The coach raised his whistle to his lips.
The sound pierced the tense silence of the arena. The final point had begun.
My body was a single, screaming nerve of pain. The world was a blurry tunnel. All I could see was Jax and the glowing Aetherball that reset at the center of the court. It was a battle of pure will.
We both lunged.
It was ugly. A desperate scramble, not a graceful launch. Two exhausted players throwing their last ounces of energy into one final push.
Jax was stronger. He always would be. His fingers brushed the ball a fraction of a second before mine. He was on the attack. I was immediately on defense.
There was no rhythm. No flow state. The system was silent. My movements were too sloppy, too desperate to be "perfect". This was just survival. My gear's own basic HUD flashed a low stamina warning, a detail I didn't need to be told.
Jax fired a shot. It was weaker now, his own stamina clearly fading, but it was still heavy. I threw my arms up and blocked it, my gear sparking from the impact. The force sent me skidding back. No MP gained. He fired again, aiming low. I stumbled out of the way, my form a mess.
He kept coming, hammering at me. He knew I was on my last legs. He just had to land one clean hit. One solid blow to neutralize me and end this humiliation. I was a wall he was determined to break down. My shield flickered with every block, the impacts jarring my bones. My vision swam. I could feel myself fading. He was going to win. He was just going to wear me down.
But his rage made him predictable. He was telegraphing his big shots, putting all his remaining energy into single, powerful attacks.
He floated back, gathering Aether for another Jax Hammer. He was getting ready to end it. My mind screamed at me to brace for impact.
I did the opposite.
I lunged forward.
It was a bluff. A stupid, insane bluff. I had no energy for a real attack, but I let out a raw, guttural roar and charged him, trying to project a confidence I absolutely did not feel. For a single, priceless second, it worked.
Jax flinched. His mind, set on attacking a defensive opponent, couldn't process the sudden aggression. His shot preparation faltered. It was the only opening I was going to get.
I dropped low, sliding under his half-raised arm. I wasn't aiming a skill. I was just using my body. With the last of my strength, I slapped my hand against his, hitting the Aetherball that was still forming in his palm. The unstable ball popped out of his grasp like a wet bar of soap. It went skittering across the floor.
We were both disarmed. It was a race.
My mind screamed. Move! Move! Move!
My reflexes, my one good stat, kicked in. I pivoted on my heel, my muscles firing one last time. I was faster. Just barely. I got to the loose ball a fraction of a second before Jax did.
There was no time to aim. No energy for a Power Shot. I just threw it. A wild, desperate, ugly shove towards the goal.
The ball wobbled through the air. It was slow. So slow.
Jax roared in frustration and dove, his body fully extended, his shield flaring on his arm. He was going to block it. His fingertips were just inches away. But the shot was so weak, so unstable, its flight path was a joke. It dipped at the last second. It skimmed right under Jax's outstretched shield.
And slowly, almost comically, it tumbled over the line.
The goal chimed. The final sound.
The scoreboard froze. KAI: 3JAX: 2
I had won.
The arena was silent for a moment, then it erupted into shocked whispers. The strength left my body all at once. I collapsed to my knees, head hung low, gasping for air. Every part of me was shaking. I did it. I actually did it.
I heard heavy footsteps on the court floor. I looked up.
Jax was walking towards me. His face was pale, his chest heaving. He looked at the scoreboard, then down at me. I thought, for a second, he might offer a hand. A sign of respect. Sportsmanship.
I was wrong.
There was no respect in his eyes. There was no anger anymore. There was only a deep, cold, bottomless well of contempt.
He stopped right in front of me.
"You didn't win," Jax spit, the words like venom. "You ran. You hid. You got lucky."
He looked me up and down, like I was something he'd scraped off the bottom of his boot.
"You're a rat, not a player. You fight like a coward because that's what you are. You're still a zero to me."
He didn't offer a handshake. He didn't wait for a reply. He turned his back on me and stormed off the court, shoving past the other stunned players. He ripped his helmet off and slammed it into the wall as he walked towards the locker room.
I was left there, alone in the center of the court. The winner. But I didn't feel like a winner. I felt like I had just survived. The whispers from the other players grew louder. I knew what they were thinking. Jax was right. I hadn't won with power. I had won with tricks. I had proven my system worked. And in doing so, I had proven that I didn't belong in their world. I had made an enemy for life.
Jax's words echoed in my head. A rat. A coward. Was he right? I looked down at my trembling hands. My victory wasn't clean. It wasn't a display of dominance. It was a messy scramble for survival. But it was still a victory. My way of fighting—the way of the System—wasn't about honorable duels or displays of strength. It was about finding the flaw. The opening. The single, perfect move that changes the game. It wasn't cowardly. It was efficient. And it was the only way I could ever win. My fists clenched. He could keep his contempt. I would keep my win.
Then, another shadow fell over me.
I looked up, my whole body tensing.
It was Coach Valerius. He stood over me, his face a complete mystery. His eyes were narrowed, looking down at me on the floor. He was silent for a long, long time.
I couldn't tell if he was about to praise me, or expel me from the tryouts on the spot.