The stadium lights dimmed.
What had once been a sprawling gauntlet of cones, dummies, and gates folded into the turf like vanishing teeth. In their place rose walls of polished obsidian glass, curving, bending, splitting until the center field was no longer grass but a labyrinth of mirrors. The plasma dome above shifted from warm sunlight into cold white glow, casting long fractured beams across the mirrored walls so that reflections multiplied endlessly.
Students gasped. The chatter from the stands broke into sharp whispers.
"What—""A Mirror Test?""Already? That's supposed to be second-year level…"
Even the confident Class A nobles stiffened.
Bram stood among Team 7, his cleats biting into the turf, hands unconsciously tightening around his knees. His heart thumped once, hard, as if trying to escape his ribs. His System pulsed quietly:
[ Hidden Trial Detected: Mirror Test ][ Objective: Advance the ball through the hall. Maintain cohesion. Score will depend on unity. ][ Bonus Sub-Objective: Resist illusion manipulation for 3 consecutive phases. Reward: Mental Fortitude +3 ]
Bram exhaled slowly, lips pressed tight. He could almost hear his father's voice—deep, stern, the same tone that used to echo in training grounds back in his old life. Don't flinch. Don't blink. Football punishes hesitation more than it punishes mistakes.
Coach Marrow stepped forward, his coat trailing like a shadow. His scar caught the white glow of the dome as he scanned the field. When he spoke, his voice cracked the silence.
"You think football is about legs. About speed. About strength. But all of that rots when your mind collapses. The Mirror Test doesn't measure how fast you can run. It measures how fast you break."
He raised his hand, pointing toward the mirrored labyrinth.
"Inside, the walls will not sit still. They'll bend, shift, and trick you. Your own faces will stare back at you. Sometimes your teammate will stand beside you. Sometimes their reflection will kick the ball away. Sometimes—" He smiled faintly, cruelly. "—you'll see yourself make the mistake before you even make it."
A ripple of unease passed through the crowd. A boy from Class D actually cursed out loud before quickly clamping his mouth shut.
"The rules are simple," Marrow continued. "Advance the ball from one end to the other. Pass it. Only pass it. No dribbling beyond three touches. Score is based on speed, accuracy, and whether your team finishes together. Alone, you fail. Together, you might survive."
He slammed the clipboard against his palm. The echo bounced against the mirrored walls.
"Team 7. You're up first."
Bram's breath hitched. He hadn't expected to be thrown in first. Neither had his teammates—Callen muttered a sharp curse, Jory whistled nervously, Felix's jaw tightened, and Daren's heavy shoulders flexed like he was preparing for a brawl instead of football.
The stands erupted in murmurs."Team 7? That's Ashcroft's kid, isn't it?""Class B always gets tested harder.""Poor bastards…"
Bram rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen the stiffness in his muscles. His calves still screamed from the gauntlet yesterday, but he ignored it.
Elira was in the stands somewhere. He didn't look for her. He didn't need to. He could feel her eyes. Don't embarrass me, little brother.
The Mirror Hall doors slid open with a hiss. Cold white light spilled out like mist.
"Enter," Marrow ordered.
The moment Bram stepped inside, the sound shifted. The roar of the crowd outside dulled instantly, replaced by echoes of footsteps, multiplied a hundredfold. The mirrored walls stretched upward, seamless, endless, reflecting Team 7 from every angle.
Callen whistled under his breath. "Lovely. A haunted house with a football. Just what I needed today."
Daren grunted. "Shut it. Focus."
The ball floated down from above, descending in slow-motion until it thudded softly on the synthetic turf at their feet. Its glossy surface reflected their faces—five boys staring down, distorted in the curve.
Bram bent his knees, studying the reflections. Already something felt wrong. His reflection blinked a fraction later than he did. A heartbeat's delay.
He tightened his jaw. "Stay close. Don't lose sight of each other."
Jory laughed nervously. "Yeah, easy for you to say, captain."
"I'm not captain."
"You sound like one."
The mirrored walls shifted. A low groan reverberated through the hall. Sections of the maze rotated, creating corridors that stretched ahead but also splitting into mirrored branches. In every wall, their reflections turned their heads at slightly different speeds, as if mocking them.
