34 Losing Participants

The air was thick with anticipation as the final batch of players finished their matches. Tension filled the room as everyone awaited the announcement of who would be staying and who would be going home. The large screen at the front flickered to life, and a robotic yet authoritative voice echoed through the hall.

"Attention, all participants. After careful evaluation, we have determined that 34 players will be disqualified."

A wave of murmurs spread through the players. Many had expected half of the 194 to be cut, given that they had lost their matches. But before anyone could ask, the voice continued.

"Our decision is not solely based on winning or losing. It is based on performance, potential, and adaptability on the court."

The names of the disqualified players were then listed on the screen:

Koria Swathi – India

Noah Protzenial – Switzerland

Jean-Paul Gervais – France

Elias Campos – Mexico

Bernard Wang – China

The list went on, with each name being read aloud. Some players sighed in relief, while others clenched their fists in frustration. The announcement concluded, and questions immediately arose.

A tall, muscular player from China raised his hand. "Why only 34? Shouldn't it be half since half of us lost?"

The project official overseeing the announcement stepped forward, microphone in hand. "This project isn't about wins and losses. We're evaluating players based on their ability to impact the game. A loss doesn't mean failure if you showed exceptional skills, decision-making, or adaptability. Some of you lost but played in ways that made you invaluable to a team setting."

Berg, who had been listening, turned to Diego with an uncertain look. "I only scored four points," he muttered, his voice filled with doubt. "My opponent got eleven. How did I even make it through?"

A nearby staff member overheard him and smiled slightly. "Even though you lost, there was something about your game that stood out," he said simply.

Berg's eyes widened, his doubt vanishing in an instant. He turned to Diego, and suddenly, they both burst into excitement. With grins on their faces, they pulled each other into a tight hug, shouting in celebration. The pressure had been immense, but they had made it through.

As they calmed down, a voice spoke up from behind them. "I guess you guys are still here, huh?"

Diego turned and met the smirking face of the Thai player who had been watching them since the beginning. His tone was teasing but carried a hint of respect.

Diego smirked back. "Looks like we are."

The announcement continued. "It is currently 7 AM. Until the next phase begins, you are free to do as you wish. Some courts will be open for training, and the food court is available for those who wish to eat."

Immediately, players split off into different groups. Some ran straight to the courts, eager to train and improve. Others, exhausted from their games, headed toward the food court.

The cafeteria buzzed with energy as players from all over the world gathered around tables, eating, chatting, and replaying the intense one-on-one battles in their heads. Diego and Berg sat across from each other, trays full of food, their stomachs finally catching up to the hunger they ignored all morning.

Peitra Adulyadej casually strolled over with a smirk, placing his tray down beside Berg.

"Guess we're all still here," he said, glancing at Diego.

Diego smirked back. "Yeah, guess that means I didn't embarrass you too much out there."

Peitra scoffed. "You wish."

Before Berg could say anything, Luka Mikhailov approached their table with his usual stern expression. His tray was filled with food, but he barely touched it. He sat down across from Diego, eyeing him like a rival he hadn't finished dealing with yet.

"I watched the replay," Luka said bluntly, stabbing a fork into his food. "You played bad."

Diego raised an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair. "Says the guy who lost."

Luka's eyes twitched. "I lost by one point. You barely won."

Peitra chuckled. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

Berg, who had been quietly listening, laughed nervously. "Diego, you sure like making enemies, huh?"

Diego grinned. "Not enemies—rivals."

The conversation continued, bouncing between teasing remarks, competitive jabs, and genuine compliments about their playing styles. It was clear that, despite the heated battles on the court, there was mutual respect between them.

Then, Berg shifted in his seat and sighed. "You know, I thought I was gonna get cut."

Diego looked at him, suddenly serious. "Why would you think that?"

Berg hesitated, then shrugged. "I only scored four points. I figured they'd toss me out since I wasn't dominating like the rest of you."

Peitra and Luka exchanged glances before Peitra leaned forward. "You really don't get it, do you?"

Berg blinked. "Get what?"

Luka crossed his arms. "They kept you because your special ability is useful. Even in a 1v1, you managed to stand out. Your passing skill—it's rare."

Diego's eyes lit up. "Wait, your special ability is passing?"

Berg nodded. "Yeah. And I have a side ability called Path Finding. I can pass the ball anywhere I want, and it'll always reach my teammate, no matter the situation."

Diego whistled. "That's insane. No wonder they kept you."

Berg rubbed the back of his neck, clearly still unsure of himself, but the words from his new friends seemed to ease his worries.

As the conversation continued, the cafeteria grew louder. Other players were forming their own groups, some discussing strategies, others just enjoying the rare moment of relaxation.

Then, a new voice interrupted.

"Mind if I sit here?"

They all turned to see Mason Carter standing beside their table.

Luka's expression darkened, clearly not a fan. "There are plenty of other tables."

But Diego, ever the friendly one, gestured to an open seat. "Go ahead."

Mason sat down, his sharp eyes scanning the group. "I saw your match, Diego. You got skills."

Diego smirked. "That sounds like a compliment. Should I be honored?"

Mason shrugged. "Take it how you want. But I'll tell you this—your dribbling's good, but you've got a long way to go if you wanna make it far in this competition."

Diego laughed. "Oh? And you're already at the top?"

Mason leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "I wouldn't be here if I wasn't."

Luka rolled his eyes. "Cocky American."

Mason grinned. "Confident American."

Berg watched the exchange, shaking his head. "You guys are all insane. No one here is normal."

Peitra chuckled. "Welcome to Project All-Time."

They continued talking, the tension shifting between friendly and competitive, but one thing was clear—these weren't just random players anymore. They were rivals. They were future teammates.

And for Diego, this was just the beginning.