The whiteboard Coach Minami had handed to us was no longer white. It was a chaotic tapestry of black ink, a battlefield of equations, probability trees, and psychological profiles scrawled with frantic intensity.
Leonidas stood over it, the marker that Coach Minami also handed to us, started to move like a conductor's baton, his brow furrowed in deep concentration.
"If we account for the coefficient of restitution of these specific leather medicine balls against the floor, and factor in the humidity at eighty percent," Leonidas muttered, his voice a rapid-fire stream of variables. "The bounce vector will deviate approximately four degrees. We need a defensive phalanx, a turtle formation."
"Incorrect," Avram countered immediately, pushing his glasses upward, his eyes scanning the board with a detective's scrutiny. "A static defense against Milicia reduces our chance of winning, and perhaps survival, to twelve point four percent. Her kinetic output exceeds the structural integrity of a human shield. We need a dispersion pattern. A stochastic movement algorithm."
"You're both ignoring the psychological weight," Tao interjected, sketching a quick jagged profile on Milicia on the corner of the board. "She feeds on her grandiose ego and clearly feeds on our fears into submission. If we turtle, we show panic to her which gives her all the targets to get us eliminated quickly and efficiently. We need to mirror her aggression but decouple the emotional response to not show any hesitation. We gotta act as a singular, unfeeling organism."
Borsalino, rubbing his temple, groaned. "Do we even stand a chance though? I mean think about it, they have heavy artillery; Milicia, Aurelian, Giovanni, Sinclair, and even Leonid. All we got in the artillery is Isaac, Areli, Leonidas, and Alexandra. And no offense, but Milicia's death squad got a better physical strength quality than we do."
It was true, they had more manpower than we did, they even had the brains like Viviana, who could use her medical knowledge on the anatomy to tell what their weak spot was and what their bodily delays were.
Hell they even have that erotic genius Marie, who solved the school's nature during orientation day, who can probably decipher the current strategy Isaac's team is working on, and possibly provide a counter for it.
In other words, Milicia has made the best logical, ruthless, and efficient choices for her team that would make it impossible to counter with any logic, since Milicia's logic was more potent than Isaac's.
And just like fire, you can't fight logic against logic, especially if that one's logic is more potent.
But... I don't think it's entirely hopeless, it would just be difficult to find the path to victory since as of now, that path is incredibly narrow.
In any case, especially in a dodgeball game, this shouldn't be taken too seriously.
Though given the environment, the reward, people, and the terrifying physical stats we and perhaps the entire student body possess.
"Shit if we're losing, we might as well take them down with us, not let them get the satisfaction of winning. By giving them a stalemate where neither of us win the reward and we remain where we are." Zisel yawned looking at us and at Milicia's team.
Areli raised an eyebrow. "Would that even be possible?"
"No," Alexandra purred, finding our strategy brainstorming amusing. "Even though by logic, that is one of the most ideal scenarios, it is impossible since we would either have to dodge their fast throws which takes at least the processing power of a super computer to do so without losing enough stamina for them to throw another and hitting you. Or have the grip strength enough to catch their throws without letting go. And let's be real," She gestured to a few of our teammates. "Jun, Borsalino, Arabella, and Enoch would make the stalemate strategy impossible, full offense taken."
"N-none taken actually!" Jun detested. "I don't think I could even catch them... or at least the ones thrown by the physically... gifted ones on Milicia's team."
At least Jun knew her limits, personally, I believe that Jun is able to take on Adrien, Nirvan, Baldwin, Kai, and Viviana. If going by her grip strength and speed before she was carried by Isaac.
"Uhm full offense!" Borsalino said loudly to Alexandra who ignored him.
Alexandra's gaze was focused on Arabella, who was watching Isaac intently, trying to read his thoughts to know what he was thinking.
Despite being 'debugged', it looks like she is struggling to even read him.
I still get chills for what Isaac did to Arabella despite it being with benevolent intentions and the fact that he deduced that she had a gamified Synesthesia just from her looking at the empty space? Who does that? And what a terrifying skill Isaac possesses in perception and cold reading...
"So Arabella~" Alexandra purred, wrapping an arm around Arabella with a smile that resembled a cat's smile. "What do those gamified eyes see in our lovely King of Trash?"
Arabella shook her head. "No... I still can't read him..." She admitted, but she wasn't exactly sad, more like thinking, or perhaps trying to interpret what Isaac was thinking. "I think he's planning on getting us a perfect victory and I believe he might tweak the current strategy Leonidas, Avram, and Tao are forming..."
"That does make sense when you think about his social circle," Benecio agreed, humming. "Class H wise, he is friends with Marie, Milicia, and Leonid which will help with tweaking the aspect in Tao and Avram's additions by a huge increase in us winning."
"I still can't get over the fact that Arabella has Synesthesia," Borsalino commented, looking at Arabella with envy and awe. "That's basically a cheat code... and she basically sees everything like an RPG game..."
"Having it is one thing," Avram interjected while still writing on the whiteboard. "Mastering it is another, though in Arabella's circumstances, she clearly mastered it," Avram continued. "And also, it's Ideathesia, a more abstract depth of Synethesia, and a more impossible one to sense without a form of self-report... And the fact that Isaac detected it just from observation alone... is, or well, was impossible."
"No kidding..." I muttered to myself.
I looked back at the three that were turning the whiteboard into a black ink of a mess. "Chicos," I said, my voice cutting through the noise. "We are wasting time."
"We are merely optimizing till our leader confirms that he is ready for the strategy." Leonidas corrected without looking up.
I looked at the leader in question, Isaac, who stood five feet away from us, his arms crossed, staring across the gym at Milicia's team. He wasn't even looking at us, let alone the board.
"Isaac," I called out. "Hey, magician! You got a plan, or are you just admiring our executioners?"
He turned slowly, walking over to the whiteboard, and he looked at the dense mathematics and psychological profiles for three seconds, and then picked it up.
"Hey!" Leonidas protested, though didn't make any attempts to take it. "I was still calculating the wind drag coefficient."
Enoch chimed in. "Perhaps he's gonna make tweaks into the strategy formulation like Arabella said—"
Isaac turned and frisbee-tossed the whiteboard across the gym floor. It clattered loudly, sliding to a halt near the wall.
The silence was instant.
