Chapter 8: The Hard Way

Simple Map, Configuration 6023

High-pitched engine whines shot across the sky, trailing after the Cloud Stinger-class starfighters gliding past the sun. Competent, if a tad obsolete, their designs exhibited age through their blocky hulls and old-fashioned bronze finish, while neither dampened a thruster roar that had the beefiness of any modern CDF Messer or Emerstreak.

But instead of a battle or skirmish, they were flying over a blue oceanic vista, littered with majestic islands and waterfall-laden alcoves. Skirting on the oceanfront of Corneria City, this area hosted the planet's most famous natural beauty: a collection of mountainous limestone arches, with weathered caprocks crowned in veils of moss.

The Inari Arches, named for the way they rose the water, were an awe-inspiring sight to even Corneria's planetary rivals. Monolithic and sporting near-artistic symmetry that defied natural formation, they sometimes had the look of shadowy gates, at least on days shrouded in sea spray and coastal mist. Their mystical quality even gave rise to the belief that they weren't a natural accident at all. Some alleged that ancient foxlike deities once raced through these arches to reach an immaterial world, away from prying mortal eyes. But most accepted such babble as little more than fables spawned by local islanders.

Right now, the only beings racing through them were a flock of impatient, struggling Academy Cadets.

Using the Simple Map's recreation of this scenic backdrop, James was having the students tackle their flight training. He was bent on getting the them to have the CDF Standard Maneuvers memorized, willing to postpone dogfights and even squadron formations until they had the tricks down to muscle memory. The Map's rendition of the arches, far more labyrinthine and treacherous than they were in reality, was instrumental in his goal. It forced them to use specific traversal—barrel rolling, banking, somersaulting, boosting—collecting the right number of holographic rings, and within a time limit. What James hadn't told about them was all the artificial hazards: installed metal gates, blaster turrets, even bombs that would detonate the Arches on top of them. One mistimed dodge or one somersault off, and their unarmored crafts would skid the stone arches and go up in smoke…all with the Map's dulcet computer voice stating: "Mission Failed."

…a sound that Katt was frustratingly growing all too acquainted with.

As she unsuccessfully banked her Cloud Stinger to vertically position herself and missed a Ring situated between two rocks, she heard the Map's AI Voice report: "You have now missed 14 out of 20 Rings."

Biting back something profane on her tongue, Katt yanked back and repositioned herself in the air.

God, what I'd give for that smug little voice to shut up, she thought. Constantly declaring every ring I've missed, every ounce of damage I've taken…as if the ship rattling doesn't send that message clearly enough.

Katt's impatience was rising to a boil. She was doing nothing but struggle in the cockpit; failing attempt after attempt, going down in flames and hopping back in desperately…eroding all the confidence she'd gained from all other classes…

Just as she caught the glint of a ring seated above fast-approaching arch, she yanked her ship into a frantic somersault, boosting the second she came out of it not to lose time, only to feel the rude wobble of her ship's belly grazing the arch's stone exterior.

"You have taken damage," The AI reported cheerfully.

It was a good thing the comms were disabled to prevent distractions, because Katt screamed a foul curse inside her cockpit that practically rattled the windowpane. But the other reason she was happy it was turned off was because she could see Falco's Cloud Stinger flying with ease through his own arches in the distance, probably whooping his head off.

Katt tried to expel the bubbling resentment in her throat, but the proud part of her loathed being constantly reminded of much the cocky Avian was outperforming her. This is going to bloat his ego. He's gonna be talking my ear off about this for weeks…Lord only knows how I'll stand it…

Then, her eyes found faint pulse on the radar, looking up at a set of rapidly-closing doors that were just in the process of retracting away from each other…revealing a Gold Bonus Ring.

Katt didn't stop to think about it: she just bolted for it, fed up with constantly falling behind.

The doors were already closing, and there was no time to instinctively boost; She just wrestled with steering manually, hoping to gain speed manually and tilt vertically as the doors were closing…which needed perfect timing. She lurched forward, struggling with how heavy and sluggish it was to yank the G-Diffuser into a new mode of speed. She tilted her craft, engines flaring green as she raced to beat the door closing—

CRASH.

