Yale Bowl Stadium

  "Welcome back to ESPN's coverage of what might be the biggest regular season game in collegiate Flying Aces history. Yale versus Harvard, live from the Yale Bowl. Jim, I've got chills."

  "You should, Dave. Number one Harvard against number two Yale. Both undefeated. A hundred and fifty thousand people packed into this stadium, and every single one of them knows what they're watching. This is a championship preview."

  "Two of the most dangerous combatants of their generation share a field tonight. On one side, Mateo Thandril. The Divine Child. He broke through to Foundation Establishment this past summer, and since then he has manifested a divine domain earlier and stronger than even the Divine Children of the Catacomb Cuts."

  "Don't count out Leo Chen. Six credited Nascent Soul kills at Qi Refining, youngest Rated combatant in U.S. history, and the boy who saved thirty-two thousand lives in the Boston catacombs. If there is one person alive who knows how to pull off a miracle, Jim, you are looking at him."

  "These two have history, Dave. The last time they shared a field was the high school Flying Aces finals. That match was legendary."

  "You're right, Jim. Last time they met, Leo won convincingly. But that was before Mateo's domain manifested. What we're seeing tonight is the rematch everyone has been waiting for."

  "And the fans know it. The Bulldog Army movement has exploded this week. Half a million followers on social media. Flyer Seven jerseys everywhere. These fans are here to back Leo as part of his team, whether in the stands or at home."

  "They'll need to be. Because Mateo Thandril projects a divine domain over the entire field. It doesn't matter how skilled you are. When you enter a divine domain, your body kneels whether you want it to or not."

  "Let's go to the field. Both captains heading out for the coin toss."

  The broadcast cut to the field camera. Leo and Mateo walked toward the midfield formation circle from opposite sides.

  "And there they are. Number one meets number two. The hero and the Divine Child. Jim, you can feel this stadium holding its breath."

  "Look at the body language. Last time I covered Mateo Thandril was the high school finals. He was talented but uncomfortable. The young man walking out there right now is completely different. Relaxed. Confident."

  The camera tightened on the handshake. Mateo extended his hand first. Leo took it.

  "Good to see you again," Mateo said.

  "You too."

  "I've been wanting to tell you something. The finals changed my trajectory. I learned more from that loss than every win before it combined."

  "That's generous of you."

  "It's the truth. I hope you can keep teaching me in the future." Mateo smiled. "I have a feeling there's a lot more I need to learn."

  "Jim, you hear that? The respect between these two."

  "Class acts. Both of them. But make no mistake, Dave. In about fifteen minutes, these two are going to try to put each other through the floor of this arena."

  The captains separated. Mateo walked back toward the Harvard sideline, hands in his pockets. Leo turned toward the Yale tunnel.

  ---

  On the way back to the locker room, Leo slipped into the bathroom and pulled out the piece of paper Mateo had pressed into his hand during the handshake.

  It was a formation diagram. Leo stared at it for a long moment, turning it sideways, then upside down. He'd skipped almost every formation class this semester. The lines and nodes meant nothing to him.

  There was no time to figure it out now. And Mateo had passed it to him like a secret, so Leo treated it like one. He folded the paper and tucked it inside his helmet.

  The moment he stepped out, the hallway was full of uniforms. Security. More than he'd ever seen at a collegiate match.

  Coach Williams stood waiting for him.

  "What's going on?" Leo asked. "What's with all the security?"

  "Special NCAA detail," Williams said, his tone flat. "Here to handle the match. Mateo's classified as a VIP. They've been here since yesterday inspecting the Yale Bowl's formations."

  "Mateo's a VIP and I'm not?"

  Williams looked at him.

  "I'm a sixteen year old Qi Refiner about to walk onto a field of grown Foundation Establishment men looking to beat me up. Shouldn't I be the one getting a security detail?"

  "You know full well that you're the strongest collegiate flyer in the country." Williams then looked a little grim. "However people are expecting you to fold under the divine domain."

  Leo grinned. "I think I can do a lot more than people expect."

  "Yeah, yeah. The entire country knows about your attempt to cultivate the Heart of Flesh. Harvard knows too." Williams started walking and waved for Leo to follow.

  "Do you think they prepared anything for it?"

  Williams glanced at the security guards flanking them. Just for a split second.

