The duel circle felt smaller than it had looked from outside.Adom stood at one edge, trying very hard not to think about the fact that all those people were currently staring at him. Thirty thousand. That was a lot people.He could feel their attention like a physical weight pressing down on his shoulders. The Xerkes section was chanting something that might have been his name, but the sound blurred together into a wall of noise that made his ears ring.Focus. The crowd didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was the man standing across from him.Captain Whitehall looked exactly like what he was—a twenty-four-year-old military officer who had spent the last six years learning how to break things efficiently."Nothing personal, kid," Whitehall said, rolling his shoulders. "Just business."The referee raised his hand. "Standard duel rules apply. First player forced outside the circle or rendered unable to continue loses possession. No intentional maiming. Fight begins on my signal."Adom nodded, then...[Flow Prediction].The world shifted into that familiar state of clarity. Every micro-movement, every subtle shift in posture, every unconscious tell—it all became visible, predictable, readable.And what he read made his blood run cold.Whitehall wasn't underestimating him at all.The older player's stance looked casual, but it was anything but. His weight distribution was perfect for explosive movement in any direction. His hands hung loose at his sides, ready to grapple or strike. His eyes tracked Adom's positioning.This wasn't going to be a quick dismissal of an overconfident child. This was going to be a methodical dismantling by someone who knew exactly what he was doing.The referee's hand dropped. "Begin!"Whitehall moved first—not the straightforward charge Adom had expected, but a feint that would draw him left before the real attack came (...)