"Uhm..." Jun nervously began speaking, while everyone on our team looked bewildered by Isaac's action, but Isaac's message was clear that he was abandoning the strategy that our team formulated. "... Isaac... why—"
"What the hell?!" Enoch yelled, he looked like he was about to faint. "That was our plan! Our shield! We needed that data so we could win. What the hell is wrong with you?!"
"That was a suicide note written in algebra," Isaac said. His voice was warm, calm, but it also held a terrifying resolve of absolute.
"All we needed was more tweaks and we could have it work in our favor." Tao retorted. "But now you threw our only logical strategy that can beat Milicia's strategy, whatever that might be."
"Milicia has already created a stronger logical strategy the moment we were given our role as team captains. The mathematics, psychology, and probabilities you have all given were bound to fail..."
So he held the same insight as I did too... but... what exactly is your plan gonna be? While yes that strategy we were forming would get us to lose, it was also our way to not give them the satisfaction of a perfect victory.
Isaac continued speaking. "... Milicia is the logical embodiment of chaos incarnate wrapped in themes of grandeur and unapologetic narcissistic ruthless control. She'll rely on her expertise in brutality that she usually specializes in psychology due to my experience with her from these past few days, and now she'll apply both physical and psychological applications of her brutalism. If you build a wall, she won't climb it, she'll break down that way until it ceases to exist."
"I do hope you're not suggesting we submit our loss to them," Zisel commented. "Because you already know I don't do submissions. I'd rather fight them and bring them down with us."
"Of course not," Isaac said, grabbing the black marker away from Tao, uncapping it with his teeth.
"We won't build a wall, instead, we will become air. We become the water. We become something else that Milicia's logic, or any logic at that, will not be able to understand.
He held out his hands, palms up.
"The strategy is called 'The Hands of God'."
He began drawing on his own skin. On his left palm, he sketched a crude but striking eye, surrounded by rays of light. On his right palm, he began to draw another eye, but it was closed this time, surrounded by darkness. Then he began to write.
I recognized that what he was writing was not English, not Spanish, hell, not even Latin. But something more ancient...
Wait a minute... that's...
"Paleo-Latin," Benecio whispered, his eyes widening as he leaned in. "That is archaic... and only exists in two pre-roman scripts that were founded... to even articulate and write it with that much confidence and casualness means that you mastered that ancient language that was deemed fictional and impossible to decode..."
"You'd be correct, I'd just mastered the fluency of the language and vocabulary while picking out the members for my team, since I cross-referenced the entire romance language tree along with Roman Latin to decipher Paleo-Latin so I could use the ancient knowledge that was so niche, that even Milicia would not know how to translate it." Isaac confirmed which rendered us silent.
"You..." Benecio was in awe. "You mastered the language of Paleo-Latin that quickly, and that not even the field of linguistics and archeological discoverers were able to learn it?... and the implications of you saying that while picking out us means..."
Zisel laughed. "It means that he was planning this moment he was chosen to be captain. Which rendered all of our insight for a strategy meaningless from the start... crafty bastard of a magician."
Amazing... utterly amazing what Isaac did... to not only learn and master a dead language, but also apply it as a strategy mixed with an esoteric aesthetic while going off of... maybe creativity? Creativity that is so unpredictable, so fluid, so niche, and probably based on abstract intuition that it makes this strategy the antithesis to logic...
"He's like a genius in the esoteric sage level..." Arabella muttered with a look of admiration in her eyes.
Isaac ignored the comments, he drew arrows spiraling out from the eyes, tracing lines down his fingers. At the tip of each arrow, he wrote a Roman numeral.
We all saw the big picture on his hands.
"What is that...?" Jun asked, looking at Isaac's hands carefully. "Are these coordinations?"
Isaac nodded. "You'd be correct Miss. Naomi. "Decentralized command hidden in plain sight. Milicia expects a strategy she can break. She expects a formation she can crush. She does not expect faith, because she is under the impression that like her, I am someone in control."
Faith
He's insane.
The thought rang through my head like a church bell, clear and resonant. As I recalled the moments.
I watched Isaac draw on his skin. His eyes were serene, too serene.
It was the look of a man who had already seen the end of the movie while the rest of us were still buying popcorn.
He tossed the whiteboard that made Tao and Avram want to head into a great depression.
But Isaac... he's operating on a frequency that most of us probably can't hear.
I looked at the symbols. Paleo-Latin. Who even knows that? well besides a few, it's dead. It's dust. But here is Isaac, who resurrected the dead language, mastered it, and only used it for coordination in a dodgeball game against a team of war.
Look at him. He isn't even scared. Everyone else is vibrating with cortisol. Enoch looks like he is about to faint. Adrien over there on Milicia's team is preening like a peacock on death row. But Isaac? His heart rate is probably as calm as a cucumber.
This strategy... 'The Hands of God'. Come to think about it now... It's arrogant. It's blasphemous. It requires us to surrender our agency to him completely. To become his fingers on his hands. He wants to be the brain, while we are the nerves, and Milicia's team is the virus.
But why do I trust it?
I'm a delinquent. But at my core, I am a thief of masks. I got into this school by copying one of my old classmates' mask as an academic overachiever but perfected it. After all, a thief steals something they can perfect to use later on if they view it as valuable. I can count that I have stolen hundreds of masks; politicians, nurses, con artists, martial artists, athletes, mechanics, detectives, consultants, scientists, influencers, idols, musicians, you name it. But then again, I have always been a delinquent since it is my real self, or perhaps just a mask I have worn for so long that I forgot it is a mask?
I survived based on masks and not trusting others. I survived by keeping my own counsel, and by finding an exit before I even found the entrance.
But when I caught him looking at me... when those grey eyes locked onto mine... I feel like he's seen through the shadows of the masks I have lived in. And he's not asking me to step into the light. He is asking me to use the darkness even if he didn't directly say that, but I can tell.
I believe he does understand me better than anyone else.
One will say 'who do you even know that? He didn't even speak to you', because he already does understand, he doesn't need to speak to someone to understand, he understood Arabella's Synesthesia just by seeing her look. What makes them think he couldn't understand me?
I believe he wants to use the real me, the silence, after all, I am what's between the mask which is the silence. He wants to weaponize it
They say social intelligence is about making allies, to increase your circle. That's not it, social intelligence is about understanding the flow of power. Right now, the power is consolidating around him. Not because he demands it, but because he offers one thing that we are starving for right now, and that is certainty.