  "I have no doubt about that. There's too much riding on Mateo. Too many stakeholders have an interest in his rise."

  Leo went quiet. He'd caught the glance at the guards. He began to have a bad feeling about this game.

  Williams stopped outside the locker room door. "Your teammates are waiting for you. I'll see you on the field."

  He walked off toward the coaching box without looking back. Leo watched him go, then pushed open the door.

  The locker room was unusually quiet.

  Ellie stood in the center of the room with her sword propped against the bench, mid-story, gesturing with both hands.

  "... so I flew to Florence, to the family estate outside Fiesole. To meet my Deity Transformation ancestor again."

  She paused. Her hands dropped a little.

  "I asked him to project his domain. Just a taste. He said he would restrain it to a fraction of his full output." She looked around the room. "A fraction."

  Nobody spoke.

  "It hit me and I was on the floor in less than a second. Both knees. Forehead on the stone. My body just folded. My brain had decided its new job was to worship."

  She picked up her sword and turned it over in her hands.

  "He pulled it back after about three seconds. I threw up on his carpet. He said the carpet was from the sixteenth century and asked me to leave."

  "How long did it take you to recover?" Harry asked.

  "Twenty minutes before I could stand without shaking. An hour before my thoughts felt like mine again." Ellie met his eyes. "And that was a restrained fraction from a friendly old man who warned me first. Mateo is going to hit us with everything he has, without warning, in the middle of combat."

  The silence held.

  "Hey," Leo said.

  Heads turned.

  "I've made real progress. Actual, measurable progress against a divine domain. I have a plan."

  He looked around the room.

  "We have weeks before the conference championship. Even if we lose badly tonight, that's fine. Tonight is a test. All I need from you guys is time. Get on the field, stay up as long as you can, and watch me. If I can hold Third Person Perspective inside that domain for even a few seconds, then we know the Heart of Flesh works. We know I'm on the right path."

  The room sat with that. Jimbo leaned against his locker and folded his arms. He looked around at the others, then back at Leo.

  "You know what, Leo? Every time you tell us something is going to work, it sounds completely insane. And then it works." He shrugged. "I stopped betting against this guy after the Catacombs. If he says he's got a plan, I'm flying out there."

  Stolen story; please report.

  Harry had been quiet through most of it, arms crossed, listening. He waited until the murmuring died down before he spoke.

  "Win or lose tonight, I want you all to remember something. We're the only team in the country that even has a chance against Mateo."

  He looked at Leo directly.

  "So we go out there, we give him every second we can, and we see what happens. And if it doesn't work tonight?"

  Harry grinned. "End of the day, this is just a game. We've got big plans next year. An expedition into the Catacombs. Real rewards." He pointed at Leo. "You're welcome to join us after you hit Foundation Establishment."

  "He's right," Jimbo said. "It's just a game. Let's go out, try our best. And if it doesn't work, we can focus on better stuff."

  That settled it. The tension in the room loosened. They were going to try their best, and see how far they could get.

  "Let's go get embarrassed," Ellie said, sliding her sword off the bench.

  ---

  The Yale Bowl had been built to hold a hundred and fifty thousand cultivators. Tonight, every seat was taken.

  The Yale section owned the eastern stands. A coordinated pulse of blue and white swept through the crowd every few seconds as section leaders triggered spirit-light talismans in sequence. The wave rolled from the student section at the bottom all the way to the nosebleeds, then crashed back down.

  "WE ARE! BULLDOGS!"

  The chant shook the concrete. The student section had been camped outside the gates since four in the morning. Half of them wore number seven jerseys. The Bulldog Army had organized matching face paint, matching signs, matching throat-shredding chants. A massive banner hung from the upper deck: HEART OF FLESH. NERVES OF STEEL.

  Across the field, the Harvard contingent filled the western section. Sixty thousand. Smaller, but their energy was different. Where Yale screamed and stomped and begged, Harvard sat with the relaxed certainty of people who had already seen the ending. Some of them even brought champagne bottles and wine glasses, ready to toast their victory.

  A few held signs of their own. One near the fifty-yard line read THE DIVINE CHILD SENDS HIS REGARDS in crimson block letters. Another, smaller, in the second row: 10 SECONDS OR LESS. That one had a row of tick boxes underneath, enough for every regular season game and a full playoff run. Two were already checked off. The rest sat empty, waiting.

