"What did you do?!" A controlled explosion of a question bood, sending everything shaking.
Mr. Lee stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind him.
Snap.
"Do you want to be taken out of the academy?!"
Leon stood rooted to the spot, the earlier warmth now evaporating. His mind went black, all explanation clogging in his throat. He was... numb.
Mr. Lee advanced, ranting furiously about responsibility, the cost of academy property, and the precariousness of his position.
He stopped abruptly, his eyes narrowing. He was close now, enough to see the details Leon had tried to wash away.
"Why have your knuckles reddened?" Mr. Lee’s ranting voice dropped, becoming dangerously quiet.
Leon looked down at his own hands, sweat tracing down his brow.
"I... slamd my hand on the wall," he paused, wiped the sweat that was ready to drip down. "When I entered the dormitory last night. Out of anger."
"You what? Slamd your hand on the wall?" Mr. Lee’s anger froze montarily and was replaced by a pure, unadulterated shock.
’Did he see the crack on the wall?’ Leon’s thoughts raced. The crater he’d left by the entrance...
’Had Mr. Lee passed by it? Was that the source of this fury?’
"Which side of the wall? And where?" Mr. Lee questioned in a surgical tone.
Leon opened his mouth to answer, but the words got drowned out by a sudden swell of noise from the hallway.
A chorus of raised voices, questions, and confused exclamations flowed like a river past their door.
"How in the world did the elevator door get damaged to this extent within a few hours?"
"Whatever caused this damage wasn’t human. Look at the dent!"
"See how the tal’s been pushed inward. It’s like a... a fist, but deford."
"I can’t be using the stairs all day. They need to fix this!"
Mr. Lee’s head snapped toward the door while the fury on his face lted into a profound, chilling confusion.
He looked from Leon’s guilty, shocked expression to the hallway noise, and back again.
Without a word, he strode to the door and yanked it open.
Leon followed, a cold dread settling in his stomach. The hallway was crowded with clusters of students, all gathered around the elevator.
The silver door was a disaster. A massive, fist-sized crater was punched into its center, surrounded by a web of deep cracks that radiated outward.
The tal was bent inward in a way that indeed looked eerily like the aftermath of a misshapen punch.
As so frustrated students turned toward the stairwell, they noticed Mr. Lee and Leon. They opened a path for them to pass through.
Mr. Lee moved forward like a man in a trance. His steps slowed when he approached the ruined door.
He extended his hand, but didn’t touch the damaged tal. Instead, his fingers traced the air an inch from the spiderweb cracks, as his eyes followed each movent.
Deliberately, he turned his head and looked at Leon. Not with accusation, but with a dawning comprehension.
His gaze dropped to Leon’s reddened knuckles, then back to the catastrophic damage on the reinforced tal door.
After a full minute of silent inspection, Mr. Lee turned on his heel. "Co," he said, his voice echoing low as if drained of its earlier anger.
Zoe was fully dressed in her pink training outfit, her hair dry and brushed when they entered.
She looked from Mr. Lee’s ashen face to Leon’s tense one. "Good morning, Sir," she said respectfully, her playful deanor from earlier completely gone.
"Good morning, Zoe," Mr. Lee replied. He seed to gather himself as he focused on her. "How are you feeling after becoming part of the top 100 out of the remaining 1000 participants?"
Leon’s head jerked up. ’Top 100? Remaining 1000?’ his mind struggled to process this.
"Sir," he interrupted, "I thought all those that remained were 5000. How co you’re saying 1000?"
Mr. Lee turned his gaze, laden with a grim look, to Leon. "They are dead," he stated.
"Haven’t you been seeing the notifications?" Zoe asked, her brow furrowed. She pulled out her own datapad and turned the screen toward Leon.
It displayed a stark leaderboard, nas listed beside grim statistics. At the very top, in bold, was the count: ACTIVE PARTICIPANTS: 1001.
Before Leon could form a response, Mr. Lee cut in. "Taking of datapads. Your task notifications and other instructions will be temporarily sent to Zoe’s device."
"WHY?!" Zoe’s and Leon’s voices echoed sharply in an instant.
"Where is his?" Zoe added.
"He has destroyed it," Mr. Lee said, holding up the wrecked datapad as evidence.
Zoe’s protest died in her throat. She turned a look of pure shock on Leon. "You!" The words echoed in accusation, laced with disbelief and a flicker of betrayal.
The analog clock above the bathroom door ticked softly, its short hand shifting to point at 9:00.
Zoe let out a short, frustrated breath. She walked stiffly to her costic table, opened a small, hidden drawer beneath it, and pulled out another datapad.
"You can use this one."
Mr. Lee’s eyes narrowed at the old datapad thrust toward Leon. "Where did you get that?"
"It used to be Vera’s," Zoe said. "She stopped using it when Jade got her a new one. A better one."
Leon’s expression changed. ’Vera!’ he scread in his mind, but he had no choice. His fingers closed around the cool, scuffed plastic.
"Thank you," he murmured, the word seeming to stick in his throat.
"Sir, please, I’m leaving for my daily workout," Zoe announced and moved toward the door.
"Take him with you," Mr. Lee said. "He needs to prepare. The next match bracket will be posted today. He must be ready to fight."
Leon felt a surge of what wasn’t quite joy, but a fierce, desperate anticipation. ’Yes, a chance to move, to act, and to channel the chaotic energy inside into sothing with a clear target.’
However, Zoe just stood by the door, her back to them. Her shoulders seed tense. After a mont, she gave a single, tight nod.
"Fine."
Mr. Lee left without another word, the ghost of the shattered elevator door lingering in his eyes.
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