The silence that followed Kieran's words was heavy enough to crush breath.
"You have to beat me in a sprint."
"..."
For a heartbeat, no one reacted since they didn't quite understand what he meant.
Then, like ripples spreading across still water, confusion broke through the crowd.
A sprint?
Had they heard right?
The training chamber, usually filled with noise and chatter, was now dead quiet — only the faint hum of the holographic projectors filled the air.
Someone near the back whispered, "Did he just say… a sprint?"
Another cadet muttered, "But… he's an instructor."
The murmurs spread as things where beginning to get interesting.
School days before the Games where always strict and boring, so when a drama presented itself right in front of their faces, of course they where going to get excited.
A sprint wasn't some simple race.
It was one of the most grueling tests the academy used — a high-speed obstacle run through shifting terrains, magnetic fields, and aerial traps. It was a course designed to push glider control, reflexes, and endurance to the breaking point.
Cadets spent years learning to survive it.
And Kieran… was a teacher.
Instructors rarely, if ever, used gliders themselves. They supervised, analyzed data, corrected techniques. Their skill was in strategy, not execution. None of them, especially not Kieran, had ever been seen using one in years.
And yet he had just said—
"You have to beat me in a sprint."
Ashen blinked once, slowly, his gaze fixed on the man before him. He could feel everyone's eyes turning toward him — hundreds of silent questions pressing at his back.
It didn't make sense.
Why a sprint? Why not a duel or a simulation challenge? Something that tested strength, coordination, power — something predictable.
But this?
This was too random, too deliberate.
Ashen's mind churned, cycling through data like a processor under overload.
Kieran never acted without reason.
He was cold, yes, but not erratic.
He was very calculated, every word, every move — weighed, measured, intentional.
So why this?
From Renn's dismissal yesterday to his refusal to reconsider, and now this public challenge that made no sense on paper at all.
Something wasn't right.
Ashen's instincts screamed it.
He never liked to deal with things that didn't follow the norm, things that act differently from what he knew.
Still, he stood tall and composed. "A sprint?" he repeated, as if testing the word itself.
Kieran's expression didn't change, calm, composed. The kind of calm that made people nervous. "You heard me?"
The murmurs in the room grew louder.
A few cadets whispered in disbelief:
"Ohh this is going to be interesting."
"There's no way he can beat an instructor."
"Wait— or is there?"
"Has anyone ever seen Kieran use a glider?"
Ashen ignored the noise, his gaze didn't waver.
"So," he said quietly, "if I beat you in this sprint… you'll let Renn stay?"
"Simple, right?" Kieran's tone was neutral, almost too casual, but there was a glint in his eyes that didn't match the ease in his voice.
Ashen's brows furrowed slightly. "That's your condition?"
"That's it," Kieran said, still unblinking. "You win, he stays. You lose…" He paused just enough to let the weight of his next words sink in. "You accept my judgment without another word."
Renn stepped forward before Ashen could reply, panic flickering across his face. "No! Ashen, you don't have to—"
But Ashen just raised a hand, stopping him.
His eyes were still on Kieran.
"Why a sprint?" Ashen asked, voice low, almost curious. "You could have chosen anything else. Why this?"
Kieran tilted his head slightly, studying him. "Because I want to see if you're as fast at acting as you are at talking."
The response drew a faint, involuntary laugh from Lira — more from disbelief than amusement. "That's… brutal," she muttered under her breath.
Ashen's expression didn't change, but something inside him tightened. He didn't like this.
Everything about this screamed setup.
Nexis' voice echoed faintly in the back of his mind, a memory from the night before:
'It seems you humans don't handle unpredictability well.'
Ashen glanced sideways — Renn was staring at him, hopeful but terrified.
His hands were trembling slightly, gripping his uniform jacket. Lira's expression was taut with worry, Jaro's jaw was set. The entire class — hell, the entire room — was watching.
Backing down now wasn't an option.
He'd given Renn hope, that meant he couldn't turn away, no matter how uncertain this felt.
Ashen drew a breath, forcing his tone steady.
"So if I beat you," he repeated again, as if making sure the rules were absolute, "Renn stays. That's your word."
He had to make sure there wasn't some kind of loophole.
Kieran nodded once. "You have it."
For a long moment, the two of them just stared at each other — two different generations, two different kinds of strength.
Then Ashen nodded back. "Okay. It's a race, then."
Kieran's lips curved — not quite a smile, but close enough to unnerve everyone who saw it.
"Great," he said softly. "It's a race."
The sound of his voice lingered long after the words faded, echoing through the silence of the chamber like a quiet thunderclap.
Around them, the cadets finally exhaled, still unsure if they had just witnessed a declaration of war or the beginning of something far stranger.
Ashen didn't move for a while.
He just stood there, watching the man in front of him, mind spinning through every possible outcome.
There was something deeper here. He could feel it — like a hidden algorithm running behind a flawless interface.
But for now, all he could do was play the game.
Even if the rules didn't make sense.