E-Rank or SSS-Rank: I Awakened a Skill That Shouldn't Exist-Chapter 139: Where is Aiden?

Chapter 138

A deafening silence fell over the entire arena once more.

Null’s voice cut through it like a dagger.

"I quit."

The announcer blinked, stunned by the words. "W-What... what did you just say?"

Null turned his head slowly toward him, his voice calm but firm.

"I said—I quit."

Without another word, he stepped away from the center of the battlefield, his expression unreadable. Then, with quiet, confident strides, he exited the arena entirely.

The crowd was too stunned to even react. The tension that had been building, the flame-soaked warzone that had unfolded moments ago, and now... this? Silence reigned again.

After a few more seconds, the announcer snapped out of his daze and cleared his throat.

"Uh... Han is... the winner!"

Cheers erupted, though they were mixed with confusion and awe. The flames that once engulfed Han’s body vanished as he calmly ended his fusion with Ifrit, returning to his normal form. His face was unreadable, cold as ever—but beneath that mask, turmoil brewed.

He didn’t quit because I was strong, Han thought, clenching his fist. It was the opposite. He quit... because I was weak.

The realization stung more than any wound. That dismissal, that quiet disregard—it burned deeper than fire. Han gritted his teeth, his expression remaining calm on the surface. He took a mental note.

I’ll meet him again. And next time... he won’t walk away so easily.

All around the arena, spectators whispered and speculated. They had seen something unexplainable. A boy fusing with a flame entity of immense power—Ifrit. His flames had risen to a level rarely seen outside of Class S heroes. Had he not been an unfamiliar face, many would have mistaken him for one of those legendary few.

Among the wealthy elites, a debate stirred. Some saw Han as the perfect bodyguard, a living weapon to be bought. Others, particularly those with skeletons in their closets, saw him as a threat—a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.

High in the VIP stands, a grizzled man known only as The Beast sat with arms crossed, a smirk curling his lips.

"Looks like there are two who might be worthy of Class S."

His companion, the flame-eyed Undying Flame, nodded slowly. "Han and Elexa... those two stood out the most."

"Null’s a mystery," The Beast added. "No one knows how to contact him. He shows up, disappears, does what he wants. A wild card."

"And then there’s Ronan, Jay... and Almighty. He’s rumored to be the strongest," said the Undying Flame, his tone thoughtful. "But rumors rarely capture the whole truth."

As he spoke, his eyes drifted back to Han’s earlier transformation. There was admiration in his gaze... but also unease.

"Power like that... in the hands of a child?" he muttered. "It’s a miracle—or a disaster waiting to happen."

There was nothing they could do now. The system was built to reward strength, and Han had earned his place.

The announcer’s voice echoed again, breaking the tension.

"Due to the damage sustained, there will be a 20-minute break while we repair the stage and barrier. Please enjoy refreshments and brace yourselves—the final semi-final match is coming up!"

The crowd slowly dispersed.

Backstage, Han returned to the waiting area, where several contestants and spectators offered him congratulations. He nodded politely, but inside, he didn’t feel victorious. Not really.

That fight had left a scar—not physical, but mental.

He didn’t even see me as worth finishing...

Han’s eyes darted around, searching. A thought struck him.

"Has anyone seen Clara?" he asked suddenly.

The group looked around, confused. Someone shook their head. "Now that you mention it... she wasn’t here during the match either."

Han’s frown deepened. She’s been missing since before the fight? Something about that didn’t sit right.

"Where are you, Clara?" he muttered, unease beginning to settle in his chest like cold ash.

Meanwhile, somewhere else in the city...

Clara walked briskly through the dimly lit backstreets of Maurina City, her expression tight with worry. The bustling lights and chatter of the central districts had faded behind her, replaced by quieter, more suspicious corners of the city. Her eyes scanned every alley, every passing face.

She entered a rundown bar tucked between two closed shops. Inside, the air smelled of smoke and stale alcohol. Dim lights flickered overhead as a low hum of music played in the background.

Clara stepped in and paused, her eyes darting around, searching. Her brow furrowed deeper with each second. Then she spotted him—or so she thought. A man with tousled blond hair sat alone on a balcony outside, sipping from a glass.

Her eyes lit up. Without hesitation, she crossed the bar and placed her hand gently on his shoulder.

"Aiden?" she asked.

The man turned.

It wasn’t him.

