The Art of Defeat

The next round of the competition was the creative arts event — a talent showcase where participants had to present something unique and impressive. I spent hours preparing, perfecting my script for a dramatic monologue that I hoped would leave an impact.

The auditorium was packed, and the excitement was palpable. Rin, of course, was competing too. I watched him from the side of the stage, his calm, collected demeanor never wavering.

When it was my turn, I stepped onto the stage, heart pounding. I poured everything into my performance — every emotion, every ounce of effort. The applause at the end was loud and appreciative, and for a moment, I dared to hope.

But then Rin took the stage.

He played the piano. Not just played — he commanded it. The melody he wove was powerful, delicate, and breathtaking. The audience was spellbound, and when he finished, the standing ovation was immediate and thunderous.

When the judges announced the winner, I wasn't surprised. Rin had won.

Later, as I sat alone on the empty stage, May found me.

"You were amazing, Isagi," she said softly, sitting beside me.

"Not amazing enough," I replied, the sting of defeat still fresh.

She shook her head. "You didn't lose because you weren't good. You lost because Rin was extraordinary. But that doesn't mean you should stop trying."

Her words sparked something in me — a determination to keep pushing forward, no matter how many times I fell short.

Because the competition wasn't over yet.

The next day, I found myself back in the practice room, determined not to let this defeat define me. I practiced harder than ever, refining my skills and exploring new talents I hadn't considered before. Kaito joined me, offering his support and encouragement.

"You know," he said, grinning, "Rin might have won this round, but the war's not over. We're just getting started."

He was right. And as I trained, the fire inside me burned brighter. The next round was coming — and this time, I wouldn't hold back.