—Ah, look at the time —Rachel exclaimed, checking her system carefully. Then she turned to me. Her face, usually full of determination and fighting spirit, suddenly softened into the gentle, lovestruck expression of a maiden.
—Tris… I have to go, I have a date. —Her voice trembled slightly, but her smile was so radiant, warm, and sincere it could have moved anyone. She extended her hands and took mine for a proper farewell—. It was truly a pleasure competing by your side, Tris. I hope we'll have another chance in the future.
—Likewise, Rachel. Best of luck.
—Of course I'll do wonderfully. After all, I'm going out with the best. If the Nexo allows it, we'll see each other again.
She said this before running off toward the second floor.
Watching her figure fade away made my heart pound. The golden image of her hair disappeared beyond the silver wall, but her face, her expressions, even the tone of her voice brought me back to her…
—Ale… —I let out, disheartened—. I think I really am Tristan, and you are my Isolde.
Gazing at the starlit overlook that opened onto a festival of lights and fountains, I remembered my beloved—the person who had been my silent support since high school.
We had been close since those years, sharing books, classes, laughter, and experiences. Both our parents and our friends always said we made "a cute couple," but I would always reply:
—I don't see her as a potential partner.
And genuinely, back then, that was true. Though sometimes I doubted my own words; maybe some of my teenage insecurities never let me take the next step.
In the end, there was no point in debating it when a friend became her boyfriend. There was nothing to do but accept it, believing it was for the best. I didn't even have to change our relationship afterward: we remained close friends. We always kept in touch, chatting and sharing small details of our lives, but nothing more.
During that time I tried dating other girls, but none filled the space she occupied. The relationships fizzled out quickly—not because they were bad girls, but because I was a terrible boyfriend and got bored easily.
Time passed, and Ale's relationship ended. The reasons behind the breakup were personal and typical of adolescence; she only said what she felt:
—We didn't really click, that's all.
For a while we kept the same relationship as always, but as the months went by, we grew closer again. I truly valued—and above all enjoyed—her company.
With time, people's comments began to plant impossible ideas, that classic thought:
"What if she actually feels something for me…?"
But I shut those fantasies down, convincing myself that Ale didn't want a relationship with anyone. In fact, that's what she said. I was just a friend to spend time with and share hobbies.
Eventually, after years, I could no longer ignore my emotions: I was truly in love with Ale. We were around twenty-three years old then. I made the effort and shed the shyness that had held me back throughout my adolescence.
On one of our classic movie dates, surrounded by popcorn, soda, and nervous laughter, the first kiss happened.
Brief, awkward, sweet—full of restrained emotions.
That moment marked the beginning of something new. We decided to cross the line without naming what we had; to us, we were still friends, just a little more special than usual, leaving room for the connection to develop naturally.
We respected each other and enjoyed one another's company, always open to the possibility of something more.
And after a few months of mutual exploration and small tests of affection, under the dim lights of a homemade dinner I had prepared, it was Ale who took the initiative, with the firmness and sincerity that defined her:
—I want something serious. If you don't feel the same way about me, tell me.
Beyond the initial surprise—I mean, she had always sworn she didn't want a formal relationship—I accepted happily.
From that day on, our relationship solidified, though I felt a certain guilt: it always seemed like she was the one taking the important steps, while I moved forward timidly.
Those fears led me to confront the friend who had once dated her. Tense and expecting some backlash, I apologized for being with Ale, but he, showing how little he cared anymore, simply said:
—Buddy, we dated for a year or two when we were fifteen. It's been almost ten years since then. I'm long over it. Be happy.
Those words lifted a huge weight off my shoulders, and from then on I tried to live up to my beloved. Though I never stopped feeling like a failure in other aspects: average jobs, trouble standing out, unattainable dreams.
Everything felt degrading and depressing. The only constant positives were always Ale and my father, who never judged me and always supported me.
And just when the world was finally starting to smile at me, fate spat in my face.
Rachel was identical to her. To Ale. The resemblance was shocking: the same golden hair, the same intense, determined gaze, fine and delicate features, a small face and large, bright eyes. The only difference was that Rachel was perhaps a little taller.
Every gesture of the warrior evoked the warmth and closeness of my beloved. Without realizing it, holding my own chin, I let out a sigh. I wished with all my strength to see her again.
—I don't know how long it will take, Ale. No matter what, I promise… no, I swear… I'll reach the top and come back to your side. Just wait for me.
My speech was interrupted by a small voice I recognized.
—You sound very sweet.
Beside me, a nearly cartoonish little man clung to the table to greet me.
—Hello, kid. Do you remember me?
—Emperor!
It was none other than Napoleon, dressed casually in a white shirt and blue shorts, smiling cheerfully with a cup of tea in his hand.
—I see you're in better spirits, boy. That makes me glad. A lady always brightens a man's heart.
—It's not what you think… Let's just say I remembered why I want to reach the top of the Nexo.
—I envy you —he replied, pressing the buttons on the table until a ration appeared—. Want some?
—No, thanks. I'm not hungry, and besides, it smells… "exotic."
—No one ever is, but eating makes me feel a bit more… let's say… alive.
—And you? How are you holding up about your general? And all that.
—Water under the bridge. I'll always remember Drouot, just like all the others who fought by my side. In fact, my boys shouldn't be far from here.
—I'm glad you have people with you.
—We all need them. And I've got the most loyal bastards a Frenchman could ask for. But now that I think about it, I came looking for you for a reason. Do you remember that bearded friend of yours?
I felt an icy chill run down my spine as I recalled the last time I'd seen Paul.
—Of course.
—Well, you have a very sick friend. He deliberately lost a couple of rounds ago.
—What!?
—Don't worry, he had enough to come back. The problem is why he did it…
Napoleon grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the Connector.
Right there in the front row, flashing in fluorescent red letters:
[ELIMINATED FROM THE SYSTEM: SIMÓN BOLÍVAR]
My eyes went wide. A cold sweat ran down my forehead and my legs gave out, leaving me on the verge of collapsing.
To make matters worse, victorious in the trial of Gemini, advancing toward us with his chest held high—
Paul.
I wanted to run to him. I wanted to ask what had happened, why Bolívar had died. But Napoleon stopped me.
—Stop, boy. I recognize that look anywhere.
Paul advanced with a grim expression, his march firm, the axe over his shoulder. There was no trace of his contagious smile.
—Paul… what happened…?
The first move was his.
—Don't move, traitor!