His head was throbbing, a heaviness that showed no sign of subsiding, his hearing muffled. He reached out to find the alarm clock, fumbling around until his fingers touched the hard metal. He grasped the object, yanked it towards him, and turned it off.

"It's four in the afternoon. Oh...I have to stop this!" he exclaimed, slapping himself. "I really have to stop..."

Xanter jumped out of bed and let the sheet slip onto the floor, wearing only black shorts. The darkened windows of the room became transparent glass and allowed him to observe the panorama of the central district of Edel. The statues of Orghein and Croden were there, staring at him.

"Good morning, sirs!" he made a quick military salute.

He took his uniform from the wardrobe and put on his pants. He grabbed the pill case from the nightstand, took out a handful, swallowed them, and grimaced in disgust. He looked at the shelf and crossed his arms. "I need to make some space," he said. He moved one of the many trophies, but immediately put it back in place and shook his head.

He grabbed his shirt and jacket. He still had the aftertaste of a night of celebrations in his mouth; the end of the hangover had never been as pleasant as that day. In the hallway, a sweet melody played on the piano reached him. "Who's in the house?" he asked loudly.

The music stopped and a girl came towards him. "Finally, you woke up! The High Command will be thrilled to welcome you late." She approached Xanter and gracefully adjusted his clothing uncertainties. "Dad would be very proud of you, but you have to cut back on these parties."

He stopped in the bright hallway, in front of the mirror, for a final touch-up of his uniform folds. She was wearing a t-shirt with the Edel Wings emblem, much larger than her slender form. "Why do you use my shirts?"

"They're comfortable..." she replied.

"Anya, what do you want? You shouldn't come into my house without permission," he grumbled.

"I had security call you, but you didn't answer, so I used Mom's keys," she replied. "Now come with me. Have something to eat." She took him by the hand and dragged him into the kitchen.

"You're not authorized to do things your way," said Xanter, pretending to look upset.

Anya stuck her tongue out at him and pushed him towards the table. She opened a gift-wrapped box and took out a cream-filled cake. She ran her finger over the decoration and popped it into her mouth with a groan of pleasure. "I've decided to move in with you for a few days. Someone has to finish these cakes before they go bad, right?"

Xanter took a slice. "Get that idea out of your head! You should be at the Academy of Sciences, studying!" he exclaimed. He took a generous bite, leaning forward to avoid staining his uniform.

"Yes," replied Anya, "but I had to take a forced vacation. Since you won the Grand Prize, it's become an unlivable place for me." She winked at him. "I'm still the champion's sister, after all!"

"The classes, the exams... what do you plan to do this year?" Xanter pointed to a spot behind her. "There, in the back, I saw some mint cookies. Pass them over, please."

Anya grabbed a basket adorned with garlands and filled with sweets. Xanter had filled the entire apartment with gifts sent by fans; in every corner of the house, there were bottles of wine, bunches of flowers, and food from different provinces of Kharzan.

She sat down and shook her head. "I'll study here," she said with a long smile. "Rather, you're the man of the moment! What are your intentions? The papers are talking about nothing else."

He straightened his shoulders. "I'm a military man, don't forget. I have to serve the nation."

"Yes, but now it's different. You're a hero of the country, and you'll have the chance to shake many hands," replied Anya. "Important hands!"

Xanter looked up at the fridge. That letter, still waiting for a response, caught his attention. "I'm receiving some offers... and believe me, the amount written on that contract would make your head spin."

"So?" Anya couldn't sit still, fiddling with the cookies on the table, moving right to left and touching dishes, cutlery, and the cup of steaming coffee. And when she left the table alone, she started rolling her blonde hair between her fingers.

"Let's not joke," he snapped, amused. "I'll ask to go on a mission. You're a fool if you think I'll spend the rest of my career playing with dolls at ceremonies or filling the front pages." Xanter put the cake back in the fridge, under his sister's pleased gaze. A proud smile on her face. "In uniform, you shine like dad." Anya kissed him on the cheek.

"I understand," he said with a hint of embarrassment. "Now find something to do, I have to go, we'll have dinner together tonight," he concluded, tightening his tie knot.

She walked him to the door. "Say hi to Uncle Janus for me," she said with a wave of her hand.

Xanter nodded, and the elevator doors closed.

"As if you could call him that in front of others," he whispered with an amused expression.

On the ground floor, a crowd of fans had gathered outside the building. Fortunately, the soldier guarding the entrance prevented the crowd from entering.

A woman in an elegant suit approached him. "Lieutenant Xanter Roha, it's a pleasure to meet you." She had brown hair that fell on her back, wore black-framed glasses, and a short skirt.

She was a soldier, no doubt about it. Xanter had seen that rhythmic gait thousands of times.

He lowered his gaze and studied her more than necessary. More than was necessary to give in to embarrassment. But he was captivated by those full and well-defined lips. "Who am I speaking to?"

