The Decisive Dive
The silence in the gymnasium before the final dive was as thick as concrete.
The Oplan divers were already standing at the edge of the springboard, ready for their second execution. But they were no longer the same confident girls from the beginning.
Not anymore.
Their fear was palpable now — an acidic smell in the air, an almost imperceptible tremor at the tips of their toes.
Ana and Ceres, standing side by side, watched them with that same silent hatred they had always reserved for each other.
But in that instant, their hatred transformed.
They redirected it toward their rivals.
And together, almost without realizing it, they shared the same cold, concealed smile as they watched the fear in the two divers ahead of them.
Ceres tilted her head, her blue eyes hunting for the souls of her opponents as she always did — and found the terror she was looking for.
Ana, meanwhile, crossed her arms, and behind her short blonde fringe, her green eyes gleamed with poisonous satisfaction.
They smelled it together.
That fear...
It was delicious.
Because they already knew: fear was synonymous with defeat.
The Oplan divers jumped.
The entire gymnasium followed in silence, as though the scene were unfolding in slow motion.
Their bodies cut through the air, but something was no longer right.
The nearly perfect synchronization of the first dive did not return.
Fear had undermined their timing, stretched their movements, and their toes once again failed to close properly upon entering the water — only now, slightly farther apart.
A splash higher than acceptable.
An imperfection invisible to ordinary eyes, but not to the two predators on the platform.
Ana and Ceres exchanged a quick, knowing glance, full of hatred, but also carrying a silent certainty:
we have already won.
And when their rivals emerged from the water, the applause was lukewarm.
The scores — still good, almost perfect — were not enough.
Because in Ceres, almost is nothing.
And in Oplan, almost is already defeat.
Now it was their turn.
Ana climbed onto the springboard without waiting for Ceres.
Ceres followed with that murderous marble-like patience of hers, her blue eyes shining like the very sky beneath which the city of Ceres reigned.
They both knew they hated each other.
But more than that, they loved watching together the fear of anyone who dared challenge the City.
And deep down, when they positioned themselves side by side, ready to dive, they felt the same thing:
this is where we destroy them.
In the box, Mother Ceres smiled beneath her mask, pleased with her little pieces on the board.
And Alac Bilac already knew, even before the dive began, that he would lose that day.
The whistle sounded.
The two of them dove — so fast and flawless that there was nothing left to say.
Locker Room — Washing the Dirty Laundry
The echo of the final scores still lingered in the gymnasium when Ana and Ceres entered the white Oplan locker room together.
The smell of chlorine, sweat, and laundry detergent filled the air.
They had won.
That was a fact.
The City of Ceres had triumphed over the supremacists once again.
But that was not enough for them.
Ana threw her towel onto the metal bench and turned with an acidic smile:
— Don't think you were the one who won this for us, Ceres. If I had been leading, the score would have been perfect. Perfect.
Ceres, calm as marble, sat on the opposite bench, crossing her legs and staring at Ana with her hunter's blue eyes.
Her black hair was still dripping, her slender shoulders seeming carved by hand.
She smiled, but it was not a friendly smile — it was clinical, sadistic:
— Perfect? You stumbled on the second rotation.
(She tilted her head, coldly.)
— I corrected it for you. You should get down on your knees and thank me for not letting you sink alone.
Ana snorted, her green eyes flashing, her fingers curling into fists.
She took a step forward, almost touching the other's face.
— You have no idea how much I dream of pulling you off that springboard by force, Ceres. One day I'm going to make you swallow that disgusting arrogance of yours.
Ceres did not retreat.
She merely raised an eyebrow, as though watching a little animal trying to bite its owner's hand:
— Then dream as much as you like, Ana.
(She leaned slightly closer, her voice lowering to a cutting whisper.)
— But dreaming won't change the fact that I always dive higher than you. Always.
Ana let out a short, mocking laugh, but for a moment her fingers trembled in the air, as if she were actually about to punch her.
But she didn't.
And Ceres didn't even blink.
From the corner of the locker room, the coach — a gray-haired, rigid man — merely watched them in silence, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.
He knew he could not — nor should he — intervene.
Mother's ideology did not permit bloodshed among the Children.
Physical violence between teammates was a waste of energy, an attack against the City's efficiency.
In Ceres, hatred had to be channeled into defeating external enemies, not into tearing apart what was already perfect within.
And they both knew that.
It was the only reason they had not beaten each other bloody by now.
