From Human to Skeleton: Revived with Infinite System Crystals

The room fell silent, the weight of his words settling over the audience. Ya-Mi's voice softened. "And Ty? What are your thoughts on him? He's been a polarizing figure in this competition."

Diez's expression darkened slightly, though not with anger. "Ty… He's a mystery. Strong, yes. Determined. But there's something driving him that's hard to pin down. He's not here for glory or power like so many others. That makes him dangerous—and worth watching."

A new voice interjected from the audience, surprising everyone. A sponsor stood, their finely tailored suit catching the light. "Diez, as someone with unmatched defensive skills, what would you change about the Arena if you could?"

Diez considered the question, his jaw tightening briefly. "The cruelty. The way it pits people against each other for sport. Strength should protect, not entertain. But changing that isn't a warrior's task. It's a ruler's."

The sponsor nodded thoughtfully before sitting down, leaving the room once again in hushed awe of Diez's insight. Ya-Mi seized the moment to ask one final question.

"If you could leave one message for the people watching, what would it be?"

Diez's gaze swept over the crowd, his voice steady. "Strength isn't about winning. It's about enduring. If you can endure, you can protect. And if you can protect, then maybe, just maybe, you can make something worth protecting."

As he rose from his seat, the audience broke into applause, their cheers carrying a mix of admiration and respect.

As the applause for Diez Tolks faded and he left the stage, Gisorn strode in with measured, deliberate steps. His piercing, ice-blue eyes swept across the room, seeming to assess everyone and everything within seconds. Dressed in a sleek black combat suit adorned with faint silver lines that shimmered like frost, he carried an aura of precision and control. The holstered firearm at his side seemed almost an extension of himself, and his posture conveyed the confidence of someone who trusted his skills implicitly.

Ya-Mi's welcoming smile didn't falter under Gisorn's intense gaze. "Gisorn, it's a pleasure to have you here. Please, take a seat."

He nodded curtly, lowering himself into the chair. His movements were so precise they seemed almost rehearsed. "Thank you," he said, his voice calm and measured.

"You've become something of an enigma to our audience," Ya-Mi began. "They're fascinated by your skills and your almost mechanical precision. Tell us, how did you hone such extraordinary marksmanship?"

Gisorn's lips twitched into a faint smirk. "Practice. Thousands of hours, thousands of rounds. Growing up in the academy, there wasn't much else to do. Kern would tell you I've been 'stuck up' about it since we were kids. But the truth is, I just don't like missing."

Ya-Mi chuckled. "I suppose Kern's opinion isn't exactly unbiased. Speaking of which, your history with him is well-known. What's it like competing alongside someone you've known for so long?"

Gisorn's smirk faded, replaced by a more thoughtful expression. "Complicated. We've always been rivals. Kern's got raw talent, no denying that, but he's reckless. I've spent more time covering his mistakes than I'd like to admit. Still, I respect him. He's the kind of guy who'd run headfirst into a wall if it meant helping his team."

"Interesting dynamic," Ya-Mi mused. "Now, your skillset has drawn a lot of attention, particularly your perfect vision and ice manipulation. Can you tell us how you use these abilities in tandem during the competition?"

Gisorn's fingers tapped lightly against the armrest of his chair. "The ice is a tool, not a crutch. It's about control. A well-placed ice barrier can funnel enemies into a kill zone, or a thin layer on the ground can destabilize their footing. It's not about brute force; it's about setting up the shot. And when you can see two miles ahead, there's not much that escapes your notice."

Ya-Mi leaned forward slightly, clearly intrigued. "That's a fascinating perspective. Speaking of your impeccable aim, the incident during the first arena battle—when you freed Ty by shooting the strings binding him—was a pivotal moment. Can you tell us what was going through your mind?"

For the first time, Gisorn hesitated. He glanced down at his hands, as if replaying the memory. "I was barely conscious. Hanging there, bleeding out… It wasn't heroism. It was calculation. Ty was our best chance of getting out of there alive. So, I took the shot."

