Raine sat in the Hopkins Cafe with his laptop in front of him. He was reading an email from June. He took a sip from his iced latte.

Huh, shooting with a gun makes up a lower part of a team's ranking than shooting with a bow. What’s up with that? Is our work going to be more Robin Hood than James Bond?

There were ten team contests in total. Six of them were in various sports, while the rest were collaborative examinations on math, physics, Ephrian, and human physiology. For each sport, a team would be represented by any three people. The average of those three’s scores would be the team’s score.

The individual competition was different. The new employees would be shuffled around into new teams and take on a course as quickly as possible. The email noted that the individual rankings would be determined by both their new team’s performance and their contribution to its success. So even if you’re in the fastest team, you can rank poorly if you do nothing. Makes sense.

He spent a while reading and rereading the email, trying to make sure the information stuck.

“Why is this place so noisy?” Cecily complained.

“Welcome to a busy cafe,” Raine said, still reading the email. “Most people go to cafes to talk.”

They’d just finished an Ephrian lesson with the other team leaders. Afterward, he’d wanted to read June’s email in peace, and she’d wanted to get coffee. At least one of them got their wish fulfilled.

Since the place had been packed when they’d gotten there, they had to share a table.

Cecily sipped her latte. An empty pack of sugar lay on her table. “I prefer cold coffee.”

“So get an iced latte next time,” Raine said.

“Yeah.” She took another sip of her coffee. “But this stuff is still great. It helps me focus.”

“Caffeine at work.” He finished rereading the email for the last time and closed the tab. “By the way, how much extra time is your team putting into training for the competition?”

“Who knows.”

His brows rose. “What? You really don’t know?”

“I don’t care. No matter how badly the rest do, I’ll pull up our score. We’re going to win.”

“I see. Aren’t you worried that you’ll get tired? You’ll have to do extremely well in at least five or six of the component competitions if you want to bring your team’s ranking up on your own.”

“I’m not worried. I’m good at many things, and my stamina is top-notch.” She finished her coffee and got up. “But that reminds me to go practice at the shooting range.”

How spontaneous. “Alright then. See you.”

She nodded and left.

. . . .

Livia drew her bow. It took everything she had to keep it drawn as she carefully aimed at the target. Inner ring. Inner ring.

She released the arrow and watched it fly to the target fifty feet away.

It landed on a middle ring.

Livia closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Then she tried again.

120 grand.120 grand. While repeating the thought like it was a Buddhist mantra, she drew her bow, aimed, and fired. It landed on a middle ring again.

Without pausing, she tried again. And again. And again. Every shot hit a middle ring, except for the last shot, which landed on the edge of the target.

She wiped away the sweat on her face with her sleeve. Then she nocked another arrow to try again.

“Don’t you think you should take a break?” Julia asked. She approached with a bottle of water in one hand.

“I’m fine,” Livia said. She put her arrow back in the quiver at her hip and accepted the bottle of water from Julia. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Julia said with a smile. “But I have to ask, why are you practicing so much?”

Livia bit her lip. “I’m far, far worse than that blond guy on Raine’s team.”

“Oh, the Sharpshooter.”

“What?”

“That’s what everyone calls him—because of me, by the way. He’s great with a bow and with a gun. Not quite as good as you with the gun, though.”

Livia smiled wryly. “Does the person himself even know about his nickname?”

“Oh, yeah. And he loves it.” Julia grinned. “Probably.”

Livia had a few quick gulps of water and nocked an arrow again. She drew her bow. Her right arm was exhausted now, and her left arm was getting there. She had trouble keeping her aim steady. Her jaw clenched. This time, I’ll get it.

Her gaze was on the center of the target. She fired.

The arrow hit an inner ring—the red ring surrounding the bullseye.

“Yes!” she shouted. Then she sighed in relief. “Finally.”

Julia clapped. “Very nice shot.”

Livia’s hand reached into her quiver. There were no more arrows inside.

“Jeez, you want to keep going?”

“I’ll do just a few more.”

“Why?” Julia sighed. “Is it because you want to beat the Sharpshooter?”

“I don’t want to beat him. I know I’ll need months of practice to do that. I just need to get good enough that we’ll take second place in archery.”

“You sure want to get into the top-tier, huh.”

“120,000 dollars would do a lot for me.”

“Same here, but you really need some rest.”

“A bit later.”

Livia grabbed the huge ‘Do Not Shoot, Arrow Retrieval in Process’ sign leaning on the wall and put it where she’d stood. It wasn’t really necessary because Julia was there, but she preferred to be cautious. She jogged over to the target and pulled out her arrows.

Then she went back to where Julia stood, put the sign away, and continued practicing.

“You’re nuts, honestly,” Julia said. She sighed. “But your nutty motivation is infectious.”

She grabbed a bow and started practicing as well.

. . . .

Edgar punched the bag. Sweat dripped onto the floor.