"Ball first," Bram muttered. He nudged it toward Felix, whose long legs controlled it with surprising steadiness. One, two, three touches—then a clean inside pass back to Bram.
For a second, it seemed normal. A simple warm-up.
Then Bram saw it.
In the wall ahead, his reflection didn't pass the ball. It hesitated, then mis-kicked, sending it wide.
The ball at his feet was fine. But the reflection's mistake spread down the mirrored corridor like a crack in glass. Suddenly, every reflection was out of sync. Some versions of Callen laughed when he hadn't. Some versions of Daren shoved their shoulders forward as if charging. One of Jory's reflections simply walked away into the wall.
"Okay…" Jory whispered. "That's messed up."
"Eyes down!" Daren barked. His voice was iron. "Ball only. Ignore the walls."
Bram swallowed hard and rolled the ball sideways. Callen caught it, tapped it twice, and angled it forward—only to freeze. His reflection hadn't moved. It stood still, grinning back at him, ball untouched.
Then it stepped out of the wall.
Gasps echoed. Felix staggered back. The mirrored Callen moved with liquid precision, smirking exactly like the real one, but its eyes were empty glass. It kicked the ball hard, stealing it from Callen's feet with inhuman speed.
The ball ricocheted down the corridor, bouncing against mirrored walls that multiplied it into dozens of copies.
Bram's pulse spiked. The System flared:
[ Illusion Challenge Initiated ][ Condition: Regain possession within 30 seconds. Failure = Penalty Phase Activated. ]
"Go!" Bram roared.
Daren thundered forward, cleats pounding, but each mirrored wall spat out another ball, each one bouncing at slightly different speeds. Which was real?
Felix hesitated. His eyes darted from one ball to another, sweat shining on his forehead. "Which one's ours—?!"
"Middle left!" Bram shouted. He'd activated Replay Vision without even realizing. The ghostly overlay showed trajectory lines; most faded, but one burned bright. He lunged toward it, intercepting with his instep just before a mirrored Daren tried to sweep it away.
Contact. The ball vibrated against his foot, solid, real. He passed instantly to Felix.
Felix's relief was visible in his shoulders as he redirected it back to Callen.
But Callen wasn't looking. He was staring at his mirror self, still smirking at him from the wall. For a terrifying second, Bram thought he wouldn't move. Then Callen snapped out of it and flicked the ball back. Too hard. Too sharp.
It skimmed past Bram's toes.
Jory scrambled to save it, sliding across the turf. The ball nicked his shin and stayed in play by a miracle. He grinned shakily. "Saved your butt, Ashcroft."
Bram didn't smile. He couldn't. His chest was too tight.
The mirrored walls groaned again, shifting. The corridor narrowed until they had to stand shoulder-to-shoulder, reflections pressing close, breathing down their necks. In one wall, Bram's reflection leaned forward, lips moving. No sound, but he could read it: You'll fail them too.
His gut clenched. His father's voice. His old self's voice. He shoved it down. Hard.
"Keep moving," Bram said hoarsely. "Don't stop. Ever."
The team pressed on, passing quickly, three-touch rhythm steadying their nerves. But the reflections didn't stop. They grew more erratic, more mocking. In one corner, Felix's reflection deliberately tripped and laughed as it sprawled. In another, Daren's reflection refused to pass, holding the ball like a boulder.
And ahead, the next obstacle revealed itself: five mirrored gates, rotating slowly. Each one showed a different version of the team waiting inside, but only one gate was real. The others shimmered faintly, their grass painted illusions.
The System whispered:
[ Phase Two Initiated: Choose the correct gate. Error = Possession reset. ]
Bram's pulse hammered. His teammates looked at him. Even Callen.
This wasn't just about the ball anymore. It was about vision. About leadership.
He inhaled, every nerve taut. Replay Vision flickered, struggling under the weight of illusions. But one trajectory burned brighter than the rest, faint but steady.
He pointed. "That one."
The others followed his hand, uncertain.
And then—
The mirrored version of himself, inside another gate, smirked and pointed to a different one.
**
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