The conversation continued even after they left the main building of the high school wing of the Promethean Academy.
Mostly because none of them seemed particularly eager to stop talking about Duel Monsters.
Chuck walked alongside Alexander and Ginny as they exited the main building and crossed the campus grounds.
"So I'm serious," Chuck said, bringing back the topic they talked about before. "The tournament needs a cool name. Maybe you should come up with another one different from that one."
"It already has a cool name."
"No."
"It does."
"No."
Alexander rolled his eyes while Ginny looked between them and said, "He's right."
Alexander stopped walking and asked, "Excuse me?"
Ginny smiled innocently before she said, "If you have to tell people your name is cool, then it probably isn't."
"Traitor."
"Realist."
Chuck pointed triumphantly, "See? She gets it."
Alexander shook his head and muttered in a mock-annoyed tone, "One day I'll remember not to bring both of you into the same argument."
"That sounds like a skill issue."
Hearing what quickly became her catchphrase, Alexander groaned out loud.
Before long, they reached the parking area near the edge of campus.
Unlike most schools, Promethean Academy's parking lot contained a surprising number of expensive vehicles.
The children of wealthy families tended to have wealthy parents who gift their children expensive stuff without batting an eye.
Chuck headed toward a modest sedan parked several rows away and waved his hand while saying, "See you tomorrow."
Alexander raised an eyebrow and asked, "You remembered your homework this time? Last time you forgot them at school, you almost forced Mrs Defoe to write a letter to your father..."
Chuck's expression immediately became suspicious, "...Maybe."
"That means no."
"It means maybe."
Ginny laughed.
Chuck jokingly raised his middle finger at both of them before climbing into his car, and a moment later he drove away, leaving Alexander and Ginny alone, or rather almost alone, because a familiar luxury sedan waited near the curb.
It was elegant, expensive and understated.
The kind of vehicle that attracted attention only from people who actually understood cars.
As usual, Roland stood beside it.
The older man noticed them immediately and said with a light bow of his head, "Good afternoon."
"Hi, Roland."
"Good afternoon, Mr Cooper."
A small smile appeared on Roland's face as he said, "Good afternoon, Miss Virginia."
He then glanced toward Alexander and repeated, "And good afternoon to you as well, Master Alexander."
Alexander immediately sighed and said, "You know you don't have to do that."
"I know." Roland opened the rear door before he added with a small smirk, "And yet I continue not only because it is my duty but also because it increases my charm."
Alexander almost sighed out loud, but he had long ago accepted that arguing was pointless; there were some things which Roland simply won't compromise.
The three entered the vehicle, and moments later the car smoothly pulled away from the campus.
Ginny leaned back against the comfortable seat.
Even after several weeks, she still wasn't entirely used to riding in cars like this.
Her family wasn't poor, far from it; thanks to her father's work in the private security sector, they were quite well off, but there was a noticeable difference between being comfortable and being Hugh Jones wealthy.
Normally she returned home using one of the academy's buses.
They were excellent buses, modern, comfortable, well maintained, yet they were still filled with students, and students meant noise, delays, and endless stops.
This was considerably faster.
Alexander barely seemed to notice because to him this was simply normal.
Instead, he immediately focused on business as he asked, "So?"
Roland glanced toward him through the mirror and repeated, "So."
"What's the damage?"
"The legal damage or the organisational damage?"
Alexander considered it for a few moments before he said, "Let's start with the legal one."
Roland nodded and reported, "Elizabeth has already prepared most of the documentation needed."
That immediately got Alexander's attention as he asked in a surprised tone, "Already?"
"Participant agreements."
"Good."
"Parental consent forms."
"Makes sense."
"Prize documentation."
"Necessary."
"Venue contracts."
Alexander nodded and said, "Expected."
Roland continued while still keeping his gaze trained on the road, "Liability waivers and event policies are also prepared."
That sounded very reassuring, mostly because it meant Alexander didn't need to write any of it, not that he knew how to do it.
"She only needs a few final details before she can finalise everything."
Alexander relaxed slightly and said, "Good... I'll prepare them tonight and tomorrow we will give it to her."
