The West Corp Coliseum was a gargantuan bowl of glass and light, hovering like a crown over the center of Sherwood City. To the millions watching via global broadcast, it was a marvel of modern engineering. To Maya, standing in the cold, shadowed tunnel leading to the arena floor, it felt like a giant’s mouth waiting to swallow her whole.
"Ten seconds to live broadcast, Representative Rose," a technician whispered, adjusting a floating camera drone that hummed inches from Maya’s face.
Maya’s heart was a hammer against her ribs. She reached into her pocket, her fingers brushing against the cold, carved wood of the doll Puppet Jr. had left her. The red string felt like it was tightening around her own throat. The noise outside was a physical wall—a roar of fifty thousand voices chanting the school’s name.
"I can't do this," she breathed, her vision blurring. "There are too many people. They’re all watching for the Rose legacy, and I'm just..."
"A welder," a voice said firmly from the darkness behind her.
Maya turned. John was standing there, having bypassed three layers of security just to reach the tunnel. He wasn't in a suit; he was wearing his grease-stained work shirt, looking like a solid piece of Earth in a world of holograms. He held up a hand-painted sign that simply said: LEWIS FAMILY RESTAURANT - WE DELIVER (ESPECIALLY UNDER PRESSURE).
Maya felt a bubble of hysterical laughter rise in her chest. "John, you’re going to get arrested."
"Let them try," John grinned, his eyes softening as he stepped closer. "Forget the cameras, Maya. Forget the 'Rose.' Just look at me. It’s just the basement, okay? The world is just a heavy beam you haven't lifted yet. Focus on the pull."
The buzzer sounded—a deafening, synthesized blast.
"Go," John urged. "I’ll be right in the front row. I'm not leaving until the job is done."
Maya took a deep breath, the "Cyber-sense" at the back of her neck tingling as she stepped out of the shadows.
The transition was violent. The roar of the crowd hit her like a physical blow. Massive holographic screens, thirty stories high, projected her face to the entire city. The lights were so bright she could see the dust motes dancing in the air. For a heartbeat, she froze. Her purple energy flickered wildly, jagged and erratic, threatening to short-circuit the very floor she stood on.
"Team West Corp, begin Trial One!" the announcer boomed.
High above, a swarm of "Interceptor Drones" was released. They moved with predatory grace, weaving through a complex maze of shifting glass pillars. The goal was to tether the drones and guide them to the central "Power Core" without shattering the pillars.
Cassie took off instantly, a localized gale lifting her into the air. "Stay out of my way, Rose! I’ll handle the speed, you just stay behind the shield!"
Cassie was fast, but she was reckless. The wind currents she generated were too broad; they began to tilt the glass pillars, sending them wobbling toward the ground. The crowd let out a collective gasp as a pillar began to fall directly toward the spectator stands.
Maya’s shyness vanished, replaced by the "Lewis Method" instinct. She didn't look at the cameras. She didn't look at the thousands of faces. She looked at the falling glass and the panicked people beneath it.
Focus on the pull.
She didn't blast. She didn't spark. She planted her feet and reached out, her hands open. Thick tethers of Royal Indigo energy shot from her palms. Instead of pushing, she anchored. She latched onto the falling pillar and the drone above it simultaneously.
The purple light hummed with a deep, industrial resonance—the sound of a heavy machine finding its rhythm. The pillar stopped inches from the crowd, suspended by invisible, glowing wires.
The stadium went silent for a heartbeat, then erupted into a different kind of roar.
Maya didn't stop. She pulled. She used the weight of the pillar as a counter-balance, swinging the drone directly into the Power Core with the precision of a master welder.
As she lowered the pillar safely back into its socket, she caught sight of John in the front row, punching the air in victory. Beside him, Hana was jumping on a seat, screaming so loud her pigtails were flying.
Maya stood tall, her chest heaving, the indigo light of her aura standing out like a beacon against the gold of the stadium. She wasn't hidden behind her hair anymore. She was the anchor. And for the first time in five years, West Corp was at the top of the leaderboard after the first round.
High in the shadows of the VIP box, a single pair of purple eyes watched her every move, the slow, rhythmic sound of a single person clapping lost in the thunder of the crowd.23Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfUI8W6qBfp
and then Add to home screen.