POV Seth

“You’re not bothered by losing your sponsors,” the therapist said. There was an underlying threat in that statement. Seth bristled. He knew she must provide reports to her superiors as a matter of course. On some level, he suspected his sponsors must receive her reports as well, though he wasn’t certain of who they were. Was it possible she knew?

A central pool managed sponsorship applications. Sponsors select candidates from the pool based on their preferred criterion. For example, it wasn’t uncommon for a community to sponsor one of their own with the understanding that the student would return to the sponsored community upon completion of their tour.

Some students had multiple offers to choose from. More offers meant more room for negotiations. Seth only had the one offer, and at no point did they discuss what he’d have to do for them in return. A slight oversight, but given his desperation, he did what he had to.

‘… and still managed to not murder anyone,’ he added to himself.

Without his sponsor, he’d likely be enduring his father’s wrath.

He doubted his sponsor would drop him, but despite his confidence, the possibility existed. If Doctor Margaret Yan got her way, he could not afford his final year at the Council’s Academy. He would not ask, let alone beg his father for the funds, any more than he’d beg for his exemption.

“My sponsors are demanding,” Seth replied with a non-answer.

“So demanding that one of their requirements was to join the games in your first year.”

A squad investing in a first-year student was not unheard of, but terribly unlikely. The bulk of the student population were first-year students whose parents could afford at least one year of education at the Academy. Every year saw a systemic increase in tuition fees in all three branches of education. The vast majority of the first-years were not returning for their second year.

The Academy’s notoriety was such, that any time spent studying there was a boon to the students. The longer they spent at the Academy, the better the returns. It didn’t matter that most graduating students were from the wealthier families. Sponsorship had a habit of failing to keep-up with tuition, or the students themselves found the strain of constant excellence too much. Though Seth had asked about his sponsor’s ability to cover his tuition for the duration of his student career, he knew the answer didn’t matter. He’d take what they offered, having no other reasonable option.

“Joining was a requirement,” Seth acknowledged with indifference. ‘Technically…’

He had been approached through correspondence, a tricky endeavor because his father monitored every scrap of paper that so much as crossed Seth’s line of vision. Secondary accounts under pseudonyms weren’t a possibility unless he could gain a whole new identity. Every conversation in public, every piece of digital garbage he produced, every article he read, it all tied back to his personal ID. Until he turned eighteen, that ID was completely accessible by his father.

In his application, he had mentioned that his father did not approve of the sponsor program. He had even clarified that his father did not approve of the school, nor would he pay for the education. It wasn’t exactly an uncommon problem. Some parents took issue with the Council and their academy. His father was a well-known Regime supporter. Seth suspected that had some bearing over his application.

When Seth failed to respond to the correspondence that his father had deleted, his personal coordinator made a house call, much to his own personal risk. Mallik Wright was not one to be taken lightly, especially in regards to Seth’s predetermined future.

Whatever was said between those two men, Seth had never learned. Later that evening, Seth had met with an elderly gentleman, and together they devised a plan that aligned with his goals. At that time, he was fixated on needing to join the games to maximize his chances of survival, so when he tried to impose a do-or-die clause about winning each Championship game, the old man smiled, chuckled and said: “I wish my own sons had that sort of ambition, but it would do you a great disservice, my boy, if I let you make such an ill-advised clause.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

The old man had explained that being part of a squad meant that there were a lot of moving pieces; at least twelve people who may or may not see the games in the same light he did. There were many who coasted on the reputation of being a player, yet never took part in the training or the games. Others, given the right incentive, may intentionally sabotage their teams’ efforts. There was no way to control those factors, especially in his first year.

In his first and second year, he had agreed to work odd-jobs to pay for his equipment and for repairs. After some shared insight on the war, Seth agreed with his coordinator that learning how to maintain and build his own gear would be an asset. It was something that he could control outside of team dynamics.

When he had unexpectedly won the captain’s seat in his second year, his personal coordinator requested a meeting to revise the next phase of his duties. Given the magnitude of the change in responsibilities, Seth agreed he could use all the help he could get in learning how to manage his squad. With his coordinator’s help, he was put in touch with a handful of working veterans who helped him design a training regime. Two, in fact. One personal regime, which could be shared if his team showed interest, but otherwise, the second regime focused on running team drills and developing key skills needed within the context of the games.

But that was as far as their help went. He chose his squad members when the opportunity presented itself. It was on him to show his sponsors what he could do in a leadership role.

He had been so grateful for the sponsor's specialized program; he hadn’t considered what was in it for them. Even now, he wasn’t sure that he cared.

“You’re sure that your lack of cooperation here is the best way to impress your sponsors.”

She was tugging at that string really hard.

“You don’t know who my sponsors are, do you? I have to wonder who you have been sending reports to.”

“At the end of your term, who will you be working for?”

It was typical that a sponsored student, should they survive their tour, would go to work in an indentured position for a predetermined period of up-to four years. But she didn’t know who had sponsored him, anymore than he did.

He’d be able to point out his coordinator if he saw him in the street. So far, his search to answer the same question hadn’t turned up anyone he’d recognized. Not that he had anything to go by beyond the old man’s first name.

His personal coordinator had stated that he was acting as a representative for his sponsor, and that said sponsor was a collection of people whose involvement varied, but mostly financed the program as a means to collect a massive tax write-off.

Seth’s personal coordinator was an employee of an early development program, intended for gifted children. Seth was smart, but he didn’t consider himself gifted, although sometimes… given the base level of intelligence he bore witness to on the daily. The bar couldn’t possibly be set that low… could it?

The development program was a side project that was part of a larger firm who took contracts from other firms, who subcontracted work from more firms. Let’s just say, it seemed to Seth that there were a lot of organizations designed to palm off work instead of actually doing the work, which led to a lot of business bureaucracy where people did a lot of talking but not a lot of doing. The old man had been rather pleased that by the time they caught onto his pet project, Seth would have returned from the war, married, and should be on his third child, and no doubt representing the effectiveness of the early development program.

“Your pet project?” Seth had the mental capacity to ask.

“Of course,” the old man smiled, “it’s a tremendous opportunity to influence the course of such a promising young man.” The old man had explained that the project could have gone to anyone, but it had landed on his desk, and he cared very much about what Seth would do with the opportunities offered to him. To Seth’s coordinator, he was more than a series of statistics. He wasn’t just data points to get shoved into some massive life matrix. To the old man, he was someone worth betting on. It had meant the world to Seth that his path could be his own choosing, instead of whatever his father had dictated.

Now, when he thought about his sponsors, he only thought about that old man. He would never disappoint him. Granted, the way Seth spoke to doctor Yan would no doubt cause the old man to give him a shake of his head.

In the end, Seth had never learned who exactly his sponsors were, or to what degree they really cared.

Seth smiled at the therapist, knowing she couldn’t possibly know, let alone do anything about it. But now that she mentioned it, he was likely going to meet with his coordinator after term to discuss not only his final year, but this total embarrassment involving the good doctor.

“You’re confident that our discussion will have no bearing on their continued support.”

“Of course, it’ll have a bearing. But I trust the people reviewing our discussion would appreciate the full context. I hope I will be given the opportunity to plead my case with them directly,” Seth replied, looking forward to speaking with the old man.

She shook her head as she made a few more notes on her tablet. “No one communicates directly with their sponsors. Your expectations speak to a level of entitlement.”

Was it entitlement? His coordinator had set a precedent for open communication. However, she may be right in that his sponsors are not the co-ordinator and may not be as accommodating.

“Noted,” Seth relented.