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After the confrontation, Unit 01 returned to their barracks, but the air remained thick with frustration. Inside their sleek, dimly lit quarters, Gabriel paced, his fists clenched, jaw tight.
"What was that all about, Michael?" Gabriel spat, the words sharp as daggers. "We had them. They were weak. They didn't deserve to stand there."
Michael remained still, his silver-white hair falling perfectly in place, a cold silence surrounding him like an impenetrable wall. He didn't respond immediately. His eyes scanned the room—calm, unbothered—before finally landing on Gabriel.
"You should have let it go," Michael said, his voice steady, void of emotion. "Fighting them here would have been illegal. You know the rules."
Gabriel's nostrils flared. He stepped forward, towering over Michael, his voice low but filled with growing anger. "But they were there. Right in front of us. What now, huh? We've been waiting for weeks for this, for the freshers tournament next month. I want my revenge."
Michael didn't flinch. He took a slow breath before replying in his typical calm tone. "If we face them now, we risk being expelled. It wouldn't be worth it. But when the tournament comes…" His voice darkened slightly, as if it were the only time he could feel something close to emotion. "Then, we fight. Then we'll show them."
Gabriel's face twisted in disbelief. "You're telling me to wait?" He scoffed, his voice rising. "Wait for what? Another chance to lose?"
Michael turned his gaze toward Gabriel, locking eyes with him for a long moment. His cold stare was enough to silence Gabriel. Finally, Michael spoke with a quiet authority.
"You're just a dog chasing after your own tail, Gabriel," Michael said, his tone unwavering. "You don't understand strategy. It's not about now. It's about being ready for when it counts. And for that, you'll need more than just rage. You'll need skill."
Gabriel gritted his teeth but said nothing. Michael was right, in a way. They couldn't afford to waste everything on a single fight. The tournament was coming, and they needed to train harder than ever before.
Michael's voice cut through the silence again, firm and resolute: "So get ready. Train harder. Show the academy what we're really made of. And maybe—just maybe—we can defeat them in the freshers tournament next month."
Gabriel muttered under his breath, but there was no denying the fire that was kindling within him. He knew Michael was right, even if it stung.
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