We sat on the benches in a loose cluster; it smelled like sweat and balls. Jin had her back against the wall, eyes closed, an ice pack pressed to her left side. Hsu sat beside her, flexing her guard arm and wincing.
Without opening her eyes, Jin reached over and adjusted the angle of Hsu's elbow — a correction that would reduce the strain on the bruised muscle. Hsu looked at her. Jin still didn't open her eyes.
I was sitting on the floor. Not by choice, mind you, I'd sat on the bench and then gravity had made a suggestion I couldn't refuse. My ribs ached with every breath. My hands were swollen enough that making a fist required active effort. Tomás had his notebook open for the first time since the Osei fight, but he wasn't writing. Just holding the pencil, staring at a blank page.
Park arrived from the stands with Sato and Andrew flanking him. Park moved gingerly, but his eyes were sharp. He'd been watching from above.
"You looked insane," Sato said. "The bit where you disappeared behind the wall? I thought you'd been knocked out. Then you just — appeared. Behind that guy. The whole section around me went dead quiet and then lost their minds."
"How did it look from up there?" I asked.
"Brutal. Osei's lot moved like they shared a brain. Your lot just kept getting hit and getting back up." He shook his head. "Stubborn bastards, the lot of you."
Andrew spoke. "The Tiernan section stood up."
I looked at him. "What?"
"When you tagged Osei. The clean hit in the fourth exchange. The woman — the one in the military uniform — she stood up. Only for a second. Then she sat back down."
Nobody said anything. The staging area noise filled the gap — distant conversation, a medic's equipment humming, boots on concrete.
"Just her?" I asked.
"Just her. The others leaned forward."
I didn't know what to do with that, so I sat with it.
The exhibition grounds were winding down. The phase one matches had run through the afternoon — sixty teams reduced to the final brackets. Medics moved between staging areas. The stands thinned as recruits drifted toward the mess hall.
Outside, the Eridani sun sat low on the horizon — too large, too orange, the light falling with a thickness that Earth sunsets never had. Not that I'd ever been to Earth, but I assumed that it would be different.
The shadows on this planet came out sharp in the evenings, the thin atmosphere refusing to scatter the way I'd grown up expecting. The arena walls looked like heated metal under it.
I walked toward the mess hall along the corridor between Arenas One and Two. The passage was emptying — a few stragglers collecting gear, a medic helping a Barracks 4 kid with a wrapped ankle. I was alone for maybe ten seconds before a voice behind me said my name.
"Tiernan."
Osei. Leaning against the corridor wall as if he'd been waiting. No network around him — just Osei, hands at his sides.
"Osei."
"Good fight," he said.
"You won."
"I did. It was closer than it should have been." He pushed off the wall and fell into step beside me. "Your squad adapted faster than any team I've faced. The dead zone counter was elegant."
"Thanks. Your coordination is—"
"Efficient. I know." A faint smile. "I didn't come here to exchange compliments, Tiernan."
"Figured."
"Post-exhibition platoon assignments. You heard the briefing."
I nodded.
"Then you know the leadership structure is designed to waste everything we built in that arena. C and B-Grade commanders who've never set foot in the terrain, leading squads they've evaluated from a screen."
"And you have a better idea?"
"I have an alternative. A platoon built from the exhibition's top performers. Self-governed. Leadership drawn from the people who actually bled for the results."
I waited.
"I want your squad in it. Though be assured, this is an alliance, not a dictatorship."
The offer sat between us. Osei wasn't asking me to join his network. He was asking me to bring my people into something larger that neither of us would control alone.
"That's ambitious," I said. "The instructors won't like it."
"The instructors aren't the ones making platoon assignments. The C and B-Grade leaders are. And the C and B-Grade leaders just watched my network beat every team in the bracket." He paused. "They also watched your squad make me work harder than anyone else managed. That combination makes a compelling argument."
"I'll think about it."
"Think fast. Phase two starts tomorrow. The brackets will tell us who they think we are, and I'd rather decide that for ourselves."
He turned on his heel and walked in the opposite direction.
I stopped in the corridor and thought about what it would mean to fight beside Osei instead of against him. About what it would mean for the squad. About what Tomás and Jin would think, what Ren would say — or not say.
About what the Tiernans would make of their disowned heir forming an alliance with the strongest tactical mind in the barracks.
The mess hall was loud, even more so than this morning.
Exhibition day energy — the buzz of people who'd fought or watched fights, processing the results through food and conversation. Tables were rearranged from the usual social geography. Barracks that had never interacted were mixing. On the way to our table, a Barracks 9 kid — one I'd fought in round one — caught my eye and gave a small nod. I returned it.
Miller's usual corner table was empty. His faction had scattered across the mess hall, the gravitational centre of the barracks' power structure conspicuously absent.
Our table was full for the first time all day. Park and Sato on one side. Ren and Hsu on the other. Andrew at the end. Tomás beside me, notebook open, pencil moving again. Jin across from us — not in the adjusted seat. Back in her original position.
