching staff frantically rotating their players to avoid having to face the Ghost directly.

The match had been everything the championship final should be. Aelwin Academy had come in as overwhelming favorites, riding a tournament winning streak that stretched back four years. Their team was older, more experienced, and had the kind of funding that let them practice year-round instead of just during the season.

They'd also been very, very good.

"I've never seen passing like that," Mira said, appearing at Adom's elbow with her hair still dripping sweat. "Did you see how their Spear threaded that ball between Jace and Mira in the second half? I didn't even know that angle existed."

The first twenty minutes had been brutal. Aelwin's approach was surgical—they dissected defenses with precision that made Lireth Academy look sloppy by comparison. Their Spear, a fourth-year named Caelum Ward, could place the ball anywhere on the field with accuracy that bordered on supernatural.

Xerkes had been down 15-8 before they'd figured out how to respond.

That's when Adom had started accepting every duel offered.

"The look on their faces," Hugo laughed, somehow making himself heard over the crowd while balancing the championship cup on his head. "When you beat their captain in eighteen seconds. Eighteen seconds!"

The turning point had come in the thirty-second minute. Aelwin's captain—a mountain of a man named Thorick Ironwood who looked like he could bench press a building—had challenged Adom to settle a disputed possession.

Standard duel. First to force their opponent out of the circle or render them unable to continue.

It should have been no contest. Ironwood outweighed Adom by fifty pounds, had six years of competitive experience, and moved with the kind of confidence that came from never having lost a strength-based duel.

[Flow Prediction] had shown Adom exactly how the older player was planning to end the fight quickly. A feint to draw Adom forward, then a grapple that would use superior weight and leverage to simply carry him out of the circle.

It was a good plan.

It would have worked perfectly against most opponents.

Most opponents.

When Ironwood committed to the grapple, Adom had simply stepped aside and used the captain's own momentum to send him stumbling toward the edge of the circle. A gentle push at exactly the right moment, and suddenly the unstoppable force was outside the line looking confused about what had just happened.

Eighteen seconds from start to finish.

"That's when they started avoiding you," Talef said, grinning as he was lifted onto someone's shoulders. "I counted. After that duel, they went fourteen possessions without challenging you once."

The strategy shift had been obvious from the stands. Aelwin had stopped trying to overpower Xerkes and started trying to outmaneuver them instead. Longer possessions, more patient buildups, careful positioning to minimize the Ghost's impact.

It almost worked.

The score had crept up point by point: 23-20, 28-25, 33-30. Aelwin maintaining their lead through sheer technical excellence while Xerkes fought to keep pace through determination and increasingly desperate creativity.

"Remember when you fed me that pass through three defenders?" Lorn called out, somehow making himself heard despite being buried under a pile of celebrating fans. "I still don't understand how you saw that gap!"

The [Flow Prediction] ability had been working overtime. Every possession, Adom could see where his teammates should be, where the defense was weak, where opportunities would develop in the next few seconds. It was exhausting in a way that pure physical exertion never was—like solving a complex puzzle while sprinting.

That's why Spears rotated. The position demanded complete field awareness, constant movement, and split-second decision making. Most players could manage twenty minutes before their performance started to decline.

Adom had played forty-five minutes and accepted ten duels.

By the fourth quarter, Aelwin's players were looking at him like he might be some kind of supernatural entity.

"The last duel was the best one," Jace said, appearing with what looked like half the Xerkes student section hanging off his arms. "When their Runner tried to go around you and you just... appeared where he was going to be."

That had been in the eighty-ninth minute, with Xerkes down 42-45 and desperately needing a score. Aelwin's Runner, a quick little guy named Davies, had beaten everyone else all game with pure speed and clever route running.

But speed didn't matter if your opponent knew exactly where you were going.

Adom had intercepted Davies's run at precisely the right moment, stolen the ball, and fed it to Serena for the equalizing score. Three minutes later, Talef had put them ahead for good with a shot that somehow curved around two defenders and the keeper's desperately reaching hands.

48-45.

First team to fifty won automatically, but time had expired with Xerkes three points away from the magic number and Aelwin five points away from equalizing.

Champions.

"SPEECH!" someone in the crowd bellowed. "THE GHOST NEEDS TO GIVE A SPEECH!"

"No speeches!" Adom called back, which only made the crowd cheer louder.

"Come on," Serena said, grabbing his arm. "Just say something. They're not going to stop until you do."

The crowd was still chanting his nickname. Someone had apparently acquired a crystal and was leading them in increasingly elaborate versions of the Ghost song. A group of students had started a dance that seemed to involve a lot of jumping and what might have been interpretive mime.

Adom looked around at his teammates. Hugo was still crying happy tears while trying to figure out how to drink champagne from the championship cup. Mira was signing autographs for a group of kids who looked at her like she'd personally invented Krozball. Damus was explaining passing angles to anyone who would listen.

"Fine," Adom said, accepting the crystal that someone thrust into his hands.

The crowd quieted instantly, thirty thousand people hanging on his next words.

"Um," he said, and his voice echoed across the arena. "We won?"

The roar that went up could probably be heard in the next city over.

"GHOST! GHOST! GHOST!"

The chant started up again, louder than before. More people were pouring onto the field—officials had given up trying to maintain order and were just making sure nobody got trampled.

Coach Viriam appeared at Adom's shoulder, still crying but now also grinning like a madman.

"Give me that," he said, snatching the crystal. He stared at it for a moment like he'd never seen one before.