Milicia offers destruction, Isaac counters by offering a plan of certainty.
But it's more than that. It's the way his mind moves, it's incredibly fluid. He saw the whiteboard and realized it was static, and discarded it. He knows Milicia's logic is stronger than what was presented to us to use. So he created a system that adapts faster. It is a liquid hierarchy. He's betting on his ability to process the battlefield in real-time better than Milicia could process.
It's a gamble. A massive, reckless gamble. If he misread a single signal, if he raises the wrong finger, we get crushed. He's putting twelve lives in the palm of his hands, while his other hand is engineering Milicia's team.
And he's smiling.
God help us. He's enjoying this.
"Miss. Dolfuss," Isaac looked at Alexandra. He pointed to his left index finger. A 'I' was written there, pointing to an arrow labeled 'V'. "You are I. Your target is V. Do you know who V is?"
Alexandra grinned, a sharp, chaotic expression that mirrored the danger in Isaac's eyes. "If I go by my super intuition~, Adrien?"
"Correct," Isaac smiled. "Adrien is the bait. He is loud, he is flashy, and he is fragile. You are the unpredictable trap. You do not engage with him. You wait for him to think he is safe."
He pointed to his middle finger. 'II'. Arrow to 'IX'.
"Miss. Lehi. You are II. Target is IX. Mr. Bombacci. The Tank."
Zisel cracked her neck, the sound loud and dry. "I'm going to dismantle him. He relies on mass. I'll target his structural weak points like the knees, equilibrium. He's a statue. I'm a chisel."
"Miss. Perez," Isaac looked at me.
I froze. His grey eyes bore into mine, and for a second, the gym disappeared. I was back in Seville, back in the alleys.
"You are III," he said. "Your targets are XVIII and XVII. Mr. Miroslav and Mr. Fajr. They are fast. They rely on speed. But you... you are not fast. You are a shadow. You are the silence between the heartbeats. Do not chase them. Be where they are going to be."
I swallowed. He really did see it. He saw the thief in me. The girl who survived by not being seen but by wearing perfect masks that were stolen.
"Understood," I whispered. Be the shadow. Be the ghost.
He went down the line, assigning roles not based on physical stats, but on psychological profiles.
"Mr. Maximiliano (IV)," Isaac said to Leonidas. "Your target is Leonid (VIII). He is a wall of stoicism. You will break him not with force, but with your own speciality, geometry. Make him doubt his own footing."
"Understood," Leonidas nodded, his mind already discarding the previous calculations for this new, fluid logic. "I will apply angular stress. If I target his peripheral vision with non-linear trajectories, I can disrupt his flow state."
"Miss. Famala (V)," Isaac pointed to Areli. "Target is Mr. Falk (III). He is a genius of fast analysis. He overthinks. You throw faster than he can think. Overwhelm his processing speed."
"Fastball special," Areli smirked, flexing her fingers. "I like it. He analyzes everything? Let's see him analyze 90 miles per hour before it hits his face."
"Mr. Shoi (VI)," Isaac looked at Tao. "Target Miss. Winchester (XXIV). She is a medic. She cares too much. Use that. When she is distracted by someone getting injured by us, hit her when she flinches."
Tao nodded, his face impassive. "Exploiting empathy hm?" He mused. "You're pretty scary when you are warm and ruthless at the same time. An efficient move. Compassion is a tactical error in this environment."
"Miss. Vexley (VII)," Isaac said softly. "Target is Miss. Bosque (II). The Raid Boss."
Arabella paled. "Me? Versus the giant?"
"She is a raid boss, Miss. Vexley," Isaac said. "She has a pattern. She has a cooldown. You are the sniper. You wait for the animation lock."
Arabella's breathing hitched, then steadied. "Cooldown phase and Animation lock. Okay. Okay. I can do that. I just have to watch for the tell. Every boss has a tell."
"Miss. Lehi (II) you also cover Mr. Moon (XV). He is the variable. Chaos counters chaos."
"Mr. Mercado (VIII)," Isaac turned to Benecio. "Target Mr. Faust (XXI). He relies on statistics. Be organic. Be unpredictable like a storm."
"Seems simple enough." Benecio easily nodded.
"And us?" Jun asked, gesturing to herself, Borsalino, and Enoch.
Isaac turned his right hand over. The back of his hand was blank, save for a single, long arrow drawn from his wrist to his middle knuckle.
"You are the Soul," Isaac said. "You keep the morale. You keep us alive. And Milicia... Milicia is mine."
"And Marie?" I asked. "She's on their team. She knows how you think going by the fact that she only talks to you."
Isaac's smile deepened. It was a smile that promised secrets. "Marie is the key. She is looking for logic. I will give her magic."
He raised his hands.
"This strategy relies on one thing. You do not need to think. You do not need to hesitate since Milicia will instantly exploit it. When I raise my left hand, you move. When I raise my right, you strike. You trust the Hand."
"That is... incredibly arrogant," Leonidas muttered, but he was staring at Isaac's hands with a look of pure intellectual hunger and expected something like this from Isaac? "Centralized command through visual cipher. It removes the latency of verbal communication. It creates a hive mind."
"It's insane," I whispered. "But... I'm in."
————-
I hate her.
I hate her. I hate her. I hate her.
Milicia Milosevic. She stands there like a queen of ashes, breathing superiority like it's oxygen. Look at her. That grin. That absolute lack of doubt. It's disgusting. It's irrational. It's the antithesis of everything I value.
She grabbed me. She physically handled me like I was an object. "Horny Sherlock." Is that all I am to her? A processor? A calculator with a pulse? She doesn't see me. She doesn't see my mind. She just sees a function she can exploit.
Why am I here? Why am I on this side of the line?
I looked across the court. Isaac. He's standing there, calm amidst the storm he's creating. He didn't pick me. He picked Jun. He picked Arabella. He even picked Enoch of all people. Why?
Logic dictates he picked them for specific utility. But logic also dictates that I am the highest value asset for tactical analysis. So why leave me?
Unless...
Unless he left me here on purpose. Unless he knows I hate this. Unless he knows I hate her(which he probably already knew).