I noticed, but didn't comment.
"Osei approached me," I said.
"Again? Was it about the platoon assignments?" Tomás asked, pencil stopping.
He'd already guessed. Of course, he had.
"He wants to form an independent platoon. Exhibition top performers. Self-governed."
"That's actually not—" Tomás started.
"Can they even do that?" Sato cut in.
"—not a terrible idea," Tomás finished, talking over the interruption. "If the top-performing squads collectively requested it—"
"He wants us specifically?" Jin asked, cutting through both of them.
"He wants the squad. Said the combination of his coordination and our adaptation makes a strong case." I said.
Ren looked up from his food. "He's not wrong."
"But we don't need to decide now," I said. "Phase two first. Whatever comes after, we handle together."
Jin looked at me when I said that for a beat longer than necessary. Then back to her paste.
The display boards at the mess hall entrance were updated at 1900.
EXHIBITION EVALUATION — PHASE TWO: PAIRED COMBAT
FORMAT: TEAMS OF TWO — SYSTEM-ASSIGNED
PAIRINGS DETERMINED BY PHASE ONE PERFORMANCE DATA AND DEVIATION COMPATIBILITY ANALYSIS
ASSIGNMENTS ARE FINAL — NO APPEALS, NO EXCHANGES
The mess hall surged toward the boards. Two hundred recruits looking for their names, trying to find who they'd been chained to for the next phase of the tournament.
I found ours.
PAIR 34 — TIERNAN, M. (Barracks 7) / JIN, S. (Barracks 7)
"Of course," Tomás said from behind me. "Highest-synergy combination in the bracket, probably."
Jin appeared at my shoulder. She'd seen it. Her eyes moved from the board to me and back to the board. Her jaw worked once — the same tell she had before a fight.
"The system chose us," she said.
"Yeah."
A pause. Long enough to hear the mess hall noise around us — other recruits finding their pairs, the reactions ranging from relief to horror to resigned acceptance.
"Fine," Jin said. "We train together tomorrow. Early. Before the rounds start."
"How early?"
"0430."
"The extra sleep hour—"
"Was a one-time thing. 0430, Tiernan. Don't be late."
She walked back to the table. I watched her go.
Tiernan, not Marcus.
But the distance in the name had shifted; less accusation, more habit.
Tomás was still reading the board. "Miller got paired with a Barracks 12 kid. Osei's with Ripley — no surprise there. Park's with Andrew. Ren's with Sato. Hsu's with a Barracks 4 transfer."
He paused for a moment, a smirk threatened his lips.
"And you." The grin arrived. "Should be interesting."
"Don't."
"I'm just saying—"
"Don't."
He said it anyway, quiet enough that only I could hear. "The algorithm paired the two people in the barracks who most need to learn how to communicate. That's either very smart or very cruel."
I lay in the door bunk that night. The barracks were quieter than usual — exhibition fatigue settling over everyone like a blanket. Snoring from the far end. The occasional shift of someone who couldn't sleep.
I pulled up the interface.
[TRUE-NOOSPHERE]
[CONNECTION THRESHOLD: 5.43%]
[LEVEL: 16]
[EXPERIENCE: 670 / 800]
[RANK: 0]
[RANK PROGRESSION: 16 / 100]
—
[STAT POINTS AVAILABLE: 0]
[BODY]
Strength: 27
Agility: 30
Vitality: 32
[ETHER]
Capacity: 1
Sensitivity: 1
Control: — LOCKED —
[MIND]
Willpower: 22
Intelligence: 17
Perception: 20
—
[QUEST: PROVING GROUND — ACTIVE]
[Sub-objectives:]
[■■■■■■ — COMPLETE]
[■■■■■■ — IN PROGRESS]
[■■■■■■ — IN PROGRESS]
[■■■■■■ — IN PROGRESS]
[■■■■■■ — IN PROGRESS]
Ehh what? Sub-objectives?
Five sub-objectives, one complete and four in progress, displayed themselves on the screen.
Is this a bonus reward if I do well?
I pondered over it for a moment.
One complete huh? I wonder what triggered that, we lost... and five separate objectives? This thing is doing this on purpose, keeping me in the dark... and for what? Bahh—
The connection had ticked up from 5.09 to 5.43 across a day of exhibition combat. The fastest growth I'd seen.
Seems like connection and XP gain are somehow linked... I really need to stop thinking about all this and get some damn rest.
I lay down on my lumpy mattress, manoeuvred into my preferred position and closed my eyes. Though every time I came close to sleep, I was reminded by the happenings of the day.
Kael's face surfaced. Sitting in the Tiernan section. Between the unknown woman and the young man.
Someone in the family placed him.
The thought arrived with the certainty of something I'd known for longer than I'd admit. Grandfather must have placed Kael in our barracks the same way he'd placed the Trust on the sponsor list. The question wasn't whether. The question was why.
What kind of game are you playing?