August 21st, 2030, 6:59 am

Some of the other brackets were told to come out to the backyard earlier than we were. When I walked out just now, there were kids already fighting, so I thought I was late. Once I saw Craig and Mai in line behind Sergeant Lee, my fear disappeared for the time being. Until I saw my opponent stepping my way.

Hal's white short-sleeve brushes against mine. Like Leo Fedman yesterday, his lips are sealed, uncharacteristically of him. I haven't heard a word from him since before the first round when he spoke to his first opponent. Whenever we encountered each other throughout the bunk room and mess hall, he turned his head as if he never noticed me.

I sat with CJ at dinner and Hal took his place elsewhere. I mentioned to CJ that my next opponent was acting strangely and unlike himself. As it turns out, this isn't odd at all. Hal is just naturally competitive and whoever stands in his way is going to get shot down no matter who they are. Even if they are a friend. In the words of CJ, I am "his Craig Larsson" now. I can't tell if that is high praise or not.

This is what we avoided from the start. I mean, yeah, there was the possibility that we would face each other if I made it this far. But we never believed that I would arrive at the semifinal anyway. It was better than ever having to take on anyone else, but I don't think that's so true anymore.

I'm about to get manhandled. For crying out loud, Hal van Lester is the future Sergeant of Class 30, and what am I? Average; right in the middle. Not even considered for immediate duty, I assume. I have to fight a potential Emperor's Seal candidate. Mr. Imperial Guard. How can I bring myself to do it?

Hal told me that there was nothing he would do to let his rank fall. The only test he didn't earn the top spot in was the island run yesterday morning, and he's vying for the highest placement in the combat tournament. He'll want to battle Craig to make the victory that much sweeter. His position in this year's class would be solidified as first if he were to beat his rival. He is not going to let me stand in his way from getting that chance, and I don't blame him.

But I have my own reason for wanting to win, and it has nothing to do with social status in this area or bragging rights. It's something far bigger and real than that, and he knows it. It doesn't matter who I am to him or what I'm fighting for. He'll look past it, because all he sees is Craig Larsson at the finish line.

I shouldn't be counting Mai out of this, but I'm sure Craig is in the same position as Hal. They want the epic, final showdown in the championship fight. Craig wants to bring his status back up after pathetic earlier tests, and Hal wants to end the discussion once and for all. I'll be there to watch it all unfold in front of me.

Hal traps his breath beside me as he spectates on the final round occurring currently on the first combat square. That is where our battle will take place. I can feel the gears in his brain cranking, trying to contemplate some kind of bold strategy to take me down when we start. It won't be difficult for him to think of something. I'm not as skilled a fighter as he may believe from my first two victories. Sure, I took down Leo Fedman and creepy Alan O'Shea, but that means nothing. They weren't talented in combat themselves.

A girl shouts in triumph on the square ahead, resulting in a nod from Hal. He just witnessed a fellow victor take her place in the top ninety-two for this test. It's his turn to show where he belongs around here, and I'm the one he's going to use as a trophy. That's the deepest side of him; a side that I would never have guessed was a part of him. He's not acting in the way I know him.

Sergeant Lee scans the four of us as the winner of bracket 20 leaps off of the square to greet her pals. "Larsson, Rea, Tross, van Lester, all here. Larsson and Rea will fight on square two, Tross and van Lester here on square one. The championship will be on one. Move out."

Craig and Mai disperse to the left to begin their fight, and Hal marches up to the square in front of us. I stand firm, watching it all unravel before my very eyes. I've been so nervous I haven't even noticed the situation I'm in. I have the opportunity to fight two of three of the top recruits in the entire class. I'll need to win in order to save my life, but this occasion is really something else. Even if I don't win, the rankers will be watching me take on the future Sergeant. I won't back down so easily.

"Tross, let's go," Lee orders, annoyed. Hal has his eyes glued on me in disgust as if he never spoke to me before. It's like he's a different person.

I head up to my starting position on the square, passing by Lee's scowl. I wonder who he is rooting for in this match. He hates Hal because he's friends with me, and he hates me for killing his best friend. He's hoping we both punch each other square in the face at the same time so we both have to go to the infirmary. He wishes he could take us on, a one-year Imperial Guard member against two recruits. He'd hand our ass to us on a silver platter.

"On my go, boys."