Look at this team. It's not a team. It's a collection of terrified victims(cough cough Leonid, Adrien, and Viviana) and eager sycophants held together by the gravity of one monster. Adrien acts like a court jester to avoid being eaten. Sinclair follows because she respects strength, but she's blind to the cruelty. Leonid... poor Leonid is just a punching bag.
Class H. A class of misfits. A class of trash. And Milicia is the Queen of Trash? No. She's the tyrant of the landfill.
I am Madame Zero, well 'was' now since I am at this school. I have never lost a gamble. I have memorized every card, every face, every variable, every missing piece, every piece of information. And right now, the variable that screams the loudest is Milicia's ego. It's massive. It's unstable. It's a structural weakness waiting to be exploited.
"This is ridiculous," I muttered, scuffing the toe of my sneaker against the floor. "I should be over there. Isaac understands my cognitive processing. Milicia just wants a calculator with legs."
"Quit whining, Horny Sherlock," Milicia snapped. She didn't even look at me. Her eyes were fixed across the court, locked onto Isaac like a laser guidance system. The hunger in her gaze was palpable, a mix of lust, violence, and adoration. "You're here because you're useful. Now, listen up."
We all came over, and Sinclair, ever the giant, blocked out the gym light with her sheer size. Aurelian, the person other than Isaac that I tolerate, seems like he doesn't want to be on this team either.
"The strategy is called 'The Devil's Exodus'," Milicia announced, her grin splitting her face. "We will not just beat them. We will evict their souls. We overwhelm them. We will destroy them with everything."
She knelt, drawing a formation on the floor with a fingernail that screeched against the floor.
"Sinclair, Giovanni, and Coward. You are the Wall. You stand front and center. You catch everything. You do not dodge. You will absorb. You will break their spirit by showing them that their attacks are meaningless."
Leonid looked like he was about to protest but sighed in resignation. "Understood," Leonid grunted, rubbing his back where the shoe had hit him earlier. "I will not break. I will be the stone."
Leonid... just stop... you're anything but stone
"Adrien, Kai, and Baldwin. You are the Rats," Milicia continued.
"Hey!" Adrien protested, flipping his short hair. "I prefer 'Distraction Specialist' or 'The Lure'."
"Rats?" Baldwin questioned. "I used to be part of the Ukrainian military youth program. I can be a sniper, not a damn rat.
"I second this too." Kai voiced out.
"Y'all are rat's," Milicia said flatly. "You scramble around like idiots. You make noise like a bum. You annoy them to death. You draw their eyes so the Wall can crush them."
"Nirvan, Mihal, Viviana. You are Supply. Keep balls in our hands. If I have to wait for ammo, I'm using you as a projectile."
"Understood," Viviana whispered, looking terrified.
"Aurelian," Milicia pointed. "You are the Sniper. When the Wall opens a gap, you fire. Precision only. Headshots."
"Fine," Aurelian sighed. "But this is a waste of my caloric intake."
"And you, Horny Sherlock," Milicia turned to me. Her eyes were cold, blue ice. "You are the Eyes. You watch Isaac. You decode him. He's up to something. He's drawing on his hands. Tell me what it means."
I looked across the court. Isaac was showing his team his palms. The ink was black, stark against his skin. Symbols. Arrows. Roman numerals.
Isaac is drawing on his hands. Paleo-Latin. I recognize the script. Visual ciphers. He's communicating orders without speaking. It's brilliant. It's elegant. It's everything Milicia isn't.
She wants me to decode him? She wants me to be her spyglass?
Fine. I'll watch him. I'll watch him dismantle you piece by piece, you arrogant cow. And maybe... maybe I'll help him hold the screwdriver.
He tapped his hand. Two taps. Index to thumb.
A magician's signal. "Watch this space."
He's talking to me. Even from across the court, he's talking to me. He knows I'm watching. He knows I'm angry. He's counting on my rage just as much as he's counting on Milicia's pride.
You want logic, Milicia? I'll give you logic. The logic of betrayal.
And yet, my heart was hammered. He knew I was watching. He was counting on it.
I allowed an internal smile to form in my mind. Oh Isaac, is it what I am thinking it is?
I kept my usual composure, I don't want this bitch known as Milicia to know what I am thinking.
"He's using a visual cipher," I told Milicia. "Assigning targets based on Roman numerals. But... There's a delay. A variable I can't read yet."
"Good enough," Milicia purred. She stood up, grabbing two 5kg medicine balls like they were tennis balls. "Let's start the slaughter."
———-
The whistle blew.
START!
The gym erupted into motion.
"Diablo Phase One!" Milicia shouted. Sinclair, Giovanni, and Leonid surged forward. They marched. A wall of muscle closing the distance, shrinking the court. They held their balls, not throwing, just threatening.
Adrien darted out from behind Sinclair. He danced, he spun. "Over here! Look at me! Bet you can't hit the pretty boy!"
"What the hell is he doing?" Borsalino muttered to Tao.
"Acting like an idiot."
On Isaac's side, there was no panic. No scrambling. Isaac stood in the back center, perfectly still. He raised his left hand.
Arrow I -> V
Alexandra saw the signal. She didn't even take a second thought. She didn't hesitate for one second. She acted immediately with no single thought in her eyes.
She was the Wildcard for a reason. She stepped to the side, breaking the line of sight from Giovanni. She held the ball low.
"Hey, pretty boy!" she called out.
Adrien turned, preening. "Yes?"
Alexandra threw. It wasn't a powerhouse throw. It was a sidearm sling, putting a vicious spin on the ball. It curved around Giovanni's leg. Adrien tried to dodge left, but the spin carried the ball right into his path.
THWACK.
The heavy leather ball slammed into his stomach.
"Oof!" Adrien wheezed, folding like a lawn chair.
ELIMINATED: Adrien Leroux.
"One," Isaac whispered.
"Lucky shot." Milicia muttered. "Wall! Advance! Crush them!"
Giovanni stepped forward. He wound up his massive arm. He targeted Enoch, the weak link in his eyes.
"Nothing personal, but Die!" Giovanni shouted, hurling the ball.
Isaac raised his left hand.
Arrow II -> IX
Enoch yelped and dropped to the floor in fetal position-exactly as Isaac predicted. The ball sailed over him.
Behind Enoch, Zisel was waiting.