Roland nodded and said, "That's what she requested."
Ginny shook her head and commented, "Sometimes I forget you're fifteen."
Alexander looked offended as he raised an eyebrow and said, "I find that deeply insulting."
"You own a company."
"That doesn't mean anything."
"You employ adults to make them do things for you."
"...Okay, said that way sounds slightly worse than it is. But at least I'm not employing minors... That would be criminal."
Roland coughed politely, and neither teenager believed for a second that it had been accidental.
A few moments later, Roland spoke again, "Have you finally decided on the tournament's official name?"
Alexander immediately nodded, "Actually yes. Talking with Chuck and Ginny helped me choose the most effective one."
That got his attention as Roland glanced at him using the rear mirror and muttered, "Oh?"
Alexander folded his arms and declared, "The tournament's name will be the Duel Monsters Grand Prix."
"The Duel Monsters Grand Prix," Ginny repeated.
Alexander nodded confidently.
"The Duel Monsters Grand Prix," Roland echoed as though testing how it sounded.
"See?" Alexander said. "It's professional."
Ginny tilted her head and said, "It sounds like something that would appear on television."
"Exactly."
"It also sounds like something people in suits would say while shaking hands."
Alexander pointed at her, "That's because people in suits are going to be shaking hands."
Roland cleared his throat, "If I may offer an alternative."
Alexander immediately looked suspicious, "Why do I suddenly feel concerned?"
"The Industrial Illusions Premier Global Duel Monsters Competitive Entertainment Excellence Recognition and Advancement Championship Initiative."
Silence.
Ginny blinked, and Alexander stared in disbelief while Roland maintained a perfectly straight face.
"Roland."
"Yes, Master Alexander?"
"That sounds wrong on so many levels that it feels almost criminal."
"I fail to see the issue."
"There are at least four words in that title that nobody voluntarily uses in conversation."
Ginny nodded in agreement, "I think two of them might be crimes against taste."
For perhaps half a second, Roland's expression threatened to crack before his professional composure reasserted itself, "A pity. I thought it had potential."
The vehicle became silent.
Chuck wasn't present, yet somehow his earlier criticism felt present anyway.
Ginny tilted her head and said, focusing back on the topic, "At first I wasn't so sure, but the more I hear it, the more it feels... That's actually pretty good."
Alexander smiled and said, "Thank you."
"It sounds official."
"It is official."
Roland nodded approvingly and commented, "It will work well on promotional material."
Alexander felt strangely relieved while thinking, 'Naming things is harder than most people realise. Luckily, I don't have to come up with names for cards... That would've been a true nightmare.'
A few minutes later they reached Ginny's neighbourhood and the vehicle slowed to a stop.
Ginny gathered her belongings and said, "Thanks for the ride."
"No problem."
"See you tomorrow."
"See you."
She stepped out of the car and headed toward home.
Roland waited until she disappeared from sight before driving away once more.
The trip toward Industrial Illusions took considerably longer.
During that time, Roland continued providing updates, "Thomas expanded again."
Alexander blinked and asked, "Again?"
Roland nodded and said, "The manufacturing facility added another production line."
That made Alexander realise, 'That is... impressive and slightly terrifying. Thomas Merriweather apparently intends to grow alongside Duel Monsters no matter what happens. I don't know if I should praise his courage or his foresight... maybe both.'
Then he asked, "What about the office?"
"We rented another floor."
Alexander stared in disbelief for a brief moment before he said, "...Already?"
Roland looked amused as he said, "Your company is growing, Master Alexander. Quite fast at that."
Technically true, but it was still strange to hear.
Industrial Illusions had started as a tiny operation where only he and Roland were involved, but now it occupied multiple floors inside a commercial office building.
Alexander wasn't entirely sure when that had happened.
By the time they arrived, several employees were already waiting for him.
As Alexander stepped out of the vehicle, a small group of employees waiting near the entrance immediately straightened.
Most had long since become accustomed to the situation, but not all of them.
One of the newer hires glanced toward Alexander before quietly asking a nearby coworker, "Is that the founder's son?"