Too late. The leftmost door rammed into her from the side, denting her Clout Stinger's G-Diffuser bank inward and crinkling the metal like wet paper. Feeling her teeth rattled by the cockpit shaking around her, Katt wrestled with her steering long enough to see ocean hurling towards her.

It was all happening too quickly. A moment's hesitation labored her grip on the steering, keeping her from boosting and reorienting herself.

An override chirp came from her comm board. "Cadet, you're veering off! Regain altitude, quick!"

"I'm—ugh—TRYING!" Battling with the high winds to keep the nose of her craft above the water, she gripped the flight stick until it dug into her palm, trying to yank it up, hit the breaks and go into a hazard boost—

She wasn't fast enough. The water knifed into her craft and tore open the already-flaming G-Diffuser banks. The metal compartment exploded and sent a streak of fog across the windshield, filling Katt's cockpit with a sheet of orange.

Just before the flames could overtake her, Katt was jolted out of the simulation, her legs almost buckling and sending her keeling over. The deafening roar and suffocating heat of the cockpit vanished, the cool air of the Simple Map Generator room washing over her fur. Everyone else was on their own synaptic receptor tiles and engaging with the simulation, staring ahead with blank stares as if locked in a hypnotic trance.

The tile under Katt's feet was already flashing and sounding off a chortle of beeps before she'd collected herself, assessing her trial run. It blared a red, followed by the A.I. voice declaring: "Mission Failed."

It was a sound she endured bitterly, and without protest. She was too tired and agitated to let out anything outside of a disgruntled sigh, but not before turning at the grunt of someone else waking from the sim. Her eyes found Falco blinking groggily, who grinned triumphantly when the tile under his boots glowed green and chimed. "Mission Complete."

Katt bit back any visible irritation, assuming an easy-going smile before she walked over.

"Well, someone looks pleased with himself. Beat a new record?"

Falco threw his head back in a tired, but celebratory exhale. "You know it. I'm tellin' ya, Katt, this is what I was born to do. I might've screwed up in front of James on that first day, but he's bound to notice me now."

Katt nodded approvingly. "Good. With how hard I talked up your flight skills, I'd expect you to deliver. You need to at least look like the genuine article."

"Who says I'm not?" The Avian paused. "Anyway, how'd you do?"

"I'm...improving." Her gaze darted away evasively, and cleared her throat. "At this early stage, that's all that matters, not whether I pass or fail."

Falco winced. "Oof. That bad, huh?"

"Look, it's perfectly normal to mess up on occasion. Even preferable." She arched her eyebrows stubbornly. "I'm already excelling in my other classes. If I don't lose on purpose, people will start to think I'm cheating. And we don't need that kind of attention, not if we don't want to blow our cover."

Evidently, Falco could see through self-assured confidence in her voice, cracking a smile. "That's an interesting story. Wanna hear mine? I think you overestimated how easy Flight Training was going to be, and now that you've found something you can't flirt, cheat, or scamper your way around, it's biting you in the ass. Hard." His gaze traveled about slyly. "Not that you'll admit it."

Katt gave an airy laugh, one that didn't match the dangerous glint in her eyes. "You know, Falco, there's a time and place to be your usual, cheeky self…" Her smile vanished. "…and right now isn't one of them. So, shut up."

Falco threw his hands up in surrender. "Hey, hey, claws in, angel face. I was just trying to lighten things up a little."

"You should stick to flying. You're better at that."

Both of them were interrupted by the overhead AI.

"Cadet 121, report to the Observatory Deck for Instructor Evaluation."

Katt sighed bitterly, and Falco didn't miss a beat with his joking smirk.

"Y'know, you could do something really out of character, and come clean for once. Who knows? They might even give you a pity pass."

Katt was already walking off, and aimed a dismissive wave behind her. "Save your charm for someone who wants it, hon."

Falco folded his arms, still standing on his grid, and glanced up at the ceiling, where the Simple Map AI chirped.

"Your last score was 'Mission Complete'. Do you want to try again for 'Mission Accomplished?"

