After what felt like an eternity of performances, it was finally Yone's team's turn.
Backstage, the six of them pulled into a tight circle, shoulders brushing, foreheads nearly touching. The noise of the amphitheater faded into a distant hum as their world narrowed down to just the six of them—breathing the same air, sharing the same heartbeat.
"This is it, guys," Yone said, his voice buzzing with barely-contained energy. His eyes shone bright, steady. "Let's go out there and leave our hearts on that stage."
"Hell yeah!" Nikola barked, grinning like a madman. "Ravengers on three."
He thrust his hand into the center.
One by one, the others stacked their hands on top—Jordan's trembling just slightly, Isaac's firm, Monarch's confident, Eli's steady as ever, Yone's warm and grounding.
"One. Two. Three—"
"RAVENGERS!"
The shout echoed, sharp and feral.
A production staff member approached them moments later, clipboard in hand. "Get ready. You're on standby."
The six straightened instantly.
When the signal came, the staff motioned toward the stage. "You're up. Good luck."
They answered with two thumbs up and exchanged one last look—no words needed.
As they stepped onto the stage, the amphitheater erupted.
Cheers burst from every corner. Some trainees leaned forward in excitement, others held their breath, anticipation coiled tight in their chests. The whispers started immediately.
This is the Ravengers.
Let's see what they've got.
The six took their places, nodding at one another, grounding themselves with a collective breath.
The lights dimmed.
Their silhouettes cut sharp against the darkness, six shadows standing tall, the atmosphere thick and electric.
Then—
The first beat hit.
And a wave of shock rippled through the amphitheater.
Front and center, Isaac burst into motion.
The small-town boy came out swinging, leading with sharp, grounded line dance footwork—clean, precise, unapologetic. The music pulsed with a raw, folky, almost tribal intensity, and yet there he was, fusing it seamlessly with hip-hop grooves.
It shouldn't have worked.
But it did.
And it worked damn well.
The choreography bled outward from Isaac, spreading through the rest of the team in perfectly timed succession. Clean formations. Intentional spacing. Every move deliberate—Luca's words etched into their bodies.
When the singers' layered ethnic riffs poured in, Yone took center.
He exploded into krump.
But this wasn't reckless chaos.
This was controlled fury.
A beautiful paradox of disorder and discipline—wild energy sharpened by precision. The team moved around him, chaotic yet readable, intense but never overwhelming. Every hit had purpose. Every pause meant something.
Then the first chorus slammed in.
Jordan led.
Contemporary hip-hop fused with power and unity, their lines long and immaculate, extensions cutting through the air like blades. They moved as one organism, breathing together, becoming something bigger than six individuals.
It was breathtaking.
The second verse shifted—and suddenly, Paso Doble.
Partners snapped together, switching leads effortlessly, weaving in and out of one another with razor-sharp timing. The passion was undeniable, dramatic and commanding, the intensity crackling in every stomp and turn.
They didn't just dance it.
They owned it.
The second chorus stripped everything down to pure contemporary.
Partner work flowed seamlessly—clean pirouettes melting into soaring jetés. Then they hit the floor, bodies carving patterns across the stage. Rolls, slides, weight transfers so smooth it looked unreal. The transitions were flawless. The movement? Inspired.
And then—
The climax.
Yone, Jordan, Monarch, Eli, and Isaac formed a wide circle.
Nikola stood alone in the center.
The beat surged.
Nikola went off.
Air flares into flares.
Into elbow air flares.
Back into air flares—effortless, explosive, ferocious.
The crowd was already losing it.
At the peak of the music, Nikola spun on his palms, upside down, balanced like a top—defiant, unstoppable.
Then—
Silence.
They hit the final pose.
Nikola stood tall in the center, fist raised high, pure triumph etched into his face. The other five lay sprawled around him, arms and legs stretched wide, like they'd given everything they had to that moment.
And they had.
For a split second, the amphitheater froze.
Then it erupted.
Thunderous applause crashed through the space. Cheers, shouts, whistles—no one remained seated. Every single person was on their feet.
In that moment, triumph wasn't just a feeling.
It was undeniable.
****
The moment the music cut off, the six of them collapsed into one another, laughter and shouts colliding as they practically tackled each other into a tight, tangled group hug. Sweat, tears, adrenaline—everything hit at once.
