As he sprinted to class, he 'talked' to Meepers, who was trying to take a nap. After finding out that he'd been out for basically four days, he nearly smacked his face into the ground. Thankfully, he was able to catch himself.

"Careful youngster!" A grandpa kindly called out, "Kids these days are always in such a rush." he remarked as he watched Jero catch himself and continue to run.

"Hmm... I wonder if I can still participate in the tournament..." As the thought popped in his head, Jero panicked, making himself sprint harder, and although he was technically jogging, to other people, he was breaking the sound barrier.

'Boom'

Having finally arrived, Jero slammed open the doors. Panting slightly, he looked at Tate...

"Errm... Did I miss anything?" He asked after a moment of silence.

"Nope, surprisingly you didn't." Tate said, "Just some training, which you can make up."

"Oh thank god!" cried Jero. It was really remarkable, as the next 2 days were hectic. Two sessions of training weren't the problems. The problem was all of the theory. Although his parents taught him all kinds of weapons, they didn't teach the theory behind them.

On the day of the tournament.

"Ok, so the three representatives for class Z are Jero, Zwei, and Marke." As Tate said this, he pulled the three over. "What weapons do you choose?" he asked with zeal, "I have a selection of them."

Mark and Zwei chose swords, that in Jero's opinion, were pretty bad quality. They had made their minds in advance. "The leader of the squad will be Jero," Tate said, "He seems to have experience with this kind of thing," he explained, "What weapon do you choose?"

"None of your's..." Said Jero, "I have my own." He shrugged his sleeves back, showing his two hidden blades. With a flourish of his hands, he shot the blades out, retracted them, and pulled his tomahawk out from his space ring.

The kids gasped, before breaking down into laughter. Jero's face darkened, as he knew why they were laughing. Tate, on the other hand, had no idea why they were laughing.

"Next thing you know, he's an assassin like Ezio!" A student managed to spit out before falling to the floor from lack of oxygen.

"You know... I am an assassin, but the difference is that I am stronger than that kid by large margins." Jero defended, "He was stupid enough to make a game about it though... He was a traitor..."

"Ehhm, I don't know what that's about, but whatever. Let's go!" Exclaimed the confused Tate, "To the tournament grounds!"

"Wait 'fess, where are the grounds?" Jero asked.

"Ehm, it is near tavern A, which is owned by Barkeep W. Winston," answered Tate, "However, the exact whereabouts I don't know."

"Oh, okay."

"Let's go!" Cried class Z, who had suddenly recovered from their giggly fit.

"Let's win!"