Frank exhaled, then spoke. "We form a line. We hold hands—yes. But we alternate positions. The first person faces forward. The second, backward. Third forward. Fourth backward. Right, left, right, left. Like a chain."
The group blinked at him.
"…You're gonna have to explain that," Peter muttered.
"It's about balance," Frank said. "The room is pulling us diagonally, remember? One direction drags you forward, the other drags you back. If we alternate direction and lock arms, the gravitational forces will oppose each other. Push and pull. It'll keep our center steady."
Realization spread like dawn across tired faces.
"But… why didn't you say that earlier?" Rhia cut in sharply. "You let half the team fall before—"
"He did say it," Margaret interrupted, her voice cool but pointed. "You were just too busy talking over him."
Rhia crossed her arms but said nothing more.
The remaining cadets exchanged looks—some skeptical, some hopeful.
Frank stepped toward the beam, and slowly, deliberately, he held out his hand. "Who's first?"
Margaret stepped forward. "I'll take left."
Peter sighed and followed. "Guess that makes me right."
One by one, the rest joined—forming a strange chain of alternating bodies and staggered stances. Right foot, left foot. One mind.
Their muscles strained. Gravity fought them every step. But they moved.
Not fast. Not clean. But they didn't fall.
When the final pair stepped off the beam and landed on the opposite side, the board overhead pinged again. Adding to George's solo crossing, they now had ten points:
FALCON TEAM SCORE: 10 POINTS.
The room fell into exhausted silence.
For now. But Margaret looked at Frank—not with pity or amusement—but with something close to respect.
Maybe the quiet ones weren't meant to be at the back.
Maybe, in a place like the Continental Training Academy, survival wouldn't belong to the strongest.
But to the ones who could think under pressure.
The board above the platform pulsed.
FALCON TEAM SCORE: 10 POINTS.
A wave of relief swept over the group. Frank released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Margaret smiled faintly, dusting off her palms. Even Rhia muttered, "Well... that worked."
Then, BLINK.
The board flickered. A new line appeared beneath the score:
PENALTY DEDUCTION: -10 POINTS
FINAL TEAM SCORE: 0
A pause.
A long, stunned pause. Then:
"What the—" someone swore, loud and sharp. "You've got to be kidding me!"
Rhia slammed her boot against the metal floor. "We just crossed that damn thing!"
"They said points would be earned through group progress!" Peter protested, looking from the board to the hallway as if demanding an instructor to appear.
"They also said," Frank added slowly, "points could be deducted... for delays. Missing members. Insubordination. Disunity."
A silence fell.
All eyes shifted.
Not toward each other.
But toward the gap left on the starting platform.
Malik's absence.
"Great," someone muttered. "He's not just absent, he is still dragging us below the starting line."
"This is exactly what I meant," Rhia snapped. "He gets into the academy with no ability anyone can name, gets second place in the competition even after forfeit, and now he's tanking us before we even start."
"Enough," Margaret said sharply.
Rhia stared at her. "You always take his side…"
"No, I don't. I just don't think blaming one person solves a group problem."
"Tell that to our score."
Frank said nothing. His mind was already racing again. Were the deductions automatic? Or was someone monitoring them live?
The board gave no answer.
The room gave no comfort.
All it left them with… was zero.
Zero after effort.
Zero after hope.
And they all blamed it on Malik.
---
Malik stirred at the sound of slamming doors.
His eyes blinked open, sluggish and unfocused, the dim light of the bunkroom filtering through his lashes. A sharp headache pressed at his temples, dull and pulsing.
"What happened?" he mumbled, sitting up halfway, still in the clothes from yesterday. His voice cracked like dry earth.
No one answered at first.
Just the cold silence of heavy boots thudding across the floor.
Then, a snort. Icy. Contemptuous.
"Is that him?" someone muttered near the door.
"Yeah. That's him." A second voice followed, colder.
"He's the reason we lost everything today."
Malik blinked harder, now sitting fully upright. His pulse quickened.
The group didn't even try to hide their voices anymore.
"We should teach him a lesson."
"He's strong, remember? He ranked second," one said, more cautious.
A scoff. "He can't take all of us, by himself."
"And who says," came a calm but cutting voice from the hall, "that he's alone?"
Heads turned.
Xander stood in the doorway, arms folded, his shadow stretching long across the room.
His tone was casual, but his eyes were steel.
"Back off," he added. "Unless you want another point deduction for team violence."
Silence held.
The tension in the room was tight enough to snap. Half the team was still in uniform from the bridge drill. The other half looked too exhausted to intervene.
But Malik didn't miss the shift in the air. They weren't just mad.
They were furious.
They were humiliated.
And humiliation bred rage.
He swung his legs over the bed, slow and deliberate, standing as Xander entered the room fully and placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
"You overslept," Xander said, not unkindly. "We lost all the points we earned. The instructor docked us. No warning. No second chances."
Malik's lips parted, but no excuse came out. No apology either.
Just… guilt.
"I…" he began, but Xander shook his head once.
"Don't waste breath. Just fix it."
A girl near the wall, Rhia, muttered loud enough for everyone to hear, "Fix it? With what? More naps?"
Margaret entered behind Xander then, standing at the edge of the room. Her expression unreadable.
But she spoke clearly.
"Tomorrow's challenge is worth triple points. We need strategy. We need trust. We don't need cracks."
She didn't look at Malik.
She didn't have to.
He felt the weight of every eye in the room settle on him.
He was no longer the anomaly, the mystery, the wildcard.
He was the liability.
And tomorrow… he'd have to prove otherwise.