A Stupid Choice

The walk home was quiet. Kai didn't mind it that way. The skies had cleared, and the late afternoon sun dipped low, casting an amber hue over the streets. People milled about in low murmurs, news of the Universal Tournament announcement spreading like wildfire. Most wore fear on their faces; others wore disbelief. A few even clung to hope.

Kai chewed on the last bits of the meat skewer he picked up from a street vendor. He wasn't even hungry, but something about eating grounded him.

"Welp," he muttered, licking sauce from his fingers. "Still not my problem."

He turned the corner onto his street. The rows of modest houses looked the same as always—same chipped fences, same loud dog two doors down, same humming of an old AC unit next door. For a universe on the brink of interdimensional warfare, things felt… normal.

Too normal.

Kai opened the door to the warm scent of curry and garlic wafting through the hallway. His mom was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, chopping carrots with aggressive precision. His dad was sitting on the couch, posture stiff, TV muted, a government-issued flyer shaking slightly in his hand.

The tension hit him before anyone said a word.

"Kai, you're back," his mom said without looking up.

"Yeah," he replied casually, kicking off his shoes and flopping onto the armchair. "Smells good."

His dad didn't greet him. He was too busy staring at the flyer. Kai narrowed his eyes just slightly—not enough to show concern, just… observation.

"Something up?" Kai asked, voice even.

His mother scoffed. "Ask your father."

Kai looked over.

His dad swallowed hard, then held up the flyer. "I… signed up."

Kai blinked once. "For what?"

"The Volunteer Orientation," his dad said. "For the tournament."

Silence.

Kai sat up slowly. "You're joking."

"I thought it was just a bluff! I thought they'd let us back out!" his mother yelled from the kitchen, slamming the knife down. "It was supposed to be a symbolic show of support, not—"

"Why?" Kai interrupted, his tone still even, but colder.

His dad looked at the ground. "Because someone had to step up. The whole world's scared. We can't just sit around and do nothing. I'm not strong, but I thought maybe I could help with logistics or support roles or—"

"Dad." Kai rarely used that word sincerely. It felt strange on his tongue. "You'd die."

"I'm not going to fight! They said it's orientation, that there's training, teams—"

Kai stood up. His expression wasn't angry, just deeply… irritated. "This isn't a weekend team-building trip. It's a cosmic slaughterhouse."

His mom stormed over, wiping her hands on a towel. "You're backing out," she snapped at her husband. "I didn't marry a fool."

"I thought maybe I could keep an eye out for the young ones going," his dad tried again. "We've got kids from the neighborhood signing up. I thought—"

"You thought wrong," Kai cut in, sharper this time.

There was a pause. His mother looked at Kai, slightly surprised by the edge in his voice.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look… I'm not going to pretend I'm emotionally devastated here. But I don't want to see you get vaporized because you thought the universe suddenly cared about your volunteer spirit."

His father looked stunned.

His mother crossed her arms. "So you agree? He's not going."

Kai flopped back into the armchair and grabbed the remote. "Yeah, no point. He won't survive five minutes."

Just then, a sharp knock hit the door.

All three turned.

His dad opened it cautiously. Two men in dark uniforms stood outside, each wearing matching jackets marked with the global coalition insignia. One held a digital clipboard.

"Mr. Azura?" the clipboard man asked.

"Yes?" his father answered, voice uneasy.

"You signed up for the Volunteer Orientation for Earth's Tournament Representation Group?"

"I… yes, but I want to withdraw. I made a mistake."

The man's face was expressionless. "Unfortunately, that's not possible. Volunteer registration is legally binding under the Emergency Global Defense Accord. Unless you are deemed medically unfit or over the age of 60, withdrawal constitutes breach of contract and—"

"Wait, wait, wait," Kai stood up. "You're saying if he doesn't go, he gets punished?"

"Standard sentence is three years detention in a secure facility for obstructing planetary defense efforts," the other agent added, as if reading from a pamphlet.

His mom's face went pale. "You've got to be joking."

Kai narrowed his eyes. "You're threatening him?"

The clipboard agent remained calm. "We're simply enforcing the rules. Every signature counts. We can't afford last-minute dropouts."

Kai stared at them for a long moment.

Then, with a calm sigh, he walked toward the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water, took a long drink, and leaned on the counter.

His tone was nonchalant again. "So either he dies in a tournament, or he gets locked up for trying not to die?"

"That's the law," the agent replied.

Kai exhaled slowly through his nose, staring at the ceiling. "Man… this planet really does suck sometimes."

His mom turned to him, visibly distressed. "Kai… what do we do?"

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he walked to the door and looked the agents dead in the eyes. They felt a strange pressure settle around them, though they couldn't place why.

"I'll handle it," Kai said simply.

The agents exchanged a glance.

"What do you mean?" one asked.

Kai offered a lazy half-smile.

"I mean," he said, stepping back inside, "don't worry about my dad. Just make sure the rest of the team can survive until I get bored."

The agents, unnerved but unsure why, nodded and left without further question.

Kai shut the door, walked back to the living room, and sat down.

His dad stared at him, dazed. "You're… going to the tournament?"

Kai shrugged. "Not yet. But I will. Eventually."

His mother's eyes welled slightly. "Why?"

Kai looked at her—still calm, still unbothered. But for the briefest second, something flickered behind his eyes.

"…Because neither of you should be there."

The room went silent.

Outside, a news drone buzzed overhead, broadcasting propaganda and countdowns.

Inside, for the first time, the Azura family sat together in complete silence—no longer untouched by the chaos creeping into their world.

And for the first time, Kai began to move—just a little—toward something that looked like involvement.

But not yet.

The heavens hadn't fallen.

Not yet.