There is a slight breeze blowing over the compound, sending a chill through my skin. This is supposed to be the coldest day out of the week if you call a high sixty-eight degrees cold. It's far more comfortable than the past two days, but that doesn't stop the nerves from heating up my whole body and causing me to shake.

I ball up my hands and hold my left closest to the point of my nose. I can hardly distinguish my blurred fingers as they tremble before me. Something inside of me is not letting my fingernails dig into the trenches of my palms, no matter how hard I try to. My teeth knock against each other as I watch my opponent mirror my stance.

Hal starts charging toward me, and I haven't heard the whistle yet. Maybe I missed it. My first deterrence of many.

There is something mesmerizing about the way he carries himself as he swiftly approaches. He and I hold our bodies and fists in the same position and our eyes match each other. I learned how to do this from Celestine, who learned it from her father, I'm guessing. Hal was taught by the Colonel. So, in a way, am I doing something right? Is this how it supposed to be done?

The opening to his face unguarded by his hands accentuates his irises in the low sunlight rising over the fake woods. He doesn't blink as he sizes me up, swinging his hips back and forth. It would do me good to do the same thing as him. If that's what the best is doing, the only way to beat him is at his own game.

Neither have us have thrown a punch in the first minute. We are circling around each other, anticipating the initial strike that will never come. It looks like we both learned that vital tip in our training; react. Let him look like the fool who began this in violence.

"Come on, do something!" He urges, growling. There is no smile that accompanies the plea, which tightens my muscles as he continues his practice. He throws a few fakes to take me off my center, and I still don't fall for it. No kind of tricks like that will make me flinch and give him the opening he requires to connect. He'll have to improvise if he wants a piece of me.

He sends a flurry of practice shots my way, and I ricochet them all away from my person in a pinch. I can defend my body from attack all day. A couple of weak punches aren't going to phase me. He's making me out to be a chump. He is beginning to underestimate me. He has looked past this encounter since he found out him and I were battling. I'll make him realize how wrong he was.

I hit him with several rights that he swats away just as easily. What is it going to take for me to get around his defense? He, too, isn't going to let just anything get by him and onto his body. It'll have to be a lucky shot or a well-executed combination attack. But how?

Hal pulls my front hand away and goes for the shot to the gut, the same one I gave Leo yesterday. I stumble backward, trying to keep my feet inside the square. If even one of my toes touches grass, it's over. I can't let him have such a simple victory. I need to show Lee that I can stand up for myself when facing adversity.

I regain my footing and stand my body upright again. It's going to take more than that to knock me down, Hal. I should try one of the signature moves I had against Leo and Alan. They seemed to be effective in results, but I don't know how easy it will be to successive pull off that attack. Hal's stance is impeccable, it's going to be tough to penetrate with a cheap trick.

I bend my elbow and pull my arm back under itself. As I release the shot, he removes one of his hands from his face to block it. In the window I have, I send my opposite fist toward his face. He shoves it away like a bullet off a steel wall. Like it poses no threat. Hal has a different definition of poise. It looks like I'll have to capitalize off of his mistakes.

I notice that he doesn't retaliate when he brushes my punches away. He must be conserving his energy for when he needs it, or for when he takes on Craig after me. In the meantime, he extends his arms only for brief punches that show no danger to me. I just have to outlast him. That must be it! He's keeping his incredible stamina high, but if I can wear him down, I can finally land some effective hits. Keep going, Hal. Keep those shitty punches coming. I'll eat them for breakfast.

As time passes, and I don't know long that is, I start to bend my knees as he is constant with his attack. I'm not bracing my body or planting it into the ground so I don't I waste my breath trying to protect myself too much. The idea is to keep moving and let him keep throwing those hits until he can't anymore. I can do this. I beat him in the island run yesterday morning because I had the determination to win, even though I didn't. The winner of this match will be the one who is most determined.

And what a story that will be! All this talk about Hal van Lester and Craig Larsson and how they will be the next Sergeant thanks to their mentors, the high officers. What if it was Slater Tross, the kid everyone looked down on, who beat them at their own game? They would be talking about it for days, weeks even! Or however long their career will last. But I'll show them that they should never underestimate anyone.

It must be five minutes, now. As we trace each other's footsteps, making strange shapes in our footsteps, I start to realize that Hal has actually broken a sweat. A single droplet works its way down his hairline and chin. I know I'm beginning to perspire, too, but I can handle it for now. I don't know how long he'll last with this minor physical interference.

