Chapter 58: 58 Kairan vs Silas pt 1

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58: Kairan vs Silas pt 1 58: Kairan vs Silas pt 1 Nathaniel’s arm snapped down.

Silas shot forward like a coiled spring, his body propelled by a burst of speed that clearly came from years of practice.

Kairan started a split-second later not out of hesitation, but because his body, still accustomed to different movements, was finding the right balance before fully committing.

“Look, he’s already ahead,” someone in the crowd said.

“Obviously.

It’s Silas Crane,” another replied, as if stating a law of nature.

After just a few meters, Silas already held a clear lead a gap of two, maybe three paces.

The courtyard erupted with voices.

“Over before it even began,” laughed someone from Group 230.

“Too bad about the julienne,” another voice said, followed by a ripple of laughter.

Amara clasped her hands even tighter, her eyes glued to Kairan.

“Come on,” she whispered, as if he could hear her.

“Come on, come on, come on.” Peter leaned forward, rising almost onto his tiptoes.

“Is he catching up?” “I don’t know,” Gregory said, his voice tense.

And indeed, something was changing.

Kairan’s stride, initially uncertain, had transformed into something else longer, more efficient with every step seeming to devour the ground with an ease an eight-year-old’s body shouldn’t possess.

The three-pace gap shrank to two, then to one.

“He’s closing in,” Samuel said, opening the eyes he had kept shut until that moment.

“Impossible,” someone nearby murmured in disbelief.

Halfway through the course, Kairan was already neck and neck with Silas.

They ran like that for a stretch, shoulder to shoulder, both breathing heavily, while the courtyard roared from every corner hundreds of voices overlapping until they were indistinguishable from one another.

“Come on, Silas!” …someone from the 280th shouted.

“Come on, Kairan!” Peter replied, his voice barely a whisper.

For the first time since leaving the small room, Clara rose onto her tiptoes, her eyes wide.

Victor said nothing, but his hands had clenched tight without him even realizing it.

They were just a few meters from the red ribbons when Kairan found an extra gear one last burst of speed, his legs driving with power that seemed to come out of nowhere and he pulled ahead of Silas by half a step, then a full one.

It was at that moment, just steps from the finish line, that Silas faltered.

It wasn’t a true stumble.

Kairan saw it the very instant it happened the way Silas’s foot buckled too slowly, the way his body tilted in a direction that seemed too deliberate to be a mere mistake.

But he had no time to react before Silas crashed into him; a sideways collision sent them both tumbling onto the packed earth, mere centimeters from the red ribbons.

The courtyard held its breath.

Kairan rolled away, his body scraping against the hard ground.

When he finally stopped moving, his arms were scratched from wrist to shoulder, his elbows raw and bleeding, and a gash on his knee was already spreading a red streak across his skin.

For a moment, no one moved.

Then, slowly, a different kind of murmur rippled through the crowd no longer the amused chatter from moments before, but something more tense, more uncertain.

“I saw it,” someone said, not far from where Kairan lay on the ground.

“He didn’t trip.

He slowed his foot down on purpose.” “Yeah, I saw it too,” said another.

“He was about to lose, so he threw himself at him.” “That’s not right,” a female voice said from somewhere up in the stands.

Even among those rooting for number 280, some exchanged uncertain glances, as if not entirely convinced that what they had just witnessed was truly an accident.

Amara shouted Kairan’s name and sprinted forward, pushing through the crowd without even realizing she was shoving people aside along the way.

“Kairan!” She knelt beside him, her hands trembling as they darted from one injury to the next the blood on his elbow, the blood on his knee, his scratched arms.

“Are you okay?

Say something.” “I’m fine,” Kairan said, pulling himself up to a sitting position.

“You’re not fine you’re bleeding!” The others arrived a moment later, all at once.

Peter crouched beside him, his face pale.

“What happened?

It looked like you were winning.” “He tripped,” Clara said, her voice cold, her eyes fixed on Silas, who was getting back to his feet a short distance away and dusting off his robe with an expression that showed no sign of regret.

“Or he *pretended* to trip.” Gregory clenched his fists.

“He did it on purpose.

The crowd saw it too can you hear them?” The murmuring had grown into a low, collective drone dozens of voices repeating the same observation from different corners of the courtyard.

Victor stared at Silas for a long moment in silence, wearing an expression that boded ill.

Only Lena remained beside Kairan, calm and composed, examining his wounds with a practical rather than fearful eye.

“They aren’t deep,” she said softly.

“They hurt, but they aren’t serious.” Nathaniel Grey He approached with his usual impassive expression, though his gaze lingered on the mechanics of Silas’s fall, mentally retracing the final stretch of the race.

He had seen exactly what the rest of the courtyard had seen; he didn’t need the murmurs to know it.

“There was contact,” he said, his voice ringing out across the now-silent courtyard.

“Against the rules.” Silas raised his hands.

“I tripped.

I didn’t do it on purpose.” A solitary whistle rose from the crowd, followed by another.

Nathaniel didn’t react to the whistling immediately.

He glanced again at the exact spot where the two bodies had collided, then at Kairan, who was still on the ground with blood running down his arm.

“It doesn’t matter whether it was intentional or not,” he said finally.

“There was physical contact before the finish line.

The rules make no distinction.

The race must be run again.” A murmur of protest rose from the 290s group, mingling with scattered applause from elsewhere in the courtyard.

Marcus, from the 280s, said nothing, but the look he cast at Silas was far from proud.

Amara helped Kairan to his feet, slipping her arm under his; her eyes were still full of concern.

“You shouldn’t run again right away,” she said.

“Look at the state you’re in.” “I’m fine,” Kairan repeated, as blood continued to drip from his elbow.

“You’re not fine at all,” Amara said, her voice trembling slightly.

“They hurt you on purpose.” Peter, still standing beside them, looked at Silas with an expression she had never seen on him before.

“If he did it on purpose,” he said quietly, “I’ll make him pay.” Kairan didn’t answer.

He simply watched the red ribbons in the distance still motionless, still waiting as the blood slowly dried on his skin.