A silence fell over the coliseum, thicker than death, heavier than gravity.
The crowd, once a roaring tempest of cheers and insults, now sat in stunned silence. The heat of the moment had been extinguished by something undeniable.
Dominance.
Nioh stood at the center of it all, unmoving, untouched, unshaken. Like the eye of a storm.
Like a god among mortals.
He let the silence breathe, then cut it clean with his voice—sharp and steady:
"Like I said," he murmured, his tone razor-thin yet echoing across the arena,
"You're not enough."
His eyes swept across the stands, pausing only to let the weight of his next words settle like iron.
"Bring out your third-years."
A beat.
"Or your fourth."
Then came the smile. That sharp, amused smile that never quite reached his eyes.
"Maybe then… you'll stand a chance."
No one moved.
No one spoke.
The silence that followed was total domination the kind that wounded not the body, but the pride.
