The air in the African contingent's holding area was thick enough to choke on. The vote was cast. Now, the contestants waited, suspended in the agonizing silence of the elders' deliberation.
Snippets of heated discussion drifted from the sealed room where the adults debated—muffled words like "safety," "honor," and "sacrifice." The young fighters paced like caged leopards. Some vibrated with excited energy, imagining the glory. Others were pale with dread, the weight of representing an entire people already crushing their shoulders before the choice was even made. The fear of disappointment, of failure under that spotlight, was a tangible force.
Avenger watched his brothers and sisters, a deep frown etching his face. This isn't right, he thought, his mind clicking into analysis mode. Fear weakens the spirit. A nervous champion is a vulnerable champion. This tension will poison the vote itself. I need to break it. But how?
His eyes scanned the room, assessing. He identified five others who, like him, held a core of calm beneath the stress. Okonkwo was among them—a pillar of steady strength. Avenger moved.
He gathered them all into a circle. Without a word, he tapped his advanced smartwatch. A holographic table shimmered into existence between them, along with virtual decks of cards and piles of gleaming, light-based chips.
"30 chips each," Avenger declared, his voice cutting through the anxious murmur. He looked at each of his five friends, a mischievous glint in his eye. "So. Anyone here pussy ? Or can we get to playing?" He picked up a chip, flicked it high into the air, and caught it with a sharp snap. Lowering his voice to a theatrical, conspiratorial rasp, he added, "ohh baby I'm telling you… I feel the gods smiling on me today."
His competitors exchanged looks. A tall young woman with intricate braids spoke first, a sly smile playing on her lips. "What's the buy-in? What does the winner get?"
Avenger's smirk widened. "The losers owes the winner a favor. Anything they ask. Within the bounds of our customs, of course." He raised an eyebrow. "What do you all say?"
Okonkwo chuckled, a deep, rolling sound. "I'm in. But don't you all start crying when I clean you out!"
"Fuck that!"another boy barked, slamming a fist into his palm. "I'm the king here! You all better get ready to bow to me!"
With a round of fierce grins and nods, the game began. The slap of virtual cards, the clink of holographic chips, and Avenger's playful, relentless trash talk created a new, magnetic center in the room.
One by one, the other contestants drifted over. Nervous energy transformed into focused curiosity. Whispers turned into loud bets. "I've got 500 credits on Okonkwo!" "No way, the girl with the braids is bluffing him to the cleaners!" Cheers and groans erupted with each revealed hand. The specter of the pending selection was pushed back, replaced by the immediate, communal drama of the game.
The elders aware and watching everything, peeking from their chamber, saw the transformation. The sight of their young ones laughing, strategizing, and competing in harmless camaraderie softened their stern expressions. It reminded them of what they were fighting to preserve. It made their grim decision slightly easier to bear.
The game whittled down. Finally, it was just Avenger and Okonkwo staring each other down across the holographic felt. The entire contingent was ringed around them, breath held.
Avenger wore a devilish smile, needling his friend with every tick of the clock. "Scared, Ko'ko? I can smell the doubt from here. Your ancestors are begging you to fold."
Okonkwo's brow was beaded with sweat, torn between read and instinct. Avenger's poker face was impenetrable. Finally, with a roar of frustration, Okonkwo shoved his entire stack forward. "FUCK IT! A MAN DOESN'T BACK DOWN!" He slammed his cards down. "FULL HOUSE!"
The crowd gasped. It was a monstrous hand.
Avenger's smile didn't falter. It grew. Slowly, with agonizing drama, he pushed his own chips to the center. Then, he flipped his cards.
FOUR OF A KIND. KINGS.
The room exploded. A wave of sound—cheers, curses, laughter—washed over them. Okonkwo's jaw went slack, his eyes wide with incredulous respect. Avenger threw his head back and let out a roar of triumphant laughter, a gremlin crowned by sheer, audacious luck.
As the celebration peaked, the elders emerged. The lead matron approached, her expression unreadable. She looked at the holographic table, then at Avenger, still basking in his victory.
"I see you've won the game," she said, a faint, approving smile touching her lips.
Avenger, still kneeling by the table, looked up with his champion's grin. "Of course I won. The gods wouldn't allow their favorite child to be defeated."
The matron raised an eyebrow. "And will that luck follow you into the ring?"
"Absolutely," Avenger declared, chest swelling with pride.
Another elder, the veteran, stepped forward. He placed a heavy hand on Avenger's shoulder. "Good. He accepts. Congratulations, Avenger. The council has spoken. You are Africa's champion."
Avenger's smile was brilliant. "That's awesome! Thank y—"
The words died in his throat. His brain, lagging a critical half-second behind, finally processed the sentence.
The smile froze. The celebratory light in his eyes flickered and shattered into pure, unadulterated shock.
"...Wait." His voice was a hollow rasp. He looked from the elder's solemn face to Okonkwo's suddenly understanding one, then back. "WAIT,What did you just say?"