— I'm still going to take you down — Ana hissed, stepping back half a pace, but with the same fire in her eyes.
— Then try — Ceres replied, rising to her feet, majestic. — When you succeed, you will have become worthy of me.
They stared at each other for several more seconds, the tension in the air electric, almost lethal.
Two predators held back by the leash of the same doctrine.
Then, almost simultaneously, they picked up their towels, composing themselves as though nothing had happened.
But deep down, they both knew: that hatred would make them fly higher and higher.
Because, after all, almost is nothing.
And in Ceres...
Nothing is ever enough.
On the Podium — Mother Ceres Who Devours Us
The entire gymnasium rose when the winners stepped onto the podium.
Ceres and Ana, side by side on the highest step, raised the silver-and-white medals bearing the City's inscription.
On the step below, the Oplan girls kept their chins raised and their fists clenched — defeated, but still trying to appear proud.
The harsh white lights of the gymnasium glimmered across the metallic crowns placed upon their heads.
The anthem of Ceres began.
A soft, deep, enveloping choir echoed through the gymnasium like a divine breath:
“Raised in marble, forged in silence,
Ceres guides us, relentless and beautiful...”
Neither of them smiled.
Neither waved.
Ana's eyes never left Ceres's.
And Ceres stared into the emptiness ahead, but her eyes flashed with an icy blue that only Ana seemed able to see.
When the anthem ended, the entire audience — including the defeated Oplan athletes — stood and repeated the mantra in unison:
— MOTHER CERES WHO EDUCATES US, FEEDS US... AND DEVOURS US!
The words reverberated through the space like a sentence.
And even on the podium, both of them felt that cold shiver run down their spines.
It was more than pride.
It was servitude.
When the waves of the broadcasting radios finally ceased, they descended from the podium in silence.
The Oplan girls barely dared to look at them — they were merely morsels in that banquet of hatred that only Ana and Ceres served to each other.
In the narrow corridor leading back to the locker room, Ana broke the silence with a venomous whisper, the medal still bouncing against her chest:
— You bitch.
Ceres did not hesitate. She turned toward her with a cold half-smile:
— You cow.
Nothing more was said.
Their footsteps echoed against the walls like a clock about to explode.
The hatred between them crackled so intensely it could have set all of Oplan on fire.
Because for Ana and Ceres, the external enemies had never been the real problem.
The Oplan girls were only dust.
Only morsels.
The real duel, the real hell...
was each other.
And so, side by side, perfect enemies beneath the same banner, they walked back toward the locker room.
Silent.
Ready to devour each other a little more.
“Mother Ceres who educates us, feeds us... and devours us.”
On the podium, the two maintained their impeccable posture, motionless as statues, their medals gleaming beneath the gymnasium lights. It was a friendly match, but the protocol was strict. The anthem of Ceres played, accompanied by the metallic echo of the mantra:
— Mother Ceres who educates us, feeds us and devours us! —
The voices of the gymnasium repeated it in unison, a prayer without a soul.
Ana and Ceres chanted it too, not out of faith, but out of duty.
When they were finally allowed to leave, each headed toward opposite sides of the corridor, as though the distance between them were the only way to keep the entire place from catching fire.
Even so, they could not resist.
They passed one another and, without looking directly at each other, murmured with cold smiles:
— You bitch.
— You cow.
Then each withdrew to her own corner, her heart pounding inside her chest.
Their duty to Mother Ceres was done.
The anthem had been sung.
The gold had been won.
But both their hands were still trembling with contained rage.
Ana rubbed her fingers against the hem of her uniform, as though she wanted to tear something apart — or someone.
Ceres felt the heat of hatred rising through her chest, reaching her temples; the cold medal against her skin did nothing to soothe the fire burning inside.
In silence, each repeated to herself:
“One day I will crush her.”
Each in her own corner, motionless, waiting for the moment to detonate the bomb they had not yet been allowed to set off.
The obligation had been fulfilled.
The spectacle was over.
But the real war —
that one had not yet begun.
The Flagball Field — Theo & Dark
Meanwhile, on the field, the tension was another kind of spectacle.
The teams lined up beneath an oppressive sun.
Ceres's team wore dark gray.
Oplan's wore blinding white.
Theo felt his gloves slipping with sweat.
Dark stood two steps behind him, adjusting his mouthguard like someone preparing to pull out teeth.
The Silencers were posted at every corner of the field, alert.
When the referee blew the whistle, the game began in a frenzy — but everyone's eyes were on the two of them.
