The Circus in Paradise
Weeks passed.
Flagball training had been optimized, but the field was still boiling with rivalries.
Theo and Kan continued to face off. For Theo, it was pure theater—a pastime, a way to test limits and distract his mind.
For Kan, it was war. Every blow was about leadership, about proving who was in control.
Dark, on the other hand, had never been so quiet.
He seemed at peace, but it was an unsettling kind of peace—the calm of a satiated predator.
He cared for Dru with disturbing devotion, playing with her like a cat playing with its meal.
Dru allowed herself to be drawn in, believing that this—his touch, his gaze—was affection.
Perhaps it was. The kind of affection that hurts, yet keeps you warm.
In the swimming pools, the reflection was much the same.
Ceres, Gris, and Ana were waging a silent war for leadership.
Every stroke, every glance, was a confrontation.
Ceres was still the best among them, but something was out of place—something inside her.
Ever since the fight. Ever since Theo.
He seemed more relaxed, stronger, more… free.
During training, she could feel his gaze, steady and provocative, almost paternal.
“You're slow, Ceres. You can't keep up with me.”
He had never said those words, but she could hear them anyway.
And what bothered her wasn't the challenge—it was the feeling that he might be right.
In the classroom, boredom reigned.
Theo sat three desks behind Ceres, always watching, always laughing at something with Daime.
Their jokes were ridiculous, but irresistible—they could disarm anyone.
Ceres pretended to ignore them, but she felt it all.
His gaze, his laughter, his infuriating confidence.
Theo never looked away, never hesitated.
That unsettled her more than any words ever could.
Then, suddenly, the routine was broken.
The door swung open with a sharp, dry sound.
Two Silencers—officials—entered first.
Behind them came a woman in an immaculate dark-gray dress, her posture radiating authority.
She seemed to hold a rank just below Mother Ceres.
The murmuring stopped.
She looked around, composed and firm, then spoke:
—Theo.
His name echoed through the room like a gunshot.
Theo froze for a moment.
The word Koee cut through his mind like a blade.
He hadn't seen her in months.
He didn't want to see her.
But he stood up, breaking the silence with a mocking grin:
—Take me to your leader!
He made a show of extending his wrists, as if asking to be handcuffed.
Laughter erupted, dissolving the tension into humor.
But the woman didn't smile.
She looked at him, serious and cold.
Theo maintained the gesture, indifferent.
He turned to Dark, who was watching him with the same cynical smile.
They both laughed silently—the knowing laughter of two people sharing a secret no one else could understand.
Ceres watched the scene in silence.
Theo's mockery didn't irritate her because of Mother Ceres. It wasn't about the system or discipline.
It was something about him.
Something had changed.
Theo seemed different.
More cynical, more aware, as though he had discovered the funniest joke in the world—and decided never to tell anyone.
That private laughter, that gleam in his eyes, made her uncomfortable.
It was as if he knew something she would never understand.
Inside her, everything became tangled: jealousy, envy, anger, control, fear.
A corrosive anxiety.
She felt small, even standing beside him.
At the academy, they were regarded as leaders.
Models of behavior. The iron couple of the new generation.
But deep down, Ceres knew something was out of balance.
The others lowered their eyes when she passed.
They feared that threatening gaze, that expression of perfection concealing chaos.
She had always been alone, surrounded by respect and distance.
Theo was different.
Theo looked straight at her. Always.
Without fear, without looking away, without reverence.
His gaze was direct and cutting—like a warning sign.
And even when she looked away, she could feel it: he was still watching her.
The Circus
Armored trains crossed the cities of Ceres. Stopping one meant stopping the continent. They were the veins of commerce, the conduits of the banks, the arteries of a civilization that breathed through reliable radio waves.
At the central stadium of Ceres, the distant rumble of the tracks reverberated beneath the synthetic turf. The city functioned like a clock, and that morning, the stadium seemed to be the beating heart of the machine.
Theo was there.
He wore the official Flagball uniform, number 8 on his shirt, his helmet in his hands.
He admired the empty field—the stage of the great, the altar where, for a few hours, men and women became greater than Mother Ceres herself.
The hatch opened.
Koee appeared, also in uniform, carrying her helmet and a ball.
She walked to the exact spot where Theo had knocked her down months earlier. The same ground, the same silence.
