The buzz of the airport terminal served as a muted backdrop to Elliot's tightly-held enthusiasm. His large eyes glimred with a hint of awe as he settled into the vacant chair next to , his deanor a sharp contrast to the doubt he had previously shown.
"You should of won," he said bluntly.
I tilted my head a little, just enough to see him through the openings of my mask. "Ah?"
He leaned forward, hands clasped, his voice lowering. "The library competition. You should've won."
A slow blink. "I see."
"I an, co on!" His voice carried a hint of indignation, but not directed at . "Everyone saw it. Your score was perfect—PERFECT. And they still passed you over? The judges were biased, I'm telling you."
I humd, neither confirming nor denying his statent.
Elliot continued, undeterred. "That chanics portion? That was insane. No one solves that without looking."
I smiled beneath my mask, but not for the reason he thought. If only he knew the truth. If only he knew just how much luck had played a role in that mont. But I had no intention of correcting him. Let him believe what he wanted.
He exhaled sharply before shaking his head. "Doesn't matter, though. You're better than them. And that's why—" He straightened, leveling with a determined stare. "I'm following you now."
I tilted my head. "Following ?"
"Yeah." He grinned, sothing self-assured and almost playful. "I know I'm not on your level, or on the level of the others—Mr. Fox, Mr. Dust—but I want to be. I want to get better. So until then..." His grin widened. "I'm your follower."
Ah.
How... amusing.
"Is that so?" I mused.
"Yup," he confird, leaning back. "Mr. Angel, lead the way."
I chuckled softly. "If you insist."
The boarding announcent pierced the air, indicating it was ti. Elliot and I were standing, walking towards the gate. Although my outfit drew lingering looks, everything went smoothly. Before long, we were boarding the plane, the chilly cabin air differing from the terminal's warmth.
Once we got comfortable in our seats, Elliot hit the armrest separating us. "Well," he started, "what are your thoughts on NASA's hiring process? "Do you think you'll pass them?"
I turned my gaze to him, voice calm. "I don't intend to fail."
His grin returned. "Good answer."
The plane engines rumbled beneath us as we taxied onto the runway. With a smooth acceleration, we were airborne, soaring through the skies toward Washington, D.C.
Toward the next challenge.
Toward sothing greater.
—
The descent into Washington was smoother than expected.
The city unfolded beneath us, a complex network of streets, lofty buildings, and landmarks rising like guardians of the past. Yet it wasn't the city itself that fascinated —it was what lay beyond its avenues.
NASA.
An organization that surpassed borders, uniting the greatest intellects globally with a singular aim: the ceaseless quest for the stars.
As we got off the train, Elliot was almost vibrating with excitent. "Wow, this is massive," he whispered, looking around at the airport bustling with people from everywhere. "I knew NASA was global, but witnessing it this way?"
I followed his gaze.
He wasn't wrong.
All around, people advanced with intent—so holding official docunts, while others participated in silent, concentrated conversations. There was a charged atmosphere, a silent recognition that this was more than rely another selection procedure.
This was history unfolding.
Elliot emitted a soft whistle as we left the airport and walked onto the roads heading to NASA's headquarters. "Okay, I'll confess," he remarked, extending his arms. "I'm anxious."
"You should be."
He laughed. "Not helping, man."
I glanced at him, amusent dancing at the edge of my tone. "Fear ans you understand the weight of what's ahead. Use it."
He fell silent for a mont, then nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense."
The closer we drew to our destination, the more the crowd shifted. Gone were the casual tourists and business travelers. Instead, we found ourselves surrounded by others like us—aspiring astronauts, engineers, scientists.
Future pioneers of space.
So spoke in hushed tones, others walked alone, eyes set with determination. Different languages, different backgrounds, yet all gathered under a singular dream.
It was an odd thing, witnessing so many paths converging into one.
And at the very heart of it, the gates of NASA lood before us, standing tall and imposing, as if silently judging those who dared step forward.
We did.
The reception area was bustling with movent, yet it was an ordered chaos. Staff mbers processed applicants with chanical efficiency, directing them toward their respective evaluations.
Elliot and I approached the front desk.
The woman behind the counter barely looked up as she spoke. "Na?"
Elliot answered first. "Elliot Grayson."
She typed sothing into her system, nodding. "Confird. Next."
I stepped forward.
The woman glanced up—and imdiately hesitated.
Her gaze glanced at my mask, my clothing, my entire being.
I could nearly sense the question taking shape in her thoughts.
Who on earth is this person?
Her fingers rested above the keyboard until she finally uttered, "...Na?"
A slow, deliberate pause.
Then, in a voice calm and absolute, I answered.
"Mr. Angel."
Her fingers twitched.
Her expression barely shifted.
But I could see it—the subtle way her posture changed, the unspoken question hanging in the air.
She typed sothing, her eyes narrowing at the screen.
"...Confird."
Elliot smirked. "Damn right."
I rely tilted my head.
The process was beginning.
And soon, we would see who was truly worthy of the stars.
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