Ya-Mi's expression softened. "Yet, you risked your life to save him. That's not just calculation, Gisorn."

He didn't respond, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the room.

"Let's shift gears," Ya-Mi said, sensing the tension. "You've faced incredible challenges in this competition. If you were to win, what would you wish for?"

Gisorn's eyes snapped back to hers, his expression unreadable. "Justice."

The single word hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning.

"Justice for what, if I may ask?" Ya-Mi ventured cautiously.

He leaned forward slightly, his voice low but firm. "For those who can't fight for themselves. For the ones crushed under the weight of a kingdom that values power over people. And maybe… for myself."

Ya-Mi nodded slowly, her respect evident. "That's a noble wish, Gisorn. One final question before you go: If you had a message for Ty, or for the viewers watching, what would it be?"

Gisorn's smirk returned, but it was tinged with something deeper. "For Ty? Keep your head down and your aim steady. For the viewers?" He paused, his gaze sweeping across the cameras. "Enjoy the show. Just remember, nothing's ever as it seems."

As Gisorn walked off the stage, his rifle slung over his shoulder, murmurs rippled through the audience. Then, a new energy filled the room as Waddle stepped forward. Dressed in rugged, practical attire that spoke of countless battles, his imposing bulk was offset by a casual, almost carefree expression. His amber eyes flickered with a mischievous glint, but there was a weight behind them—a history untold. He adjusted his gloves, scorched and tattered, and took his place in the chair under the glaring lights.

Ya-Mi, the seasoned host, greeted him with a knowing smile. "Waddle, you're certainly one of the more enigmatic contestants. Thank you for joining us. Let's start simple: What inspired you to join the Arena of Life?"

Waddle leaned back, his massive arms resting casually on the chair's armrests. "What inspires anyone? Survival, I guess. Maybe a shot at freedom. But if I'm being honest, I didn't have much of a choice."

"Care to elaborate?" Ya-Mi's voice was gentle but probing.

Waddle's gaze flicked to the audience, then back to Ya-Mi. "Let's just say I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, trying to protect someone who mattered. Ended up here instead of where I was supposed to be. But hey, life's funny like that."

The host's eyes narrowed slightly, intrigued. "And if you win? What would you wish for?"

Waddle chuckled softly, the sound low and rough. "You're really digging deep, huh? If I told you, it might ruin the mystery. But… I guess I'd wish for a second chance. Not just for me, but for someone else who deserves it more."

"Someone else?" Ya-Mi pressed. "Who?"

"That's between me and the stars," Waddle replied with a grin, deflecting with ease. The crowd chuckled softly, though the undercurrent of curiosity deepened.

Shifting gears, Ya-Mi gestured toward the screen behind them, displaying highlights from Waddle's time in the arena. Explosions, flames, and split-second decisions played out, each moment a testament to his skill.

"Your fire abilities have captivated the audience," Ya-Mi noted. "Can you share the story behind them?"

Waddle's expression darkened momentarily, his grin fading. "It's not much of a story. More of a curse. But I've learned to control it. You'd be surprised what you can do when you've got no other choice." Continue reading on My Virtual Library Empire

"You call it a curse?"

"Fire's tricky," Waddle explained, his voice quieter now. "It's alive, in a way. You can try to tame it, but it always takes more than it gives. If you're not careful, it'll consume everything."

Ya-Mi's gaze softened. "And yet, you've wielded it to great effect. Does it define you?"

"Define me?" Waddle tilted his head as though considering the question for the first time. "Nah. It's just a tool. What defines me… that's still up for debate."

The audience murmured, captivated by his enigmatic responses. Ya-Mi leaned forward slightly, signaling a shift to more personal territory.

"Waddle, you've mentioned people waiting for you. Can you tell us about them?"

A flicker of something—pain, perhaps—crossed Waddle's face. "They're… important. That's all I'll say. Important enough to fight for, to keep going for. And they're not here, so I have to make sure I get back to them."

"Would they recognize you now?" Ya-Mi's voice was soft, almost kind.