Theo approached.
He smiled sideways, remembering that day, the smell of the synthetic grass, the weight of the fall.
—How much resentment are you holding on to? —he asked.
Koee lifted her chin.
—That fall hurt.
—That was the point —Theo replied with a laugh. —You were unstoppable… groaning, gasping… I could feel your fear and exhaustion.
Koee narrowed her eyes.
—We can play again. But this time, you won't break me.
—You're strong. Very strong. —Theo spun his helmet in his hand. —But you're not two people.
—Yeah, you've changed, haven't you? You're stronger… and a lot more talkative.
—And you're still far too eloquent, Koee. —Theo gave her a half-smile. —That attitude of yours is going to be your downfall.
—We'll see. —She gripped the ball firmly. —No helmets.
Theo laughed.
—The little white princess with red eyes can bleed, huh? Mommy Ceres won't protect you from me.
—True. —Koee smiled confidently. —But you're the one who's going down.
The game began.
Koee charged forward with the ball and made a quick feint, but Theo intercepted her effortlessly.
—You're far too predictable —he said with a provocative smile. —Those beautiful eyes give you away.
He slipped past her with smooth, rapid movements, almost dancing.
Koee tried to keep up, but she fell behind, caught off guard. Theo was brazen, confident, almost arrogant.
—How did you manage that? —she asked, breathless.
—Concentration and precision —he replied without missing a beat. —The little princess needs to learn that superstrength and speed aren't enough. Hard work beats talent… when talent doesn't work hard.
Before Koee could react, Theo executed a bewildering feint.
She landed on the ground, sitting hard—right where they had first met.
Theo approached, extended his hand, and smiled.
—Are you okay?
Koee took his hand and slowly got back to her feet.
The touch was brief, but intense—the kind of touch that reopens memories while closing wounds at the same time.
The stadium was silent.
And for a moment, it seemed as though the sound of the armored trains had stopped, just to listen to them breathe.
Koee took deep breaths, trying to hide her nervousness.
—Again —she demanded firmly.
Theo smiled, wearing that crooked, mocking grin.
—Hmm… is Mommy's spoiled little princess going to land on her ass again? —he teased. —You look sexy when you're nervous. I love that face. You're up, princess. You get another chance.
The game resumed.
Koee charged forward, determined. She came so close that Theo could feel the warmth of her breath. Shoulder to shoulder, without touching, they tested each other's strength.
Theo held his ground.
Koee pushed, persisted, twisted her body—and got past him.
Goal.
—Your mouth is way too big! —she shouted, breathless.
Theo burst out laughing.
—Wow, I'm offended. Was that supposed to be an insult? That was cute… but not even close, princess.
Koee threw the ball against his chest.
—Just pass it already, you…
—Don't make me laugh —Theo interrupted, amused. —The princess doesn't even know how to swear. What a cutie-patootie!
—You… you son of a—
—I couldn't hear you! —he laughed even louder.
Theo started the next play.
He waited for Koee to come at him. Then he charged like a train.
But Koee, furious, lunged forward and brought him down hard.
Theo hit the ground heavily, letting out a groan.
—Are you okay? —Koee rushed toward him, frantic.
He laughed through the pain, struggling to catch his breath.
—I'm dead… but I'm fine.
Koee was breathing rapidly, her eyes glistening with tears. The fall had been bad. The shock was worse.
Theo pushed himself up with a groan and noticed a small cut on her face, a thin line of blood running down her cheek.
He removed his glove, ran his tongue over his thumb, and gently wiped away the blood.
Koee stared at him, unable to understand, frozen in place.
Theo looked at the blood on his finger, then into her eyes.
Slowly, Koee did the same.
And there, on the synthetic field, the two of them tasted each other's metallic blood.
For a moment, there was no game, no rules.
Only the sound of their shared breathing.
Theo moved closer, slowly, firmly.
And they kissed.
A fierce, urgent kiss, stained with blood and turf.
The kiss grew more intense, ferocious and desperate, as if each wanted to devour the other.
It was more than desire. It was hunger, anger, relief, and loss all at once.
The air grew hot and heavy, vibrating with ragged breaths and trembling skin.
Theo pulled his face away for a moment. His eyes burned as they remained fixed on hers.
—We're each other's mistake.
Koee took a deep breath, her body still pressed against his.
