The medical bay door slams shut behind us with that satisfying bang that says "private conversation incoming." I’m still holding Natalia against my chest, feeling her heartbeat against my ribs, when Professor Hanae clears her throat like she’s announcing the apocalypse.

"We have a problem."

I turn my head just enough to see her standing there with that clipboard that never leaves her hand, looking like she’d rather be grading papers than dealing with whatever bureaucratic nightmare the tournament organizers just dumped in her lap.

"Let me guess," I say, not releasing Natalia from my death grip. "The VHC didn’t plan for a three-way tie in the semifinals."

"Correct. The bracket system assumes clean eliminations. We now have three teams advancing to finals when the format only accommodates two."

Skylar snorts from her corner. "Shocking that the people who charge fifty thousand credits for admission didn’t think this through."

"The tournament committee has decided to offer the team with the most individual points accumulated across both preliminary matches the right to choose their opponent for the final."

My stomach drops like I just stepped off a cliff. The math runs itself in my head automatically, and I already know what those numbers look like before Hanae opens her mouth again.

"Team Nakano-Okoye scored forty-seven points across both matches. Team Kuzmina-Amane scored thirty-nine points due to the draw classification. Team Cabana-Tanaka scored thirty-one points for the same reason."

Fuck.

"So we get to pick," I say slowly, my brain already running the calculations and not liking any of the results it’s producing.

"You and Miss Okoye have thirty minutes to decide. The finals begin in two hours."

Hanae exits without ceremony, leaving us in the kind of silence that feels like standing on a landmine that might explode if you breathe wrong.

Natalia pulls back far enough to look me in the eye, and I can see she’s already thinking the same thing I am. Her purple eyes hold that particular shade of intensity that usually means someone’s about to get hypothermia.

"You’re going to choose us," she states. Not a question. A fact delivered with the confidence of someone who knows me better than I know myself.

"That would be the logical tactical decision," Isabelle says from her position near the door, her wine-red hair catching the harsh medical lighting. "Cabana is operating at perhaps sixty percent capacity after that display of electrical brutality. Tanaka appears to be suffering from mild concussion symptoms. Meanwhile, you two are both functional despite your injuries."

"Functional is generous," Emi mutters, her hands still glowing faintly with residual healing energy. "Natalia’s mana circuits look like someone took a blowtorch to them."

"I can fight," Natalia insists with the stubborn determination that makes me want to kiss her and strangle her simultaneously.

"Of course you can fight. The question is whether you should."

Skylar pushes off the wall with that fluid grace that makes her look like she’s floating. "What’s the actual choice here? Fight the team that just went nuclear and exhausted themselves, or fight the team where one member can barely stand?"

"It’s not that simple."

The words come out before I can stop them, and suddenly everyone’s staring at me like I just announced my intention to join a monastery and take a vow of celibacy.

"Explain," Isabelle commands in that tone that suggests refusing isn’t really an option.

I run my hand through my hair, trying to organize thoughts that feel like they’re moving through molasses. "If we choose Natalia and Skylar, we’re fighting fresh against depleted. Easy tactical victory, assuming we don’t fuck it up somehow."

"But?" Natalia prompts, her eyes narrowing.

"But everyone watching will know we chose the easier path. The commentators, the recruiters, the VHC executives sitting in their fancy boxes. They’ll see it as playing it safe instead of taking on the best competition available."

"So?" Skylar asks with that particular brand of disinterest that means she’s actually paying very close attention. 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

"So I’m supposed to be the Stray Dog. The kid who looks at the hierarchy and spits in its face. The underdog who fights the scariest monster in the room because that’s what proves you belong."

Emi fidgets with her healing supplies. "But if you choose Reyna, you might lose. She’s really, really strong, Satori. Like, scary strong."

"I know exactly how strong she is. I absorbed her entire electrical arsenal and turned it into a light show. But that was when I had preparation time and knew what was coming."

The room goes quiet except for the hum of medical equipment and the distant sound of crews repairing the arena outside. I can practically hear everyone’s brains working through the implications.

"There’s something else," I continue, because apparently I enjoy making my life more complicated. "Nike’s quest requires me to place top three in at least four of the six individual events tomorrow. The team finals are just the warmup."

"Wait." Natalia’s grip tightens on my arm. "You never told us about specific requirements."

