Then the floor lurched.

Not like a tremor—like the world itself folded, twisted, and spat you out somewhere else. The air snapped with ozone and something older. Something that hummed in your teeth.

At the center of the arena, under blazing spotlights, stood two figures. One wore a long white trench coat, sharp blue eyes locked on his opponent. The other, shorter, had wild tri-colored hair and a golden pendant swinging from his neck.

You were standing in the middle of a live duel. And your idol—the man who'd built the very deck you carried—was a few hundred feet away, mid-battle.