[center][color=orangered][h1]The Tournament Begins[/h1][/color][/center]
This was his 5th time hearing it now, the roar of the arena. Like harmonious thunder, like being engulfed by a hurricane and standing in the eye of the storm.

He had to wonder, hearing the cheers of the crowd, and looking back at the expressions of the other students of St. Laurel's, he wondered if anyone else saw the world the same way.

[b][i]"St. Laurel's School of Academic Excellence!"[/i][/b] Came the announcement.

The roar reached a crescendo as they entered the arena.

They marched forward with well-practiced steps. St. Laurel's were the bearers of the last year's mantle of championship. St. Laurel's boasted the record for most consecutive years keeping the mantle, as well as overall years holding the mantle. It was a heavy burden to bear, or so it should've been.

But in Alto's hands, it felt light. However, it wasn't because the pressure had been lightened. The burden was just as great as before, however now it teetered back and forth so unsteadily he could barely feel the weight of the flag he bore.

[b][i]"Mephisto's School for the Wickedly Inclined…"[/i][/b]

Opinions were mixed about Mephisto's. Most people didn't like their methods, obviously. But there were a surprisingly large amount of people that liked them. They fought dirty, and they had a very distinct presence on the battlefield. They had no reservations openly cheering for them, because after all, as far as they could tell Mephisto's was just a school with some weird quirks. They'd been able to rest the title from the hands of St. Laurel's, a feat no one before them had managed to do, despite the dubious nature of their victories.

The favour of the crowd was something they'd had to build up. They were good at riling up the crowd one way or another, but to make the fever pitch tip from anger to cheering required a fair amount of effort and preparation. Those cheerers of theirs were their allies, whether they knew it or not. If there were enough to balance the scales, then there was enough to tip them.

The mistake of the Tournament's board of directors was making the judgements subjective. Human judges could be swayed, in fact they were placed here exactly to be swayed. They still needed to win, however Clara would not let her advantage go to waste, no matter how small.

[b][i]"And now the Vigilantes!"[/i][/b]

The cheers halted. And then reignited into an even louder crescendo. If there were one group who reigned in the excitement of the crowd, it was the Vigilantes. Mix the under-dog nature of their group with having a healthy mix of dirty fighters and fair fighters from all around, it was no wonder they had no shortage of fans.

There had been rumours circulating before the tournament that they wouldn't be participating. This year. Indeed, the tournament entry fee was sort of a deterrent to rogue-like organizations like the Vigilantes. The price was relatively steep, but the government paid a portion depending on the nature of your organization, so it was far less expensive for educational institutions than for most other organizations. Yet it seemed that financial troubles hadn't fazed the Vigilantes at all.

They kept on coming, dozens of members, lined up behind their leader, King. Whether you believed his words or not, there was no denying he made himself in where he stood. He had the charisma to lead, and the sense to use it. He didn't need anything else.

The three leaders looked across at each other. It was just about a guarantee that they would be their team's leaders. In a few moments, this place would become their battlefield.

[b][i]"Now let the Capture the Flag tournament begin!"[/i][/b]