He popped his neck from side to side. "Why not? I'm feeling lucky." He let his arms fall as the simulation started. "Besides, it's not like I'm wanted around here. "You still appreciate me, right, ol' gal?"

"Command not recognized. Unable to process your request."

Falco chuckled, throwing his head back and sinking back into the virtual environment.

Katt stepped out of the elevator and into the deep indigo room that functioned as the Observatory overlooking the Map Room. It boasted a domed ceiling that wasn't much of a ceiling at all; it was a rounded holographic display shrouding over the room like a massive umbrella. Another elusive gem from Corneria's R&D Branch like the Simple Map, its rippling pool of vivid holo-pixels produced a lifelike image that was far beyond the static holograms used throughout the Lylat System…tech that the Katinese or Aquans would undoubtedly kill to get their hands on. Its grid of separate live feeds showcased the simulation playing out in the students' minds, depicting their ships banking and weaving through the arches.

It made the room feel less like the wing of a military school, and more like a Cornerian News Hour room. But the ensemble of battle-scarred denizens strewn about disrupted that aura very quickly: the naval veterans serving as instructors stood rigidly like oaks, all Cornerian, of course—mastiffs, huskies, and bulldogs of different builds. Their faces were weathered tapestries of past battles, marred by whiskey and smallpox. Wearing tight-lipped, brittle expressions, they were also clad in glittering blue and gold Elite service uniforms, ones that were several ranks and years out of Katt's reach, but nevertheless made her squirm with envy.

They kept their shrewd gazes locked on the screen, occasionally barking orders into their headsets.

"Aileron Roll, Cadet 11! Ignite your deflectors—you're getting shot!"

"Break! Make a jink!"

"Unacceptable. Start over from Maneuver B, Cadet…and be quick about it!"

Hearing them sporadically overlap each other might have been funny, if Katt hadn't spent the last week having their guttural, harsh voices directed at her, ripping at her every mistake. Seeing them in person always put her on edge. She found James' white jacket and orange tail sticking out of their ensemble. With a reluctant sigh, she walked over to where he stood stoically with his arms folded, and offered him a salute.

"Reporting, sir."

"Katt! Thanks for dropping by," He greeted her cheerfully, having made a habit of learning his students' names when talking one-on-one with them to make himself more approachable, and less of a distant, intimidating celebrity. "Come in, come in. I wanted to chat about a few things with you."

Katt felt a jolt of unease, fighting the instinct to put on the same polite, sheltered act that she used to charm all the other adults. She knew that James was the one person that routine wouldn't work on; he was shrewder than even the sharpest veteran in this room, and see right through her.

And so she was rarely receptive to James' usual warmth. She did not like, or trust, any adult she couldn't fool.

Katt stiffened formally. "I take it you're going to grade my performance. Please sir, I—"

James waved her off. "No, no, nothing like that. Just a standard progress report. I don't start handing out grades this early, certainly not in the first week…that kind of brutality I leave to Professor Dunaway. But, er, don't tell her I said that." He grinned sheepishly behind his glasses. "So relax, okay?"

Katt's relief might have materialized into a smile, had the moment not been immediately juxtaposed by the sound of an agonized groan.

"Yo, boss, are we gonna run this Map for another four hours, or what?"

At the front of the room, slouching behind a sprawling control rig, sat a young woman who barely looked older than most of the students. She was a Papillon with bat-like black ears and thick horn-rimmed glasses that made her huge pink eyes seem even bigger. She wore a baggy CDF sweater under a rolled sleeved jacket, with a wealth of punk jewelry hanging from her neck and ears. She made a few non-committal taps on a keyboard littered with candy wrappers and chip crumbs before pushing her swivel chair away in disgusted boredom.

"Seriously, for the love of God, can I add anything else to the sim besides rings and arches? I'm fuckin' dying over here."

"For such a small dog breed, her voice certainly traveled far, prompting James to cough loudly. "Language, Roberta. We've got young ears on deck, remember?" he hissed.

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, whatever. She's a teenager, she's said and heard worse. Haven't you, kid?

