Book 1: Chapter 24 – Kind Words

The next morning, as Jabari rose and stretched, he was astonished to feel no lingering soreness from the previous day's trials. He marvelled at the remarkable effects of Heba's healing abilities.

After breakfast, the group of five set off once more for the Colosseum. As they walked, Jabari glanced toward Lateef, now knowing the man was a true Beast-Warrior – someone who had passed these very trials in the past.

"Do you have any advice for today?" Jabari asked, curiosity lacing his tone.

Lateef's expression turned serious. "Experience is one of the most important aspects of combat. Don't go in today thinking about defeating your opponent – it's impossible for the current you. Instead, treat this as a chance to gain experience, not just from your fight but also from watching the others. Learn from every move, every mistake."

Jabari nodded thoughtfully. He knew Lateef's words came from a place of experience and wisdom. As a boy with no formal training, victory might indeed be a distant dream. Still, as foolish as it may be, surrendering before the fight even started was out of the question for Jabari. No matter what, he was determined to give it his all.

Upon arriving at the Colosseum, Jabari exchanged goodbyes with Inayah and the others before joining the group of trialists. Most of the children around him still bore bruises and stiff limbs from the reaction test, making him silently thank Heba once more. He also couldn't help but wonder if the institute had arranged the trial sequence this way on purpose, knowing many participants would be fighting while already injured.

The low hum of chatter in the waiting area abruptly ceased as a group of roughly 150 youths entered. They strode past the trialists with confidence, heading toward the centre of the arena. Their presence exuded an aura of discipline and superiority.

Jabari noted their uniforms: similar to the invigilators', but instead of grey, theirs were white with baby-blue patterns.

His observations were interrupted when one of the students, a lanky, light-skinned boy who looked around fifteen, veered toward him. The boy's lips curled into a condescending smirk.

"So, you're the slum rat who got lucky enough to set a new record yesterday," the boy sneered.

Jabari met his gaze without flinching. Growing up having to hunt outside the walls of the slums, Jabari had his fair share of run-ins with residents of the main settlement; as such, he'd grown accustomed to such scorn. In the past, he would've lowered his eyes and said nothing. But after spending time with Heba and her formidable guards, and after yesterday's triumph, he no longer felt inferior to these so-called elites.

"I'm the slum resident who set a new record yesterday," Jabari corrected, voice steady as he maintained eye contact. His calm refusal to accept the insult was clear.

The boy's smile twisted with derision. "Slum resident? That's just a fancy way of saying slum rat. Why not call it what it is? You're just filth from the slums."

Jabari arched a brow. "A new record was set by this rat. Doesn't that mean everyone who scored lower than me is worse than a rat?" His voice held an innocent curiosity, but his eyes glimmered with subtle amusement.

The crowd's reaction was instant. Trialists and institute students alike turned to the boy with expressions of displeasure.

"That's not what I meant!" the teen stammered, his bravado faltering as he sensed the shifting mood.

"What did you mean, then?" Jabari asked, tilting his head in mock confusion.

The teen's eyes darted around, and as his embarrassment curdled into rage, he lunged forward. His hand shot toward Jabari's tunic, only to find himself suddenly sprawled on the ground an instant later.

Stunned, he scrambled to his feet, ready to lash out. But when he saw the figure standing between him and Jabari, his anger cooled into wary hesitation.

The newcomer was enormous, with broad shoulders and arms like tree trunks. The giant teen fixed the older boy with an unyielding stare.

The bully's lip curled as he backed away. "A filthy slum rat isn't even worth it," he spat, though his voice wavered. He turned to leave, but not before shooting Jabari a venomous glare. "You better hope you don't end up facing me later."

Jabari said nothing, but his eyes held steady, and deep within his chest, the fire of resolve burned brighter than ever.

Jabari's expression remained neutral as he watched his aggressor retreat, but his mind was elsewhere. The boy's venomous words echoed faintly in his thoughts, only to be replaced by curiosity when he noticed August turning to leave.

"Thanks for sticking up for me," Jabari called out.

August, the towering teen who had intervened, gave a slight nod. "I don't like bullies," he said simply, then turned to go.

Jabari hesitated before stretching out his hand in what he hoped was a proper handshake – the very gesture he'd seen Lateef use. His fingers wiggled uncertainly as if testing the motion.

August paused, then accepted the awkward handshake without comment. His grip was firm but fleeting.

"Sorry," August said suddenly as Jabari winced. "I forget my strength."

Jabari shook out his hand, offering a rueful grin. "Not surprising, with strength like yours. Your score in the strength test was ridiculous."