  The game hadn't started, and the broadcast numbers were already historic.

  "Jim, I'm being told we've just crossed forty-two million concurrent viewers domestically. That breaks the collegiate record set during the 2019 championship final, and we haven't even had kickoff."

  "Not surprised, Dave. The international feeds are running too. I'm hearing twelve million in China alone."

  "And let's be clear about what we're watching. This is week three. Week three, and we already have a game that feels like a preview of the national finals. Both teams undefeated, number one Harvard against number two Yale."

  "The betting lines tell a different story, Dave. Harvard opened as seventeen-point favorites. That line has moved to twenty-two. The over-under on match duration is ninety seconds. The oddsmakers don't think Yale can stay on the field for two full minutes."

  "Brutal."

  "It's the domain, Dave. Mateo Thandril's divine domain has ended every game this season before most fans can finish sitting down. The Harvard coaching staff just lets Mateo walk onto the field and everyone falls over."

  "The question tonight is whether Leo Chen can change that equation."

  "That is the only question. Forty-two million people tuned in to answer it."

  Down on the field, the pre game checkups wound to a close. Formation technicians ran final checks on the arena pylons. The regulation fort structures at each end of the field hummed with layered barrier energy, their surfaces cycling through diagnostic patterns before settling into match-ready blue. Referees gathered at midfield, exchanging hand signals with the scoring formation operators in the press box.

  The Yale Flyers emerged from the tunnel. Harry first, greatsword across his shoulders, jaw set. Vicky behind him, spear in one hand and shield in the other. Jimbo with his shortbow slung low. Ellie twirled her sword once, catching firelight along the blade, and the student section screamed her name.

  Leo launched last. He tore across the field in a zigzag of sharp angles and sudden reversals, Moonrider singing beneath his feet. The signature lightning-bolt movement that no collegiate flyer could replicate.

  The noise hit a register that made the barrier formations along the press box rattle. Ninety thousand people on the Yale side stood at once.

  "SE-VEN! SE-VEN! SE-VEN!"

  Across the field, the Harvard Flyers took their positions. Mateo Thandril stood at the center of their formation, hands at his sides, looking up at the sky. He didn't wave to the crowd. He didn't need to. The Harvard section's quiet confidence radiated outward like its own kind of pressure.

  The countdown talisman above the arena ignited. A giant formation circle projected the number ten in burning gold against the night sky.

  The drumming started in the student section. Fists on metal bleachers. A hundred people at first, then a thousand, then the entire Yale crescent picking up the rhythm. The Harvard side joined a beat later. A hundred and fifty thousand people hammering out the same pulse.

  Nine.

  The bleachers shook.

  Eight. Seven. Six.

  The rhythm tightened. Faster. Harder. The drumming climbed until it was a single unified roar of metal and flesh and concrete, every person in the Yale Bowl beating in time with the countdown burning overhead.

  Five. Four. Three.

  Leo settled his helmet. Moonrider rose beside him, trembling with stored energy.

  Two.

  The stadium sucked in one collective breath.

  One.

  The ceremonial flak cannon at the top of the Yale Bowl fired. A column of spiritual energy split the sky above the arena and a concussion wave rolled across the.

  Leo and his teammates launched from above and the wind screamed as they dove at the Harvard Flyers. For about two seconds, it looked like a real game.

  Then Mateo unleashed his divine domain.

  Leo's teammates crumpled mid-flight. Harry wobbled, overcorrected, and began to spiral. Ellie dropped like her strings had been cut. One by one, the Yale Flyers lost control, fell, and were teleported out before they hit the ground.

  Every team that had faced Harvard this season told the same story. The horn sounds. Mateo's domain hits. Game over in under ten seconds.

  Leo staggered in the air. The pressure squeezed at his thoughts, trying to overwhelm him. He gritted his teeth and pushed back.

  He already had a diary entry in mind. Something about pee wee soccer when he was seven. How it was the most fun he'd ever had even though his team lost every game. But it conflicted with math lessons, so his parents pulled him out after a month.

  The pressure from Mateo's domain was real. But it was manageable. Maybe a tenth of what Monarch Scattered Straw had put out.

  Leo activated Third Person Perspective.