Looking a little disarmed, Katt blinks, before the fox next to her stepped in. "Ahem. Katt, this Roberta, the Academy's Sim Specialist. She's the one who runs the Simple Map, and probably knows the ins and outs of it better than anyone in the CDF…which unfortunately means we have to put up with her antics," he added wryly. "Even when she forgets she's doing work."

Roberta threw her head back exasperatedly. "Aw, c'mon, I ain't asking for the world here. It's one thing to work long hours with this lousy pay, festering behind my desk like a damn mushroom, but not being allowed to program the scenarios I want?" She stared wistfully at the screen. "Can I at least spice things up with something more fun?"

James sighed. "You're supposed to be monitoring the hazards, Roberta. Not traumatizing the kids with sensory overload."

She stretched and sat cross-legged on her chair, like a big kid "But think of learning experience that would be. Imagine if I plopped the kiddies onto my Titania scenario instead...maybe have a Goras chase them? Ooh!" Her eyes lit up, filling her spectacles owlishly. "Whatta 'bout my Solar one? That would be a test of survival!"

"Roberta," He said firmly. "Return to work, please. Class is still in session."

Pouting in a very canine fashion and muttering something about "being too soft on these kids", the Papillon planted her chin on her hands and redirected her bored gaze to the screen. The way James' eyebrows slackened suggested he was rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses.

In the odd moment of silence, Katt opted to clear her throat politely. "Sir, uh…the evaluation?"

"Hmm? Oh, that's right." His reluctant "bad news" expression began to warp his unguarded smile. Let's, uh, talk about your last flying session. I can tell that you're following directions as best you can, but when it comes to your performance, well…I think you and I both know you can do better."

It was borderline painful how nicely he was trying to put it. He was probably being genuine, but Katt hated when adults did that instead of being blunt. "…Yes, sir. Far better."

James seemed to detect the disappointment in her voice. "Now, don't be too hard on yourself. You're moving at your own pace, just like the other students."

"But I'm not improving," She finished for him fumingly, straightening up. "Sir, if you don't mind, I'd like to request another trial run."

He shook his head. "I like your enthusiasm, I really do. But even I have limits to how many hours I'm willing to let my students be exposed to the Map's sensory amplifiers." He regarded her sternly. "Four attempts are more than enough; you're not going to magically improve with a fifth.

Now that she didn't have to contain her embarrassment around Falco, Katt let her shoulders fall slightly. Finally abandoning her formal façade, she finally let her exasperation spill out in her voice.

"Sorry sir, it's just—I don't know what I keep doing wrong. No matter what I do, no matter how many times I fly, I just find some new way to screw up." Her brow crinkled under her neat bangs. "Nothing helps. Nothing changes. I'm using the right maneuvers, paying attention to the radar, at least whenever I can take my eyes off the sights—"

"…or maybe it's just the same mistake materializing in new ways," said James, calmly interrupting her spiel.

Katt froze. "Sir?"

The seasoned pilot tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Your timing is still off whenever you do anything, Katt. Not just firing, but boosting, maneuvering, just like that routine I had you fly around the Fichina ice caps the other day. Seems like it's still a problem."

Locked in disbelief, Katt blinked. "That can't be right. I fixed that…I'm sure I did. Every second I'm up there, I'm fighting to not do anything too fast."

"Maybe that's your problem. I've noticed that you have a tendency to…well, purposely slow down between aerial tricks. Even hesitating." James craned his neck at the screen. "Computer: bring Katt—er, Cadet 24's sim replay up."

A corner of the screen grew, depicting Katt's ship just seconds before it skidded the arch and met an explosive collision with the ocean. The moment was magnified and blown up into a large display, larger than Katt would have liked.

James pointed at it. "See that? You keep waiting too long to regain altitude with a boost. You're lingering way too long, when you should punch through."

One of Katt's ears twitched in annoyance. "I'm not lingering. I mean—" She adopted some humility in her tone. "Sir, I'm just trying to make sure I don't…you know…"

He nodded. "You're afraid of rushing in too fast and making a mistake. Believe me, I know…but you've got to fight that impulse. Hesitating in a skirmish is leaving yourself open to the enemy…or wingmates to theirs. A well-timed dodge or boost can mean the difference between life and death; so don't treat flying like tiptoeing perfectly on a tightrope walk. You don't have time for 'perfect'.

