34. The Nth Reintigration

Bracket Visual

The seeding stayed on the board for about an hour, and during that time, the mess hall orbited around it. Swathes of kids moving around, poking and watching it.

I watched from our table as recruits cycled past the display, tracing brackets, running mental matchups, arguing about who belonged where.

“Third, huh?” Sato said, staring at the board from across the mess hall. “Jin at the third seed. all the way above the rest of us, even Marcus. That’s not bad.”

“The algorithm weighted the combined performance across phase one and two,” Park said, “Jin’s phase one contribution was exceptional. Eliminations in all three squad matches and then in all the duo matches.”

“There were plenty that had similar results; there must be an extra mechanism in there somewhere,” Tomás added. “That’s our Jin, always at the front.”

I looked at Jin. She was eating paste and pretending the conversation was happening to someone else. But the tips of her ears had gone red.

“So the seeds determine the fights?” Hsu said, “Higher seeds get a favourable bracket path?”

“Correct, the first two rounds are against lower seeds,” Park confirmed. “Jin’s likely facing opponents in the low twenties until the quarter-finals. After that, the bracket converges, and it gets real.”

“So she gets to coast to the quarters?” Sato asked.

“I don’t coast,” Jin said without looking up.

“You literally sprint everywhere. That’s the opposite of coasting.” I added.

“Your point is stupid.” She shot back.

“What? It makes perfect sense.”

She scowled at me.

“What about our boy Marcus?” Sato continued, jerking a thumb at me. “Fifth seed. Still behind Dayo.”

“The algorithm rewards consistency,” Tomás said. “Marcus’s phase one was strong, but the paired combat had a wobble.”

“Was more than a wobble,” Jin shot.

“I had an important realisation during that fight,” I defended.

“You had an existential crisis while someone was trying to break your ribs.”

“Yeah, only because you asked me an existential question!”

“The bracket path is the interesting part,” Park said, ignoring the bickering. “Marcus is on Osei’s side. His first match is against Zhao. Around mid-thirties with what we suspect is a reflex enhancement deviation. Winnable if the reads are sharp. But if he gets past that, the round of sixteen puts him against Dayo.”

“Another stat check fight,” Hsu said.

“Except this time without Jin beside him,” Tomás added.

“You reckon you’ll push his jaw more than a couple of centimetres this time?” Sato said playfully.

“Thanks for the reminder,” I said.

“And if he somehow gets past Dayo, the quarter-final is Osei.” Park set his datapad down. “The bracket isn’t kind to the fifth seed.”

“What about Sato?” I asked, steering the conversation away from my impending doom. “Seed thirty-one. First match against Miller.”

Sato groaned. “I saw.” He rubbed his face. “I’m going to get folded in half.”

“Maybe you can get around it with your southpaw style and—” Park started.

“Park. The man is nearly Level 40. My style could politely introduce themselves before he puts me through the floor.”

“Well, someone had to introduce you— it was about time.” Jin poked.

“Hey, Mr. Floor, I’m Resident Douchebag. Hey, resident douchebag, I’m Mr. Floor. Have you met my friend Mr. Caved-In-Skull?” Hsu started.

Stolen story; please report.

Sato slammed his forehead into the table while the group laughed in unison. “I’m so boned, aren’t I?”

“Yup! If I were you, I’d fake my death and elope with Mr. Floor.” Andrew joked.

I smiled as I watched the group. This was the most relaxed I’d seen them in a while. It felt like home.

The bracket display flickered, tearing our attention away from the conversation.