A stranger’s unfamiliar eyes met hers with cautious confusion. Clara’s heart sank. Her shoulders dropped slightly as the light in her eyes faded.

"Sorry," she said softly. "I thought you were someone else."

Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked out.

Once outside, she stopped and leaned against a wall, running her fingers through her hair in frustration.

It had been over two hours now. She’d searched everywhere—bars, restaurants, public baths, even the outer market. Not a single trace. No signs of him. No reports of a fight or disturbance. Nothing.

Could something have happened to him?

The thought pressed into her like a weight. What if he’d encountered someone from the Cursed Organization? What if they overwhelmed him?

But even as she thought it, she shook her head.

No... Aiden wouldn’t go down that easily.

She knew his strength better than anyone. If something had happened, there would be signs—shattered streets, scorched walls, panicked citizens. But the city remained calm, peaceful even.

Which only deepened the mystery.

Where are you, Aiden? she thought, her fists tightening at her sides.

---

Back at the arena...

The stage had been fully restored. Cracks in the ground were patched, the shimmering protective barrier repaired and humming with fresh energy. The audience had returned, buzzing with anticipation.

Han sat quietly in the competitors’ section, his gaze fixed on the two empty seats beside him—seats that should have been filled by Clara and Aiden. He had tried contacting them, but nothing went through.

He told himself they were fine. They had to be.

But unease lingered in his chest like a splinter.

A booming voice from the announcer snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen, to the final match of the day!"

The crowd erupted in cheers.

"This is it—the last semi-final match of the Tournament of Power! We’ve witnessed some unbelievable clashes today, but I assure you, this match might just steal the show!"

The lights dimmed slightly, a spotlight falling on the right side of the stage.

"On the right, we have a prodigy whose fists strike like lightning! A martial artist so precise, so fearless, he’s taken down not one, but two members of the A6 with terrifying ease! Give it up for—Jayden!"

The crowd thundered with applause.

"Can he defy the odds again and deliver yet another miracle? His chances may seem slim, but so did the last two. And yet... here he stands."

All eyes turned to the arena.

"And on the left..."

The announcer’s voice boomed with enthusiasm.

"...we have the one and only—Almighty!"

The crowd erupted into wild cheers as the spotlight swung dramatically to the left side of the arena. Almighty stepped forward with a confident grin, waving to the audience like a seasoned performer basking in the adoration.

"He’s crushed every opponent so far!" the announcer continued, clearly hyped. "His first match ended after just two casual attacks! And in the second round, his opponent forfeited before the fight even started, saying, and I quote: ’I value my life too much!’"

The crowd laughed and cheered louder.

"Now, here he stands again—facing his third challenge. But will his legendary luck hold out? Let’s find out!"

The announcer theatrically snapped his fingers, a loud bang echoing through the arena as he leapt off the stage.

"Let the match... BEGIN!"

For a few long seconds, neither fighter moved.

Jayden stood still, calm, his eyes studying Almighty with quiet precision.

From the outside, it looked like both fighters were sizing each other up.

But internally?

Almighty was screaming.

"Oh no... no no no—this is bad. This is really, REALLY bad."

Sweat trickled down his back as he kept a frozen smile on his face. He stared at the boy who stood calmly across from him—the boy who had taken down two A6 elites like they were training dummies.

"I—I’m not supposed to be here!" Almighty thought, panic rising in his chest. "Those two he beat? Either of them could’ve ended me in two hits! How am I in the same arena as this guy?! This has to be a joke—right? Maybe he’ll just quit, yeah... Maybe he’s tired or bored and he’ll just walk away... yeah..."

He clung to that thought like a drowning man to driftwood.

Until Jayden exhaled.

And took a fighting stance.

Almighty’s entire world collapsed.

"He’s—he’s actually going to fight! This lunatic is really going to fight me! I’m dead. I’m screwed. I’m completely, absolutely, utterly—"

"Fourth Jungle Art: Cheetah Stride," Jayden said quietly.

And then he vanished.

Almighty barely had time to blink.

One moment, Jayden was across the stage.

The next, he was right in front of him.

Too fast! Almighty’s body locked up in sheer terror.

He wanted to scream, maybe beg for mercy.

But nothing came out.

Just before the hit landed, one final, desperate thought passed through his mind:

"I’m so, so incredibly—"

BAM.

Darkness swallowed him.

The arena fell silent.

To be continued...

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