Two technicians stand above one of the training rooms, filling in their clipboards while observing the activity below. The thick glass floor is just clear enough to allow them to monitor the session taking place beneath their feet.
"7.5… hmm, he's gotten faster."
They nod to each other and continue writing. One of the technicians sets his clipboard down on the table before stretching and twisting his neck. A loud crack echoes. They both glance at each other.
"What?"
"Nothing. I just wish I could do that with my neck. It's killing me."
They share a laugh before silence settles over the room again, broken only by the occasional click of a pen as they observe the training area.
---
The sensor beeps as he runs past it — not that he can hear it. Instead, he relies on the small LED light that flashes each time he crosses the checkpoint. He has been here since morning, steadily improving his speed with every lap. His steps move in perfect rhythm. He has nearly mastered the Force Strain Avoidance technique that Countdown taught him.
He passes the checkpoint again.
The light doesn't activate.
Probably a glitch.
He passes the sensor once more. Still no light.
Gradually, he slows down until he comes to a complete stop. Removing his helmet, he looks up toward the glass ceiling where the technicians stare back at him.
"I think the sensor is broken!" he shouts.
An arm stretches across the control panel and presses a button.
"Again, there's no need to shout. We can hear you perfectly."
"Sorry."
"And the sensor is working. The bulb probably burnt out."
"What?"
"Thr system is fried."
He rubs his ears frantically. "Sorry, the pressure in my ears is still adjusting. What does that mean?"
The technicians exchange glances before looking back down at him. One retracts his arm.
"It's a good thing this academy isn't intelligence-based."
They chuckle.
From Delis's perspective, their reaction seems odd.
"Why are you grinning? Guys, what's going on?"
They activate the two-way communication system again.
"So?"
"You burned out the light. The constant pulse of power running through it overloaded the system."
One of the technicians exits the room.
"I'll go fix it."
---
A bench rises from the centre of the training area, and Delis drops onto it. A sequence of mechanical clicks echoes as the door opens. The technician enters carrying a toolbox.
"I'll have it fixed in a second."
"Thanks."
"Just doing my job."
Delis fiddles with his watch while the technician works on the exposed sensor components.
"Why do you guys always monitor me when I run?"
"For safety reasons," the technician replies, never taking his eyes off the mechanism.
"Safety? No one else is in danger here. I'm alone." He shrugs.
"But there is someone in here, Delis… you."
He points at him with a screwdriver.
"Me? You mean tripping and falling? These walls are made of super-absorbent material. They can handle a full-force bull rush from Valiant and still hold."
The technician laughs while sealing the panel shut. The toolbox snaps closed as he finishes. He walks over and sits beside Delis.
"Have you ever noticed the lack of speedsters? Not just in the academy, but throughout Eclipse City?"
Delis frowns, completely unsure where this conversation is heading.
"Yes…?" he blurts uncertainly.
"The greatest threat to any speedster is themselves… more specifically, their own bodies. That's why we issued you that suit."
"Huh?"
"If it weren't for that suit, your skeleton would literally tear out of your body. And even with it, you still require constant monitoring."
Delis falls silent.
That means I could have died. His thoughts drift back to graduation day — to the moment his powers activated. He clenches his fists tightly, trying to suppress the creeping feeling in his chest.
"What are you two discussing in there?" a voice calls through the comm system.
The technician stands and walks toward the exit.
"Nothing important. I think the kid needs some rest. Let's call it a day."
The door closes behind him.
Slowly, Delis stands, picks up his helmet, and studies his reflection in its visor.
"So what if that's true… I'm still aiming for the top."
The reflection smiles back at him.
---
He stands outside the training hall. Evening has already settled in. The sun hangs low, streaking the sky with red and orange hues. Lights around the academy flicker to life. The noticeboard displays the countdown until the games begin.
He watches the seconds tick away.
A weight settles onto his shoulder.
"You know, staring at it won't make it move faster."
David leans against him, drenched in sweat.
"And before you say anything, you look just as bad."
They both stare at the countdown clock.
"Do you think we're ready for this?" Delis asks, turning toward him.
David takes a sip from his bottle.
"No. But we still have to try. We owe it to our younger selves."
He straightens up and folds his arms.
"I know exactly what you're thinking."
"Oh? And what am I thinking?"
"If Ulim were here, he would've already created some kind of plan for this entire situation."
Delis looks at him in surprise.
"What? I may not have been close to either of you, but the whole class knew Ulim was the calmest and most logical among us."
He hands the bottle to Delis.
Students begin leaving their training zones, heading toward the showers, while technicians rush through the facility exchanging data and recording new observations.
---
"These 'games' of yours… you managed to justify them and convince everyone that children fighting each other is acceptable. However, you overlooked one critical detail. There isn't a venue large enough to host them."
Mathers sits at his desk alongside Oken and Valiant.
"The doctor may have a point," Valiant says, swiping through academy facility layouts on his tablet. "We could use one of the sports stadiums—"
"There isn't enough time to complete the necessary renovations. I've already calculated it," Mathers interrupts.
Both men turn their attention toward Oken, who remains absorbed in a magazine.
"They really don't make these like they used to," he mutters while flipping a page. "Oh, a crossword. Can someone give me a four-letter—"
Mathers slams his hand against the table.
Oken finally looks up before calmly flipping to another page.
"There."
He tosses the magazine onto the desk.
Mathers and Valiant stare down at the page.
"You've got to be kidding me," Mathers groans, sinking back into his chair.
"Well… it technically qualifies as a venue," Valiant admits.
Oken retrieves his magazine.
"Now that we've solved that problem, I need a four-letter word for a person who controls a nation and makes all the rules."