Theo ran like a madman, distributing precise passes, defending like a soldier.
Dark pursued him like a predator, not only during the game, but with every collision, every contact.
It was as though the previous night's fight were still happening, only now disguised beneath the match.
On one play, Dark slammed Theo down with a shoulder to the chest, hard enough to knock the breath from him.
— Still sulking, prince? — Dark growled quietly before walking away.
Theo got back up, swallowing the pain, and answered only with a look.
A look that promised this story was not over yet.
In the stands, the porcelain masks of Oplan's emissaries remained motionless.
And in the highest box, Mother Ceres — or the figure everyone knew was her — watched without a face, motionless, like a hungry goddess, while her two favorites put on a show for her attention.
The game continued, the tension increasing with every play, every touch, every ragged breath.
The crowd applauded.
The plan was working.
But between Theo and Dark, it was not merely a game.
It was war.
Locker Room — Halftime
The referee's whistle marked halftime with the score tied.
Ceres's team dragged themselves into the locker room, sweaty, breathless, and tense.
Oplan's radio broadcast only the plays, repeating the martial tone of the stands outside.
Theo threw his gloves onto a bench and kicked a bottle.
Dark dropped his mouthguard on the floor, leaned against the wall, and crossed his arms.
— Pass the fucking ball, Theo. You gonna win by yourself? — Dark growled.
— I pass it to whoever is playing for the team, not to someone who only wants to take me down — Theo replied without looking at him.
The coach merely watched, as though he knew that washing dirty laundry was also part of the game.
The other players remained silent, pretending to adjust their socks and protective gear, but no one missed a word.
Dark took two steps forward, invading Theo's space.
— Don't play around, prince. A team that doesn't play doesn't have trust. Either you trust me... or you lose.
— Trust isn't bought with threats, Dark.
— Not with little medals either, huh?
The comment made Theo boil, but before the fight could erupt, the coach intervened, throwing a towel over the two of them:
— Wash this out on the field, not here. Go out there and show them why you wear that uniform. Or the two of you are walking away losers.
The Victory
In the second half, they returned more focused — perhaps driven more by the desire to surpass one another than by the team itself, but that was enough.
Dark passed.
Theo scored.
Theo called.
Dark intercepted.
The crowd went wild when Ceres took the lead in the final minutes.
Ceres's team defeated Oplan.
On the radio, the announcer's voice almost trembled as he repeated:
“Ceres shows once again that it knows how to crush its rivals... even among themselves.”
The Oplan Crowd's Reaction to Ceres's Victory
At the final whistle of the flagball game, the scoreboard showed a result that was unthinkable for the hosts:
Ceres 23 — Oplan 19.
The Oplan players lowered their heads, stunned.
The Ceres players gathered in the center of the field, some kneeling, others raising their fists, while the opposing crowd booed furiously.
The stadium radios broadcast the news in bitter voices, trying to minimize the victory:
“...a surprising result, but nothing more than a meaningless friendly match with no value toward the official ranking...”
But everyone knew what it meant: a Ceres team had knocked down the pride of the White Shield.
It was a scandal.
The Oplan crowd began throwing crumpled paper, plastic bottles, and shouting insults.
Silencers emerged to protect the boys and girls of Ceres as they left the field, victorious, sweaty, still tasting the metallic hostility in their mouths.
At the far end of the field, Theo looked at Dark.
Covered in dust and sweat, Dark rolled the crumpled medal between his fingers, already planning the next game, the next fight.
For an instant — just an instant — Theo could have sworn he saw a small, satisfied smile at the corner of Dark's mouth.
The Supply Room — The Forbidden Music
Theo and Ceres were a sick symbiosis.
Desire, power, status, arrogance, and absolute control pulsed between them, fed by hatred.
Their eyes flashed: Theo's black and unfathomable, capable of devouring a soul, and Ceres's immense blue eyes, which seemed to encompass the entire sky.
A single instant was enough for her gaze to hunt secrets, detect lies, tear out fears.
Theo, in turn, did not merely want to look at her — he wanted to consume her again, as he had that night.
But there was a weight to her name.
Ceres.
The same as Mother's, immaculate and canonized by every citizen.
Desiring her was also sacrilege.
Even so, the magnetism was inevitable.
There they stood: two champions.
Both with black hair streaked by a white strand — different marks that touched like destiny.
Hers, the result of a prank symbolizing rebirth: from Silencium to the city of Ceres.
His, a message to the world, a reminder of pain transformed into strength.