The older employee stared at him and said, "That's the founder."
"...Seriously?"
"Seriously."
The newcomer looked back toward Alexander.
Alexander, meanwhile, was already discussing manufacturing reports with Roland while walking toward the building.
The young employee frowned and asked, "How old is he?"
"Fifteen."
The newcomer nearly walked into a glass door, "Fifteen?"
"Mmhm."
"You're joking."
"I wish."
A few seconds later, Alexander passed them and casually said, "Morning."
"Good morning, sir."
The response came automatically.
Only after Alexander disappeared into the elevator did the newer employee finally ask, "How am I supposed to get used to this?"
The older employee considered the question before he replied, "You don't."
That was perhaps the most honest answer possible.
~~~▽~~~
The next few weeks disappeared into a blur.
At some point, Alexander completely lost track of how many phone calls he answered.
The first week had been manageable.
The second week had become concerning.
The third week felt like being attacked by paperwork.
One store owner requested additional participant slots.
Another requested promotional posters.
A third wanted to know whether custom tablecloths qualified as tournament support.
Alexander wasn't entirely sure how that had become his problem.
Then came the parents; most were perfectly reasonable, but some were not.
One mother spent nearly fifteen minutes verifying that adult supervision would be present.
"Yes."
"Qualified adults?"
"Yes."
"Not teenagers pretending to be adults?"
Alexander glanced toward Roland.
Roland stared back with the expression of a man who had spent years cleaning up after wealthy executives, "I believe I qualify."
Alexander returned his attention to the phone, "Yes, ma'am. Qualified adults."
The woman sounded relieved.
Another parent wanted to know whether competitors would be searched for counterfeit cards.
A third asked whether professional security would be present.
A fourth somehow became convinced that television crews would attend.
Alexander still had no idea where that rumour originated.
The only thing everyone seemed to agree on was that attendance would be significantly higher than expected.
Then one store requested additional participant slots.
Alexander approved it.
Three more stores requested slots.
Alexander approved those too.
A local newspaper requested an interview.
Several more parents called asking questions regarding supervision and prize distribution.
Stores began asking about sponsorship programs.
Players from neighbouring cities announced plans to attend.
Rumours surrounding the prize card spread rapidly.
Someone claimed the winner would receive a unique card.
Someone else insisted it was a card capable of instantly winning the game.
A third rumour claimed Industrial Illusions had secretly created an entirely new card just for the tournament.
Nobody actually knew the truth, and Alexander found the rumour mill strangely amusing.
The official tournament rulebook was finalised and distributed.
Judge training began shortly afterwards, something that Alexander insisted on personally as he was well aware that nothing destroyed a competitive environment faster than uncertainty.
If Duel Monsters intended to become a serious game, then tournaments needed structure.
Clear rules. Clear procedures. Clear authority.
The closer the event approached, the faster everything seemed to move.
Then came the attendance report.
Alexander opened the folder and read the number.
Paused.
Read it again and then a third time before muttering, "...Oh shit."
Roland looked up and repeated in a half-amused, half-curious tone, "Oh shit?" Before reminding him, "Be mindful of your language, Master Alexander."
"That can't be right."
Roland immediately reached for the document, and a few moments later he found the relevant figure; then he understood.
Alexander had originally expected roughly eighty participants, perhaps one hundred if things went exceptionally well.
The actual estimate sat considerably higher, two hundred and thirty-seven.
Silence filled the office.
For several seconds Alexander simply stared at the number, then his brain finally began processing what it actually meant, 'Two hundred and thirty-seven participants. Not spectators but participants. That means pairings. Tournament brackets. Registration packets. Table assignments. Judge coverage. Food arrangements. Emergency procedures. Insurance documentation.'
His expression slowly changed, and Roland immediately recognised the look; it was the same expression Alexander developed whenever a project suddenly revealed twenty previously invisible problems, "Master Alexander?"
"I'm calculating how many ways this can become a disaster."
Roland considered that before asking, "And the result?"
"More than I would prefer."
"That narrows it down considerably."
