The crowd erupts. A deafening wave of cheers, applause, and frenzied chanting swallows the arena, vibrating through the dirt beneath her feet. But Rebecca barely hears it. Her body feels light, distant. Like she’s standing outside herself, watching someone else bask in victory. She drops to her knees. Not from exhaustion—she can't allow it to herself yet—but because the wooden sparrow is there, half-buried in the dirt. She reaches for it.

  Then she catches a glint of light. Something near Contestant 1’s limp body. She hesitates, then shifts direction. It’s his phone. It lies just beyond his outstretched hand, the screen cracked but on, probably by accident, showing the background picture of Contestant 1’s family—his wife and two children, a boy and a girl.

  The clamor around her explodes all at once, right in her ear, as the hosts call her number. Their voices thunder through the amplifiers, catching the audience’s attention. No one is looking at her. They’re looking at the screens, at the spectacle. The cameras zoom in on the audience.

  Rebecca snatches the phone, quick and silently, and shoves it deep into her pocket. She looks around, no one seems to have noticed it. She exhales, steadying herself, and reaches again for the bird.

  Too late. The spider drones are already closing in, restraints at the ready.

  "Ladies and gentlemen! What a fight!" The male host’s voice soars over the chaos, dripping with theatrical excitement.

  The female host steps forward. "Contestant 42, you’ve given us a night to remember!"

  The platform descends from above, sliding into place. Rebecca forces herself to stand. She steps on the platform and it rises instantly. She watches the arena shrink beneath her, the bloodstained dirt, the fallen body… and the sparrow. Still lying there. Still waiting.

  She peeks over the edge of the platform, pressing her weight into her heels. It’s gone. She let it go.

  “And that, ladies and gentlemen, concludes tonight’s unforgettable battle!”

  The male host’s voice sounds louder from where she stands, still dripping with excitement.

  “What a performance from Contestant 42! Let’s hope we get something even better tomorrow—same time, same place—with more Live! Until then, goodnight!”

  The arena lights dim, and the broadcast cuts to black. Rebecca steps through the entrance to the common room. She barely notices the change in atmosphere before arms wrap around her. Lena. Her grip is tight and warm. Real.

  "I’m so happy you won." Her voice shakes slightly, and Rebecca feels her own body go rigid.

  She’s been here before. Not physically. But watching. How many times had she seen this exact moment? A contestant stepping back inside, carrying the weight of victory while the others gather around them, cheering, embracing, congratulating. Now, somehow, she’s the one receiving the congratulations.

  She won. The thought barely sinks in before another set of arms pulls her in. The shiny black curls blurring her vision let her know this time it’s Vanessa. Rebecca stiffens. Surprised. She hadn’t expected this from her. But she doesn’t pull away. She lets it happen.

  At least until her stomach turns. Violently. She jerks out of Vanessa’s embrace, barely pivoting in time before her body betrays her. Her stomach heaves. She vomits. The crowd around her steps back—almost in sync. Her victory doesn’t feel like a big deal anymore. Not when she’s covered in vomit.

  Rebecca coughs, gasping for breath, her body trembling from exhaustion. The room begins to empty, But Lena and Vanessa stay with her.

  "Are you okay?" Lena asks.

  "I’m exhausted." Rebecca’s voice is barely there.

  Her torso feels unbearably heavy. With one arm around Lena and the other draped over Vanessa’s neck, they guide her back to her room. The moment her head hits the pillow—she’s gone.

  She wakes with the first rays of light. The scent of blood and dirt filters into her dreams, pulling her back to reality. It takes a few seconds to remember why she stinks. Then, it hits her. The battle. Contestant 1’s death. The bird. Reese.

  Getting up doesn’t feel like an option, but staying in bed isn’t one either. She drags herself toward her private bathroom and steps into the shower. The water washes away the odor and the dark stains—but not the memories. Not the fear of having to live through it all over again, if they pick her.

  She wraps a towel around her body and heads back to her room. The moment she steps inside, she gasps. Reese is sitting on the edge of her bed, arms resting on his knees, head down. He must have heard her, but he doesn’t look up.

  Why won’t he look at her?

  "Reese." Rebecca breathes out his name.

  Only then does he lift his head. Their gazes meet. He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t frown. Doesn’t reveal a single thing going on inside his mind. He just looks at her.

  Rebecca feels the impulse to throw herself into his arms. But she’s too scared. Scared that he’ll reject her. After everything that’s happened, she can’t handle that too. So, neither of them speak.

  Then, after a few stretched seconds, Reese sighs. He stands, closes the distance, and pulls her into a hug. It’s gentle, careful. Not passionate—but relieved. Like Lena’s embrace after the fight, only more restrained.

  Finally, he speaks. "You really killed it last night."

  "You watched it?" Rebecca asks.

  Reese nods. “They made me.”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  "So, you’re not mad at me?"

  As if she had shocked him with live wires, Reese abruptly breaks the embrace. He doesn’t shove her, but he pushes her back just enough that she stumbles. His eyes harden.

  "Are you kidding me?" His voice is sharp, cold. "I’m happy you’re alive, but I’m fucking pissed, Rebecca. What is this—Ruin Your Life: The Sequel?"

  Rebecca gasps, her hands securing the towel around her chest. His words cut deep, like daggers straight to her heart.

  He must see it on her face, because almost immediately, he softens.

  "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that." His voice drops, but the anger still simmers beneath. "I just don’t fucking understand, Rebecca. How could you do something like that?"

  Rebecca’s throat tightens. She lowers her head. "I’m sorry."

  "Fuck that!"

  "But I am. I’m so sorry."

  "Give me a fucking answer, Rebecca. What the hell were you thinking?”

  Her words barely make it out. "I was desperate. I couldn’t watch you kill yourself little by little and, on top of it all, be the cause of it."