"Because I was hoping to handle it without dragging everyone else into my particular brand of divine harassment."

"Too late for that," Skylar observes dryly. "We’re already neck-deep in whatever cosmic bullshit follows you around like a lost puppy."

Isabelle steps forward with that regal bearing that makes her look like she’s about to deliver a royal decree. "What does Nike want you to do in the finals specifically?"

"Win. Obviously. But more than that, she wants me to prove something. That I’m not just lucky or riding on borrowed power. That I can stand toe-to-toe with genuine S-Rank potential and come out on top."

"Fighting an exhausted opponent doesn’t prove that," Natalia says quietly, and I can hear the resignation in her voice.

"No, it doesn’t."

"But fighting me when I’m running on fumes and spite doesn’t prove it either."

She’s right, and we both know it. Fighting Natalia and Skylar while they’re depleted would be like claiming victory over a wounded dragon. It might be tactically sound, but it wouldn’t mean anything where it matters.

"Fuck." I lean back against the medical cabinet hard enough to rattle the supplies inside. "I hate it when the right choice is also the stupidest choice."

"Welcome to leadership," Isabelle says with dark amusement. "Where every decision is wrong until it works, and then it was obviously the only reasonable option all along."

Emi bounces slightly on her toes, that nervous energy she gets when she’s trying to work up the courage to say something important. "What if there’s a third option?"

Here’s the expanded text:

"I’m listening," I say, giving Emi my full attention despite the pounding in my skull.

"What if you choose based on what you actually want to fight for?" Her voice carries that earnest quality that cuts through all the noise and strategy. "Not what makes sense politically, or what Nike wants, or what’s tactically optimal. What do you actually want, Satori?"

The question hits different than I expected. It’s not about tactics or strategy or divine quests or proving points to goddesses who think mortals are entertainment. It’s something more fundamental than any of that calculus. It strips away all the layers I’ve built up, all the careful reasoning and risk assessment, and goes straight to the core of who I actually am beneath all the scheming.

"I want to fight the strongest opponent available," I hear myself say, and there’s a clarity in those words that surprises even me. "Not because it’s smart or safe or politically advantageous. Not because it serves some grand plan or advances my position. Because that’s who I am. That’s what I do."

The admission hangs in the air like a challenge.

"That’s Reyna," Natalia says softly, and there’s something in her voice—resignation, maybe, or acceptance of something she’s known all along.

"That’s Reyna," I agree, meeting her eyes.

"Even though she might actually kill you if she gets lucky?" There’s genuine concern there beneath the question.

"Especially because she might kill me if she gets lucky." I feel a grin tugging at my mouth despite everything. "What’s the fucking point otherwise?"

Skylar makes that particular sound she reserves for moments when she’s simultaneously impressed by something and completely convinced I’ve lost whatever fragile grip on sanity I had left. It’s somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "You realize this is exactly the kind of protagonist bullshit that gets people killed in the real world. The ’I need to fight the strongest opponent’ mentality is how heroes end up as cautionary tales."

"Good thing this isn’t the real world," I counter. "This is a tournament where twenty thousand people are watching to see who wants it more. Who’s willing to put everything on the line for the crown."

"And you want it more than your own survival instincts?" There’s a challenge in Skylar’s tone now.

"I want to prove I belong here more than I want to play it safe." The words come out harder than I intended. "I didn’t claw my way up from the bottom of the barrel to take the easy path when it matters most."

The medical bay falls into silence again. Emi fidgets with her supplies, reorganizing things that don’t need reorganizing. Skylar examines her fingernails like they hold the secrets of the universe encoded in the purple polish. Isabelle studies my face with that penetrating stare that makes me feel like she’s reading my soul, cataloging every weakness and strength, every truth and lie.

It’s Natalia who finally breaks the silence, her voice carrying a knowing resignation.

"You’re going to choose her regardless of what any of us say, aren’t you?"

"Probably," I admit.

"Because you’re an idiot who equates unnecessary risk with masculinity and thinks proving a point is worth dying for."

"Because I’m exactly the kind of idiot who crawled out of the gutter and decided to take a swing at royalty."

She sighs with the particular exasperation of someone who fell in love with a walking disaster and can’t quite bring herself to regret it. "Fine. But I have conditions."

"I’m listening."