Chapter 3: Leader in the Line of Fire

Her name is Natalie Carter—a beauty who could stop traffic, and tough enough to back it up. If she had another hundred years, she’d probably outclass all those ancient monsters from the other orders. But time’s run out. She hasn’t even finished growing into her power, yet here she is, forced onto the battlefield. I only met her because I was always sweeping the front steps—catching her eye, trading nods. She wears her hair in a messy ponytail, the kind you’d see on a college soccer star, but her eyes are all business. I’d hoped maybe, someday, she’d let me train for real. Instead, I’ve landed in the middle of the world’s worst pickup game—hoping my one connection keeps me alive.

Not long after, countdown numbers flicker in the sky, like something out of Times Square. A bell tolls. The S3 season officially starts. The War of Ten Thousand Peoples is on.

The Sunrise Islands don’t waste a second. A short guy with a greedy glint in his eye zeroes in on Natalie like she’s already his.

He swaggered over, sizing up Natalie like he was the star QB and she was the homecoming crown he was about to steal. There’s an ugly gleam in his eyes, like he’s already picking out curtains for their shared victory.

“You can’t escape. Why not come with me? At least you’ll stay alive.”

Natalie’s face twists in disgust, about to shut him down hard.

She squares her shoulders, jaw set, hand twitching toward her weapon—pure "try it and see what happens" energy. I see that same fire I once saw when she faced down a drunk at the order gates—no hesitation, all grit.

“Order leader, you still need your strength. Let me handle this one.”

An old man with white hair steps forward. He’s the grand elder—one of the last elders left, still packing a punch.

His voice has that gravel, steady like a retired sheriff back for one last round. Lines etched deep, faded tattoos curling around his knuckles—battle scars from another era.

The Sunrise Islands guy grins:

“Hiroshi Inoue, at your service.”

“Please.”

The grand elder bows. Hiroshi Inoue shouts, then starts chanting the sacred language.

He bows quick, sharp, more streetwise than ceremonial, then throws his arms wide. His voice booms, shaking the ground.

“What’s your name?”