The night after the first round, Kay barely slept.
His room in the candidate dormitory was a narrow closet with a cot and a flickering light. Most noble kids had private quarters upstairs. Slum candidates were packed into the basement like cargo.
Kay didn't mind. He'd slept on worse.
He lay on the cot, staring at the ceiling, running through the Breaking Fist in his head. Seven movements. Weight shift. Hip rotation. Energy flow.
One. Two. Three.
His knuckles were raw. The bracelet hummed softly on his wrist. The crystal under his shirt pulsed with faint warmth.
Four. Five. Six.
Tomorrow, the combat arena. One-on-one. No hiding.
Seven.
He closed his eyes.
Dawn came too fast.
Kay splashed water on his face, pulled on his cleanest shirt, and headed to the arena. The building was a massive steel dome on the academy's east side, its walls scarred from decades of sparring matches.
Hundreds of candidates filled the stands. A holographic screen hovered above the central ring, displaying the bracket.
Kay found Ella in the crowd. She'd sneaked in with a maintenance badge—Max's handiwork.
"You look terrible," she said.
"Thanks."
"I mean it. Did you sleep?"
"Some."
She handed him a protein bar. "Eat. You'll need it."
Kay chewed mechanically, eyes on the screen. The bracket was filling in—names paired randomly by the academy's computer.
Karl's name appeared. His opponent: some noble kid Kay didn't recognize.
Then Jax's name.
And opposite Jax—
Kay.
Ella's breath caught. "That's not random."
Kay said nothing. His jaw tightened.
Karl's doing. Had to be.
The crowd buzzed as matchups were announced. Kay watched Jax from across the arena—big, broad-shouldered, scar on his cheek. Jax caught Kay's gaze and cracked his knuckles. Smiled.
Power type. Close-range pressure. Slow, but hits hard.
Kay had studied him during the first round. Jax's energy was around 0.65. Lower than Kay's 0.91. But in a small ring, power could close the gap.
Don't let him grab you. Move. Use the fold if you have to.
He felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Lucky draw," Karl said, appearing beside him with that smug grin. "Jax has been asking for a rematch ever since you humiliated him in the market."
Kay shrugged off the hand. "He'll lose again."
Karl's grin didn't waver. "Maybe. But even if you beat him, you'll be tired. Bruised. And the third round?" He leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "That's where I'll kill you."
Kay turned to face him. "The exam doesn't allow killing."
"Accidents happen." Karl's eyes were cold. "Space stations are dangerous places. Radiation leaks. Hull breaches. No one would be surprised if a slum kid didn't make it back."
Kay felt the crystal pulse against his chest. Anger coiled in his stomach, but he pushed it down.
"We'll see," he said, and walked away.
Behind him, Karl laughed.
The rest of the day was a blur. Other candidates fought their matches. Kay watched a few, memorizing styles, looking for weaknesses.
But his mind kept drifting to Karl's words.
I'll kill you.
Not just a threat. A promise.
Kay returned to the basement dormitory as the sun set. The corridor was empty—most candidates were celebrating or training. He unlocked his door and stepped inside.
Something crunched under his boot.
An envelope. White. No stamp. No name.
He picked it up. The paper was thick—expensive. Not from the slums.
His hands were steady as he opened it. Inside was a single sheet, printed in clean block letters:
"DROP OUT. OR YOUR FATHER DIES."
No signature. No return address.
Kay read it twice. Then a third time.
His first instinct was to run. To go back to the slums, to check on Kane, to stand guard outside the hut until the exam was over.
But that was exactly what they wanted.
They—Karl. Or Lila. Or both.
If he dropped out, Karl won. If he went home, he'd be disqualified. Either way, Karl got what he wanted.
Kay folded the letter and slipped it into his pocket.
He sat on the cot, staring at the wall.
Think.
The hermit was watching over Kane. Ella had helped set up a silent alarm—a device that would ping her wristband if anyone approached the hut. Max was nearby, ready to intervene.
Kane wasn't alone.
But Karl didn't know that.
Good.
Kay took a slow breath. The fear was still there, but it had sharpened into something else. Something colder.
They want me scared. They want me to make a mistake.
I won't.
He pulled out the hermit's notebook and flipped to the section on the Breaking Fist. Read it again. Memorized every word.
Then he practiced. Slow movements. Controlled breaths. No sound—just shadow-boxing in the dim light.
By midnight, his muscles burned. His knuckles had split again. But his mind was clear.
Tomorrow, I fight Jax.
Then I deal with Karl.
And whoever sent this letter will regret it.
The next morning, Kay arrived at the arena early.
The stands were packed. Nobles in fine coats sat in the front rows, sipping drinks and placing bets. Candidates warmed up in designated areas, stretching and shadow-boxing.
Kay found Ella near the maintenance access. She looked tired—dark circles under her eyes.
"You got the letter?" she asked quietly.
He nodded. "How did you know?"
"Because I got one too." She pulled a crumpled paper from her pocket. Same white envelope. Same block letters.
"STAY OUT OF IT. OR ELSE."
Kay's blood went cold. "They threatened you too."
"They threatened Max as well. He laughed and threw it away." She managed a small smile. "Said he's been threatened by worse."
Kay wanted to apologize. But the words stuck in his throat.
Ella saw it. "This isn't your fault. Karl's a coward. He attacks people who can't fight back."
"I'll make him pay."
"I know." She squeezed his arm. "But first, beat Jax. Fast. Don't give Karl the satisfaction of watching you struggle."
Kay nodded.
The announcer's voice boomed across the arena:
"ROUND TWO — MATCH SEVEN. JAX VERSUS KAY. REPORT TO THE RING."
Kay handed Ella his jacket. Rolled his shoulders. Walked toward the steel platform.
Jax was already there, cracking his neck, his scarred face twisted into a grin.
"Ready to lose, gutter trash?"
Kay stepped into the ring.
The holographic countdown appeared above them.
3… 2… 1…
FIGHT.
End of Chapter 11