The words still hung in the air, echoing in my mind over and over like a malfunctioning transmission.
The position of Astronaut...
And then a name that wasn't mine.
It didn't make sense.
Despite all the bravado that I put forward and the panic I had underneath, I truly thought that I was going to be chosen, be selected. I had walked into this competition thinking that I was beyond every other competitor here. I had told them as much. And yet, here I was, seated in silence, staring at an outcome I had never even considered.
I heard a chair scrape against the floor. The person who had actually won stood up—slowly, hesitantly, like they themselves didn't believe it. Even they looked toward me with uncertainty, as if waiting for me to argue, to demand an explanation, to do something.
Elliot, for once, had no words either. He simply turned and walked out of the room, his posture stiff.
Around me, the other competitors started murmuring as they filed out, their voices a mix of hushed disbelief and barely concealed satisfaction. Some of them wore smirks, their eyes glinting with the self-satisfaction of having their doubts confirmed. To them, this was proof that I had been nothing more than a fraud—a man who talked a big game but ultimately couldn't deliver. A few even muttered snide remarks under their breath as they passed, just loud enough for me to hear.
"Guess all that confidence was just for show."
"Knew it. No way someone like him was the real deal."
"Figures. A man claiming to be better than Mr. Fox and Mr. Dust? He was never going to win."
Others, though, had a different reaction. The ones who had watched me, who had seen the way I worked, who had witnessed the precision and speed I had displayed—they didn't look at me with ridicule. Instead, their gazes carried something closer to curiosity. Confusion. Even a touch of regret, as if they themselves didn't quite understand why I hadn't been chosen.
A few of them stopped as they walked by, giving me a firm pat on the back, their touches brief but genuine.
"You did good, man. No shame in that."
"That was insane, honestly. Thought for sure it was yours."
"Hey, this isn't the end, right?"
I didn't answer. I just nodded once, my face unreadable beneath the mask.
The voices gradually faded as more and more people left, the footsteps growing distant until, at last, silence settled over the room.
And in the end, only two of us remained. Me and the A-Rank Judge.
She was standing at the far side of the room, collecting her things, flipping through the last of her notes before she, too, could leave.
My movements were slow, deliberate. I wasn't sure why, but something about the way I moved felt different. Heavier.
She must have heard my approach, but she didn't look up until I spoke.
"Did I mess up the mechanics portion?" My voice was calm. Steady. Too steady.
She glanced at me, arching a brow. "No."
She shut her notebook, tucking it under her arm. "The machine you built was perfect. No errors. No flaws. It met every requirement of the test."
I frowned. "Then why wasn't I chosen?"
She looked at me, finally giving me her full attention.
"Because you relied on luck."
I felt something tighten in my chest.
"The simple fact that you didn't even know if your machine was good or not is the equivalent of receiving a zero." She stepped closer, her expression unreadable. "Let me ask you this—who would you rather have in charge of repairing the life support system of your spacecraft during an emergency? Someone who knows how to do it, or someone who gets lucky once?"
Under the mask, I opened my mouth, then closed it.
She continued. "Or let's say they get lucky twice. Three times. Even a hundred times. Does that change the fact that they don't actually understand what they're doing? Because luck runs out. And when it does, people die."
Her words cut deeper than I expected.
For every challenge that came my way, I was simply adapting. Figuring things out in the moment. Relying on my skills, my instincts, my ability to overcome any situation, no matter how impossible it seemed.
This wasn't about overcoming.
This was about mastery.
She turned away, grabbing her bag. "The official NASA hiring process is in one month. Everything you did here was just for reference—to see who had a real chance of making it through. Right now?" She glanced over her shoulder. "You don't."
The words hit me harder than they should have.
"But," she continued, already heading for the exit, "perhaps in a month, that could change."
And then she was gone.
I stood there, motionless.
I had always been arrogant in my abilities. Always assumed that if I just tried, I would win. And in fairness, that had almost always been true. But here? I had faced something I couldn't fake my way through.
Slowly, my hands clenched into fists.
That wasn't going to happen again.
I turned on my heel, striding out of the competition room, my mind already calculating.
I needed knowledge. Real knowledge.
The best place to start? The very library that I was in.
I walked straight toward the nearest section dedicated to aerospace and mechanical engineering. My fingers ran across the spines of books, my mind sorting through titles, picking out anything that seemed remotely relevant. Astrophysics. Spacecraft engineering. Orbital mechanics. Robotics. Radiation exposure. Gravity simulations. Anything and everything related to space.
By the time I was done, I had an entire tower of books in my arms.
I marched to the front desk, barely noticing the receptionist stiffen at the sight of my mask.
For a moment, she just stared.
"...S-Sir?" she finally stammered.
"Ring these up," I said flatly, setting the stack down.
She fumbled for a moment, then hurriedly started scanning the books, clearly trying not to look directly at me. I didn't care. My mind was already elsewhere.
That was all the time I had.
I would read every page. Absorb every formula. Understand every concept.
Because Mr. Angel would never lose again.