Chapter 57: 57 The racing game

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57: The racing game 57: The racing game They stepped out of the small room, and Marcus was the first to speak; a grin spread across his face as he looked at Clara, who still appeared a bit shaken.

“One-nil,” he said.

“Not a bad way to start the day.” “Let’s hope it doesn’t end there for you lot,” Bartholomew said with a chuckle.

“If your friend runs the way he chops vegetables,” Silas added, “maybe I should be worried.

But I really don’t think so.” Percival said nothing; he simply followed his companions with a calmer expression, looking almost embarrassed by the others’ tone.

Peter clenched his fists, but Gregory placed a hand on his shoulder before he could reply.

“Let them talk,” he said.

“We’ll see soon enough.” They headed toward the courtyard; even from the corridor, they could hear the noise voices, footsteps, the hum of a gathered crowd.

When they stepped outside, the courtyard was more packed than Kairan had ever seen it.

“They’re all here,” Samuel murmured, his voice trembling slightly.

“Yes,” Clara said.

“Every single one of them.” And it showed.

Children from every room without exception were crammed along the walls and on the steps; some were even perched on the low perimeter wall.

A murmur rippled from group to group, and not all of it was friendly.

“That’s the girl from the room at the end,” someone said not too quietly as they walked past.

“Room 290.” “I thought there’d been seven of them for weeks,” another said.

“What a pathetic room.” “Now they’ve got an eighth member and they’re already losing at chess,” a girl laughed, making no effort to hide it.

“Typical.” Peter gritted his teeth but didn’t reply.

Gregory stared straight ahead, ignoring the comments with an obvious effort.

The only ones not joining in the mockery were the groups who had been in the kitchen that morning; in fact, some exchanged knowing glances as they waited in silence, as if they already knew something the others didn’t.

Amara didn’t let go of Kairan for even a moment; her arm was pressed firmly against his, and every now and then, her hand tightened its grip.

“You aren’t *obligated* to win,” she whispered.

“It’s okay if you lose.” Kairan looked at her for a moment with an expression that wasn’t quite anger, yet lacked the calm patience he usually reserved for everything else.

“I’m not obligated to win?” he repeated.

“If *you* like losing and submitting, that’s your business.

I play to win always.” Amara fell silent, somewhat taken aback by his tone, and didn’t answer immediately.

Samuel stayed close to Victor, who remained impassive as ever, his gaze fixed on the spot where the race would begin.

Only Lena seemed different from the others.

She walked calmly, her hands clasped behind her back and an almost serene expression on her face.

“It will be all right,” she said, more to herself than to the others.

“How can you be so sure?” Samuel asked her.

Lena simply smiled, offering no real answer.

In the center of the courtyard, two lines had already been marked in the ground a start and a finish set as far apart as the open space allowed.

Silas Crane was already positioning himself to the side, stretching his legs and loosening his arms to warm up.

Nathaniel Grey moved unhurriedly through the crowd; people automatically stepped aside as he passed.

He stopped between the two lines and raised a hand, calling for silence.

“The rules,” he said, his voice carrying clearly without the need to raise it.

“The first to cross the finish line wins.

A standing start no head start, and no excuses if you slip.” He looked at Silas, then at Kairan.

“Take your positions.” Silas stepped up to his line, casting a final glance at Kairan a smile that, this time, was more tense than amused.

“Good luck,” he said, and he seemed sincere.

Kairan moved toward the starting line.

An almost total silence had fallen over the courtyard; hundreds of eyes were fixed on him, and the whispers died away one by one as the moment drew near.

He looked ahead at the finish line, gauging the distance with the same cold detachment he had applied to everything since arriving in this world.

From the edge of the courtyard, Amara clasped her hands to her chest, still shaken by the words spoken moments earlier.

Peter held his breath for an instant.

Gregory crossed his arms, his jaw set.

Samuel closed his eyes for a second, as if he couldn’t bear to watch.

Clara stood motionless, her face still marked by her own defeat, her gaze fixed on Kairan with something akin to silent hope.

Victor didn’t move, yet his undivided attention was focused on the scene.

Only Lena remained calm, a faint smile on her lips, as if she already knew the outcome.

Nathaniel Grey took his position to the side, one arm raised, shifting his gaze between the two runners to ensure they were both ready.

The entire courtyard held its breath Kairan kept his gaze fixed on the finish line, his body motionless yet taut as a rope before being pulled.

Silas did the same, concentration hardening his features.

Nathaniel’s arm remained suspended in mid-air for an instant that seemed to last longer than it truly did, the entire courtyard waiting for that single gesture that would decide everything.