They ran like their lives depended on it.
Because—well… they did.
The cursed gray food was still on the line, waiting cold and ominous for the next unfortunate team.
Dirga didn't even try to pace himself. He sprinted down the forest trail like a man possessed, lungs burning, heart pounding. His vision blurred at the edges, but all he could see was that plate of gray sludge—and he refused to taste it again.
Beside him, Buzz—the wild college beast—was tearing up the earth like a panicked stallion. His buzz-cut was drenched in sweat, eyes wild with trauma, every muscle screaming for mercy.
Behind them, Taiga screamed, "NOOOOO, NOT AGAIN!!"
But he didn't stop running either. Survival instinct kicked in, overriding every rational thought.
Masaki? Silent. Focused. He looked like a warrior going into battle. His steps were measured, efficient—but relentless. He moved like a machine programmed for only one thing: escape.
