Book 1: Chapter 22 – A New Record

Jabari, along with the nineteen other candidates in his batch, stepped into their respective formations.

Unlike previous rounds, this one lacked any standout names – at least, as far as the audience was concerned. Most had already turned their attention elsewhere, uninterested in the outcome.

Most, except for one.

Inayah sat rigidly in her seat, her small hands clenched into fists as she stared unblinking at the monitors above the stage, afraid she might miss even a second of her brother's turn.

"How well do you think Jari will do?" she asked, her voice laced with both excitement and worry.

She had turned to Heba for an answer, but this time, it was Lateef who spoke first.

"He might just surprise everyone," the Beast-Warrior said, a knowing smile playing at his lips. His mind flashed back to Jabari's fight against the enforcer from the Umeme Tribe's slums. In that fight, Jabari had shown something that shocked him. Unrefined? Sure, but his ability to repeatedly dodge what should've been fatal strikes was incredible!

Inside his enclosure, Jabari exhaled slowly, centring himself.

'I won't use my spirit to enhance my vision just yet,' he decided. 'Let's see how far I can go on my own first.'

The test began.

At first, Jabari relied purely on his natural agility, slipping past the ball's slow bounces with ease. His nimble movements allowed him to glide through the first minute without breaking a sweat. When the second ball was introduced, it took him a few moments to adjust, but its initial speed was manageable, giving him enough time to adapt.

His footwork wasn't the most refined – nowhere near as breathtaking as some of the previous competitors, but there was a smoothness to his dodges, a quiet efficiency that slowly began drawing the attention of the audience.

It was only when the third ball was introduced that things changed – he suddenly began incorporating Chantelle's movement.

To the shock of those watching, Jabari's movements underwent an instant transformation. In the blink of an eye, the unpolished, instinct-driven dodging was gone – replaced by something far more precise. His steps became sharper, his pivots tighter.

The improvement was drastic. Almost unnatural.

'That footwork...' Kwame's sharp gaze locked onto Jabari, his mind racing. 'It's Chantelle's…

He really is able to copy something after only seeing it once. The Khaldun's might have just found themselves another little monster.'

He still hadn't reached Chantelle's level, but with each passing second, he was rapidly improving. With each successful dodge, his footwork became smoother, more efficient. It was as if he and the balls were in a race; every time they accelerated, so too did his movements.

Only a select few warriors in the crowd recognised what was happening – Kwame, Lateef, and a handful of other experienced fighters.

They also understood one other important fact: Jabari could only continue so long as he kept improving. The moment his growth plateaued, he would lose.

The question was: how long could he continue to improve?

Jabari, however, remained entirely unconcerned.

This was nothing more than a warm-up. He still had a secret weapon left.

"Is this for real?! How has he hit the three-minute mark?!"

"Isn't he just a slum rat?!"

By the time three minutes had passed, Jabari was the only trialist in his group still going. The murmurs of disbelief had turned into a chorus of stunned whispers.

Now, all eyes in the Colosseum were on him and him alone.

'That footwork...' Chantelle narrowed her eyes, scrutinising every movement he made. 'Why does it resemble my own?'

'So, this is the limit of his improvements,' Kwame thought, his sharp eyes fixed on Jabari.

For the past twenty seconds, Jabari's rapid growth had slowed to a crawl. At exactly 3 minutes and 35 seconds, it came to a complete stop. His footwork, though impressive, still lacked the polish and precision of Chantelle's. But Kwame understood the context: Chantelle had likely spent years refining her movements, while Jabari had replicated and honed them in mere minutes.

Despite the plateau in his development, Jabari continued to dodge the balls, twisting and pivoting with remarkable agility. The audience, however, could see that each evasive manoeuvre was becoming more laboured by the second.

When the timer hit 3 minutes and 45 seconds, murmurs of disbelief rippled through the crowd.

"He's hit his limit," someone whispered.

The tension in the Colosseum thickened as the balls closed in from all directions. Jabari ducked beneath two coming from the front, his body bending awkwardly to avoid them. But the danger hadn't passed. Two more shot toward him from behind, their sharp whistling cutting through the air like hunting arrows.

The crowd collectively held its breath.

Jabari twisted at the last possible second, arching his back to avoid the first ball while barely shifting his shoulder to evade the second.

At first, the audience dismissed it as pure luck. But as the balls continued to converge on him, Jabari dodged each one with the same precision, swiftly transforming their scepticism into genuine astonishment.

"What the...

Did he just get better all of a sudden?"

"No way. He was struggling a second ago."

In the arena, Jabari felt the familiar cool rush of his spirit energy sharpening his vision. The balls that had previously blurred into streaks of colour now slowed to half their perceived speed, each bounce and trajectory rendered with crisp clarity.

'Using spirit really is like having a cheat code,' he thought, his lips twitching into a grin. With each bounce, he could predict the balls' movements before they happened, giving him ample time to position himself optimally.

The timer passed five minutes.