"Captain Delaila Versan, internal borders," she replied, and her tone was anything but cheerful.

Xanter immediately composed himself, dismissing the sly expression from his face. Straight as a stick, he brought his hand to his forehead and stood at attention.

"At ease, Lieutenant. No formalities," she said with satisfaction. "General Melca ordered me to escort you to the meeting with the High Command." She didn't wait for a response and walked to reach the entrance. Xanter followed the skirt out of the building, where a vehicle with tinted windows awaited them. When the car left, it crossed the stamping fans' crowd and barely avoided the most daring.

"You should try to limit your outings, especially during this period," the captain said. She took a folder from the seat and flipped through it. "I have here a package that describes in detail the party from last night. You were photographed in a pitiful state."

Xanter looked out the window at the streets of Edel and shrugged. "It was an invitation I couldn't say no to, the guys from the lower city were the only ones to support my team before the Grand Prix," he replied, chin on his palm. "I just overdid it a bit with the wine."

"We have mobilized our contacts to prevent the news from spreading. We can't afford to spend resources to track its every movement off duty," the woman retorted, this time with a stern look.

The car continued along the priority lane and, after passing by the Garden of the Senses, it went up the ramp to the highway. They passed by the two large statues and crossed the fence into the government zone. Xanter looked up at the three spiral-shaped skyscrapers, the headquarters of the entire nation. A place he knew well, but that day he would be visiting in an official capacity.

They stopped in front of the first building, got out of the vehicle, and walked past the soldiers in line for the guard of honor.

Inside, just as he remembered, the fresco depicting Orghein filled the entire ceiling of the ground floor. The hero led the charge against the Zalesians during the border wars. Xanter's footsteps echoed in the atrium, drawing the attention of groups of soldiers busy with their tasks. A general murmur arose, and Xanter swore he saw the glare of a camera coming from the back of the room. Captain Versan increased her pace and overtook him, heading for the elevator. Xanter, on the other hand, stopped several times to sign photos and race posters.

When he finally had a moment of respite, he noticed Captain Versan looking at him with a displeased expression. Xanter raised his hand. "I'm under a lot of pressure today," he said to the young soldiers. "Excuse me." And he caught up with the woman before getting into the elevator.

Delaila Versan pressed a button on the terminal. "Very well, Lieutenant Roha," she said. "I'll pick you up at the end of the meeting." She pulled her hand back, and the door closed.

"It'll be my pleasure," he muttered to himself once he was alone.

The elevator reopened on the one hundred and twentieth floor, and Xanter continued along the corridor to a large wooden desk. There, a woman in civilian clothes was filling a nearby aquarium with fish food.

"Lieutenant, the meeting is starting," the secretary said. "Please, follow me." She pointed to the large door at the end of the corridor.

Xanter felt a lump in his throat.

Two sentries in high uniform gave a quick but precise salute. They grabbed the handles and opened the door.

"Come in," General Melca said from inside the room.

But Xanter stopped after a few steps to stand at attention. Two of the highest officers of the Kharzan were comfortably seated on padded armchairs: General for Foreign Detachments Janus Zakin and General for Internal Borders Frederic Samwell Melca. A man in a jacket and tie, on the other hand, had taken a seat on the side of the triangular table.

"You already know Director Ermet Laur. You can sit next to him," said Zakin, welcoming him with a smile.

"Yes, sir." Xanter Roha hurried to his assigned seat and sat upright, his hands firmly on the armrests.

"Prime Minister Gizen will be arriving, but we can start," Melca said curtly. "He doesn't like to waste time with technical issues." He crossed his hands and began to rock on the chair, his gaze fixed on Xanter. "We didn't have time to congratulate you on your performance. It was a great honor to witness the wonderful achievement you gave to the entire nation."

Xanter puffed out his chest. "Sir, the honor is all mine."

"The army is widely satisfied with the training it has given you and the response you have given on the track. Especially in difficult times," added Zakin in a hoarse voice, but Director Laur made a grimace of annoyance. "Problems, Ermet?" asked the former, scratching his cheek. With tense lips, he pointed at the withered face of the scientist.

"Yes! There is a problem, and it's plain for all to see," he burst out, "but it seems that no one wants to admit it." Laur frowned and slammed his fist on the papers in front of him. "Damn it, Zakin, have you read my reports on this week's Grand Prix?"

Xanter raised an eyebrow. "What problem?"

General Melca pointed to some documents on the table, huffed, and said, "Of course, we have read them. But we have also agreed that we will do nothing until our men have reviewed the parameters."

Xanter raised his hand, and Zakin signaled for him to speak. "Excuse me, Director Laur, but do they concern the race?"

"Nothing important, just some minor misunderstandings at the end of the race," replied General Melca.

Xanter fell silent and turned to Janus Zakin. The officer cleared his throat. "Fred, it's his race. Perhaps he can give us some explanations that currently elude us."