  Reese laughs, bitterly.

  "What a waste, then. I’m not killing myself, Rebecca." His voice is controlled, but there’s something dangerous underneath. "You know I’m always healed by the time I wake up. You’ve seen it." He steps closer. "I know I can win this. And you know it too. So, cut the crap and tell me. Why did you do it?”

  Rebecca swallows hard. "You were bleeding that night, in your sleep. Do you have any idea how scared that made me?”

  “Enough to run into some asshole’s bed, I suppose.”

  “I asked you to stop but you insisted that you wanted to keep fighting for me.”

  “I needed you to support me, Rebecca. Have faith in me, not make me stop.”

  Rebecca freezes for a second. “You were dying. I didn’t know if you’d be able to take another battle. I still don’t know.”

  “You’re not listening to me.”

  “I don’t want you to die. I want you to win."

  “And you know what I want.”

  “That won’t happen, Reese.”

  Reese inhales, shakes his head, bites his lip, and flicks a glance at her phone lying at the foot of her bed. There’s so much he wants to say, but he can’t.

  Rebecca takes a step further and places a hand on his chest. "See? We can't even talk to each other.” She sighs. “We have to accept where we are and what to expect. And out of all the possibilities, I’d be happy if you won."

  Silence. A heavy, suffocating silence.

  Reese grabs her by the shoulders and pushes her back, slightly. Enough for their gazes to meet.

  “Are you telling me you give up?"

  His eyes shine. He doesn’t blink.

  Rebecca frowns. It’s not Contestant 1 or what she did what’s really bothering him. It’s something else, but she can’t tell what.

  "I don’t know. But I do know you were always meant to win. It’s your victory. I would probably already be gone if it weren’t for you."

  “Bullshit. The way you fought last night, you could win this with or without me. I’m choosing to do it because I don’t want to give those pricks the chance to change you.”

  “And then it’ll be you who gives up. We’ll never make it together.”

  Reese lets go of her arms and takes a step back.

  “What makes you say that?”

  Rebecca sighs. She also drifts her eyes to her phone. She isn’t supposed to tell him, but she can’t hold it in anymore. And after that display in the corridor—after being humiliated in front of everyone for what she did—she is sure of one thing. The show doesn’t care whether she tells Reese the truth or not. It wouldn’t change a damn thing.

  Still, she hesitates. "Do you have time? It’s kind of a long story."

  Reese doesn’t blink. "Not really. I’m hungry."

  "I’ll be brief."

  "Okay, what is it?" Reese’s voice cracks. It’s almost imperceptible, but to Rebecca, it screams out loud.

  "I need to sit down," she says. The wet towel immediately leaves a stain on the cover. Her hair drips down her back.

  Reese bends his knees and squats right in front of her, their faces meeting at the same level. He looks deep into her eyes—not lovingly, but to keep her from escaping this moment. To stop her from trying to evade the truth.

  Rebecca swallows. "That day, in the nurse’s office, something happened. Something I didn’t tell you."

  Reese doesn’t speak. But his body goes rigid. He’s listening.

  Rebecca clasps her hands together. “I turned on the computer. I used your friend’s USB drive. But all I found were graphics and numbers. I didn’t understand any of it.” She pauses to collect her thoughts. “Then I got a video call. It popped up on the screen. I only answered because I got a message from you saying that I should. I know now it wasn’t you who sent the message, but back then I really thought it was.”

  Reese rubs a hand over his face. "I’m not following."

  "That day, I talked to a woman. Anya. She said she was the manager of Viewer Satisfaction, or something like that. She works for Live. And she told me everything." Rebecca meets his gaze, with caution. "She’s the one that told me they’ve been listening to us this whole time through our phones. She told me about your contract with Drugobrand and showed me your conversation with your girlfriend."

  Reese’s expression darkens. "You are—" He stops himself. "Never mind. Go on."

  "She told me they use an advanced AI to predict everything before the season even starts. They use that information to prepare the viewers for the outcome, to make sure people are satisfied. And according to the AI, you were supposed to win this season. That’s what people and the producers want."

  Reese leans forward. "So?"

  Rebecca exhales. "Well, the machine overlooked something. Then, it recalculated. And the result changed."

  "Changed how?"

  She hesitates. "It predicted that we’d both make it to the finale. And then… you’d sacrifice yourself to let me win."

  Silence.

  Rebecca continues. "You once told me that if we ever had to fight each other, I should go for your heart. Or your brain."

  Reese narrows his eyes, but remains reticent.

  "Anya asked for my help. Well, she demanded it. She said it was important for the show’s ratings that you win. She told me I had to make you change your mind. That I needed to make you stop… caring about me.”

  Anya had used the word love. But Rebecca couldn’t. It was too strong and painful.

  “I don’t care about the ratings or any of that, but she was right about you sacrificing for me. And I don’t want that. It’s not fair for you to just throw away your life for mine.” She takes a deep breath. “Anya also said only one person leaves this place alive, and I believe at least that part is true. So it’d better be you. I wouldn’t even know what to do with my life outside. They remove the fibers from the winner.”

  Reese’s face pales. His eyes harden, his jaw tenses, his nostrils flare. Rebecca watches each of these shifting gestures as her heart races. There’s no trace of love or hope in Reese’s demeanor, only anger. And he still doesn’t seem willing to speak.

  “Reese, what is it?” Nothing. “Please talk to me.”

  After a few deep breaths, Reese swallows whatever emotion he’s repressing, and says:

  “You sided with them.”

  Rebecca didn’t expect that. “No.” She shakes her head and tries to grab his hand, but he pulls it away just in time. Nothing else comes to mind to back up her statement. Then he stands straight and turns around. By the time Rebecca realizes what’s happening, he’s already slammed the door closed and disappeared behind it.