By now, the Colosseum was deathly silent. Not a single person spoke. The disbelief had given way to raw fascination. A boy from the slums was putting on a performance that bordered on the level of monstrous.

Five minutes and thirty seconds.

Jabari's muscles burned with exertion. Sweat poured from his body, soaking his clothes and blurring his vision as droplets stung his eyes. His spirit-enhanced sight allowed him to track the balls, but his body simply couldn't match the speed of his mind. Every dodge became more frantic, his movements growing increasingly unbalanced.

One ball shot toward his temple. He ducked beneath it just in time but then heard the faint whistle of another approaching from behind.

"I wish I could fuse my-" His eyes widened mid-sentence. "That's it! Hahaha, I'm such an idiot!"

The crowd watched in confusion as Jabari burst into laughter, despite the deadly speed of the balls circling him.

'My brain couldn't handle all five senses at once,' he muttered to himself, 'but if I start with just two...'

His spirit flared again, this time enhancing his vision and his hearing simultaneously.

The world shifted.

Suddenly, he could see the sound of the balls. Every bounce reverberated in his ears like ripples across a still pond. The faintest hiss of compressed air accompanied their trajectories, painting an invisible map around him. His brain merged the auditory and visual input into a single, coherent picture.

'This...

This is incredible.'

The newfound sensory fusion, however, came with an immediate drawback. His body lagged behind, reacting sluggishly to the overwhelming flood of information. His dodging turned sloppy, and twice, he barely avoided being hit by sheer instinct.

But Jabari was no stranger to adaptation.

Bit by bit, his brain adjusted to the new input. His movements became sharper again, then sharper still. He dodged a ball with a sidestep before it even completed its bounce. Another ball ricocheted toward his ribs; he shifted a fraction earlier, gliding out of reach as though he'd predicted its path long before.

The audience sat frozen in their seats, mouths agape.

"How is this possible?!" Kwame asked aloud.

Even Lateef, who had witnessed Jabari's uncanny instincts firsthand, couldn't suppress a low whistle of disbelief.

The boy wasn't just reacting to the balls anymore. He was reading them.

"What's wrong?" Heba asked, tearing her eyes away from Jabari's breathtaking performance to find Inayah silently crying beside her.

The younger girl's gaze remained fixed on the monitor overhead, her wide, teary eyes locked on her brother's face.

"Jari...

He's smiling," Inayah whispered, her voice trembling with a mixture of disbelief and joy.

Heba blinked in confusion. "What do you mean? Jabari always smiles when he's with you."

Inayah shook her head. "That's different. Of course, I've seen him smile before, but this is the first time I've seen him genuinely smile, for himself – out of enjoyment."

Her tears continued to fall, but now, they were accompanied by a radiant, heartfelt smile. As she watched her brother move with effortless grace, weaving through the balls like a dancer in a deadly waltz, she felt something shift inside her.

For the first time since her illness began, she believed – truly believed – that Jabari would find a reason to keep living once she was gone.

Heba turned back to the screen, her chest tightening at the sight of Jabari's carefree expression.

'He really is having fun,' she thought, noting the wide, unrestrained grin on his face as he twisted and dodged through the storm of speeding projectiles.

But alongside that thought came a pang of sadness. She exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the siblings' shared hardship. Two children, bound by love, shaped by suffering.

Jabari, however, was oblivious to everything beyond his enclosure.

The colosseum, the crowd, the stakes – they all faded into insignificance. His mind focused solely on the relentless balls hurtling toward him. His enhanced senses mapped their movements with near-perfect clarity, allowing his body to flow instinctively from dodge to dodge.

His footwork, though no longer improving, had reached a level indistinguishable from Chantelle's. Yet none of that mattered to him.

What mattered was the rush. The exquisite thrill of knowing that one misstep – one moment of hesitation – would mean failure.

For the first time in his life, Jabari felt truly alive.

Unfortunately, even the most exhilarating moments must come to an end.

Three balls struck simultaneously, breaching his defences with merciless precision.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

"Argh!" Jabari gasped as one slammed into his shoulder, another buried itself into his gut, and the third crashed into the small of his back. The impact sent him sprawling to the ground, knocking the wind from his lungs.

His body screamed in agony. Every breath came in shallow, burning gasps. He tried to push himself up but collapsed again, landing flat on his back. His vision swam; his limbs felt like lead.

But then-

He started laughing.

The sound echoed through the now-silent Colosseum, raw and genuine.

Bruised and breathless, Jabari lay there, overcome with uncontrollable laughter. The pain was undeniable, but it was overshadowed by the pure joy coursing through him. He wished – v more than anything – that he could do it all over again.

On the stage, Kwame stared at the stopwatch in his trembling hand. His jaw tightened as he double-checked the time.

He raised the microphone to his lips and took a steadying breath.

"Jabari of the Khaldun Tribe's Slums," he announced, his voice carrying through the stunned silence, "7 minutes and 9 seconds. Congratulations on setting a new record!"