"Like your reactions," August replied, voice curt as ever.

Jabari chuckled at the terse response but took no offence. August didn't seem rude – just a man of few words. The fact he was speaking to a slum resident like an equal told Jabari enough about his character.

Before Jabari could continue the conversation, the invigilator's voice boomed across the Colosseum.

"Today marks the start of the fourth round of the trials: individual combat.

"Each of you trialists will face one of the soon-to-be second-year students standing behind me. They're lined up from weakest to strongest – from left to right.

"As trialists, you will get to choose your opponent. However, each student can only be selected three times. Additionally, there must be a gap of at least three matches before they can be chosen again."

Murmurs spread through the gathered children. Jabari's eyes flicked to the students on the stage, instinctively noting the ones who stood with the most poise.

The invigilator raised a hand for silence and continued, "Now, for the scoring system.

"You'll earn one star if you're defeated in under a minute, two stars if you last between one and two minutes, three stars if you survive between two and three minutes, and four stars if you endure beyond three minutes before losing. If you manage to win your fight, you'll receive five stars."

A collective ripple of tension and anticipation passed through the trialists.

"Oh, and in case you're wondering," the invigilator added with a grin, "the record for this test was also set by Prince Zuberi of the Khaldun Tribe, who won his challenge in just three seconds."

Gasps echoed through the waiting area.

"Three seconds?" someone whispered.

"That's ridiculous!" another voice murmured.

'How talented must Heba's brother be to hold the record for three different trials?' Jabari sighed before realisation struck. 'No…

I guess it's only two records now.'

"The order of the matches will follow your current star totals, from lowest to highest," the invigilator concluded. "So, first up, we have..."

The trialists around Jabari groaned as their names were called. The average total so far hovered between four and seven stars. With nine points to his name, Jabari realised he'd be among the last to fight.

He exhaled slowly, shoulders relaxing. His outstanding performance in the reaction test had earned him this late spot – but unfortunately, that meant fewer choices.

'Looks like I'll have to face one of the stronger ones,' Jabari thought.

Jabari's gaze swept across the line of second-year students until it landed on the boy who had tried to bully him earlier. The teen stood seven places from the right, which meant he ranked seventh in strength among his peers.

As if sensing Jabari's attention, the boy turned, locking eyes with him. His lips twisted into a malicious grin as he swiped his thumb across his neck in a crude gesture.

Jabari regarded the threat with a disinterested glance before shifting his focus elsewhere. His utter lack of reaction only made the older boy's smirk falter and his eyes narrow in irritation.

The invigilator's voice soon broke the tense atmosphere.

"The first trialist to step forward: Ibrahim of the Uzo Tribe."

Jabari's eyes found Ibrahim – a small, wiry boy from the Uzo Tribe's slums. The child's shoulders were hunched, and his steps hesitant as he shuffled toward the stage.

Following the instructions given earlier, Ibrahim walked to the weapon rack beside the stage. He scanned the neatly arranged options, then timidly selected a short wooden sword before joining the invigilator on stage.

The crowd's murmurs quieted as Kwame leaned down slightly, his voice gentle. "So, Ibrahim, of the first-years standing before you, who would you like to challenge?"

Ibrahim's eyes flicked toward the intimidating line of students. Most stood tall and proud, exuding confidence. The boy's gaze faltered, and his lips pressed together in fear. He lifted a trembling hand and pointed to the student at the far left – the one ranked last.

The chosen student, a slender youth with sharp features, calmly made his way to the rack. Without hesitation, he selected a straight wooden sword and stepped onto the stage. His posture was relaxed, his grip on the sword loose.

Kwame raised a hand. "Combatants ready?"

Ibrahim gave a jerky nod, knuckles white around the hilt of his sword.

"Begin!"

The first-year charged forward like a bull, sword raised high. His movements were both fast and refined.

Ibrahim panicked. His eyes squeezed shut, and he swung blindly, the short sword slicing through empty air.

A sharp crack echoed through the arena as the first-year's blade knocked Ibrahim's sword clean from his grasp. The weapon clattered across the stone floor.

Ibrahim's eyes flew open to find the tip of a wooden sword resting lightly against his throat. His breath caught.

But instead of the sneer or taunt he had braced himself for, the older boy smiled gently. "Don't let go of your weapon so easily next time," he said softly.

Then, lowering his sword, the victor turned and strode off the stage.

Ibrahim remained frozen, wide-eyed. The kindness left him disoriented – he'd prepared himself for humiliation, maybe even injury. But this...

It definitely took him by surprise.