—Two wrongs don't make a right.
Theo smiled cynically, but there was a genuine tremor beneath it.
—But you're free, Koee.
—I want this mistake —she replied firmly, almost pleading.
—Why me? —Theo asked, his voice hoarse.
Koee looked at him as though she recognized herself in a mirror.
—I don't know… —she murmured. —I haven't stopped thinking about you since that game. I feel this. What do you feel?
The question hung in the air—the same question that had once disarmed Ceres.
Theo froze.
Something inside him cracked. The old Theo, the one who still dreamed, was trying to breathe beneath the weight of Mother Ceres.
But he knew the truth: the game had shaped him. The poison of obedience ran through his veins.
Mother always wins.
Theo didn't answer.
He simply gave in.
He followed instinct—the man, the body, the impulse.
The kiss returned, more intense than before. A kiss without guilt, without logic, driven by nothing but need.
In the empty locker room, far from Ceres's eyes, the two of them hid.
Theo and Koee.
Two animals cornered by their own desire.
Two mistakes meeting in the same breath.
In the locker room, Theo and Koee remained close, breathing rapidly. The synthetic turf still bore the marks of their fall, and the smell of the field mingled with their breathing.
—So, what have you been doing up in the tower all this time? —Theo asked, breaking the silence.
Koee took a deep breath.
—I studied a lot… Mother helps me with my assignments.
Theo smiled, his thoughts drifting elsewhere.
—Before CERES 2 was launched, my brother, Major Tomas, sent a letter to Tycho and me. He wrote: “I'd like to hug you both. But when I reach the space station up there, I'll embrace the whole world.”
He looked at her, his eyes shining.
—Every time I see Ceres 2, I remember that.
Koee felt her chest tighten. A knot of emotion, tenderness, and longing.
She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself.
—But… —she began, hesitating— why did you kill that poor dog in Cora's flower field?
Silence fell heavily between them.
Theo looked away for a moment, clutching his helmet against his body.
A slight tremor crept into his voice.
—It was a threat… —he finally said. —I didn't want to, but I had no choice.
Koee frowned, her eyes filling with tears.
—But… it was just a dog. It couldn't defend itself.
Theo looked at her, serious.
—I know… but in that world, Koee, survival doesn't choose its victims. Even Mother understands that.
She took a deep breath, trying to accept his answer, but the sense of injustice, mixed with her fascination for him, left her torn.
A heavy silence settled between them, where the memory of the kiss, the blood, and the fall still burned against their skin.
Theo took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on hers.
—I… can't lie to a goddess —he said firmly.
Koee stared at him, surprised.
—A goddess?
He looked away for a moment, then turned back to her, serious.
—The dog didn't belong there. It was… genetically modified. Black, with red eyes, and an unnatural temperament. It knew nothing but hatred. It tore Cora's dogs and cats to pieces… just for fun.
Koee swallowed hard, her chest tightening.
—Mother Ceres…
—The scene… —Theo continued, his voice heavy— was horrible. I couldn't let it live… there was no way to stop it. I've had to keep it a secret until now because I didn't want to spread fear throughout the academy.
The silence that followed was almost tangible.
Koee felt a mixture of horror and fascination, as though that secret, that burden, had revealed a side of him no one else knew.
She took a deep breath, trying to process the truth.
—So… you've been carrying this alone all this time?
—Yes —Theo replied, his voice firm but weighed down with exhaustion. —Because someone had to do it. Someone had to maintain the balance.
The locker room seemed smaller, squeezed by the weight of his confession.
The tension between them was not merely physical, but moral.
An entire world of rules, survival, and impossible choices hung between them, amid the smell of synthetic grass and the metallic taste of the blood still on their hands.
Koee looked at Theo and, for the first time, felt the weight of who he really was.
Not just the player, the rebel, the provocateur.
But someone who had done the impossible to protect others.
Silence spoke louder than any words.
Koee remained motionless, her eyes fixed on Theo.
Fear, disbelief, and fascination mingled in her breathing.
Every word he had spoken still reverberated in her mind, the weight of his confession echoing through the empty locker room.
—You… did this alone? —she asked, almost whispering, her voice faltering.
Theo leaned slightly forward, his shoulders tense but his gaze steady.
—Yes. No one else could. Someone had to maintain the balance.
