Riku raised his arm, stopwatch in hand.
"Ready… three, two, one—go!"
They burst forward.
Some went all in from the start, trying to snatch an early lead. Cael was one of them—knees pumping, arms slicing the air.
"Let's goooo!" he roared, burning energy like it was endless.
Julian and Leo didn't take the bait. Their strides were measured, breathing steady. Ten laps was a long war—you didn't win it in the first minute.
The first lap blurred by, the sound of pounding cleats echoing across the field.
Second lap—still controlled.
By the third, the first signs of fatigue began to show in the sprinters.
By the fourth, the early fire was burning out. Shoulders drooped. Steps dragged. Cael's "speed booster" had sputtered—his breaths now came in ragged gasps, almost whistling.
Julian's pace didn't break.
One by one, he reeled them in.
Fifth lap. Sixth lap. Seventh lap.
The survivors:
Leo—smooth and efficient, holding pace.
Cael—looking like he'd been left to die in the desert.