She didn't catch Giovanni's ball. She let it pass. Then, she sprinted. A burst of anarchic speed. She slid on her knees, going under Giovanni's vision as he recovered from his throw. She popped up, inches from the centerline.
Giovanni looked down. "What-"
Zisel threw. Point blank. Into his knee.
ELIMINATED: Giovanni Bombacci.
"My leg!" Giovanni yelled, hopping on one foot. "She went under the radar! That's guerrilla warfare!"
"All is fair in love and war Giovanni!" Zisel yelled back and flipped him off. "So fuck off to the sideline!"
"Two," Isaac murmured.
Milicia's eyes narrowed. She looked at Isaac's hands. "He's directing them. He's playing RTS with real people. Horny Sherlock! What's the counter?!"
"He's using reactive targeting!" Marie shouted back, intentionally helping Isaac without Milicia realizing it. "He waits for us to commit, then signals the counter! We have to feint! Make them move first!"
"Baldwin! Nirvan! Flank!" Milicia ordered.
Baldwin and Nirvan split up, running down the sidelines. They were fast, athletic.
Isaac raised his left hand.
Arrow III -> XVIII & XVII.
Camila moved. To the rest of the class, it looked like she vanished. She didn't run with heavy steps, instead, she flowed like smoke. She intercepted Baldwin's path before he even got there.
"Sorry Jun! I love your music but don't take this personally!"
Baldwin raised his arm to throw at Jun.
Camila stepped into his personal space even from the range where she was at. "Sorpresa," she whispered. She jammed the ball into his gut.
ELIMINATED: Baldwin Miroslav.
Nirvan saw it happen. He hesitated. "She's fast!"
Camila didn't stop. She pivoted, using Baldwin's elimination as a screen, and launched her ball at Nirvan. It was a perfect spiral.
"Oh shi—" It hit him square in the chest.
ELIMINATED: Nirvan Fajr.
"Four down," Isaac said calmly.
"Useless..." Milicia said loudly, she was getting agitated. "Sinclair! Nuke them! Now!"
Sinclair roared. It was a terrifying sound. She grabbed two balls. She didn't aim. She just unleashed hell.
She threw both balls simultaneously. One at Jun, one at Isaac. The velocity was lethal.
Isaac didn't move. He raised his right hand.
Arrow IV & VII.
Leonidas stepped in front of Jun. He held a ball in his hands. He didn't try to catch Sinclair's throw. He calculated the vector.
He swung his ball, hitting Sinclair's incoming projectile.
CLACK.
The balls collided, kinetic energy dispersing. Sinclair's ball deflected harmlessly into the ceiling.
"Deflection successful," Leonidas noted. "Angle of incidence equal to angle of reflection. Simple mechanics."
Meanwhile, Arabella was watching Sinclair. She saw the 'cooldown'. The moment after the throw when the boss is vulnerable.
"Now," Arabella whispered. "Lag spike."
She threw. It wasn't a fastball. It was a high, slow lob. Sinclair was recovering from the force of her own throw. She looked up. The ball was falling right on top of her.
She tried to step back, but her momentum was forward. She tripped over her own feet.
Boop.
The ball hit the top of her head.
ELIMINATED: Sinclair Bosque.
The gym went silent. The Titan had fallen to a lob.
"No way..." Sinclair muttered, sitting on the floor. "I got... booped? By the gamer girl?... that's actually pretty funny... and cool."
"Five," Isaac said. "The masquerade continues."
It was a rout.
Leonid stood alone at the front. The Wall was gone. He looked tired. He looked at Leonidas.
"Leonidas," Leonid growled. "Let's finish this."
"Agreed," Leonidas said. They threw at the same time.
Leonid threw with power. Leonidas threw with geometry.
Leonid's ball flew straight. Leonidas sidestepped it by a millimeter.
Leonidas's ball hit the floor in front of Leonid, bounced at an acute angle, and tapped Leonid's shin.
ELIMINATED: Leonid Novikov.
"Physics," Leonidas stated, adjusting his glasses. "It always wins against simple brute force."
"Six."
Aurelian stepped up. The Genius. He looked bored, but his eyes were calculating.
"This is inefficient," he muttered.
Areli wound up. She had an arm like a cannon.
"He's analyzing!" she shouted. "Time to overload him with this!"
She threw. A fastball. 90 mph.
Aurelian's brain processed it. Velocity high. Trajectory chest level. Dodge right.
He moved right. "How predictable..." He muttered
But Areli had put a spin on it. A breaking ball.
It curved left.
CRUNCH.
It hit Aurelian directly in the groin.
The sound was sickening. Aurelian's eyes did not bulge, he closed them. He didn't scream. He just exhaled his soul. A single, perfect tear tracked down his cheek as he still stood.
ELIMINATED: Aurelian Falk.
"Seven," Isaac said. "Are you alright Mr. Falk?"
Aurelian just nodded as he went to walk to the sideline and sit down next to Leonid.
Tao looked at Viviana. "She is the medic," Tao said coldly. "She is looking at Aurelian. She is distracted by pain."
He threw. Viviana, still assisting Aurelian, didn't even see it.
ELIMINATED: Viviana Winchester.
"Eight."
Zisel faced off against Kai. Kai was erratic, jumping around. "Can't catch this–"
"You move too much," Zisel grinned. "Predictable chaos."
She threw a ball that looked like it was going left, but she snapped her wrist right. Kai jumped into the path of the ball.
ELIMINATED: Kai Moon.
"Nine."
Benecio looked at Mihal Faust.
"Statistics say you will throw to my left," Mihal said confidently.
Benecio looked at a fly buzzing near the ceiling. He seemed distracted. Then he threw, almost lazily.
Mihal, confused by the lack of telegraphing, froze.
The ball hit him.
ELIMINATED: Mihal Faust.
"You gotta be— he didn't even look..." Mihal muttered and went to the sidelines.
"Ten."
It was down to two.
Milicia And Marie.
Versus Isaac's entire team. Thirteen people.
Not a single casualty.
Milicia stood alone. Her team was gone. Her strategy was in ruins.
She began to laugh. It wasn't a happy laugh. It was the sound of a reactor melting down.
"You think you've won?" she said, grabbing a ball. Her eyes were wild, dilated. "I am Milicia Milosevic! I am the heir of the Milosevic family and the goddess of the weapons market! I don't need a team! I don't need a strategy! I just need to break you!"