Koee swallowed hard.
For a moment, she wanted to retreat, to distance herself from the man who silently carried so much blood and responsibility.
But there was something irresistible about him—that combination of strength, coldness, and… unexpected humanity.
She took a deep breath, trying to organize her thoughts.
—I… don't know what to feel. Fear? Anger? Or… something else?
Theo smiled, his expression a mixture of irony and understanding.
—You can feel all of it. I feel it myself. But now you know who I really am. No masks.
Koee took a step forward, moving closer to him, hesitant but determined.
—I… trust you. But that doesn't mean I accept everything you do.
He raised his hand and gently touched the side of her face, still marked by the small cut from the fall.
—I don't expect you to accept it. I just want you to see the truth. To know who's standing beside you when everything falls apart.
The air seemed to vibrate between them, charged with tension and desire.
Koee felt her heart race, every beat a mixture of fear and fascination.
For the first time, there was no competition, no provocation, no game—just two beings laid bare before their own truths.
And then, as if by an inevitable reflex, their eyes met.
One moment was enough for them both to realize there was no going back.
The earlier kiss, the shared blood, the weight of their confessions—everything had bound them together in an unbreakable way.
Koee took a deep breath and finally murmured:
—I… want to be here. Even knowing everything.
Theo smiled, a rare, sincere smile.
—Then we're on the same side… and the world can wait.
In the empty locker room, between the synthetic turf and the heavy silence, two mistakes found each other, consumed by instinct, tension, and the destiny Mother Ceres had laid out for them.
The courtyard of the military academy was quiet, but there was noise within the quiet.
Theo was there, leaning against the wall, with the old cassette player that had belonged to Tycho hidden beneath his jacket. A discreet wire ran to his earphones.
He had been like this for days—alone, distant, as though he had shut himself inside a nutshell.
Ceres watched him from afar.
His silence unsettled her.
Theo no longer reacted to Kan's provocations or Cors and Vanks's sarcasm.
It was as though he had left the world outside and locked himself away within.
She approached, composed but uneasy.
—What kind of peace is this? —she asked.
Theo slowly raised his eyes, unhurried.
—Peace is just an accident —he replied, his voice dry but heavy with meaning. —Tell me what you want.
They stared at each other.
Theo smiled faintly.
—But your eyes are still beautiful.
Silence.
There was something dangerous about him—not a desire to kill, but real reasons to do so.
He removed his earphones. The sound leaked out: deep, gritty, distant.
His oversized jacket, torn at the sleeves, seemed like an extension of his body.
—I wish there were a god who could switch minds with you, just to find out what you feel… —he said.
—That would be a wasted wish —Ceres replied coldly.
Theo laughed.
—You're right. I don't even understand myself.
—You've changed. How? —she pressed.
—You're scared, aren't you? —he teased, wearing that half-smile that cut like a blade.
She tried to decipher him, and Theo added:
—I'm faster, stronger… and more handsome, too.
Ceres struggled to control her breathing.
—What did you do to become like this?
Theo merely laughed, an unpredictable, mocking laugh full of echoes.
He removed one earphone and held it out to her.
—Relax. It's just music. Forbidden… but music all the same. Want to listen?
She hesitated.
He placed the earphones on her.
Audioslave's Cochise played.
—Wild, isn't it? —Theo said, looking like someone carrying a domesticated hatred that was still very much alive.
Ceres removed the earphones and walked away, furious that she couldn't get a single answer out of him.
Theo let out a loud, irritating whistle, just like he had during training.
—Three o'clock! At the station! —he shouted.
Ceres turned around, her expression suggesting she could devour her own liver out of sheer rage, then stormed away.
Daime approached.
—What a goth little bastard you've become! Ceres just left here with blood in her eyes, mixed with the blue that was already there.
Theo laughed without looking at him.
—I think she deserves it. I want her soul.
—What the hell? Where are all these dark vibes coming from? —Daime exclaimed.
—Leave me alone, Daime.
—Go to hell. Peace really is just an accident, you brutish animal!
Kan watched the courtyard as the students moved about calmly, almost silently.
Something felt strange in the air—a false, fragile peace built on contained tension.
—The academy seems calm… but disordered —Kan murmured, scratching the back of his neck.
Gris crossed her arms, her gaze fixed on Theo and Ceres on the other side of the courtyard.
