Chapter 106: The T.O.P Roster Was Out

I blinked, staring at the dark leather-bound folder in Edgar’s hand as his words settled in.

A battle instructor.

He genuinely believed my combat instincts, lethal footwork, and reflex control came from watching online martial arts tutorials in my spare time? A soft, dry snort escaped my nose before I could stop it.

"I don’t watch videos, Edgar," I said, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning my back against the terrace glass. "And I certainly don’t need a babysitter with a whistle to tell me how to swing my blade."

Edgar took a slow, deliberate step closer, the shadow of his tall frame falling over me under the terrace lights. The faint, refined scent of dark amber liquor and crushed cedar rolled off him, cool and commanding.

"You are skilled, Brianna—I won’t deny that," Edgar purred, his golden eyes sweeping over my relaxed posture with a sharp, calculating glint. "You move with an efficiency that doesn’t belong to a street brawler. But the tournament isn’t a back-alley ambush. It’s a structured arena packed with high-tier competitors, awakened wolves, and lethal weaponry, all monitored under strict rules and high-density barrier fields. If you want to make it to the finals, then you have to be ready to the last bit."

He raised the leather-bound folder and extended it toward me.

"The instructor I’ve assigned isn’t a babysitter," Edgar continued, his voice dropping into a low, velvety register that brushed against the quiet night air. "He is a top-tier combat strategist. If you want to survive to the final rounds without branded as someone who resulted to using witchcraft just to win, you will learn to fight within the tournament’s framework."

Witchcraft... Sure, it’s already unusual for an Omega to be this strong. If I fan their suspicion, my family will be branded as heretics.

But I don’t think just learning their framework will make them leave me alone.

If they set their sights to destroy me, they will find a reason to no matter what. I mean, that’s the move I would make if I were in their shoes.

I looked down at the dark leather folder in his gloved hand, then back up into his golden eyes.

"Fine, I yield. For now." I said, "But what happens if I break your instructor in the first ten minutes?" I asked smoothly, taking the folder from his grip.

Edgar’s lips curved into a slow, sharp smirk that sent a quiet, thrilling spike through my pulse.

"Then I’ll step into the ring myself," Edgar murmured softly. "Now go to sleep, little cat. Tomorrow is going to be a very loud day."

I paused. Shocked. He would step into the ring himself? Now, that was bluffing. There was no way anyone would let him compete, especially sicne he’s past 20. Yes, he definitely was bluffing.

And yet, I couldn’t shake the confidence in his tone when he said that.

He wasn’t lying.

Which meant this battle instructor was seriously something else. Now, I’m kinda looking forward to it.

The next morning, I was woken up not by an alarm for morning training, but by my phone violently vibrating off the nightstand and clattering onto the hardwood floor.

BZZZZ! BZZZZ! BZZZZ! BZZZZ!

I groaned, burying my face into the pillows of my new bedroom in the Morningstar villa. The screen of my ancient, cracked smartphone was flashing frantically, a relentless deluge of notifications pouring in so fast the cheap LCD screen was freezing up and lagging.

142 new messages from [Academy Main Forum]89 new notifications from [Upper North District News]56 missed group chat pings...

"Ugh, this piece of junk..." I muttered, sitting up and rubbing my eyes.

I really needed to replace this phone. Between moving out of the slums, dealing with Benjamin’s sensory meltdowns, and getting dragged into Edgar’s political games, getting a new device had completely slipped my mind.

The battery was overheating just trying to process the notification rain.

When I finally managed to force the screen to load, the official lineup for the Tournament of Power had officially been released across all territorial networks, news boards, and student group chats.

And right there, printed under the official roster for the Grey Moon Pack, was my name:

[REPRESENTATIVE PARTICIPANT: BRIANNA WELLS — UNRANKED / OMEGA]

Right. It was today.

The internet was in an absolute frenzy. The student forums were exploding with thousands of comments every minute, and every single one of them viewed me as nothing more than a free ticket to the second round—a weak, wolfless Omega thrown into an arena of hungry Alphas and Betas as a sacrificial lamb.

User_Alpha99:Is Grey Moon out of their minds?! An unawakened Omega girl on the official roster?!Are they that poor?

WolfRider_X:I saw her in the halls last week. She’s tiny and a weakling! One hit from a Beta’s heavy sword and she’s going to snap in half.

GreyMoon_Guard:Why is an Omega taking up a tournament slot?! This has to be a joke or a political stunt!

UpperDistrict_News:EASY TARGET: Competitors already eyeing Grey Moon’s weakest link for an effortless point boost in Round 1!

I stared at the screen, a slow, cold smirk gradually spreading across my face as I tossed the glitching phone onto the bed.

Easy prey, huh?

Well, let them think whatever they want. In an arena full of arrogant predators, being underestimated was the single greatest advantage an assassin could ever ask for. The moment they least expect it, I’ll take them out.

After grabbing a quick breakfast with my family—who were still marveling over the kitchen and blissfully unaware of the online chaos—I grabbed my gear bag and headed out to the estate’s private training grounds, where Edgar’s mysterious ’instructor’ was supposed to be waiting.

I pushed open the steel doors, the sharp, sterile scent of ozone and polished metal greeting my senses.

And there, standing in the center of the vast ring, his back turned to the entrance as he adjusted a pair of combat gloves, was a tall, broad-shouldered man. He wore a fitted black training tank that showcased the hard, chorded muscle of his back, and his thick, vibrant blonde hair gleamed under the overhead stadium lights.

I froze dead in my tracks, my assassin reflexes locking up for a fraction of a second.

That hair. That aura. That lingering, underlying scent of wild pine and ozone...

The man slowly turned around. Bright, piercing emerald eyes locked directly onto mine and I flinched.

It was Zero.

The exact same emerald-eyed, blonde-haired instructor who had pinned me to the gym mats in the locked equipment shed during his rut—the man who had devoured my breath, begged me to mate with him, and whispered his name against my collarbone so I would never forget him.

I stared at him in absolute, dead silence, my brain briefly short-circuiting as I remembered the exact, burning pressure of his hands and the way he had rasped my name into my neck.

Zero’s emerald eyes widened slightly as he took me in. His posture went rigid, a sudden, dark flush creeping up his neck beneath his golden skin as the memory of that locked shed clearly slammed back into his mind.

"You..." I muttered, my voice flat, deadpan, and utterly bewildered.