Evan POV

  "I’m back, baby."

  I muttered to myself, standing in the middle of the arena.

  The announcer hadn’t even called my opponent yet, but something else did happen—the King stood up.

  “Evan will be my champion for the rest of the day!” he declared, his voice booming through the coliseum.

  The crowd murmured in surprise.

  He continued, “He will be the only opponent for all remaining matches today. And, to encourage fair competition—anyone who loses to him will not lose their rank.”

  Alright. That made sense.

  But as long as my own rank kept increasing per fight—like the King promised—then I had zero complaints.

  I glanced toward the VIP booth, my gaze immediately locking onto Hope and Faith, who were absolutely losing their minds.

  Their tiny hands flailed wildly, as if they thought I couldn’t see them.

  I sighed, then lifted my hand to give the two little gremlins a wave.

  Instantly, they calmed down. And stood down. Hopefully they remain like that for the rest of the match.

  “And now—his opponent!”

  The announcer’s voice finally boomed across the arena.

  I rolled my shoulders, cracking my knuckles. “Finally.”

  “Richard Henrik from the Henrik Family!”

  I blinked.

  There’s no way.

  A mage stepped into the arena.

  Dark skin. Flowing blue robes. A topaz staff with a gleaming silvery base.

  He’s… another Richard!

  His steps were slow but steady, his eyes locked onto me with calm determination.

  No hesitation.

  No fear.

  He was ready to face me with everything he had.

  The announcer took his position in the center. “Contestants! Are you ready!?”

  I exhaled, tilting my head slightly. “You know…”

  He furrowed his brow. “What?”

  I smirked.

  “This town ain’t big enough for two Richards.”

  He squinted at me. “…What?”

  …Right.

  He was kinda far away.

  Guess he didn’t hear me.

  I cleared my throat. “Never mind. Just start the match already.”

  The moment the announcer yelled, “BEGIN!” he did what any sane person would—he ran out of the arena.

  This time however, At that exact moment he started running, a cowboy hat made entirely of mana shimmered into existence on my head. A gun holster materialized at my hip, a revolver forming inside it. Behind me, a random tumbleweed rolled across the battlefield.

  Everything—the hat, the gun, the tumbleweed—glowed with a translucent blue hue, because, obviously, they were all made from Mana Ball manipulation.

  Did that stop me from pulling my hat down to hide my eyes and casually sticking a piece of mana-made "grass" in my mouth to chew on?

  No. No, it did not.

  Seeing my dedication to the bit, Richard immediately started his own preparations. Thick layers of rock armor coated his body, encasing him in a sturdy, earthen shell.

  It looked impressive, but I didn’t care.

  Man, I wish I had some classic Western music playing right now.

  I tilted my head slightly, letting my voice drop into a low drawl. “Like I said before…”

  Richard tensed.

  This time, I yelled it loud enough for him to hear.

  “THIS TOWN AIN’T BIG ENOUGH FOR THE TWO OF US!”

  I spat out the mana-made grass straw, my hand hovering inches above my revolver.

  "American Style. Stage Two—”

  The stadium fell dead silent. The crowd barely breathed. Even Richard had stopped moving, eyes locked onto me.

  I exhaled slowly. “It’s High Noon.”

  {Author’s Note: For the readers—there is no such thing as “American Style.” He is just using Mana Ball creatively and mixing skills together to invent things that absolutely should not exist.}

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  I wanted my eyes to glow red after saying High Noon. But Sadly, I had no way of doing that… yet.

  The standoff finally began.

  Not a word was spoken. Not a muscle moved. It was just me—calm, composed, hat tilted forward— and Richard—covered in rock armor, sweat dripping down his face.

  Neither of us made the first move.

  The crowd watched in breathless anticipation.

  Because we both knew one simple truth.

  The first to move…

  Is the first to lose.

  A few more seconds passed.

  …And then—

  He pointed his staff at me.

  “Rock—!”

  “DRAW!”

  He didn’t even get to finish his spell.

  In that split second, I drew my revolver faster than lightning and fired.

  The bullet hit him square in the chest—imbued only with knockback, of course.

  The moment it connected, he was launched backward, slamming into the wall just like the last guy.

  I spun my revolver, casually brought it to my lips, and blew away the imaginary smoke before all my mana-made props vanished into thin air.

  “Sorry, but…” I adjusted my hat. “…I had a bigger dick.” I said as if that’s the reason I won this fight.

  Aisha: What are you mumbling to yourself over there?

  Evan: Nothing! Don’t worry about it.

  The announcer’s voice boomed across the arena.

  “BIG DICK RICHARD WINS!”

  The crowd erupted, cheering wildly.

  I blew kisses to my adoring fans, basking in the sheer legend of my own existence.

  The other guy didn’t seem like he was mad, probably cause he didn’t lose his rank.

  In fact, I could see a line of mages forming outside the arena, waiting for their turn to fight me.

  I mean, it made sense—since the King declared that none of my opponents would lose their rank if they lost to me.

  Which, honestly? Fair.

  After all, they were up against me.

  Big. Dick. Richard.

  I did notice a -18 damage number pop above his head before he passed out, but meh.

  As long as the idol didn’t break, it counted as a win in my book.

  My next opponent was a woman.

  The announcer introduced her, stating she was a water-type mage.

  I was kind of curious to see how she fought since my only frame of reference until now has been Mia, who’s a water type… Why am I talking about them like they’re a bunch of pokemon?

  Wait, if we were, what type would I be… Normal or all the types?

  … I refuse to believe I’m normal type though.

  My thoughts were broken when she immediately raised a thick ice wall between us.