—Theo and Ceres are an out-of-control solar system —she said. —It's like the fall of Ceres I.
Kan let out a brief, humorless laugh.
—There's something far beyond leadership going on now. They seem stronger… the crazier they get, the greater their legend becomes.
—Remember our tactical classes? —Gris replied thoughtfully. —Leadership isn't a position of trust. It's a state of mind that inspires trust. Like dogs… they don't follow the biggest or strongest one, but the one who radiates calm and certainty.
Kan slowly nodded.
—A lead dog. That's what it is.
On the other side of the courtyard, Dark stood still, watching Dru as though trying to decipher an ancient symbol.
He took her face in his hands with a tenderness that didn't seem to belong to him—his fingers firm, his gaze absent.
Dru smiled, believing it was affection, but he was merely wondering what lay beneath her skin.
The gesture was more curious than tender.
There was an ancient weariness in his eyes, an almost sacred emptiness.
Dru, oblivious, laughed, and Dark let out a sigh.
There was no desire—only boredom.
The untamable beast seemed domesticated, or perhaps merely asleep.
He was far too quiet, like a lion watching its prey play with its own tail.
—Even Dark has changed —Kan said. —He used to be a beast. Now he's a hunter who watches in silence. Not even Dru can disturb his peace.
Gris looked at Theo again.
He walked down the corridor with his earphones hidden, his steps light, almost calculated.
He passed Kan and Gris as though they were part of the architecture—a sign, an irrelevant detail.
Behind him, Ceres followed.
Her gaze was distant, though her body remained present.
In springboard diving, she was still precise, almost perfect, but she seemed empty.
As though something inside her had gone dark.
—They've lost their purpose —Gris whispered. —Or perhaps they've found one no one else understands.
Kan remained silent for a moment before replying:
—Or perhaps… they've found freedom. And that's the same as losing purpose.
The wind swept gently through the courtyard, but it was cold.
Everything seemed suspended, as though the academy were breathing more slowly, waiting for chaos to make its next move.
Daime and Ana walked down the corridor, their footsteps echoing across the cold floor of the academy.
Theo and Dark's recent silence still puzzled them—two predators far too quiet.
—They've barely spoken for days —Ana remarked, frowning. —And that scares me more than when they were fighting.
—Quiet? —Daime laughed sarcastically. —They're not quiet. They're just… bored. Two wolves in a cage.
Ana glanced sideways at him.
—Do you think they've come to an understanding?
—In a strange way, yes —he replied. —Dark used to provoke Theo all the time. It was as if he wanted to get beaten up. I think he wanted to see how far Theo could be pushed. But now… it's as though they've made a pact.
—A pact?
—Or a secret —Daime said with a shrug. —I don't know which is worse.
The bell rang, interrupting their conversation.
It was time for the third class of the day.
Daime sighed.
—Best class: Flagball. Too bad the field's under maintenance.
—That's where you like to measure the “temperature,” isn't it? —Ana teased.
Daime smiled.
—The Flagball field is the only place where you can tell what people are thinking. It's more a mind-reading arena than a game.
In the afternoon, time seemed to drag.
Theo sat in the bleachers beside Daime and a few classmates, all of them bored.
Down below, Ana, Gris, and Ceres were warming up in the swimming pools.
Theo watched in silence, his elbows resting on his knees.
Ceres pretended not to notice, concentrating on her stretches.
Ana noticed his gaze and made a teasing remark:
—Funny… Theo never comes to watch our training sessions. And now here he is.
Ceres didn't even turn her head.
—It's none of your business. And it's certainly none of his.
Theo gave a crooked smile, bringing his fingers to his mouth.
A shrill whistle echoed through the gym.
Then another.
And another.
Irritating. Insistent.
Ceres stopped and took a deep breath, trying to control herself.
Ana laughed, wearing her usual cynical smile.
—I think the maestro's lost his mind.
Theo laughed, waving his arms at Ceres and taunting her with exaggerated gestures.
Daime laughed along, unable to contain his mockery.
—You're an idiot —Ana said, smiling, though without much conviction.
Theo stood up from the bleachers, still laughing.
—Mission accomplished.
He left the gym, satisfied, leaving behind the echo of his own whistles—and Ceres, who was trying to hide her anger, mixed with something she couldn't even name.
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