Chapter 105: Team Seven

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Orel’s eyes which had been glued on the queen on the chessboard, shifted from it to the door.

“Come in,” he said, annoyance seeping into his voice.

He had been in the middle of something important, but had been cut off.

The door opened and a young man in a grey uniform stepped in, he had a headset, used for hands-free communication between different departments of the MIO.

Makun remembered having seen him moving through the corridors earlier. He looked nervous, his eyes darting between Orel and Makun before settling on neither.

“Sir, Team Seven is requesting the new recruit at the arena,” he said. “Team Leader Carter said immediately.”

Orel’s lips curled into a slight smirk.

“Haa, she doesn’t waste time,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Makun frowned. “She?”

“Your new team leader.” Orel leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping the edge of the chessboard. “Danielle Carter. She is a first-grade Adept of the warrior route.”

He paused, the smirk widening into an evil grin.

“Try not to die out there.”

Makun stared at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means exactly what it sounds like.” Orel waved a hand dismissively. “Go, go, out. Don’t keep her waiting, she hates it.”

Makun shook his head, earlier, Orel’s mood had been down, however now, he was back to normal.

What a strange individual. He remarked.

The low-tier employee was already holding the door open, clearly eager to leave. He had been commissioned and knew the consequences of making Team Leader Carter wait too long.

Makun took one last look at the chessboard, at the queen now standing among the pawns, then turned and walked out.

The door closed behind him.

…

The walk to the arena felt longer than before.

Makun’s mind churned with questions.

A team, his team. People he would work with, fight beside, maybe die beside. He had been alone for so long, relying on no one, trusting no one. Now he was being handed a group of strangers and told to call them allies.

He did not know how to feel about that.

Life had taught him that no one could truly be called an ally. As long as both parties benefited, they were allies of a sort, but if one party had an interest in betraying the second party, they would do it without thought.

He could not blindly trust others.

Cynicism is king! He noted while moving through the corridor.

The corridors grew wider as he approached the arena. He could hear sounds echoing from within, the dull thud of impacts, the shuffle of feet on smooth flooring, he even felt some Ashe fluctuations coming from within.

Someone was already fighting.

He stepped through the entrance and stopped.

The arena was just as massive as he remembered, a football pitch of dark, light-absorbing material. The observation decks loomed above, empty now, their reinforced glass catching the harsh overhead lights.

But Makun’s entire attention was not on the architecture, no, it was on the three people standing near the center.

The first was a woman.

She was tall, athletic, with dark skin and hair pulled back in tight braids. She wore a sleeveless combat vest that showed off arms corded with muscle, and her stance radiated authority. She stood with her arms crossed, watching Makun approach with eyes that gave nothing away.

Danielle Carter, Makun assumed. The team leader who Orel swore wanted his blood.

Beside her sat another woman on a metal bench, younger, softer. She had brown hair tied in a loose ponytail and a gentle face that seemed out of place in an arena. He saw a bum bag hanging around her waist, with vials poking out of it.

She reminded him of Celine, Ryan and Mark’s teammate.

The healer, Makun guessed.

The third was a man leaning against the far wall, arms folded, head tilted back as if he was half asleep. He was older than the others, maybe thirty, with weathered features and long black hair tied in a messy knot. His clothes were rumpled, his posture lazy, and everything about him screamed that he did not want to be here.

He looks like a scammer, Makun thought and resumed walking.

As Makun entered the arena, the man opened one eye.

“Damn,” he said, his voice rough like gravel. “The spirits say we’re gonna have a shit ton of trouble with this one.”

Makun blinked. “What?”

He wanted to be lowkey, not attract too much attention, and silently progress towards his goal. That was how he could, maybe, avoid troublesome situations.

It seemed that would not be the case.

The man pushed off the wall, rolling his shoulders. “You heard me. I don’t know what it means, I never do. But you?” He sniffed the air, actually sniffed, like a dog catching a scent. “You smell like bad luck, the real bad kind.”

“Ray, don’t scare him before Dani does.” The woman on the bench spoke, her voice soft but carrying a hint of warning.

Ray shrugged. “Just calling it like I see it, or smell it. Whatever.”

Makun stood there, unsure how to respond. These were his teammates? A woman who looked like she could snap him in half, a healer who already had potions ready for him on the side, and a man who talked about spirits and smelled people?

What kind of team was this?

“You’re the berserk?”

The voice came from Danielle. She had not moved, had not uncrossed her arms, but her words cut through the arena like a blade.

“The unlucky one,” she continued. It was not a question.

“Yes,” Makun said, wondering how news about him and his poor luck had reached these people’s ears.

“I don’t care what you did in Naija City, don’t care about what you attract, don’t care about your life or your luck.” She stepped forward, her boots heavy on the dark floor. “I don’t care what Yime sees in you, nor do I care about what Orel thinks you’re worth.”

She stopped three feet in front of him, close enough that he could see the tiny scar above her left eyebrow, the hard lines of her jaw.

“In this team, you prove yourself. That is what matters.”

She gestured to the open floor behind her.

“Show me what you can do.”

Makun’s stomach dropped. “Now?”

“Now.”

He did not like this, was he going to spend his days from now on listening to her nag at him constantly? That sounded like hell.

“Dani, he just arrived.” The healer, Sarah, stood up from the bench. “At least let him rest first. He hasn’t even seen his quarters yet.”

“He’ll see them after.”

“At least let me check him for injuries from the trip—”

“You can heal him when I’m done.”

Sarah sighed, a long, resigned sound. She sat back down and unzipped her bum bag, taking out two transparent vials full of purple liquid.

Ray let out a low whistle. “Twenty bucks says he drops in two minutes.”

Sarah shot him a look. “We’re not betting on this.”

“Fine. Thirty says he surprises her once.”

“Ray.”

“What? I’m rooting for him, sort of.”

Makun looked between them, then back at Dani. Her expression had not changed. She was waiting, patient as a predator.

He thought about refusing, he thought about asking for time, for rest, for a chance to understand what was happening.

But he knew it would not matter. This was a test. Not just of his skills, but of his character. Would he back down? Would he make excuses?

No, not that he cared about her opinion of him. He could not care less how others viewed him.

He cared about making a good debut in the MIO.

He had spent twenty-three years being pushed around by life. He was not going to start his new beginning by running from a fight.

“Fine,” he said, stepping onto the arena floor. “Let’s do this.”

Dani’s lips twitched. A sadistic glint running through her eyes.

“Good answer.”

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