  …Unfortunately for her, I had the perfect counter.

  I tipped my hat down, placing my hand on my hip.

  “American Style, Stage Three—Winner of Wars—THE TRENCH GUN!”

  I pulled out a shotgun from my pistol holster.

  How? Magic baby.

  A single shot shattered the entire ice wall like glass.

  Unfortunately, my mana contraptions only worked once, So I had to sneakily conjure another shotgun to blast the woman straight toward the wall that was cracked now.

  Then, another challenger stepped forward.

  His strategy?

  Encasing himself in a solid metal sphere.

  A bold move.

  Too bad I had just the thing for it.

  I adjusted my hat, cracked my neck, and smirked.

  “American Style, Stage Four—THE GENEVA CONVENTION WAS JUST A SUGGESTION!”

  I conjured a flamethrower mixing spark and wind magic into the mana ball, I bathed his precious sphere of safety in pure hellfire, turning it into a giant, sizzling microwave.

  He held out for about a minute. Before the obvious happened, an Immediate forfeit.

  …Yes, I knew that wasn’t American either.

  Did I care?

  No.

  Aisha: Hey! Be careful you don’t accidentally kill them!

  Evan: Pfft what do you think I am? A villan? Ofc I’m not gonna kill them, Don’t worry about it, I’m just… Doing a bit.

  Aisha: Break of the bit! >:(

  Evan: Nu >:)

  Aisha: Then just stick to knockback and nothing lethal.

  Evan: Suuuurrrreee.

  Aisha: Evan… I can see you crossing your finger.

  Evan: …

  Aisha: …

  Evan: You didn’t see anything.

  Aisha: (-.-)

  Well, I wasn’t breaking off this streak regardless of what happened.

  A few matches later…

  I cracked my knuckles, preparing for my next opponent.

  Then, with a grin, I called out my next move.

  “American Style, Stage Nine—ELEVEN!”

  From behind me, a miniature plane materialized, its size taking up half the arena as it barreled toward my opponent.

  The guy’s eyes widened, but—shockingly—he dodged it, flying upward.

  From above, he glared down at me, raising his hands toward the sky.

  “FEAR ERIC FROM THE HOUSE OF M!” he roared as he raised his hand and summoned a giant fireball above him.

  He looked confident. Powerful. Unstoppable.

  …He was also completely oblivious to the second plane approaching from above.

  Needless to say—

  He didn’t expect the second plane.

  …No one expects the second plane.

  At this point, I only needed one or two more wins to hit Professional Grandmaster—or whatever the hell it’s called.

  Then, I could finally leave this place.

  And just as I was preparing for my next match, the next challenger stepped forward.

  …And I recognized them.

  The referee nodded, stepping forward with his usual theatrical energy.

  “A NEW CHALLENGER APPROACHES! Representing the esteemed Rodney Family, a master of the Dark Arts! A force to be reckoned with—Itla Rodney!”

  Oh hey! It’s itla, If I remember correctly then her magic allows her to show her enemies their worst fear as their enemies.

  … I’m so dam curious about what’s mine, not because I’m some kind battle maniac, but it’s because of my pain immunity skill, which also grants me immunity towards emotions I don’t like, such as fear… and shame.

  … I wonder If she uses her magic, nothing spawns out, I’d win the fight before doing anything. Or, some actual terrifying thing will spawn. Regardless, I want her to use her magic before I use another American style magic.

  {Author note: Again, He’s just creatively using mana ball. There’s no such thing as American style.}

  The crowd erupted, cheering loudly as Itla stepped forward, her expression calm and composed.

  The referee turned toward us. “Are you both ready!?”

  We locked eyes.

  A brief moment of silence passed.

  “Can I ask you something?” I asked.

  “Hm? Okay?”

  I inhaled deeply.

  “Are you a lesbian?”

  The referee immediately started choking on air.

  The crowd noise dipped as a few people nearby turned their heads, confused.

  Meanwhile, Itla remained completely unfazed.

  “Why would you think that?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

  I shrugged. “You were eye-balling Aisha.”

  “I was showing respect to a Hero—someone I look up to.”

  I nodded, then immediately opened up my messaging app.

  Evan: Yo, good news. She’s not gay.

  Aisha: :D

  The referee, still recovering from my sudden interrogation, cleared his throat aggressively.

  “ARE YOU TWO READY!?”

  “Yep! Oh, by the way, Itla—do that Nightmare magic. I really wanna see what kind of demons I have.”

  This should be fun.

  Itla simply nodded. “Ready.”

  The referee inhaled—

  “BEGIN!”

  And then, like a true professional, he immediately sprinted out of the stadium before anything could explode.

  Itla didn’t hesitate.

  She instantly cast a shield around herself, dark energy flickering in the air.

  Me?

  I just stood there, arms crossed, watching her do her thing.

  This better be awesome.

  A grin formed on my face as a black fog appeared before her, swirling and twisting like an ominous storm.

  It grew larger.

  Not massive, but just a little bit.

  Then—

  The smoke disintegrated.

  …

  There’s no way.

  The thing that spawned…

  No.

  The person that spawned.

  He stretched his arms with a casual "Phew!" like he had just woken up from a long nap. Then, with an all-too-familiar smirk, he locked eyes with me.

  "Woah, that took a while… Been a minute, huh? Reid… or should I say, Evan."

  My breath hitched.

  The familiar, handsome face.

  The broad shoulders.

  The subtle beard, the sharp jawline, the short, dark brown hair.

  It was him.

  No.

  It was me.

  It’s Evan.

  The real Evan.

  The Evan with my real body.