"You are alone," Isaac said softly.
He walked out from the back line. He walked past his defenders. He stood in the center of the court, hands at his sides. Open and vulnerable.
"Hit me," Isaac said. "End it."
Milicia grinned. "Finally."
She wound up. The veins in her arm popped. She was going to throw this ball through his chest. She was going to kill him, and she was going to love it.
But then, Isaac did the unthinkable.
He turned to his right. To Camila, who was standing a few feet away, watching him with concern.
He stepped to her. He grabbed her face.
And he kissed her.
It wasn't a peck. It was deep. It was passionate. It was a Hollywood kiss in the middle of a war zone. Tongue included.
Camila's thoughts began to come back:
What....
Time stopped. The gym vanished. Milicia vanished.
There was only warmth. There were only his hands on my face, firm and gentle. There was only his mouth on mine.
Isaac?
Why? Why now?
His lips were soft, but demanding. His tongue swept into my mouth, tasting me, claiming me. It wasn't a regular kiss, it was a conquest. It was electric. A shockwave went through my spine that made the wristband's earlier jolt feel like a tickle.
I felt his hand slide from my cheek to the back of my neck, tangling in my hair, pulling me closer. I felt the hardness of his chest against mine. The heat radiating off him.
I melted. I couldn't help it. I grabbed his shirt, bunching the fabric in my fists, pulling him down. I kissed him back. I forgot the game. I forgot the school. I forgot everything except the taste of him.
He tasted like mint and... mystery. He tasted like safety.
My brain, usually so guarded, flatlined. The thief in me, the one who stole to survive, realized she had just been stolen. He didn't take a watch or a phone. He took my breath. He took my focus.
I felt his other hand rest on my waist, his thumb stroking the fabric of my gym jacket. It was intimate. It was possessive. It was... real?
No. It couldn't be real. Not here. Not now.
But God, it felt real.
I heard a scream in the distance. A banshee wail of pure rage. But it sounded underwater. All I could hear was his heartbeat against my chest. All I could feel was him.
"What. The. Fuck." Borsalino said loudly. "He gets kissed by Milicia and now Camila? Some guys get all the luck."
"Don't forget Arabella and Jun, those two are probably smitten by Isaac as well," Tao added.
"Well..." Avram murmured to them. "Socially speaking, Isaac is the ultimate boy lottery if we take into account that his physique is aesthetically pleasing, has the charisma and charms, is intelligent and emotionally intelligent, and along with the fact that he is strong too and humble as well. Naturally, he's the perfect boy for any woman... or man if they swing that way."
Borsalino groaned at Avram's unnecessary assessment. "Next you'll say that he has a big dick."
"I mean..." Benecio was about to continue but Borsalino gave him a deadpan look.
"Please, don't show me the reality. Allow me to cope."
Adrien on the sidelines was in despair. "It's not fair..." He mumbled and pouted.
Milicia's thoughts, however, were a mess:
No.
No no no no no.
My vision turned red. Not metaphorically. Literally. The edges of my sight bled into a crimson haze.
He... he's kissing her?
He's kissing HER?!
AFTER I CLAIMED HIM?!
After I marked him? After I licked his blood? After he spoke my language? After he became MINE?
He is touching her. He is holding her. He is tasting her.
That mouth belongs to me. That skin belongs to me. That existence belongs to me.
Rage. Pure, blinding, illogical rage. It wasn't jealousy. Jealousy is for people who fear losing something. This was blasphemy. This was someone breaking into the temple and defiling the altar.
He betrayed me. He betrayed the bond. He betrayed the chemistry line.
Kill her. Kill her. Kill her.
The thought looped in my mind like a broken record, screaming over the sound of my own blood rushing in my ears.
She is a thief. She is a parasite. She is filth. She dared to touch what was mine.
I forgot Isaac. I forgot the game. I forgot the ball in my hand.
No, I didn't forget the ball. The ball is the weapon.
I will erase her. I will turn her face into a memory. I will make sure she never has lips to kiss him with again.
And I will not make the mistake again like I did with...
"YOU TRAITOR!" Milicia screamed. The sound tore from her throat. It felt like swallowing glass.
She shifted my aim. She wasn't looking at Isaac anymore. She was looking at Camila.
The thief. The rival. The corpse.
"DIE!"
She threw. The ball left her hand at Mach speed 5.6. She put everything into it. Her hatred. Her betrayal. Her broken heart.
But in her rage, she forgot the one variable she had abused.
Marie Curie.
Marie had been watching Isaac. Not the kiss. His hands.
Just before he grabbed Camila, Isaac had flashed his right hand to Marie.
There was a new symbol on the back of his hand. Drawn in black ink. A heart with a line through it.
Betrayal.
Marie understood instantly. Isaac knew Milicia would turn on Camila. Isaac knew Milicia would sacrifice the game for jealousy.
And Marie realized something else. She hated Milicia. She hated being used. She hated being a calculator.
I am not a tool, Marie thought, her yellow eyes burning. I am Madame Zero.
Marie held a ball.
As Milicia released her throw at Camila, Marie stepped forward.
She didn't throw it at Isaac.
She threw at Milicia's ball.
It was a one-in-a-million shot. A calculation only a super-genius could make in real-time.
CLACK.
Marie's ball struck Milicia's ball in mid-air, just inches from Milicia's release point.
The kinetic energy transfer was chaotic.
Milicia's ball deflected. It bounced backward.
It smashed Milicia square in the face.
Blood sprayed from her nose.
Milicia stumbled back, falling onto her butt, eyes wide with shock.
ELIMINATED: Milicia Milosevic.
"Friendly fire!" Coach Borgard shouted. "Counts as an elimination!"
"And since Marie intentionally sabotaged her captain," Coach Minami added, looking impressed, "she is disqualified for betrayal of team integrity. ELIMINATED: Marie Curie."
The whistle blew. Long and loud.
GAME OVER.
WINNER: TEAM ISAAC.
SURVIVORS: 13/13.
PERFECT VICTORY.
Isaac broke the kiss.
He pulled back, a thin string of saliva connecting him to Camila.
Camila was dazed, her face flushed a deep, violent red. She touched her lips. "Isaac... hermano... what...?"
