Book 1: Chapter 21 – Test of Reactions

Jabari's name was finally called during the last race of the Test of Speed.

He took a deep breath, steadying the excitement and tension coiled within him, then stepped into lane ten. The warmth of the sun-kissed his skin as his toes pressed into the starting line.

Unlike the Test of Strength, this was a challenge he felt confident about. Years spent hunting through the outskirts of the slums had honed his speed. He'd often found himself sprinting after prey or escaping the older slum-dwellers who tried to steal his hard-earned dinner. Most adults couldn't catch him once he started running; that was part of the reason they often relied on ambushes, trapping him in ways his speed meant nothing.

"On your marks," Kwame's voice crackled through the speakers.

Jabari's muscles tensed. The air thickened with anticipation. In his mind, a rabbit materialised on the track ahead, its ears twitching as it bolted forward.

"Get set...

Go!"

Jabari lunged from the starting line like a coiled spring released. His body instinctively fell into a familiar rhythm – feet striking the ground with rapid precision, arms pumping in perfect synchrony. The imaginary rabbit dashed ahead of him, and Jabari gave chase, just as he'd done countless times in the wild.

The finish line came sooner than expected. He crossed it with his heart hammering in his chest and his breath coming in shallow gulps.

"Jabari of the Khaldun Tribe's Slums: 12.32 seconds! Three stars!"

The crowd responded with a smattering of applause, more surprised than impressed. Yet Jabari couldn't suppress a flicker of pride. He hadn't just kept up with the others; he'd surpassed most of them.

If he'd run this time in one of the earlier heats, he might have taken first place. Unfortunately, fate had paired him with another exceptional competitor: Chidi of the Nuwanu Tribe.

"Chidi of the Nuwanu Tribe: 11.83 seconds! Four stars!" Kwame announced.

The crowd's reaction was far louder this time, with many turning to each other in recognition of the boy's impressive performance.

Jabari descended the stage, still basking in the small but genuine pride of his achievement. This was the fastest he had ever run, and he knew exactly why. A week of nutritious meals and proper rest, courtesy of Heba's generosity, had strengthened his once-frail body. Although still underdeveloped, he was far superior to the him living in the slums.

As he reached the bottom of the steps, his attention was drawn to a conversation among a group of trialists nearby.

"You won't believe it," one of the boys said, his voice tinged with disbelief, "but that Chidi used to live in my Nuwanu Tribe's slums."

"What?" another exclaimed. "You're telling me slum rats took both first and second place in that last race? How's that even possible?"

"Not exactly," the first boy corrected. "It's true that he used to live in the slums, but about eighteen months ago, the Chief of my tribe accepted his family into the main settlement. All because Chidi showed the potential to become a formidable warrior."

"What? How did a slum kid even get noticed by your Chief?"

"Well," the boy said, his tone carrying a hint of smug superiority, "his father was one of our slum enforcers. Like in most tribes, the kids of enforcers get used as 'sparring partners' for the warrior trainees preparing for the trials."

"Sparring partners?" another boy snickered. "Don't you mean punching bags?" His lips curled into a sadistic grin.

"Minor details," the first boy said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "The important part is that during those sessions, Chidi impressed the elders with his insane reflexes and natural battle sense. So, they granted his family a temporary promotion. It becomes permanent if he manages to become a Beast-Warrior and returns to serve as one of our tribe's guardians."

The listeners exchanged astonished glances.

"So, you're saying his speed isn't even his best attribute?"

"Not even close," the boy said, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Just watch."

Jabari's gaze instinctively shifted toward the frosty-eyed boy who had beaten him in the race. His mind turned over the revelation he'd just heard.

'I guess I wasn't the only former slum-dweller given a chance to escape the hell hole that is the slums.'

"Our third and final test of the day is the Reaction Test," Kwame announced, his voice cutting through the lingering murmurs of the crowd. "I need you all to pay close attention for this one. It's not quite as straightforward as the previous two."

The children immediately quieted, curiosity drawing their attention toward the invigilator as he descended the stage. Microphone in hand, Kwame strode toward the centre of the track where the sprints had taken place earlier. Upon reaching a specific spot, he raised his foot and brought it down in a single, unassuming stomp.

Boom.

The ground shuddered beneath them, sending a faint tremor through the colosseum's stone floor. The casual display of power sent a jolt of disbelief through Jabari.

'How strong do you have to be to generate that much force with a single stomp?' Jabari wondered, eyes wide as he studied the seemingly ordinary man who now radiated an aura of quiet strength.

Before anyone could recover, the track responded to the stomp. The painted lines of the ten lanes dissolved as though they'd never existed. In their place, twenty glowing runic squares appeared, each marked with unfamiliar symbols. The patterns shimmered with faint energy, crackling softly like embers stirred by an invisible wind.

Kwame gestured toward the glowing formations. "These boxes are created using formations," he explained. "Once activated, each one will generate a one-way barrier. Once inside, you won't be able to leave until the test concludes or the formation is deactivated."

He raised a small, rubber-like ball high enough for everyone to see. It was dull grey and unimpressive at first glance, yet the way he held it suggested otherwise.

