The Orion training bay never truly rests.
Even when the lights dim, the floor panels still hum like they remember footsteps. Even when the players leave, the walls still carry scuff marks from rebounds and shoulder hits. The place feels like a workshop where people build survival out of scrap.
Kai arrives before most of the team.
He hates waiting. Waiting makes his mind replay the broadcast of the Red Match. Waiting makes him see that empty orbit again. So he comes early, ties his boots tight, and runs passing drills against the wall until his breathing becomes steady.
The ball strikes metal.
It rebounds.
He traps.
He repeats.
Wall, rebound, trap—again and again—until the motion feels like a heartbeat.
Behind him, a voice breaks the rhythm.
"You are using the wall like it owes you money."
Kai turns.
Jett stands in the doorway with a cup of bitter station coffee. His hair sticks up on one side like he sleeps badly. He looks amused and annoyed at the same time, like always.
Kai shrugs. "The wall works."
Jett walks closer. "Sure. The wall works in this bay. In a Solar Arena, the wall works until it ruins your life."
Kai narrows his eyes. "Then I learn when it ruins me."
Jett points the coffee at him. "Look at you. Already talking like a protagonist."
Kai doesn't smile. "I am not here to be a protagonist."
Jett grins anyway. "That is what protagonists say."
Before Kai can answer, Sana enters. She carries her tablet like it is part of her arm. Her eyes scan the floor seams, then the wall modules, then Kai, then Jett. She sees everything fast.
"Stop flirting and start learning," she says.
Jett pretends to be offended. "We are not flirting."
Sana raises an eyebrow. "Then stop sounding like you are."
Kai looks away. He does not want that kind of attention. He wants the game. He wants control. He wants the part where the ball obeys his foot.
Rhythm arrives last, as usual, but when Rhythm arrives, the room feels quieter. He wears the same plain jacket. He moves like he counts steps inside his head.
He stands at the edge of the field and looks at the team as they gather.
"Today we do not chase goals," Rhythm says. "Today we learn how the Solar Circuit hunts teams like us."
Bram cracks his neck. "The Circuit hunts everyone. We are just easier to bite."
Sana taps her tablet. "We have a match schedule."
Kai lifts his head. "Already?"
Sana nods. "Yes. The Solar Circuit does not let you breathe."
Rhythm gestures toward the wall screen. A map appears: a tier ladder, match locations, sponsor marks, and warning icons.
"Next match is a Circuit Match," Rhythm says. "Not Red. But high stakes."
Jett groans. "Great. High stakes means more cameras, more sponsors, and more people who hate us."
Bram smiles. "More people to disappoint."
Kai looks at the screen. The opponent name flashes:
ASTRA CROWN FC
Kai has heard that name. Not the biggest team, but clean, funded, respected.
Sana speaks quickly. "Astra Crown plays structured SOL. They build rhythm and suffocate space. Their captain controls tempo. Their striker hunts the Core Ring when he senses greed."
Kai frowns. "So we do not get greedy."
Sana points at him. "Exactly. That is why I like you."
Jett snorts. "She likes you because you listen. She hates me because I talk."
Sana does not deny it.
Rhythm raises a hand. "We build our playbook today."
Kai blinks. "Playbook?"
Bram laughs. "Welcome to real teams, Earth boy."
Rhythm taps the floor with his shoe. The panels light up in three stripes: SOL, LUNA, UMBRA.
"CSFG looks like chaos," Rhythm says. "But chaos has patterns. Directives repeat. Arena types repeat. Teams repeat habits."
He looks at Sana. "Show them."
Sana projects a list on the wall screen.
~COMMON DIRECTIVES — CIRCUIT TIER~
Wall-Live
Lane Drift
Lane Flip
Silence Phase
Ring Drift
Pressure Dome
Multiball Window (Eclipse)
Solar Override (Final Minute)
Kai reads it, mind working. "So we train for these."
Sana nods. "We train for the pool, not a single directive. We train to adapt."
Jett raises his hand like a student. "Question. How do we adapt when the arena wants to embarrass us?"
Bram smirks. "We do not get embarrassed. We hit back."
Rhythm answers calmly. "We adapt by staying logical."
Kai hears that word again. Logical. Rhythm says it like it is a prayer.
Rhythm points at Kai. "You are a striker. What is your first enemy?"
Kai answers without thinking. "The defender."
Rhythm shakes his head. "Wrong."
Kai stiffens. "Then what?"
Rhythm points down at the floor. "Your first enemy is the lane. The defender is only a person. The lane is a rule."
Kai swallows and nods.
Rhythm continues. "Your second enemy is your ego. The Core Ring will tempt you. The crowd will tempt you. Your own pride will tempt you."
Kai thinks of the Ring. He thinks of the way the crowd screams louder for Ring shots. He thinks of how a Ring miss becomes a counterattack.
He nods again. "So we choose the Gate when we must."
Sana smiles slightly. "Yes."
Rhythm claps once. "Drill."
The first drill is called Seam Trap.
Sana explains it fast, like she teaches a formula.
"The seam is where lanes meet," she says. "The seam is where drift feels worst. It is where ankle mistakes happen. It is also where opponents panic."
Bram groans. "I hate seams."
Sana points. "That is why we train them."
Rhythm sets two cones at the SOL–LUNA seam and the LUNA–UMBRA seam. The floor shifts subtly every thirty seconds, sliding the lanes just enough to make the seams unpredictable.
Kai takes the ball first. Bram defends. Jett supports. Sana watches angles. M0SS stands in goal, silent and ready.
Kai dribbles toward the SOL–LUNA seam.
His feet remember street cages. His body wants to glide. But here, glide becomes danger.