"Forgive me," Isaac whispered, wiping his mouth with his thumb. "Tactical necessity. And... curiosity."
Camila stared at him. "Curiosity?"
"I had to make it convincing," he winked.
Across the court, Milicia sat in a pool of her own shock. Blood dripped from her nose onto her sports bra. She looked at the ball.
She looked at Marie, who was standing tall, looking defiant.
"You..." Milicia whispered. "You shot me?"
Marie stepped forward. She didn't cower. She didn't flinch. She tilted her head, her yellow eyes half-lidded, a smile playing on her lips that was pure, distilled venom. It was the smile of a genius who had finally solved the equation of how to hurt a god.
"I calculated the odds," Marie said, her voice loud, ringing through the silent gym. "Your leadership had a 0% survival rate for my dignity. I chose to defect."
"Defect?" Milicia roared, trying to stand. "I own you! I picked you!"
"You picked a calculator, asshole," Marie spat. "You didn't pick a teammate. You treated me like software. You grabbed me. You threatened me. You thought because I'm smart, and probably think I'm weak too."
Marie raised her hand. She extended her middle finger.
"Fuck you, Milicia," Marie said, savoring every syllable. "I remember everything. Including the fact that you're an asshole with a god complex. Isaac played you. He played you like a cheap fiddle. He knew you'd break. He knew you'd turn on Camila because you're pathetic. You're not a queen. You're just a jealous little girl with big muscles and a gun fetish."
Marie turned to the coaches. "I accept my disqualification. Worth every point."
"Damn..." Borsalino whispered. "The horny nerd has fangs."
"That was... cathartic," Arabella murmured, looking at Marie with hero worship.
Milicia stood up. She was shaking. She looked ready to tear Marie apart.
Then, she looked at Isaac.
He was standing there, calm, serene, wiping lipstick from his mouth. He looked at her with that maddeningly gentle smile.
"I told you, Milicia," he called out softly. "I am a magician. Misdirection is art."
Milicia's rage... stalled.
It didn't vanish. It transmuted.
It became heavy, dark, and thick.
She licked the blood from her lip. Her eyes locked onto his.
"You played me," she breathed. "You used my jealousy. You used my rage. You used her." She pointed at Marie.
"And you kissed her." She pointed at Camila.
She started to laugh. It was a low, throaty sound.
"You broke the rules," she said, walking toward him. "You cheated. You lied. You manipulated everyone."
She stopped inches from him.
She ignored Camila completely.
"God," she whispered, her eyes dilated to black pools. "I love you."
On the sidelines both Coach Minami and Coach Borgard were in awe.
Coach Minami lowered her tablet. Her hand was actually shaking.
"Did you see that?" she asked Coach Borgard.
"I saw it," Borgard muttered. "The kid didn't throw a single ball. He won a war without firing a shot."
"It's not just tactics," Minami whispered. "It's leadership archetypes. He combined them."
"Explain," Borgard demanded.
"King Solomon," Minami said, ticking off a finger. "The wisdom to divide the team based on psychological compatibility rather than raw stats. He knew exactly who would work with whom."
"Joan of Arc," she ticked a second finger. "The inspiration. He took the 'trash'; Arabella, Enoch, the ones terrified of their own shadows and gave them a divine purpose. He made them believe they were instruments of God."
"King Baldwin IV," she ticked a third. "The Leper King. He led from a position of perceived weakness. He stood there, vulnerable, painting targets on his hands, using his own body as the focal point to draw fire away from his soldiers."
"And Alexander the Great," she finished. "The charisma. The ability to make people die for you. He turned Marie Curie, a logic-obsessed egotist, into a traitor just by flashing a symbol. He turned Camila Perez into a willing pawn with a kiss."
"He's a monster," Borgard agreed, looking at Isaac surrounded by his cheering team. "A glorious, terrifying monster."
"And the scariest part, Bolivar?" Minami asked.
"What?"
"He's Rank 200 and in Class H. The system thinks he is the least evolved."
"Then the system," Borgard grinned, "is clearly broken or maybe it was intentional."
———-
The steam in the girls' locker room was a physical manifestation of the adrenaline crash. The metallic scent of blood from Milicia's nosebleed mixed with the floral notes of shampoo and the sharp, undeniable pheromones of ten women who had just been dismantled, reassembled, and fundamentally altered by a single man.
I leaned against the cool tile of the shower wall, letting the water run over my face, trying to wash away the phantom sensation of his lips. It was impossible. He was branded onto my mouth. Burned into my nervous system.
Isaac Mahoka.
The name wasn't a label anymore. It was a virus. A beautiful, insidious code that had bypassed every firewall I had built since I was a toddler.
I closed my eyes, and there he was. Not the serene magician. Not the calm strategist. But the predator who had grabbed my face in the middle of a warzone and devoured me.
"Tactical necessity," he had said.
Liar. Beautiful, terrifying liar.
There was no necessity in the way his tongue had swept into my mouth, claiming territory like a conquistador planting a flag. There was no tactic in the way his hand had tangled in my hair, pulling me closer until I could feel the heat radiating off his chest through our clothes. That wasn't a strategy. That was hunger. That was possession.
Or maybe it was worse. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe he just wanted to see what I tasted like. To see if I would break. To see if the tough girl from the streets would melt like sugar in the rain.
And I did. God help me, I melted.
I turned off the shower and wrapped a towel around myself, stepping out into the main locker room. The air was heavy, charged with a tension that threatened to snap at any moment.
Milicia was sitting on a bench, still in her sports bra and shorts, staring at the wall. The blood had been wiped from her face, but her eyes were still wild, dilated to black pools. She looked like a queen who had just watched her castle burn down and found the fire... exquisite.
"He played us," Milicia whispered, her voice husky, vibrating with a manic energy. "He played us all like dominos. And it was... perfect."
"It was humiliating," Marie snapped, though her usual arrogance was softened by a strange, flushed confidence. She was buttoning her shirt with trembling fingers. "He turned me into a traitor. He made me calculate the betrayal of my own team. He... he knew exactly which button to push. He knew I hated being a tool."
"He didn't push buttons, Marie," Sinclair boomed, toweling off her massive shoulders. She was grinning, a wide, predatory smile. "He rewrote the game. Did you see him? He didn't even throw a ball. He just stood there, conducting the chaos like an orchestra. And then... the boop. I got taken out by a lob because he got me to look at the floor."
