SSS Rank: Spellcraft Sovereign-Chapter 101: Challanger (3)

The light in Rikta’s studio felt hotter now.

Same bulbs. Same setup. But the air had shifted. Not thick. Not dangerous. Just... tighter.

He leaned forward in his chair, hands resting flat on the desk. The camera was already rolling, Vesh was counting down silently from three behind the screen, but Rikta didn’t wait for zero.

He started talking at two.

"What’s up, everyone. Rikta here."

His voice dropped just half a tone. Cool. Controlled. Still sharp.

"I got your message."

He didn’t look at the camera directly. Just past it. Casual. Like this was any other fight announcement.

"I don’t know who you are, where you train, or what your rank is. Doesn’t matter."

He leaned in a little more. Just enough to make the shot feel close.

"You want a duel? You’ve got it."

He held his breath for one beat. Let the silence hit.

"Public cage. Two days. You pick the field. Doesn’t matter to me. I’ll bring the stream. I’ll bring the crowd. You bring that attitude."

The corner of his mouth twitched.

Not a grin. Not confidence.

Just commitment.

"Because if you’re half as good as your message made you sound, I want the world to watch me break you anyway."

He exhaled sharply through his nose, leaned back, and tapped the desk once.

"See you soon. Support-boy."

He cut the feed.

The screen blinked dark.

Silence.

No music this time. No outro stinger. No reaction clip.

Vesh turned from the console. "You sure about that last line?"

Rikta stood up. Stretched his arms once. The back of his neck was damp.

"He wanted a stage."

He stepped to the window, pushed it open just an inch. The city smelled like oil and ozone.

"I’m giving him lights."

—

The lights buzzed low as the screen faded to black. No music. No outro. Just the cooling hush of a studio left running too long.

Vesh didn’t say anything at first. He shifted in the corner, chair creaking against the wall panel, one arm slung over the back like it was casual. It wasn’t.

Rikta stepped away from the camera setup, his foot brushing an old mana drink can he hadn’t kicked under the table yet. He let it roll against the base of the caster rig without looking.

Vesh tilted his head. "You want the looped cut?"

Rikta didn’t answer immediately. He walked a slow half-circle around the edge of the desk, hands on his hips, jaw tight.

The room felt hotter than it had ten minutes ago, even though the temp glyph said it hadn’t moved. He reached up and ran a hand through his hair, twice, like it would help.

"No loop," he said finally. "Clip it clean. No overlays. No flame tags, no dubstep."

Vesh blinked. "No flame tags?"

Rikta stopped walking.

"I said what I said."

Vesh whistled low. "You’re really taking this one straight."

Rikta turned his head slowly, one eyebrow raised.

"You saw his message, right?"

"Yeah," Vesh said. "That’s why I’m wondering why we’re not dressing it up."

"He didn’t dress anything up. Just sat there like it was a damn obituary." Rikta paused. "I don’t want the crowd to think I’m dodging."

Vesh stood up now, arms crossed. "So you’re going to let his tone set yours?"

Rikta didn’t flinch.

"No," he said. "I’m letting it set his expectations."

Vesh looked like he wanted to say more, but didn’t.

Instead, he walked back to the console and started splicing the clean footage, just the raw thirty-seven seconds of Rikta’s challenge, no effects, no boosts, no taglines. Just Rikta’s face, Rikta’s words, and the calm arrogance laced between both.

Rikta watched from behind. The glow of the screen lit Vesh’s hands, bouncing light off the metal frame of the rig.

Every part of this setup had been optimized for reach. Angle lines. Eye contact. Cropped low enough to show Rikta’s shoulders, high enough to hide the sweat gathering behind his collar.

Rikta turned away and walked to the small cabinet by the far wall. He popped the seal on a mana tab, drank half in one go. Cold hit his teeth, then his stomach.

He didn’t love the taste, too sweet, too sharp, but the brand was good and the color popped well on camera.

He leaned on the edge of the cabinet and exhaled slowly through his nose.

"You think he’s really a support?" he asked.

Vesh didn’t turn around. "You think he’s not?"

Rikta looked down at the mana tab, rolling it slowly between his fingers.

"He doesn’t talk like one."

"No. He talks like someone who doesn’t have to."

That got a pause.

Rikta didn’t reply.

He stared at the tab a little longer. The glyph printed across the surface blinked once, low stock warning.

He crushed the rest of the drink and tossed the can into the far bin. It clanged against the side. Missed.

"I’ve taken hits from heavies before," Rikta muttered.

Vesh shrugged without turning. "You’ve taken hits from guild-tethered B-ranks with inflated gear and two sponsors. This guy’s different."

Rikta didn’t deny it.

He walked back to the rig, pulled up the live feed tab on his side screen. Comments were already trickling in from the short upload. Vesh had posted it under a clean header:

"Rikta Responds: Open Cage Challenge – Two Days"

The chat was moving fast.

@skyglyphs: LFGGGGG 🔥🔥🔥🔥

@vaultburner: no way he’s support class lol that guy got ICE

@disastrati: dude didn’t even blink. That voice? That was a eulogy.

@rikta-club: GOAT vs Ghost incoming 💀💀💀

@flaremancer77: i’m betting supportboy’s fake, 3:1 odds he’s guilded

Rikta’s eyes lingered on that last one. Fake. Guilded.

He didn’t care about being underestimated. He cared about not knowing.

And the guy in the video?

That guy wasn’t playing.

That guy was planning.

Vesh turned the chair slightly.

"You sure about this?" he asked. "You really want the fight to happen?"

Rikta didn’t hesitate.

"Absolutely."

But when he sat down again, he leaned forward slowly. More controlled this time. Elbows on knees, fingers steepled just under his chin.

"I’m not backing out now."

Vesh nodded. "I’ll handle location negotiations. Want indoor cage or outer drift ring?"

Rikta paused.

His eyes drifted to the top left corner of the stream screen, an embedded link. Lucen’s video still auto-looped in the preview.

That still frame. Dim light. One shoulder forward. The look in his eyes like he’d already run the outcome in his head and logged the EXP before hitting record.

"Doesn’t matter," Rikta said finally. "He picked the fight."

He tapped the screen with two fingers.

"Let him pick the field."

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