January 21st, 2022
***
"None of us have seen Jim's signature before right?"
"Nope."
"Never."
Plax nodded in satisfaction, "Good, that should cover plausible deniability."
He passed the pen to Chris after finishing his glowing report. The three acknowledgements made up the bulk of the application and were essentially just witness testimony to support the challenger's credentials. No need for a questionnaire - Combat would reveal a lot about a person's character.
Once completed, the application would be skimmed for far-fetched claims and then sent directly to Julius. His word alone would determine the result. In the history of Carson II, no report that made it up the chain was ever denied. After all, what was the harm in checking out a new talent? It could result in a stronger line-up.
Since Plax was a Vander hire, he went to the Vander office. All families split the city into slices, with each taking a piece of the pie. Vander was sandwiched between Stadz and Scathher, with the center designated as a neutral zone where boundaries met. While allied, the top three families still preferred to handle business individually. They trusted each other enough when it came to mutual interests.
Chris and Ferrel were Vander hires as well. Both were outsiders from other planets, just like they believed Richter was. Their official jobs were as 'mercenaries', taking odd, dangerous, or unfavorable roles to make a living.
Being a back-up for a competition was all of the above. No one would even know their names yet they'd incur the most danger. The stress weighed on all of them as the days counted down. They'd never step foot in the venue arena, but those weren't the fights they worried about. And while nothing was guaranteed to happen, they knew better than to be careless.
It made Richter's attempts to ascend understandable — they'd all dreamed of circumstances like that in their teenage days. Carson II was one of the few planets who'd be willing to power-level a promising talent. Maybe if they were still Beginners they'd give in too. Succeeding would mean skipping straight to Intermediate around mid Tier 5. Richter would likely be hailed as a hero if he returned to his home planet. It'd put him far above the rest.
If. If he succeeded. If he survived.
Chris scribbled away, corroborating Plax's tale. Had Richter been there to see it, he'd have noticed some strange claims of fights and feats that didn't happen. Lies and embellishments that stretched his ability. All of the back-ups had gotten pretty close over the last two months, and they never expected a surprise addition. The group was split between supporting or discouraging Richter — Plax had made his stance clear.
So the three of them continued taking turns filling page after page with bait, sitting in the lobby with the smell of oak and burnt cigarettes. The office was at least a couple decades old. It was a relic from back when the territory boundaries weren't so clear, and when Vander and Stadz used to battle it out.
The brownish tint still peaked out beneath the green walls as if the fighting had never stopped.
***
Richter trained long into the night, switching between Vincent's data and the balance beam. Each time he exited the prism; the number of people would dwindle. Eventually, it was just him. He ended up staying so late the gym lights turned off.
Being alone in the dark wasn't an issue, he could see just fine. It was comforting in a way - brought back memories of all the blind training he did as a kid. Out of curiosity, he pulled out his communicator to check the time.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Planet: Carson II.
Day-Night Cycle: Thirty-six hours.
Time: 30:32
Day: Twelve hours.
Night: Twenty-four hours.
Lunar Cycle: Eight days. (2/8)
--------------------------------------------------------------
Nearly twenty-two hours straight of training. The fatigue was catching up, but he had just enough energy for a final go with the earbuds. Richter put them in and climbed onto the beam in darkness. This marked his twelfth attempt; number eleven had been really close. The cost of healing and mana potions meant he couldn't put as much time into it today. He'd used his stored coins, leaving just the silver bag in the hotel room. His potions were emptied too.
Prior failures taught him that slow and steady was a bad idea. The pitching machine's gear shift operated on a timer, not his progress. So taking longer just made it worse.
Once ready, he counted down the bootup sequence and dashed forward. The first two pitches blew past the back of his head. The third rattled the beam.
[Mana Surge - 1.5%]
He barely held on as mana trickled into his feet - Richter had gotten more precise with the amount. The next part took a while to nail down, but he could see the pitches in his peripheral by slightly twisting his body toward them. It was tricky to do while balancing and moving forward, but practice makes perfect.
Now was the time to prove it. Double curveballs registered as small flashes across his vision. He bent back at the waist, letting the pitches whiz by.
[Mana Surge - 5%]
Richter jumped over another into a handspring where two fastballs threaded between his legs. He flipped up and spun around for the return.
All his training for the day culminated in near misses and a tight finish. In his professional opinion, hearing was the easiest sense to overcome. It'd be embarrassing not to accomplish this much - especially with prior experience. Stacking the other restrictions was the real difficulty, but that was a future problem. For now, he was happy to be done for the night.
That mood only lasted about ten seconds as he looked up to see Clare shouting and stomping by the stairs. He removed the earbuds–
"–Richter! You freak, what are you still doing here?"
"Do you really have to ask?" The proximity of his voice made her jump; She didn't hear any footsteps approaching. "Of course I was training."
"You idiot. It's way too late, you should be in your room. I came here to lock up for the night. You're lucky I heard the pitching machine or you'd be trapped till morning," Clare snapped. She almost looked scared peering into the pitch-black space. She had turned on a soft light for the stairs.
"I was expecting you to come by again, so I didn't think much about it."
"Well from now on don't stay past 29:00. The lights shut off automatically at 29:30. Most of the others leave by 27:00."
"Noted. But it's nice to have the place to myself sometimes."
Clare rolled her eyes, "Yeah? And what are you going to accomplish in pure darkness? I don't know why you tried the balance beam in these conditions. It's a waste."
"I can see perfectly fine."
She narrowed her eyes in disbelief. "Alright then, tell me: How many fingers am I holding up?"
"One, and that's not a very nice gesture."
"Damn." She clicked her tongue. "You really are a freak. Most people don't have built-in night vision."
"It wasn't 'built-in', I worked on it over the years."
"Same difference. Now let's go. You're going to feel tired tomorrow."
He wasn't in the mood for antics. She dropped him off at the hotel entrance. The adrenaline of success was wearing off, and now he wanted nothing more than a hot shower and a warm bed. He washed, dressed, and laid down to sleep.
Just as his eyes shut, he felt a sharp aura blanket the first floor — His new neighbor in Room 101 was ever-present. Sleep wouldn't come easy.
The timing couldn't be a coincidence. Whoever it was waited until Clare left the vicinity. They didn't want to be found out.
***