I felt fine.
At least physically.
I threw myself into the job, trying not to think about the fact that I was spending the day with two demons.
Didn't help.
The image from the parking garage wouldn't leave me.
Blood.
Bodies.
And Kogon's face.
When he killed them—
there had been nothing there.
No anger.
No satisfaction.
Just… boredom.
We got back to the tournament grounds well past midnight.
In all that time, there were only two checks.
Both weak.
Half-hearted.
Like the specials were holding back because of my condition.
I didn't buy it.
They hated me just as much as the aristocrats did.
No one had any reason to go easy on me.
So I didn't relax.
Not for a second.
Good thing I didn't.
Because sometime in the middle of the night—
when my "master" was asleep, and I was drifting in and out in my cramped excuse for a room—
I heard something.
Faint.
Wrong.
I was up instantly.
Pulled on my pants.
Slipped out without a sound.
Kogon slept peacefully.
A dim nightlight glowed on the wall. Curtains shut tight.
The sound—
came from the door.
Someone was working the lock.
I smiled.
Moved into position.
The door opened—
just a crack—
I struck.
Fast.
Precise.
The blade hit dead center—right between the eyes—
red paint bursting across the attacker's mask.
I kicked him back and slipped into the corridor.
Finished the rest.
Quick.
Clean.
Silent.
When I came back—
I was about to slip into my room—
when I heard his voice.
Clear.
Awake.
Like he'd never been asleep.
"Can't sleep?" Kogon drawled lazily. "Come here. I'll keep you warm."
I froze.
Of course I didn't answer.
The camera was still watching.
"Come on," he added, lifting the blanket. "Hurry up. I'm dying to sleep."
My eye twitched.
I couldn't tell him to go to hell.
Not if I wanted to pass.
"Sir, if you're concerned about your safety, I'll remain by your bedside."
I sat on the floor beside the bed, leaning against the wall—
never turning my back on him.
"Fine," he chuckled. "We'll play another time."
A pause.
"Without an audience."
He turned away.
I stayed there—
tense.
Irritated.
Embarrassed.
That conversation—
broadcast live.
I told myself no one would be watching at this hour.
I was wrong.
More than enough people were.
And by morning—
I paid for it.
I dozed until dawn.
Got up before him.
Cleaned up.
Ready to be done with this.
Less than two hours left.
Of course—
they weren't finished.
Another attack during a walk.
Routine.
I handled it cleanly.
At exactly eleven, we returned to the platform.
I noticed it immediately—
some "clients" marked with paint.
Which meant—
failures.
"Quite a spectacle, wasn't it?" Marta said brightly to the camera. "As you've seen—not everyone passed."
A dramatic sigh.
"But ten out of thirteen succeeded. An excellent result!"
"Two failed to protect their employers and allowed them to be injured," Bolton said sharply. "That is disgraceful."
"And one—protected his employer, but died in the process."
He shook his head.
"A second failure. A stain on Susan Rose's reputation."
A pause.
"And as for Amelia Amber… if the weapon had been real, who knows? Perhaps she would've shown the same cowardice again."
I didn't like hearing that.
But at the same time—
a flicker of satisfaction slipped through.
She had been so arrogant before.
And now—
she was looking at me like her failure was somehow my fault.
"But why dwell on the failures," Marta continued brightly, "when we have such wonderful winners? This round was especially thrilling—particularly when Mr. Blocking found himself in danger!"
"No need for concern," Kogon said smoothly. "I chose an excellent protector."
His gaze settled on me.
"Everyone held their breath during that parking lot fight," Marta went on. "Alan's stream saw record engagement!"
She clasped her hands.
"Unfortunately, his injuries prevented a flawless performance. He takes fifth place."
"Marta, you're forgetting something," Bolton added.
"Oh?" she smiled. "You mean the late-night flirting? I must admit—I was disappointed. I expected more."
Heat crept up my neck.
I kept my expression blank.
But I could feel the stares.
One in particular—
burning.
Kogon winked at me.
Then looked at Clyde—
who wasn't even trying to hide the hatred in his eyes.
"That kind of show needs the right setting," Blocking said smoothly. "Our little Alan just doesn't know how to relax yet."
A pause.
"We'll fix that."
"Once he passes all the trials. Right, Holivan?"
I wanted to stay silent.
But they were waiting.
"Thank you for the praise, Director Blocking," I said evenly. "But while I'm still in training, I don't have time for… distractions."
Marcus Holivan watched me with open contempt.
Sandra—
with worry.
Clyde—
looked like he was about to snap.
All because of one man's twisted sense of humor.
I had only wanted to prove myself.
Earn respect.
Instead—
I got attention I never asked for.
"Special Holivan is indeed very serious," Bolton said. "And understandably so. In just one year, he has grown tremendously—without exceptional physical or intellectual advantages. Perhaps it's time we reconsider how we view him."
"Oh, Samir," Marta smiled warmly, "I've considered him remarkable from the very beginning. Hasn't he proven that already?"
She clapped lightly.
"Now—let's move on!"
Relief.
Finally.
"This time, first and second place both go to Gordinstrit Academy!"
"First place—Matthew Wauzer! A first-year student who demonstrated exceptional composure and professionalism. He was born for this role!"
"Second place—once again, Scott Roy of Blocking School. Powerful. Controlled. Intimidating."
I let out a quiet breath.
Robert—
eighth place.
Apparently, his… enthusiasm had nearly gotten his client "killed" more than once.
He passed.
But his style was described as crude.
Reckless.
Disrespectful.
Honestly?
That sounded exactly like Robert.