"He's terrifying but kind?" Arabella murmured, hugging her knees to her chest. She looked small, but her eyes were clear, the haunted look of the 'Grinding Floor' gone. "He went inside my head. He saw the game. He saw the glitch. And he fixed it. He not only won that death game of dodgeball, but he also won... me."
"Join the club," Zisel snorted, leaning against a locker, her purple eyes dark with thought. "He read me like a book. He knew why I stepped in for Areli. He probably knew I'd fight that bimbo. He weaponized my anarchy. And the worst part? I let him. Because he was right."
"He saved me," Jun whispered. She was sitting on the floor, staring at her hands. "Twice. Once from the run, and once from the kick. He stepped in front of a missile for me. He took a hit that should have killed him, and he smiled. He told me I was brave. He told me I saved the class." Tears welled in her eyes. "He believes in me."
"He believes in everyone," Alexandra drawled from the corner, her aqua hair hiding her eyes. "That's his trick. He makes you feel seen. He makes you feel like the only person in the room. And then he uses you to destroy your enemies."
"He's not using us," Areli argued, though her voice lacked conviction. "He protected us. Everyone on his team survived. Everyone got the points, well my team at least. He didn't sacrifice anyone."
"Except himself," Viviana pointed out, her voice clinical but breathless. "He stood in the center. He offered himself as a target. He took Milicia's rage head-on."
"And then he kissed Camila," Milicia said.
The room went dead silent. Every head turned to me.
I dropped my towel.
I didn't do it for attention. I did it because the towel felt like a lie. I needed to breathe.
Gasps rippled through the room.
They had seen me in my school and gym uniform, and also the fact when I changed in the stall before gym period. They thought they knew my build. Lean. Athletic. Dangerous. Which was understandable
But they were very wrong.
My uniform was a cage. My bra was a deception.
Without them, the truth was undeniable. My body was both fit and it was a masterpiece of feminine architecture that defied physics. My waist tapered sharply, emphasizing the flare of my hips, the powerful curve of my thighs honed by years of street fighting and running. But it was my chest that drew the stares.
They were massive. Heavy, soft, and perfectly shaped, defying gravity with an arrogance that rivaled Milicia's ego. They made Milicia's impressive figure look almost... Modest.
"Madre de Dios," Sinclair whispered, her eyes wide. "Camila... you were hiding those weapons of mass destruction?"
"Always keep a card up your sleeve," I said, my voice low and smoky. I walked to my locker, feeling their eyes on my skin. "Or in this case... under the shirt."
Milicia stood up. She walked over to me. She didn't look at my face. She looked at my chest. Her eyes narrowed.
"You think those make you special?" she hissed. "You think because you have... dairy farms attached to your chest, he chose you?"
"He didn't choose me for my tits, Milicia," I said, turning to face her. We were inches apart. The air crackled with hostility. "He chose me because I was useful. Because I was scared. And because he knew exactly how to break me."
"He broke you with a kiss?" Milicia scoffed, though her voice trembled with jealousy. "Weak."
"Weak?" I laughed. It was a dark, throaty sound. "You have no idea. You didn't feel it. You didn't feel the way he held me. That was no tactical kiss. It was... ownership."
I leaned in closer, dropping my voice to a whisper that only she and the silent listening room could hear.
"And you know what else I felt, Milicia?"
Her eyes flicked to mine. "What?"
"I felt him," I purred. "Through his pants when he pressed right against me."
Milicia's breath hitched.
Her pupils blew wide.
"He wasn't soft, Milicia," I half lied about the hardened part. Or maybe I wasn't. The memory was a blur of sensation. "He was hard. He was big, thick, and heavy. I could feel the heat of it through the fabric. It was right there, against my stomach. And for a second... just a second... I thought about unzipping him. Right there on the court. I thought about dropping to my knees and swallowing him whole while you watched."
Milicia let out a strangled sound, part growl, part whimper. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
"You... you whore," she breathed.
"Maybe," I shrugged. "But I truly tasted him first, you just licked his blood like a vampire. And let me tell you... he tastes like sin. He tastes like the devil. And I want more. I want him to corrupt me until there's nothing left but him."
"He's mine!" Milicia screamed, shoving me.
I stumbled back, catching myself on the bench. "Is he? Because he looked pretty comfortable with his tongue in my mouth."
"I will kill you," Milicia snarled, reaching for me.
"Ladies!" Sinclair stepped between us, her massive arms acting as a barrier. "Save it for the bedroom! Or the next borderline death game! We don't need a murder in the locker room!"
Milicia glared at me over Sinclair's shoulder. "This isn't over, Camila. You touched my property. You will pay."
"He's not property, Milicia," I said, putting on my shirt. "He's the player. We're just pieces."
"Speak for yourself," Marie muttered, checking her phone. Her eyes widened. "Wait."
"What?" Zisel asked.
"My phone," Marie said, holding it up. "I got a notification. 'Perfect Victory Reward: 60 Ruby Points. Requiem Allowance Increased.' But... I wasn't on his team. I was disqualified."
The room went silent again.
"He hacked it," Arabella whispered, awe in her voice. "He must have... somehow... negotiated it?"
"No," Alexandra said, smiling that lazy, knowing smile. "The condition for Perfect Victory was that the winning team has no eliminations. Marie defected. Technically... in the eyes of the game's logic... she became part of his team the moment she threw that ball at Milicia. The system recognized the alliance shift."
"He calculated that too?" Viviana asked, stunned. "He knew the system would reward treason?"
"He knows everything," I said, buttoning my pants. "He knows the rules better than the people who wrote them."
I looked at myself in the mirror. My lips were still swollen. My face was still flushed.
Isaac.
You devil. You beautiful, manipulative, terrifying kind devil.
You made me feel safe. You made me feel seen. And then you used me as a prop in your grand play.
And the worst part?
I liked it.
I wanted him to do it again. I wanted him to use me. I wanted him to break me down and build me back up into whatever he needed.
Because in a world of chaos, in a school designed to turn us into monsters... he was the only thing that felt like a god.
And I was ready to worship.
"He's dangerous," Naomi whispered, voicing the thought we were all having.
"Yes," I said, touching my lips one last time. "Yes he is...."