He shortens steps.
He keeps the ball close.
Bram pressures him toward the seam like a bulldozer with a brain. Kai feels Bram's shoulder close, legal contact waiting.
Kai feints into LUNA, then cuts back into SOL.
The drift shifts mid-cut.
Kai's ankle wobbles.
He catches himself, but the ball rolls half a step too far.
Bram steals.
Bram grins. "Seam eats rookies."
Kai's jaw tightens. "Again."
Rhythm nods. "Again."
They repeat until Kai learns to treat the seam like a living line. He stops forcing fancy turns there. He starts using simple touches. He learns to bounce the ball off the wall to reset his body when drift catches him. He learns to breathe before he cuts.
Sana taps her tablet and speaks without looking up. "Better. You stop showing off."
Kai exhales. "I am not showing off."
Jett laughs. "Yes you are."
Bram smirks. "He is."
Kai ignores them.
The second drill is called Ring Discipline.
Rhythm activates the Core Ring rail module. The Ring slides slow at first, then faster. Sana calls out imaginary match contexts.
"Score is 1–0," she says. "Eight minutes left. You have a Gate shot. You also have a Ring angle. What do you take?"
Kai watches the Ring. His instinct says Ring.
But he remembers the rebound punishment. He remembers Rhythm's warning about ego.
He answers, "Gate."
Sana nods. "Good."
Jett whistles. "Wow. Growth."
Sana continues. "Score is 2–2. Final minute coming. Override soon. Ring gives bigger swing. You have clean lane stability. What do you take?"
Kai breathes. He looks at the ring path. He checks the lane under him. He imagines pressure.
He answers, "If the Ring is clean, I take it. If it is not clean, I take Gate."
Rhythm nods. "Better."
Bram smirks. "He thinks now."
Rhythm turns the drill into pain.
He makes Kai shoot ten Gates, then ten Rings, then ten sequences where Kai must choose in one second as drift changes under him. Every miss becomes a rebound. Every rebound becomes a sprint back. Kai's lungs burn. His legs shake. His mind stays sharp because Rhythm demands it.
At one point, Kai plants his foot in LUNA, and the floor traction shifts. He slips slightly. For a flash, he feels that strange internal alignment again—like his spirit, mind, and body try to snap into one line.
A tiny shimmer seems to rise at his forearms.
Kai blinks.
It is gone.
He does not mention it.
He keeps shooting.
After drills, Rhythm calls them into a circle.
"This is your playbook," Rhythm says.
Sana projects three simple symbols on her tablet and holds it up:
TRIANGLE — Compact shape, SOL control, no chasing ARROW — Fast break through LUNA, wall bounce entry ANCHOR — UMBRA hold, physical defense, drain enemy stamina
Jett squints. "That is it? That is the playbook?"
Sana nods. "It is simple because chaos requires simplicity."
Bram laughs. "Finally, a system my brain can hold."
Rhythm points at Kai. "You are ARROW and TRIANGLE. You do not become ANCHOR unless you must."
Kai nods. "I understand."
Rhythm looks at the whole team. "We do not win by being the strongest. We win by being the clearest."
M0SS speaks once, quiet. "Clear."
Sana repeats, "Clear."
Bram grins. "Clear like a punch."
Jett sighs. "Clear like suffering."
Kai listens and stores it. Clear. Logical. Discipline. Choice.
He understands something now: Orion survives because Orion refuses to drown in the arena's noise.
Then a door opens.
A staff member steps inside and holds a tablet.
"Coach Rhythm," the staff member says. "Arena briefing uploaded."
Sana takes it instantly and scans.
Her eyes narrow. "Our match arena is Helion."
Kai's stomach tightens. "Helion? That is a major arena."
Jett groans. "Oh no. Not Helion. That is where the crowd screams like they want blood."
Bram laughs, but his laugh sounds edged. "Good. We scream back."
Sana scrolls. "Directive pool is heavy on Wall-Live and Silence Phase."
Rhythm nods once. "Then we train those harder."
Kai breathes slowly. Helion. Major arena. Loud crowd. Cameras.
Not Red.
But still the kind of place that can crush a team that enters with weak rhythm.
Rhythm looks at Kai like he reads his thoughts. "You shake?"
Kai shakes his head. "No."
Rhythm nods. "Good. Fear is normal. Freezing is not."
Kai's fists clench. He remembers the Red Match broadcast. He remembers the planet disappearing. He remembers the commentator yelling like it is entertainment.
Kai speaks quietly, but the words carry.
"I play to win."
Rhythm answers softly, "Then learn to win here."
That night, Orion does not celebrate. Orion does not relax. Orion trains again in smaller drills. Sana reviews film. Bram tapes his wrists. Jett complains and still runs. M0SS practices quick shifts and rebounds.
Kai stays late and practices wall rebounds until his toes numb. He practices Gate shots until his hips ache. He practices Ring shots until he can hit the rail without panic.
He misses. He runs. He repeats.
When he finally stops, the bay is quiet.
He sits on the floor with his back against the wall panel. Sweat cools on his skin. His breathing slows.
He thinks about tomorrow. He thinks about Helion's crowd. He thinks about Astra Crown's clean rhythm. He thinks about how Orion must stay clear.
And under that, he thinks about something else:
That brief shimmer he feels again and again—like the inside of him tries to align in a way he does not fully understand.
He does not chase it.
He does not name it.
He only keeps it in the back of his mind like a small ember that might matter later.
Because right now, Kai has a simpler problem:
He must survive his first real Solar Circuit match without letting the arena steal his head.
And if he can do that, he can take the next step.
One match at a time.
One phase at a time.
One choice at a time.