Alexander ignored him as his mind kept working, 'Two hundred and thirty-seven. That isn't even a convenient number as it isn't divisible neatly, which means byes, which means additional administration. Which means additional opportunities for mistakes, and mistakes during a first major tournament are exactly what I want to avoid.'
For perhaps three seconds he considered panicking, then he shoved the thought aside.
Alexander slowly lowered the report and said, "Roland."
"Yes?"
"I may have underestimated things."
Roland considered the statement before smiling lightly and asking, "You think?"
Alexander ignored him, mostly because he was right.
The good news was that he had chosen the larger venue.
The conference facilities inside the Biltmore Los Angeles Hotel could comfortably accommodate the numbers.
The bad news was that everything else now needed adjustment.
More judges, more tables, more registration materials, more staffing, more planning, more everything.
Alexander briefly buried his face in his hands, then immediately returned to work while thinking, 'Panic can wait until later; now I've to fix this.'
That same evening, several store owners sent reports regarding notable competitors.
Most were exactly what Alexander expected.
Strong local players, tournament regulars, store champions.
The usual, but among them one message stood out.
Apparently there was a teenager from further north that nobody could beat.
The store owner had written nearly three paragraphs complaining about it.
Alexander skimmed the report and then moved on because every region had somebody like that.
~~~▽~~~
Hundreds of miles away, inside a small hobby store, another duel ended.
The result was unsurprising.
A card depicting a horned fiend stood solitarily upon the field, Summoned Skull.
The owner of that card declared a direct attack, and the opposing player's Life Points reached zero.
Silence followed, then groans as the defeated teenager slumped back into his chair.
"Again?"
"Again."
The winner calmly collected his cards; he didn't celebrate his victory, nor did he show any excitement or visible satisfaction, but only a cold analysis.
The duel had ended exactly as expected.
Several nearby players exchanged looks before one finally spoke, "Are you entering the Grand Prix?"
The teenager didn't even look up as he replied, "Naturally."
The answer carried absolute certainty as though there had never been another possible outcome.
Nobody seemed particularly surprised by the answer, but not because they expected arrogance.
Because they expected certainty.
The teenager rarely celebrated victories; he rarely discussed them afterwards. Winning wasn't remarkable, but it was the anticipated result.
One of the local players shook his head and said, "I still don't understand how you always know what people are going to do."
The teenager finally looked up and said, "I don't."
The other player brightened slightly, then the teenager continued, "Most players simply repeat the same mistakes."
The optimism vanished immediately, and several nearby duelists groaned.
One muttered something that sounded suspiciously like an insult.
The teenager ignored it as he wasn't interested in their complaints.
The duel itself had been decided several turns earlier, but his opponent simply hadn't recognised the fact.
For weeks he had studied Duel Monsters.
Every duel revealed patterns, every card interaction revealed relationships, every strategy exposed weaknesses.
The game possessed a structure that most players barely noticed, and he found that strangely disappointing, 'Potential is wasted far too often.'
His attention remained fixed upon a single card now resting in his hand, Summoned Skull.
For weeks he had studied the game, for weeks he had observed the cards, and for weeks he had experienced the same faint sensation.
A subtle presence, almost imperceptible yet undeniably real.
Most people never noticed, but he did.
His fingers lightly traced the card's surface while thinking, 'The sensation remains. It's faint and subtle yet undeniably present. I have tested it too many times to dismiss it as imagination. Different cards. Different opponents. Different locations. The effect persists; therefore, it is real. Others see cardboard, ink and simple game mechanics. They are wrong. Something exists beneath the surface. A force. A connection. A truth waiting to be understood.'
Most people would have ignored it, but he could not afford to.
The world contained too many mysteries already. Too many questions that remained unanswered, too many things that others claimed were impossible.
He rejected that notion entirely, 'If power exists, then it can be studied. If it can be studied, then it can be understood, and understanding creates possibilities.'
For a brief moment his gaze lingered upon the card, then he carefully returned it to his deck, 'There have to be answers somewhere. And if nobody else can find them... Then I will.'
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