Lisa couldn’t go with him, but she could at least be in the family dome, which she would be visiting anyway since her son, Chris, had been selected by his school last month to compete. It would be his first time, and she wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Pride, anxiety, and a nagging sense of unease all tangled together in her mind. Had someone been pulling strings behind the scenes to get him in?

Meanwhile, all competitors were required to report to the competition dome. As she watched Null depart, she felt a knot of worry tighten in her chest.

The Youth Soldier Competition had been a staple of military training for decades, a proving ground for the next generation of leaders, strategists, and warriors. Each year, thousands of young candidates gathered on Mars, eager to prove themselves in the month-long challenge.

This year was no different.

A sea of cadets in their faction's matching uniforms flooded the registration halls of the Training Grounds, the competition’s largest venue. They moved in organized lines, biometric scanners processing each entrant with mechanical precision.

Then, Null arrived.

His mismatched outfit was a simple, nondescript jacket and boots that stood out against the clean-cut military students surrounding him. His platinum-white hair and unnaturally smooth movements drew a few glances, but most cadets were too focused on their own registration to pay attention.

He stepped up to the verification terminal, placing his hand on the scanner. The machine hummed, running his biometric signature against the registry.

For a brief moment, Lisa’s warnings played in his mind.

You are technically a wanted fugitive. Don’t draw attention. Blend in.

Then, the scanner beeped.

“Identity confirmed: Null. Age: 10. Assigned bracket: Junior Division.”

The security officer manning the terminal barely looked at him. “Welcome to the Youth Soldier Competition. Proceed to the orientation area.”

Null nodded, stepping past the checkpoint just as a bright-eyed young woman in an officer’s uniform intercepted him.

“Cadet Null?” she asked, reading his name off her holopad. She had the polished, professional demeanour of someone who had done this a thousand times before.

Null turned on the high-tech communicator attached to his belt. “That’s me,” he said, his voice coming through the device instead of directly from him.

The guide’s smile faltered for just a moment, curiosity flickering across her face. “Oh—” She recovered quickly. “I’ll be your guide for the orientation. First time competing?”

Null nodded

“Alright then, let me walk you through it.”

She led him through a wide training hall, where massive holo-displays projected footage from past competitions with clips of cadets dodging through simulated battlefields, rappelling down rocky cliffs, and maneuvering through zero-gravity environments.

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“The competition lasts one month and consists of four rounds. First up is qualifying—you’ll be tested on your individual skills and undergo a psychological evaluation to ensure you’re fit for competition. Your performance in this round will influence your team assignment for the next stage.”

Null glanced up at the holo-footage of past cadets running obstacle courses, performing marksmanship drills, and engaging in hand-to-hand combat. “What happens after qualifying?”

His guide motioned to another holo-screen, which showed teams of cadets trekking across Mars’ surface in survival gear.

“Round two is the Team Survival Challenge. You will be assigned to a team of five based on your qualifying performance and dropped in an unknown location outside Mars’ protective domes. You’ll be given minimal equipment and tasked with making it back to base. Expect environmental hazards, simulated enemy encounters, and… well, let’s just say it’s not for the faint of heart.”

Null watched as a group of cadets struggled against a Martian dust storm, barely visible through the violent red haze. “And after that?”

She swiped her holopad, shifting the display to tactical combat missions.

“Round three is the Mock Mission Simulation. Your team will be assigned a mission objective, like a hostage rescue or infiltration op. It’ll test your ability to plan, adapt, and execute under pressure.”

Null watched as past competitors breached buildings, set ambushes, and worked in formation.

“And the final round?”

Her expression turned amused.

“A free-for-all battle. All teams, all competitors, one battlefield. Last squad standing wins.”

Null’s lips curled into a small smirk.

The guide tapped her holopad. “Before you’re assigned a squad, you need to select your primary and secondary role. Each team has five positions. You’ll need to pick two before qualifying begins as your test will be based on your choice.”

She gestured to a large holo-board listing the roles:

1. Squad Leader – Responsible for team strategy, communication with judges/command, and making critical decisions under pressure.

2. Combat Specialist – The primary fighter focused on direct engagement scenarios.

3. Tactical Support – A secondary combat role specializing in flanking, sniping, or defensive positions.

4. Technical Specialist – Handles communications, electronic warfare, hacking challenges, and sensor operations.

5. Combat Engineer – Manages equipment, constructs defences, handles explosives, and performs field repairs.

Null studied the list. He had trained in all aspects of combat, but he wasn’t sure what would give him the best advantage in an actual fight.

The guide raised an eyebrow. “Any idea what suits you best?”

Null thought back to his spars with John. He was faster and stronger even more skilled than most—but he had lacked real-world experience.

Lisa had been right. He needed to learn, to adapt and for that, he needed to be in the action.

“Combat Specialist as primary and Tactical Support as secondary.”

The guide nodded. “Good choice. Let’s see if you can live up to it.”

She motioned him toward a line of cadets waiting for their final briefing.

“You’re officially in. Welcome to the competition, Cadet Null.”

The first part of the qualifying round wasn’t much of a challenge. Null had been through far tougher training in his pod. Scores weren’t displayed, but he had breezed through every test, barely exerting himself. He had hoped it would be harder.

As he stepped off the final platform, an instructor approached, arms crossed, eyes scanning a holopad. “Cadet Null,” he said, glancing up. “Your performance is… unusual.”

Null tilted his head. “How so?”

The instructor studied him for a moment before tapping a command into the holopad. “You’ve clearly outgrown the junior course. We’re moving you up to the senior track if you are ok with that?”

Null shrugged. The instructor took that as approval.

Minutes later, he was dropped into the senior qualification course, a test meant for competitors with years more experience. He welcomed the challenge but only to find it wasn’t much of one. The obstacles were tougher, the simulations more intense, but his training still carried him through with ease. He moved with precision, clearing each section faster than expected.

By the end, the instructors weren’t just watching. They were whispering.

Null exhaled, barely winded. Still too easy.