The more I surround Hal through defense, a small perimeter of recruits forms around the square. For a moment, I even see Craig and Mai. I don't know who won, but it shouldn't matter to me now. All I should worry about is keeping Hal van Lester at bay. I need to make sure that he stays humble about his attacks, and when he finally backs off, I dive in for the kill. Or, I guess the knockout. I don't want to kill Hal.

He sends his barrages, but they are fruitless. In a frenzy, his head shoots around, eyeing all the people who are expecting him to knock me out. They are watching him burn out, and he's getting antsy. His quick punches die off and make room for harsh, powerful blows. Those are more difficult to defend against on my part, but they wear him down more. They make him look like he is on his final leg, trying to get a piece of me.

I hear his breath seething through his teeth as he swings his heavy blows. This is starting to get to him, and I'm feeling what he's feeling, too. My throat and chest seem to be clogging, but it's doing the exact opposite. It's gasping for air, but I keep moving my feet. If I cease all movement, I'll have to reboot and get back into it. I need to keep the engine running.

Something is going to have to give. I can't keep holding myself against these brutal hits. I need to go on the offensive to catalyze his breakdown. If I can land something on him, his energy will bounce out of his body faster than him in the obstacle course. I need to try something the next time he goes for the big punch.

His knuckles aim straight for my nose and I duck, throwing a crack of my own at his chin. His head flicks back and returns to face me. A low grumble escapes his throat. I can sense his frustration tickling his veins. I think I only made him angrier. I don't know if anger is going to make him any better of a fighter, but rage has a peculiar way of changing people. I know Hal tends to be cool as ice, but I have never seen him get like this.

Hal attempts the same attack as the intensity of the crowd jumps. The recruits are layering in, poking their heads around each other to watch their Sergeant miss me. He goes again. A swing and a miss causes him to stagger.

It's my chance. If he stumbles like that again, I'll grab him and finish him off without any regrets. He's handing me this fight. I never thought it would end like this. Was I worried about nothing? Or is he hiding something in his perceived weakness?

Hal roars and throws his hand down in a chop to try to break my stance. I twist out of the way and he hunches over when he whiffs. I yank him up by the back of his collar and bring him face to face with me. The only thing keeping my fingertips from touching my rough palms is his white t-shirt balled up between them. His hands clasp around my wrists, and he hisses at me, trying to wiggle away.

With any of the might I still possess, I fold my body over itself and launch his body onto the ground. Luckily for the both of us, he tucks in his head so it doesn't bounce off of the concrete and crack open. As soon as he realizes what has just transpired, he releases my wrists and stretches his arms out to his side. I can feel his hot breath before I press off of him to stand up, victorious.

Sergeant Lee bounds over to me with his clipboard. "Winner: Tross."

A murmur lulls over the crowd that gathered to see me take down Hal van Lester. They don't know what they just laid their eyes upon. Side-glances are exchanged by some, while others take the time out of their day to stare at me. Craig Larsson is one of those people. He purses his lips.

I overlook Hal, still on the ground, heaving in as much air as he can. He has his eyes shut, doing all he can to never look at me again. Even if he treated me like shit before the fight, that doesn't mean I reciprocate. I extend my arm down to him.

"Hey, Hal."

His eyes flutter open, and I see that ocean blue again. His fingers wrap around the crease of my hand and I help raise him to his feet. His legs are a bit shaky, but he'll get over it soon. He's Hal van Lester, after all.

He pats me on the back and wraps one arm around me. "You're not half-bad, Tross. Go get him. I'll be right here, cheering for ya."

That's the Hal I know.

"Final round of bracket 21 will begin in approximately three minutes. Craig Larsson versus Slater Tross," Lee announces, stepping off the square and meeting with the other high-class Sergeants. "Someone get the senior officers down here. This fight is going to be insane."

I pivot around to observe Craig as he walks onto the first fighting square. I have never encountered him so closely before, so I have no clue what to expect from him. All I know is that he is the only competition Hal has around here, so he must be serious business. If he can beat Mai Rea, who defeated CJ, there must be something looming about him that is dangerous. I'll be honest, I'm intrigued to see what that something is.

I'm not afraid anymore. I've come this far. If I can beat Craig, I can smell the immediate duty like bread in a bakery. This is the biggest fight of my life; I should be quaking with fear. But I'm not. Not anymore.