The boy who went before had barely stepped back into the crowd when Gari’s voice cut through the silence again.
"Next."
He glanced down at the tablet in his hand, tapped it once, then called a na.
A girl stepped out. Calm, steady, and collected, so different from the boy before, who had charged forward like he was born for the blade.
She carried a sleek bow in her left hand, the polished wood gleaming faintly under the fluorescent lights.
A quiver of arrows rested snugly against her back.
As the boy exited, she entered. The glowing blue line lit up again, marking the separation between us and the combat zone.
The mont her boots crossed the line, I felt the atmosphere shift.
"Which one are you taking?" Gari asked her suddenly.
His voice was cool, even, but it held a weight of expectation.
The girl didn’t answer right away. Her eyes swept over the space, assessing the options with a kind of sharp precision that made straighten a little.
Finally, she looked back at Gari.
"Target."
He nodded, almost approvingly, then gestured for her to proceed.
She moved to the right, where the range targets had been set up, lined circles, bottles on tables, even a few moving targets hanging from suspended rigs.
Unlike the boy, she wasn’t here to clash with dummies head-on. She had chosen her battlefield, and it was all about accuracy.
The tir flashed to life on the screen above
[30 seconds.]
The mont it began counting down, she exhaled deeply, lifted her bow, and drew an arrow. The string tightened with a clean hum, and then, release.
The first arrow sliced through the air and struck the target board. Solid hit. But not the center.
Her face didn’t flicker with disappointnt. She drew again, faster this ti, and let another arrow fly.
Thwack. Dead center.
A murmur rippled quietly through the students behind . I felt my chest tighten, not with nerves for her, but with sothing else. Admiration, maybe.
She kept going, her rhythm steady, though not every arrow was perfect. So struck the body, a few kissed the edge, but enough found the center to draw more than a few impressed looks.
Then the scene shifted.
The round targets slid away, replaced by rows of glass bottles on wide tables. To score higher, she’d have to hit their narrow tops.
Her eyes narrowed. She nocked another arrow, drew it back, and paused, taking her ti with the aim.
Release. The arrow flew and clipped the bottle cap cleanly.
Another arrow followed, hitting the sa way.
She gained speed, arrow after arrow flying, her movents efficient, precise. But she wasn’t flawless.
So arrows struck the sides, others pinged off the glass, and a few missed entirely.
Still, the way she adjusted herself after each miss... I could tell she was learning on the fly, adapting.
The last phase began. The hardest one.
Targets appeared again, but this ti, they were moving. Fast.
The girl let out a slow, heavy breath, raising her bow. Her first arrow whistled through the air and slamd into the center of a moving board. Perfect.
But the next one... it was faster, weaving side to side. She released her arrow, and it missed completely.
Her jaw tightened. She drew another, released, it grazed the edge, barely a mark.
She tried again, quicker this ti, her determination radiating through every pull of her bowstring.
But then—
Beep!
The tir blared.
She froze for a fraction of a second, bowstring still half drawn. Then she lowered it slowly.
Her shoulders rose and fell with her breathing, not heavy like the boy before, but controlled, almost calm in defeat.
In just thirty seconds, she’d done all that. The speed. The focus. The raw precision when it counted most.
As she stepped out of the combat zone, the glow of the blue line fading behind her, murmurs spread through the crowd again. So impressed, so envious.
I didn’t say a word. I just watched her walk back into the crowd, her expression unreadable.
After that, more nas were called. Students stepped out one by one, facing their own trials. So fought bravely, others floundered. A few perford well enough to earn nods of approval from our peers, while others barely managed average.
But ? I watched them silently trying to pick out what I can learn from each of the students performance.
And then, Gari’s voice ranged out.
"Next... Yara Wall."
Reviews
All reviews (0)