"Um," his voice cracked over the crystal. "This is my first year coaching. First year ever, actually. I used to manage equipment storage."

The crowd quieted, everyone suddenly very interested in this awkward confession.

"My mother always said I'd never amount to anything," Viriam continued, apparently forgetting he was broadcasting to the entire arena. "Said I was too nervous, too... well, she had a lot of opinions."

There was an uncomfortable pause.

"Coach," Serena said, loud enough for the crystal to pick up, "with all due respect, I don't think your mother was a very good person."

Viriam blinked, then nodded slowly. "You know what? You're absolutely right. I loved her very much, but yeah, she was pretty terrible."

The crowd made a collective sound somewhere between sympathy and amusement.

"YOUR MOTHER WAS WRONG!" someone shouted from the stands.

"YEAH! SCREW YOUR MOM!" another voice added.

"Yeah! Screw my m- Hey!," Viriam said into the crystal, suddenly defensive. "Don't insult my mother!"

The crowd went silent for a beat.

Then someone yelled: "GHOST! GHOST! GHOST!"

And just like that, thousands of people were back to chanting like nothing had happened.

"Anyway," Viriam said, holding up the championship cup like he was surprised to find it in his hands, "we won. Somehow. I still don't really understand how that happened."

"You know what the best part is?" Hugo said, appearing at Adom's side.

"What?"

"We get to do it all again next year."

Adom grinned. "Assuming we survive the celebration."

"GHOST! GHOST! GHOST!"

Okay. It was becoming a little too much now.

The chant showed no signs of stopping. If anything, it was getting more creative. Someone had added harmony. A percussion section had developed using whatever was available as drums.

"We should probably get out of here," Sam said, still bouncing with excitement. "Before they decide to carry you around the stadium."

"Too late," Serena called out cheerfully.

Sure enough, a group of particularly enthusiastic fans was approaching with obvious intent to lift the Ghost onto their shoulders for a victory lap.

"No," Adom said firmly. "Absolutely not."

"GHOST! GHOST! GHOST!"

He looked around for an escape route and realized with growing horror that he was completely surrounded by celebrating fans, delirious teammates, and what appeared to be the entire faculty of Xerkes Academy.

There was nowhere to run.

"This is how I die," he said to Sam. "Crushed by enthusiastic supporters."

"Could be worse," Sam replied. "You could have lost."

"GHOST! GHOST! GHOST!"

The celebration continued long into the night, and by the time it finally wound down, Adom's voice was hoarse from shouting, his hair was full of confetti, and he was pretty sure he'd signed his autograph on things that probably shouldn't be autographed.

But they were champions.

He could live with that.

*****

Zuni had not been at the finals because he had managed to get some of the candied nuts in the room they were staying at before the match. And now, he was snoring. It sounded more like whistles, but yeah.

Sugar really was bad for quillicks, and Zuni was definitely feeling the effects. His small blue quills rose and fell with each breath, completely oblivious to the victory they had just achieved.

Adom woke up pretty early, as he had gone to sleep early as well. Well, relatively early. He had about 4 hours of sleep in his system, but for some reason, he felt it was much more than enough.

His [Primordial Body] really made everything optimal now. What would have left most people stumbling around like zombies after a championship celebration instead had him feeling refreshed and alert.

He went through his morning routine efficiently—washing his face with cold water to drive away the last hints of sleep, brushing his teeth, and changing into fresh clothes that wouldn't draw too much attention. The champion's medal he carefully wrapped in a soft cloth and tucked deep into his pack where it wouldn't get damaged.

The room service breakfast was quick but substantial—bread, cheese, and dried fruit from his own supplies rather than venturing down to face what would undoubtedly be a hotel full of celebrating Xerkes supporters. He needed to move quickly, not spend half the morning accepting congratulations.

They had one week to stay in Northhaven. The sooner he'd go to the Giant Highlands, the sooner he could come back without being looked for too much. Any longer than that, and people would start to wonder where their championship hero had disappeared to.

Adom paused in front of the small mirror in his room, focusing on the distinctive white streak in his otherwise dark hair. It had become something of a calling card—people recognized him by it almost instantly. With a pass of his hair-darkening-cream covered hand, the white strands darkened to match the rest of his hair. Not perfect, but good enough to avoid immediate recognition.

The woman he bought it from the day before told him it would hold a week without any need to reaply.

"Come on, you sugar-addled menace," Adom said, gently scooping up the still-snoring Zuni and placing him in the special inner pocket of his jacket. The quillick grumbled but didn't wake, curling deeper into the warm fabric.

Adom checked his room once more, making sure he hadn't forgotten anything essential, then stepped into the hallway and walked the short distance to Sam's door. He raised his hand to knock, but before his knuckles could make contact, the door swung open.

Sam stood there, fully dressed and with a packed bag at his feet. "Morning," he said brightly. "I was wondering when you'd be ready."

Adom frowned. "Where are you going?"

"Where you're going, of course." Sam's tone suggested this was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Wait for me!" called a voice from down the hall. Eren jogged toward them, also carrying a travel pack. "Sorry, had to double-check I had everything."

Adom's frown deepened. Eren had joined them at Northhaven after coming with his mother, who had to go back to take care of the inn she now bought from the owner a few weeks ago, with the gold Adom had left for them.

"Guys," Adom sighed, "I'm not going on some sort of adventure here. This is serious, and I'm not bringing you along." He carefully extracted the still-sleeping Zuni from his pocket. "In fact, I was knocking to give Zuni to you, Sam, to keep an eye on him while I was gone."