("Team-building, they said. It'll be fun, they said.")
---
I should've known something was wrong the moment Professor Venn handed us our uniforms.
"Why does mine have a target painted on it?" I asked.
"Because," he said cheerfully, "you're the decoy."
Ah.
Of course.
Sector Five had been volunteered—read: coerced—into a "friendly inter-sectoral practical," AKA: public humiliation disguised as education.
The Academy loved these.
Nothing like pitting your misfits against the golden children to reinforce the social hierarchy.
---
The rules were simple:
Survive.
Steal the flag from the enemy's base.
Don't get into trouble or maimed in the process.
Each sector formed a team.
Sectors One and Three were paired together, probably to make it "fair."
Sector Five was alone.
A student in Sector One literally laughed when he saw us. "Is that a squirrel or a walking ball of energy?"
Kip waved. "Both!"
They whispered things like "filler characters," "expendables," and my personal favorite—"they brought their cactus?"
Greg (the cactus) remained unbothered. King behavior.
---
We huddled behind a rock wall before the match started.
Mint twirled her wand like a baton. "Okay, battle plan?"
"Cry," Bram offered.
"Explode," said Vox, flexing.
"I say we improvise," Kip grinned, eyes sparkling with too many ideas. "One of them has to work."
I sighed and looked at them.
These idiots…
They were all I had.
"Okay," I muttered. "Then here's what we do…"
---
The whistle blew.
Chaos erupted.
---
Sector One moved like a well-oiled, glittering murder machine.
The protagonist, Reed, led the charge with a smug grin and a sword of white fire. He blocked three spells at once, summoned a wind dragon, and still had time to flip his hair.
Two noble girls—Aria and some spear-wielding thunder princess named Selene—backed him up with practiced synchronization. One deflected attacks. The other struck with surgical precision.
They were strong.
They were elegant.
They were—
"LOUD DISTRACTION INBOUND!" Kip yelled.
Suddenly, thirty illusory versions of me ran screaming across the field wearing neon tutus.
Everyone blinked.
The enemy team froze.
And in that one glorious, stupid moment…
Vox slammed through their barrier like a bolt of divine wrath.
Isolde summoned a wall of black mist. A beautifully crafted illusion.
Mint launched herself from a self-made lightning cannon, cackling mid-air.
Bram summoned ghostly arms from the ground to trip their backline, muttering apologies on behalf of Greg.
And me?
I grabbed the flag.
---
We almost made it out clean.
Almost.
But of course—Riven had to play hero.
He caught me at the edge of the field, sword glowing.
"Caleb?" he blinked. "I heard about you - the stalker from Aris. You have quite the reputation."
"Unfortunately."
"You're the flag runner?"
"Ironic, isn't it?"
He narrowed his eyes. "What are you planning?"
"I'm already doing it."
He swung. I ducked.
Thunder sparked at my fingertips—sloppy, desperate, but real.
"Thunderbolt!"
It barely missed him. Fried a shrub instead.
He didn't laugh. He didn't mock.
He just looked confused.
"You're different from the rumours."
"No. I just become a functional member of society."
Then Mint tackled him from above, shrieking, "FOR SECTOR FIVE!"
---
We crossed the finish line.
Flag in hand.
Covered in dirt, lightning burns, and cactus juice.
But we won.
Sector Five beat the golden children.
The crowd didn't cheer.
The professors stared.
Even Aris looked stunned.
Professor Venn clapped like a madman.
"BRILLIANT! CHAOS! BEAUTIFUL NONSENSE! SECTOR FIVE GETS FULL MARKS!"
Kip collapsed beside me, panting. "Did we… do a plot twist?"
"No," I said, smiling for the first time all week.
"We just rewrote the damn genre."