I fucking need to win. He threw a hard cross. The impact sounded like a loud clap. The chains holding up the bag rattled. He followed up with a hook, an uppercut, and a knee.

He stepped back and took a few deep breaths.

I got this. I just need to stay focused. He shook his head and threw another punch.

Number one. Number one for sure. That fucking top spot is mine. He stepped forward and threw a low kick.

He was the only one at the kickboxing gym. His teammates were at the apartment. He guessed they were wasting time talking about nothing useful. Erwin was probably making some awful joke, and Marco was probably laughing at it like a moron.

Edgar had no hopes for the team competition. His teammates were eager to make $120,000 in their first year—who wasn’t?—but they weren’t putting in the work to get it. After Steele’s training, they said they were too tired to keep practicing. They were good enough to get into the top tier already, they said.

What a bunch of fucking losers. He threw a mid-kick at the bag. The timing of his impact didn’t line up with his hip rotation. The strike had little power. He gritted his teeth in frustration and tried again. Fuck those morons. You get nothing without effort. Nothing.

He continued to train for another twenty minutes, after which he was too exhausted to continue. He took off his gloves and put them on the glove rack. He used the can of disinfectant there, spraying into the gloves, and headed for the shower room.

. . . .

They had Thursday off.

A few of Raine’s teammates wanted to train their hearts out before the competition, but he stopped them.

“That ship has sailed, guys,” he said. “If you work out too hard now, you’ll risk getting injured. And even if you don’t, you won’t be able to perform at your best tomorrow if you’re sore as hell.”

“And one day of practice won’t make much of a difference,” Reo said. “If you want to do something for the competition, go study.”

Arnett groaned. “Fuck math.”

“Fuck physics,” Kayden said.

“Then study physiology,” Grant said. “It’s more interesting.”

“If I have to read another sentence about neurons, I’m going to slam my head on my desk,” Max said.

“Oh, I’ve already done that,” Vick said. “It sucked. I don’t recommend it.”

“I think I’m going to go lift some light weights at the gym for ten minutes,” Lukas said. “I just need to do something.”

“Nervous for the competition?” Raine asked.

“Yeah, and excited,” Lukas said with a grin.

Kayden and Arnett joined him. The rest stayed in the apartment and studied. Raine checked the time often. The day passed by slowly, almost torturously so. After dinner, they spent an hour discussing who should represent the team in each part of the competition.

. . . .

Raine was up at six, as was everyone else in his team. They had a light breakfast and prepared themselves mentally for the competition. They would leave a bit before nine for the first contest: archery.

Kayden seemed relaxed despite being the one they were relying on to win it. He sat on a beanbag and spoke with Arnett about the archery contest.

“We’re going to leave the other teams fucking speechless,” Arnett said.

“Damn right,” Kayden said. “Just make sure not to get distracted even if someone does better than expected.”

“Of course not. When I really put my mind to it, my focus is fantastic.”

Max drank juice in the kitchen. He was so nervous that he was spewing out words non-stop like a rapper. Lukas and Grant nodded their heads to his words, seemingly not paying much attention. They tried to calm him down.

Reo went outside to take a walk, while Vick took a nap and told the others to wake him up before the competition.

Raine went to the nearest corner store and grabbed some canned coffee.

This is the chance I lost when I got fired from Allison. Opportunity only comes knocking so many times. He drank his coffee. Come on. 120 grand. 120,000 fucking dollars. Let’s do this.

He finished his drink and threw the can into a bin. He went back to the Gilman Tower. His team’s level of nervousness inched up as the minutes went by. Max spilled juice. Lukas burnt his toast. Vick just slept.

Then, fifteen minutes before nine, his team left for the archery range.

They became part of a steady flow of people headed for it. Every team reached the archery range on time.

“When I say the name of your team,” Steele said, “one person from your team will step forward. Ten people will shoot at any one time. When they’re done, the next ten will shoot.”

She then said the name of each team. Arnett volunteered to go first. Kayden obliged.

June and Ava passed the first ten competitors their bows. They received ten arrows each.

The other new employees sat to the side, on bleachers. Many shouted words of encouragement to their teammates.

“Erwin, just breathe! You got this!” Marco shouted.

“Let’s get rich, Livia!” Julia said with a grin.

Raine watched Arnett take a deep breath and close his eyes. He looked calm.

“He doesn’t look nervous,” Vick said. “And that makes me wonder if he’s reached such a tremendous level of nervous that he’s reached the point of being unable to show it.”

“He should be fine,” Raine said with a wry smile.

Steele told those on the stands to shut up. “You will have three minutes to shoot,” she said to the ten competitors. There was a large digital clock mounted on the wall behind them, set to its timer mode. Steele wasted no time. “Begin in three.”

The ten participants took deep breaths. Some wore looks of determination, others ones of worry or nervousness.

“Two.”

Arnett opened his eyes and mumbled something to himself.

“One. Go.”

He pulled an arrow out of his quiver, nocked it, and fired.