From his trek to the old mansion Thomas returned, unsure as to his destination but walking along regardless. His mind was troubled by the thoughts that still tormented it, and he was almost glad as he saw the flashes of magic light up the sky, though he should have been exasperated. It seemed like wherever they went, nobody was capable of staying out of trouble for more than half a day. He picked up the pace then, heading towards the origin point which seemed to be the sandlot. That indicated something was up, since if he wasn't missing his guess, magic hadn't been allowed in that tournament which meant something was happening. 

As he ran he summoned his Keyblade, focusing his mind as he banished the unwanted, depressive thoughts. With a fight going on, he couldn't afford to be distracted, and there would be time for moping later. And he was running towards the group; he didn't need them to know about the problems he had right now. His voice had quieted, as if it somehow knew what was going on here or had some premonition of what the fight was about that he didn't know.

He managed to arrive as the dust settled, arm panging from the multiple corridors that opened in the area, and he dismissed his keyblade to walk nonchalantly into the Sandlot, arms folded with the metal covered one on top. "Well, looks like I missed something big," he commented as he approached the dispersing crowd. "I take it no one won the tournament then."