They were shaking.
They were breathless.
They were alive.
"Alright, alright—settle down!" Cat laughed, pride practically radiating off her.
Reluctantly, the six pulled apart and lined up, shoulders squared, faces still glowing high from the aftermath of their performance.
"As you can already tell from that thunderous applause alone," Cat said, gesturing toward the still-roaring amphitheater, "you did an incredible job. You should all be very proud of yourselves."
The six bowed deeply in unison.
"But," Cat continued with a grin, "let's hear from our evaluators. Luca—you were the one who checked in on them midweek. Did they make you proud?"
Luca was still standing.
One hand braced on his hip, the other covering his mouth, eyes wide like he'd just witnessed an out of body experience.
"Oh my gosh…" he finally breathed, forcing himself to exhale. "First of all—thank you for listening."
The crowd erupted again.
"Because if you hadn't," Luca continued, voice thick with emotion, "we might never have witnessed greatness tonight."
Applause thundered through the venue.
"Seriously. I commend every single one of you for putting your pride aside and trusting the process. Because right now?" He laughed in disbelief. "I am telling you—that was the best performance of the night. Hands down. Period."
The six exploded.
Back pats. Wide grins. Nikola nearly jumping out of his skin. Jordan completely losing it, sobbing openly without even trying to stop himself.
"Jordan," Luca said warmly, smiling like a proud mentor, "I hope those are tears of joy."
Jordan nodded furiously, wiping his face, still smiling like he'd just won the damn lottery.
"You should all be proud," Luca continued. "Alright—I can't even speak properly anymore." He waved a hand. "Tuesday, Foca—please, save me."
"It takes a lot to shut Luca up," Tuesday laughed, earning nods from both Luca and Foca. "But congratulations—you managed to do it."
The crowd chuckled.
"I fully agree," Tuesday said, her tone turning earnest. "That was the best performance of the night. Period."
Cheers rang out again.
"You were creative, intentional, and smart with your choices. Isaac busting out line dancing on a global stage? Nikola breaking like his life depended on it? You played to your strengths perfectly."
She fanned herself dramatically. "And can I just say—I love seeing dances like this in survival programs. When we say 'dance,' you guys actually danced. Not just pop choreo and aura farming—real styles, real roots, real expression. Ugh. Love it."
She laughed. "Okay, I'm rambling. Foca—you go."
The atmosphere shifted.
Everyone leaned in.
"As my fellow evaluators have said," Foca began, voice calm but powerful, "you delivered an excellent performance."
He turned his attention to Yone first.
"Yone—you are giving Kang Ian a serious run for his money as a leader."
Immediate cheers broke out, Kang Ian himself clapping loudly from the sidelines.
"You held this team together," Foca continued. "You let your choreography shine without overpowering the group. Well done."
Yone's teammates clapped his shoulders proudly.
"Next—Jordan."
Jordan's hair was instantly ruffled by multiple hands as he sniffled, eyes still glassy but shining.
"Your artistry," Foca said slowly, "goes beyond human comprehension. That contemporary section was breathtaking. I would love a peek inside that beautiful mind of yours."
Jordan laughed through his tears.
"Isaac—small-town southern boy on a world stage," Foca smiled. "You represented your culture with pride through line dancing, and you never once lagged behind. That was powerful."
Isaac beamed.
"Nikola," Foca continued, amused, "bboy extraordinaire. Hiding a secret weapon, were you?"
Nikola pointed straight at Yone, earning laughter from everyone.
"Your athleticism went above and beyond. Outstanding."
"And Eli and Monarch," Foca said, eyes sharp. "You may not have had the flashiest moments—but every time my eyes landed on you, you were excellent. You adapted to every style thrown your way like chameleons. If I didn't know you beforehand, I'd be shocked by how effortlessly you owned each genre."
They both visibly straightened with pride.
"I could honestly keep going," Foca concluded, "but we'd be here all night. Once again—excellent job."
With that, the third evaluations came to a close.
No team that followed managed to eclipse what the Ravengers had set on that stage.
And by the end of the night, it was undeniable—
The Ravengers stood crowned as the top team of the third evaluations.
****
PS-
Team Ravengers performed to: (https://youtu.be/-NAbYUoxIfg?si=CgXm6v90jB_M7jpO)