Harlan glanced at the clock and kept his breathing steady.
*Plenty of time. No need to rush. Don't be stupid.*
"One — two — three —"
He took three careful steps and stopped. The two players ahead of him took the risk — lunged forward, hands slapping the wooden figure's back. Done.
*Seven meters left. Fifteen seconds. That's more than enough.*
He was the last one on the field now. Everyone was watching.
"One — two — three —"
"— RED LIGHT!"
Faster. The wooden figure was counting down faster every round. Harlan moved when it looked away, froze when it turned. Five meters gained over several rounds.
"Five seconds left."
The crowd watched. Some smirked — wanting him to fail. Linray knew why. Their partnership in the first game had made people jealous. If Harlan got eliminated here, they'd have a shot at teaming with Linray next round.
*He'll make it. Two meters left. One good step.*
"Bet he chokes on the last step!"
"Ninety percent of the way there and he's gonna choke — classic!"
The peanut gallery was loving this.
"One — two — three —"
*Click.*
Harlan's palm pressed flat against the wooden figure's body. Calm. Steady. Not a bead of sweat on his face.
He walked out smiling.
*That's my partner.*
---
"Eight players advance to game three!"
Harlan found Linray. "You were first. I was last. But we both passed."
Linray nodded, then gave him the same warning he'd given Dex. *Quit while you can. This gets worse.*
"Don't worry — let me see what's coming first." Harlan adjusted his glasses. "Five games total. I've only done two. Even if I quit, at least let me see what game five looks like."
"I wonder if there'll even BE a chance to quit later..."
Linray shook his head. *This guy's smart enough to survive. It'd be a waste to die in here.*
---
"Eight players. Two groups of four. The next game is — Dead Weight."
"The rules are simple. Load as much weight onto the scale as possible within one minute. The team with the higher total wins."
The venue shifted again. Two industrial scales appeared in the center, flanked by rows of iron plates — ranging from small to massive.
"Place the plates on the scale. Highest weight in sixty seconds wins."
"The losing team is eliminated."
"There is no option to withdraw from this game. Form your teams now."
The mood shifted immediately. Strength. Raw, physical strength. No brains, no luck, no strategy — just who could move more iron.
Everyone looked at each other. Then they looked at Linray.
Then they looked at Linray's build. Average frame. Normal-looking. Not exactly a powerlifter.
They shook their heads.
"Isn't this exactly what we wanted?"
"One of MY guys can easily lift a hundred kilos!"
The crowd pivoted away from Linray. For the first time in three games, being teammates with him didn't seem like the obvious advantage.
Harlan walked over without hesitation. "I'm with you. I remember what you did in the laser grid. Core strength isn't about how big you look."
"I'm in too." Dex stepped up, cracking his knuckles. Sleeveless shirt. Arms visibly muscular. "I want to compete with you, Linray. See who moves more weight."
*Kid can't go five minutes without turning everything into a dick-measuring contest.* Linray shook his head but agreed. "Fine. But I have a condition. If you win this round — you quit the next game. You walk out."
"Deal! I won't lose."
*You will. But at least you'll be alive.*
The fourth spot went to a thin, quiet guy who'd been rejected by the other team. Too scrawny, too weak — nobody wanted him. He shuffled over to Linray's group looking miserable.
The opposing team sneered.
"You're gonna lose. Four people — one's a bookworm in glasses, one's a stick figure, and Linray's just an average guy. Only the red-haired kid has any real muscle."
"Beating you will be easy."
Dex grinned. "I don't even need these three. I can out-lift all four of you by myself."
Harlan pulled the team aside. "Listen — strategy matters. The plates come in different weights. If we're faster, we can make more trips. Small weights, quick hands. We don't need to out-muscle them — we need to out-think them."
"Save your little schemes, glasses." Dex flexed. "I told you — I'll carry this."
"The rebellious phase is strong with this one..." Harlan muttered.
Linray put a hand on Harlan's shoulder. "Let him do his thing. Don't worry — we're not losing this."
---
The host called start. The clock began.
Linray walked to the fifty-kilo section, picked up a plate like it was made of cardboard, and placed it on the scale. Casual. Easy.
Dex did the same. Eyes locked on Linray. *This is a race now.*
"Too slow." Linray smiled. "Let's go to the two-hundred section."
He walked over, gripped the massive iron plate with both hands, hefted it to chest height, and tossed it onto the scale. The impact shook the floor.
Dex followed — grabbed a two-hundred-kilo plate and immediately understood the difference. His arms strained. His face reddened. He dragged it to the scale using every ounce of strength he had.
By the time he looked up, Linray was already on his third trip.
"Hurry up! One minute — we need to move!"
"Hurry up MY ASS—"
"There's a monster on the other team..."
"What monster?!"
The opposing team had been carrying hundred-kilo plates in pairs — efficient, reasonable. Then they looked over at Linray.
He was dragging two-hundred-kilo plates with both hands. Smoothly. Calmly. Like he had energy to spare.
"With THAT build?! He can lift two hundred kilos EASILY?!"
"He's cheating! He HAS to be cheating!"
"HOST! I'm calling for an inspection! I want to check his plates — there's no way those weigh two hundred kilos!"
"An inspection can be arranged. However, please trust that we do not favor any participant."
The host's voice was flat. Neutral. The countdown paused.
Linray dropped the plate. It hit the floor with a deep, resonant **THOOM.** The kind of sound that answered every question before it was asked.
The other team stared at the crater-like dent in the floor.
They already knew the answer. They'd known it the second they heard that sound.
But accepting that one man could casually lift what four of them struggled with —
*That was the hard part.*