Theo knew how to channel hatred like few others.
He did not see it as an enemy, but as fuel, a stepping stone toward something greater.
It was precisely that resilience that had fascinated Ceres since school.
Her white streak was, in part, a secret tribute to him — to the way he transformed pain into leadership.
And now, there, face to face, they both knew:
the hatred that drove them could also be the bond that united them.
Ana watched from hiding, swallowed by the shadows of the corridor.
The hungry gleam in Theo and Ceres's eyes wounded her like an invisible blade.
That tension, that fire being born between them...
she already knew it.
It was the same fire she had once felt beside Daime.
Before the accident.
Before the wheelchair.
They were the ones who sought each other out like this, setting the world on fire both inside and outside the courts, leaders of their teams, symbols of pride and defiance.
Now, seeing Theo and Ceres was like staring into a shattered mirror: fragments of a past that would never return.
Ana felt a void in the pit of her stomach, a longing so cruel it almost made her reveal herself.
But instead, she took a deep breath, clenched her fists, and walked away in silence, leaving behind that scene charged with desire and power.
As the crowd's screams echoed like a raging sea outside, Ana walked alone through the corridor, carrying with her the memory of Daime — and the open wound of what she had lost forever.
At the end of the corridor, before the narrow door of a forgotten supply room, Theo made his decision.
With a sudden movement, he grabbed Ceres by the arm and dragged her inside.
Ceres was caught by surprise.
The shock ran through her skin like an electric current.
Her heart raced, but there was no fear.
It was something else: an anxious, expectant shiver, as though her entire body had been waiting precisely for this moment.
In the darkness, pressed against the cold shelves filled with boxes, she let herself be carried away.
She did not resist.
Ever since the night at the pool, when they had burned hotter than the flames of Gene's execution, she had been waiting for this move Theo had been avoiding.
Now there was no going back.
His black eyes burned with desire and hatred; hers, blue and immense, reflected the same fire.
It was as though fate had pushed them into that narrow space, where there was no longer a game, no crowd, no leadership —
only the inevitability of consuming one another.
Theo was holding an old portable cassette player, forbidden because it played music from the “blacklist.”
The cassette was already playing when he closed the door.
— If you don't want anything else right now... walk away forever. Or stay. — he said firmly, offering her one of the earbuds.
Ceres looked at him, then at the earbud.
For a second, she thought about turning her back.
But she didn't.
She took the earbud lightly between her fingers and placed it in her ear.
The soft, forbidden melody of Sister Shakespeare's Stay filled the silence of the supply room.
It was almost painful in its beauty.
Theo closed his eyes for a moment.
Ceres did too.
They said nothing else.
They only listened.
In that instant, all the competition, all the rage, all the hunger to win remained on the other side of the door.
It was just the two of them, and the music.
Then, in the same supply room, the smell of sweat and old metal remains.
Theo enters first, breathless, his uniform dirty with earth, dried blood at the corner of his mouth.
Dark is leaning against a locker, turning the crumpled medal between his fingers without looking at him.
— You want to stay here or finish what you started on the field? — Theo shoots back, his voice low and heavy.
Dark raises his eyes, a crooked smile appearing.
— I always thought it was funny watching you try to be a saint, prince. — He raises the medal. — You really think Mother loves you for that? You're only delaying the inevitable.
Theo does not answer.
He approaches slowly, his breathing heavy.
Dark lets the medal fall to the floor with a metallic clink.
— You think I'm some kind of freak of nature, don't you? — Dark growls. — That I'm only good for being her pet. Go ahead. Say it.
— No. — Theo replies firmly. — I think you're everything I could be... if I stopped trying to be better.
For a moment, silence.
A dry laugh escapes Dark.
He takes a step toward Theo, their faces only inches apart.
— Then stop lying to yourself. Chaos doesn't bite. It's comfortable.
Theo swallows hard, but does not retreat.
He takes the portable cassette player from his pocket and, without looking at Dark, puts in the tape.
One of the forbidden sounds of Korn's Right Now echoes through the space.
He holds the cassette player in one hand and says:
— If you don't want anything beyond this... leave now. Or stay. And let Mother swallow us afterward.
Dark remains motionless, staring at Theo, as though still deciding whether to kill him or not.
Then, slowly, he leans against the locker, slides down until he is sitting on the floor.
He closes his eyes and lets the music fill the silence.
Theo does the same on the other side.
They do not touch.
They do not look at each other.
But for the first time, there is nothing left to say.