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... omorrow."

The voice was calm—almost casual—but it echoed through the entire training ground like a command from the heavens.

Everyone froze.

Between Jay and Argon now stood a man with tousled brown hair, dressed in a long black trench coat that fluttered slightly in the breeze. His arms were stretched out at his sides—one open palm firmly catching Jay’s punch, the other catching Argon’s strike with equal ease.

As the dust from the shockwave finally cleared, gasps ...

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