"When you move fast enough, the landscape blurs. Eventually, even the faces of the people next to you disappear." – Gabe
...
The departure lounge of Val-de-Cans International Airport was filled with the hum of excitement. The extended Enactus team — twenty-five students, three professors, and a documentary crew — buzzed with the chaotic energy of a field trip. Selfies were taken. Brazilian flags were unfurled. Laughter echoed off the glass walls, a sound of pure, unburdened hope.
But at the center of the storm, there was a calm, cold eye.
Gabriel sat near the gate, his back straight, his laptop open. He wasn't taking photos. He wasn't laughing. He was running a final diagnostic on the logistical supply chain for their prototypes in Miami.
Beside him, Mikaela typed on her tablet, her movements mirroring his. They were two islands of silence in a sea of noise.
"Boarding in ten minutes," Mikaela murmured, not looking up. "The German team landed an hour ago. Their press release is already trending on LinkedIn."
"Let them trend," Gabriel replied, his voice flat. "We'll dominate the metrics that matter."
Across the lounge, the original Resilientes stood in a loose, awkward circle. They weren't laughing either.
Caio was looking out the window at the rain, his hands deep in his pockets, his shoulders slumped. Marina was checking the passports for the fifth time, a nervous tic she had developed recently. Carlos and Leonardo sat together, talking in hushed tones, glancing occasionally at Gabriel like civilians watching a ticking bomb.
They looked efficient. They looked prepared.
They looked miserable.
"Gabriel!"
He looked up. A young freshman — one of the new recruits named André — ran up to him, holding a camera. "Can we get a photo? With the leadership? Before we fly? For the university archives."
Gabriel stood up. He buttoned his blazer. He adjusted his cuffs.
[System Action: Activate Persona 'The Leader'.]
"Of course," he said warmly. The smile appeared on his face like a programmed response.
He walked over. He put his arm around the freshman. He beckoned Mikaela into the frame. The camera flashed.
In the photo, Gabriel looked perfect. Confident, handsome, the golden boy of the North leading his people to glory.
But Sofia, standing by the boarding gate with her own equipment, saw through the lens what no one else did. Through her synesthesia, the air around Gabriel wasn't golden anymore. It was a static, buzzing gray — the color of television snow on a dead channel.
She lowered her camera, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the airport air conditioning.
...
The flight to Miami was long and silent.
Gabriel sat in Business Class — an upgrade secured by the university's new corporate sponsors. Mikaela was beside him. The rest of the team was back in Economy.
The physical separation was symbolic, and Gabriel knew it. A necessary hierarchy. Leaders needed rest. Leaders needed space to think.
He tried to sleep, but his mind was too loud. The System was agitated. As the plane flew north, crossing the equator, crossing the invisible lines of latitude, he felt the atmosphere change.
Professor Henrique's warning echoed in his ears: "The barriers are thinner there. The ocean conducts more than just electricity."
He looked out the window at the dark Atlantic Ocean, thirty thousand feet below.
For a second, the water didn't look like water. It looked like ink. Or void. He could feel the pulse of something vast and ancient beneath the waves, something that resonated with the corruption in his own blood.
[System Warning: High-Mana Zone Detected.]
[Location: The Miami Anomaly.]
[Threat: Dormant... Awakening.]
"Are you okay?" Mikaela asked. She was watching him, her eyes sharp in the dim cabin light.
"Just turbulence," Gabriel lied, gripping the armrest.
"There is no turbulence," she countered, checking the flight display. "The path is optimal. You're shaking."
Gabriel looked at his hand. It was trembling. Not with fear. With... anticipation. The cold void in his chest was reacting to something waiting for them in Florida. It was hungry.
"It's the energy," he whispered. "Can't you feel it?"
Mikaela frowned. "I feel the pressure to win. That's all."
Gabriel looked at her. She was brilliant, ruthless, efficient. But she was blind. She saw the game, but she didn't see the board.
"Go back to sleep, Mikaela," he said softly. "I'll handle the watch."
...
Miami hit them like a wall of heat and neon.
It wasn't the humid, organic heat of Belém that smelled of river mud and fruit. It was a synthetic heat — asphalt, exhaust, and air conditioning vented onto the streets. The sky wasn't blue; it was a blinding, over-saturated cyan.
The shuttle bus took them to the Hyatt Regency, the headquarters of the World Cup. The building was a glass monolith rising from the river, reflecting the city back at itself in distorted angles.
As the team unloaded their luggage, Gabriel stood on the sidewalk, scanning the perimeter. He adjusted his sunglasses, but they didn't block the overlay that flickered across his vision.
[Entities Detected.]
[Analyzing Signatures...]
The hotel lobby was swarming with teams from thirty countries. Colors, flags, languages colliding in a babel of ambition.
But Gabriel saw the shadows.
Standing near the gold-plated elevators was the German Team. They were dressed in matching slate-grey suits, moving with military precision.
But above their lead presenter — a tall man with pale eyes and white-blond hair — Gabriel saw a distortion. A faint, violet haze that twisted like smoke.
Corruption.
He turned his head. The South Korean Team was checking in at the front desk. Their technology setup was massive. Cables, servers, VR headsets.
And pulsing through their wires, Gabriel saw the same violet light. A technomancer's signature.
He wasn't the only one. He wasn't unique. He wasn't the only one using "unconventional methods."
"Gabriel?" Marina appeared beside him. She looked small in the massive lobby, clutching a sheaf of room keys. "We have the keys. We're on the 14th floor."
Gabriel didn't look at her. He kept his eyes on the German captain.
"Change of plans," Gabriel said, his voice low and hard. "I want security sweeps on our room. Digital and physical. Twice a day."
"Gabriel, that's paranoid," Marina whispered, concerned. "This is a student competition."
Gabriel turned to her. His eyes were devoid of warmth.
"Look around you, Marina. Do you think they are here to play?"
He pointed at the German team. At that exact moment, the German captain looked up. His pale eyes locked onto Gabriel's across the crowded lobby.
The German smiled. It wasn't a friendly smile. It was the smile of a shark recognizing another shark in the tank.
[System Alert: Rival Sovereign Detected.]
[Class: Iron Tyrant.]
[Threat Level: Critical.]
"This isn't a competition," Gabriel said. "It's a battlefield."
He picked up his bag.
"Caio, Carlos," he barked, his voice snapping the Resilientes to attention like a whip crack. "Get the prototypes upstairs. Now. Do not let anyone touch them. Do not let them out of your sight."
"Yes, Gabriel," Caio said automatically. The joy was gone from his voice, replaced by the dull obedience of a soldier who no longer believes in the war.
Gabriel walked toward the elevators. As he passed the German captain, the air between them crackled — a static discharge loud enough to make a nearby bellboy flinch. A lightbulb in the chandelier above them flickered and died.
Mikaela fell into step beside him. She looked at the dead lightbulb, then at Gabriel. She didn't ask questions. She just smiled, energized by the tension.
"Showtime," she whispered.
Gabriel didn't smile back. He touched his empty pocket, wishing for a sword, wishing for a keychain, wishing for anything that felt like home.
But home was thousands of miles away.
Here, in the glass city, under the neon lights, there were no bridges. Only targets.
[Objective Updated: Survive the Opening Ceremony.]