"Here's how the test works. Each of you will enter one of these boxes, and a ball like this will be dropped inside with you. Your task is simple: avoid being hit for as long as possible."

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Dodge a ball? It sounded far easier than the previous tests.

Kwame's smile deepened, eyes glinting with amusement as he caught sight of several overconfident expressions. "I know what you're thinking – sounds easy, right? Sorry to disappoint you, but these balls are made from a material known as I.A.R., short for 'Impact Acceleration Rubber.'"

He gave the ball a casual toss, catching it effortlessly. "Every time the ball makes contact with the walls, floor, or ceiling of your enclosure, it will gradually accelerate. The longer you last, the faster it gets – until it reaches its top speed after sixty seconds. And when that happens, a second ball will be introduced. Then a third, and so on.

"Each ball is also equipped with a formation that synchronises with the runes in your box. The moment the ball so much as grazes the hem of your clothes, the formation will deactivate, signalling the end of your attempt."

Jabari's brows furrowed as he tried to make sense of the explanation. He didn't know what a formation was, but he understood enough: avoid the ball, and if you last long enough, more would appear.

Kwame continued. "Before anyone asks, yes, the balls can tell the difference between hitting you, hitting another ball, or striking the walls. So, there won't be any false readings.

"Now, let's go over the scoring. If you get hit within the first minute, you'll receive one star. Survive between one and two minutes, and that's two stars. Three stars for two to three minutes, four stars for three to four minutes, and if you manage to endure for more than four minutes, you'll earn the coveted five-star score."

A hushed intensity settled over the children. The simplicity of the rules didn't mask the challenge.

"Sir," a voice called out hesitantly from the crowd. "Could you tell us what the record is and who set it?"

Kwame's smile returned. "The current record for the Reaction Test stands at six minutes and forty-two seconds. And once again, it was set three years ago by the Crown Prince of the Khaldun Tribe – Zuberi Khaldun."

The response was immediate. A collective gasp swept through the trialists, followed by hushed whispers of disbelief.

Ignoring the shock his revelation had induced, Kwame calmly read out the first twenty names, assigning each participant to one of the glowing enclosures.

The chosen trialists made their way to their respective boxes, their expressions a mix of anticipation and tension. Once they were in position, Kwame tapped the ground with his foot – lightly this time. The runes on each box flared to life in response, their symbols glowing with a faint, blue-white radiance. A moment later, a ball identical to the one Kwame had shown earlier shot up from the floor into each enclosure.

Jabari leaned forward, watching intently.

'That seems easy enough,' he thought as he observed the balls lazily bouncing from wall to wall.

With every impact, though, the balls picked up speed, gradually transforming from sluggish projectiles to increasingly unpredictable missiles.

"Argh!"

The first pained cry shattered the illusion of simplicity. Jabari's eyes snapped toward the sound just in time to see one of the boys crumple to his knees, clutching his side and gasping for air.

The sight surprised Jabari more than the early elimination itself. He had expected the balls to sting upon impact, but judging by the boy's strained expression and heaving breaths, they delivered far more than a mild sting.

Jabari swallowed, his heart racing slightly at the realisation. Still, he couldn't help but feel a spark of excitement.

Over the next few rounds, several performances stood out:

Danso Musa: 2 minutes and 58 seconds – three stars.

Azurian: 3 minutes and 18 seconds – four stars.

Jamal Marley: 3 minutes and 39 seconds – four stars.

Still, the first true surprise came from August Owusu.

No one had expected the teenage giant, whose physique seemed built more for smashing through walls than dodging speeding projectiles, to demonstrate such agility. Yet August lasted 3 minutes and 32 seconds, securing himself a very impressive four-star result.

Jabari tried to picture the sheer dedication it must have taken for someone of August's size to hone his reflexes to that level.

The next standout performance came from Chidi, the former slum-dweller from the Nuwanu Tribe.

The wiry boy moved like a shadow, his body bending, twisting, and slipping past the accelerating ball with uncanny ease. The arena buzzed with excitement when Kwame announced his time: 3 minutes and 41 seconds – making him first thus far.

'No wonder their Chief took notice of him,' Jabari thought, impressed. 'He's like a ghost in there.'

But the most astonishing performance came from Chantelle Marley.

The older sister of the prodigy Jamal stepped into the box with quiet confidence. From the moment the ball began its unpredictable assault, she moved with an elegance that mesmerised the audience. Her steps flowed with such effortless grace that it was as though she anticipated the ball's trajectory before it even changed direction.

She didn't just dodge; she danced—light, smooth, and always a step ahead.

"Chantelle Marley of the Shura Tribe: 4 minutes and 5 seconds – five stars!" Kwame declared.

The colosseum erupted into cheers, and Jabari sat back, stunned.

'Her footwork...' His mind replayed the scene again and again. Every pivot, every shift, every dodge seemed calculated to not just avoid the current threat but to position her perfectly for the next. It was an art, a rhythm she followed instinctively.

He closed his eyes, trying to memorise the pattern of her movements.

"Jabari of the Khaldun Tribe's slums!"

His eyes flew open.

Finally, it was his turn.