The lobby quieted down significantly.
Mr. Ashwell stood exactly where he was, watching the backs of the young men and women as they hurried off with their uniforms.
He then glanced at Serena, who still looked so composed, as if everything she had just done was a mere afterthought. The complex mix of emotions swirling inside him was indescribable.
He had led teams in the past.
But never once had he felt this way—they hadn't even stepped onto the competition grounds yet, but the absolute security of knowing someone had their backs made his chest run hot.
He finally understood where Mr. Harrison's unwavering confidence came from.
His blood was starting to pump.
He was now a firm believer.
With Serena on their side, the Elyndor team would be absolutely unstoppable in this tournament!
...
Severia, Global Med-Tech Center.
Under the massive domed roof of the grand hall, the noise was deafening.
Elite university teams from all over the world were steadily gathering, proudly wearing their respective national uniforms.
Stage lights swept across the room, broadcast cameras rolled, and tournament staff moved with practiced efficiency.
Up on the VIP balcony on the second floor, several high-ranking Severian tournament officials stood with champagne flutes in hand, looking down at the entrance corridor.
Among them was Desmond Prescott.
He wore a vicious, highly calculated smirk, his eyes locked onto the gathering zone.
He was eagerly waiting for the Elyndor team to step onto the world stage wearing those special tracksuits he had so thoughtfully prepared for them.
He had already tipped off his contacts in the international media.
He heavily implied that Elyndor's uniforms would be the first major embarrassment and the biggest viral joke of the tournament.
Right now, hundreds of top-tier international reporters had their cameras pointed at the staging area.
Many of them had their lenses fixed directly on the corridor doors where the Elyndor team was set to emerge.


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