  The world snapped into omnidirectional clarity. His body became a piece on the board. He locked onto the nearest Harvard Flyer and moved.

  Time to have some fun.

  Leo moved across the sky like a lightning bolt.

  The Yale section erupted. Ninety thousand people on their feet, screaming, shaking the concrete under the bleachers. They knew what was supposed to happen. Now they began to watch history being made before their eyes.

  "WE ARE! BULLDOGS! WE ARE! BULLDOGS!"

  Leo did not disappoint. He closed on a Harvard Flyer at the edge of the formation, activating his lightsaber's blade at the last possible second. The Flyer didn't even see it coming. One clean strike, and the Flyer was teleported out.

  Leo grinned. Four more to go.

  He zagged hard, already locking onto his next target. The Harvard Flyers had scattered, and scattered Flyers were easy prey. He could end this in seconds.

  Then he saw it.

  Through Third Person Perspective, Leo perceived everything in a sphere around him. From below, rising up from the field itself, a second divine domain expanded outward. It rushed upward like a wave, racing toward him.

  He recognized it. It was the sign of a divine domain. He had seen it before in third person perspective when he watched Monarch Scatter Straw approach him in the wheat field.

  It hit him.

  The pressure from Mateo's domain doubled. Then tripled. The pressure that had been a manageable tenth of Monarch Scattered Straw soared past that threshold and kept climbing. It reached Deity Transformation levels and pushed further, stronger than even the profundity.

  Leo's Third Person Perspective shattered. The world collapsed back into first person, tunneled and spinning. He tried to stabilize, tried to find the diary entry, tried to feel the crowd, but he was too distracted by the shock of betrayal.

  He hit the ground hard. The arena's safety formation caught him a meter before impact and the teleportation formation triggered. White light flared.

  Leo Chen. Eliminated.

  ---

  He found Williams waiting for him.

  "Coach. Something's wrong," Leo said. "The field is rigged."

  "What?"

  "I saw it. Through Third Person Perspective. There was a divine domain coming from the ground. From the field itself. It's feeding into Mateo's domain and amplifying it."

  Williams studied him. "How much amplification are we talking?"

  "They are cheating. It went from a fraction to full Deity Transformation. Maybe stronger. That's not Mateo. That's the Yale Bowl's formation array."

  "And how do you know what a divine domain feels like, Leo?"

  Leo opened his mouth. Then closed it.

  Everything he knew about divine domains came from the Azure Profound Continent. From Monarch Scattered Straw's domain in the wheat field.

  He couldn't explain any of that without exposing his cheat. And the formation diagram Mateo had slipped him during the handshake was given in confidence. He couldn't use that either.

  "I just know," Leo said.

  "That's not proof."

  "Coach, I know what a divine domain looks like. One second I was fine, the next a sphere of divine domain came from the field and his divine power jumpers straight to Deity Transformation levels. You told us all that it should be around a tenth of a Deity Transformation level. It shouldn't be anywhere near that strong."

  "I believe you felt something," Williams said carefully. "But 'I felt it' doesn't hold up in front of the NCAA. You're a sixteen-year-old Qi Refiner making claims about divine domain strength. They'll ask how you have the frame of reference to even identify what you're describing."

  "So you're not going to do anything."

  "I'm telling you the reality of the situation."

  "The reality is that someone tampered with the Yale Bowl's formations," Leo said, his voice rising. "The new security detail has been here since yesterday. Inspecting the field. And now, coincidentally, the field is outputting a divine domain that makes Mateo unstoppable?"

  Williams' expression hardened. "Be very careful about what you're saying and who you say it to."

  "I'm saying it to you. My coach."

  "And I'm telling you that these accusations point at people far above your pay grade. Far above mine, too. Even if you're right, even if every word of it is true, who do you think did this? Who has the resources to tamper with a collegiate arena's formation array and station NCAA security to cover it? Think about that for a second."

  Leo stared at him.

  "You're playing with fire, kid."

  "Don't call me kid."

  Williams exhaled. "Leo."

  Leo kicked the trash can next to the tunnel entrance. It cracked against the wall and spilled its contents across the concrete. The sound echoed down the tunnel.

  "Find someone else," Leo said. "If you're not going to help me, find someone else for your stupid team."

  He walked out before Williams could respond.