Chapter 296: Semi-Finals [3] The arena erupted into a storm of voices. "Did you see that feint? Fluid as water, then the strike, straight through the guard!" one man exclaimed, leaning forward in his seat, eyes wide with excitement. Another, older spectator shook his head slowly. "No one has moved like this in years. That boy reacted before the leaf even settled. I thought my eyes deceived me." A woman in an embroidered kimono whispered to her companion, her tone filled with awe. "His awareness is frightening. It seemed like he was able to read the move before it happened." Her companion adjusted the golden clasp of his cloak, his lips curling into a faint smile. "Anticipation is one thing. But speed like that? Even among masters, I have rarely seen such clarity of movement. It is as if his body answers before his mind commands it." Another wealthy patron, fanning himself despite the cool air, muttered, "And this is him holding back. Look at Hiroshi—reduced to his knees, completely outclassed. What sort of monster did they let into this tournament?" A scholar of swordsmanship, seated near the judges’ table, scribbled furiously into a notebook. "He did not overpower Hiroshi. He dismantled him. Every step, every strike, perfectly placed. Based on the power he had shown so far, he could have easily broken the collarbone of Hiroshi with that overhead strike, but he chose to be merciful... This is a rare trait. His master has really taught him well, truly astonishing." The applause and roaring voices had barely settled when a loud voice cut through the arena. The thud of boots striking the floor. Kenji had leapt from his seat, dropping directly into the arena. His landing echoed against the polished platform, and a wave of murmurs followed him as he strode forward, his expression locked in the same dark frown he had worn since the match began. Noah did not flinch. He stood with his sword lowered, his breathing calm, his eyes fixed on Kenji with the same composure he had shown throughout the fight. Kenji stopped beside Hiroshi, who remained kneeling on the floor, one hand pressed tightly against his collarbone, his chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths. Kenji’s voice rang out, sharp enough to slice through the noise of the crowd. "We demand a VAR review. He moved before the leaf had even touched the floor. That gave him the advantage, and that advantage decided the match. Without it, Hiroshi would not have lost." His arm shot out, finger stabbing toward Noah. "This result is illegitimate." The arena shifted instantly into conversations. Dozens of voices overlapped in a heated discussion. "He’s right," one man declared, leaning toward the spectator seated beside him. "I swear I saw him move before the leaf touched. No one should react that fast." "Don’t be ridiculous," a woman snapped from another row. "You think a fraction of a second would have saved Hiroshi? He was crushed from the start. Techniques like that cannot be undone by a delay." A wealthy patron waved his fan irritably. "Rules are rules. If the boy moved early, even by instinct, the match should be reviewed." "But look at the state of Hiroshi!" another countered. "You call that the fault of a leaf’s timing? No. That’s the gulf between an apprentice swordsman and a master" The debate spread like wildfire. Enthusiastic patrons and even martial scholars locked into arguments, some convinced that Noah’s burst had broken the sanctity of the rules, others scoffing at the notion that Hiroshi could have stood a chance regardless. On the platform, the referee’s face remained tense. He had seen the blur of Noah’s body, the explosive speed that seemed almost inhuman. For an instant, even he had questioned if the leaf had truly touched the floor before Noah launched forward. He turned his gaze to Noah, then back to Hiroshi, torn between what the rules demanded and what his own instincts told him. The referee finally gave a short nod. "It is a valid call for review." His voice carried over the restless murmurs. "The charge was exceptional—so fast that it could have occurred before the signal. However, I must ask the competitor himself if he would like to proceed." He stepped closer to the wounded fighter, his tone steady but clear. "Hiroshi, do you wish for the match to be reviewed?" All eyes turned to Hiroshi. The crowd held its breath, waiting for his answer. His knuckles whitened against the floor as he clutched his collarbone, his pride battling his pain. For the first time since the leaf had dropped, the outcome of the match hung not on Noah’s sword, but on Hiroshi’s voice. Kenji crouched down and hooked his arm under Hiroshi’s, helping him rise to his feet. Hiroshi winced, still clutching his shoulder, his breathing uneven. "Does it even matter?" Hiroshi muttered, his voice flat, eyes narrowing at the floor. "Look at me. I can’t fight like this. A rematch is pointless. Forget it." Kenji’s head snapped toward him, his brows furrowed in disbelief. "Are you mad, Hiroshi? What do you mean, forget it? They will postpone the fight until you are healed. You will have time to rest and prepare. You can still win this!" His voice thundered across the arena, carrying his frustration. Hiroshi’s brows knit tighter before he turned his head with a sharp glare. "Stop shouting in my ears. I am already half broken from that match, and your yelling makes it worse. I said Forget it." His voice filled with exhaustion, the kind that stripped even anger from his words. The referee glanced at the judges seated nearby. They leaned together, whispers passing among them before each gave a small, deliberate nod. The referee straightened, his expression turning solemn. "Contestant Hiroshi," he said firmly, "you should be aware that if contestant Noah truly began before the leaf had touched the ground, it would not simply call for a rematch." Hiroshi raised his head and looked at the referee. "What would it call for?"