Exasperation crept up in Katt's voice. "So, what do I do, just not think about it?"

"Not what I said, Cadet. Speed doesn't mean 'not thinking'…it just means minimizing delays." He removed glasses and bit his lip, trying to find a way to make her understand. "Think of it this way: you remember how to boost, right?"

Katt paused. "Of course. Hit the main boost button, then a light push on the throttle, right?"

James shook his head. "Don't about them as separate steps; do it all at once, like this." He raised his gloved hands, motioning with them. "Let go of the stick—" He nabbed an invisible thruster. "—then yank in reverse, then hold forward and boost simultaneously. When you're in the cockpit, don't break the steps apart with pauses. Do it all as one gesture, and fast, okay?"

"Every time, just too boost?" Katt's young features suddenly looked haggard. "Are you sure you're not just trying to get me to quit in my first year, sir?"

James chuckled. "Tell you what…let's nix the obstacle training next time, and we'll have you practice boosting until you can get used to it. It'll become second nature before you know it." He dipped his head kindly "Don't feel bad. Everyone struggles with boosting early on."

Katt wasn't really listening to him. She knew that he was probably misreading her flat, unconvinced expression as jealousy of the others. But however resentful she was at everyone ploughing ahead while she lagged behind, jealousy wasn't even most of what was running through her mind. It was anxiety.

Around Falco, she'd maintained an airy facade of confidence to avoid worrying him, even when he had guessed the truth: this school was harder than she'd anticipated, and she was slipping behind. And with each failed class, her ears would ring with Professor Dunaway's warning about the permanence of flunking out, her blood thinning at the possibility of joining the annual drove of failed students.

All that work to con her way into this place, only to end up back on the streets, scrounging for food on some planetary underbelly…

The image made Katt's small fang bite into her lip, nervously watching the other ships zip across the screen with the natural ease that seemed to be constantly eluding her.

"Sir," she finally said, stabilizing herself through a rejuvenating clench of her fist. "I'd like to watch the others, if you don't mind. Just to see what else they're doing right that I'm not."

James shrugged. "If you think it'll help. Personally, I wouldn't put too much thought into everyone else is flying, Katt. It's not like anyone here's an ace—"

Roberta's voice interrupted the two of them.

"Boss, I've got a Cadet who isn't cooperating, with me or his Instructor. He's gunnin' for a fourth attempt at the sim, and he ain't takin' no for an answer."

James' smile faltered slightly. "Cadet 91 again?"

"Yessir. Don't think he's keen on settling for a 'Mission Complete' score…but he seems hellbent on getting a 'Mission Accomplished'."

"Terminate the sim," he said instantly. "Pull him out, now."

The stern tone of his voice seemed to surprise Roberta, as her large ears perked up. "Are you sure, Boss? This is Fox we're talking about. Are you sure you want to—?"

James shook his head. "He has to stick to four attempts like everyone else, Roberta. You can tell him I gave the order."

"I'll tell him, sir. But he ain't gonna like it."

James pursed his lips for a moment, before returning to Katt. "See? Even the passing students are as unsure of themselves as you are. Heck, you'll find that most of them are flying pretty uniform 'cause they're either scared or determined not to mess up. It's how everyone is in their first week."

Katt glanced over at the screen. "That ship there seems to be taking an awful lot of risks."

Frowning, James whirled around instantly, catching the monitor just as a blurry shape was darting past. Sure enough, one ship on the map was jerking about through obstacles in an unorthodox manner, changing speed and angles sporadically. Whoever the pilot was, they were making zero effort to perform any of the required maneuvers. They were just blowing through the course on pure improvisation, showy as a Stunt Flier or Belly Racer at a Sector Z Thunderdome.

The sight prompted James to order: "Computer, highlight craft at Grid H, Position .9808. Who is that?"

A little green holographic outline began tailing the ship on the monitor, replete with a glowing number. "Cadet 64."

James forehead creased jadedly. "I should have known." He turned to the line of Instructors. "Who's monitoring him? Reel him back into control."

A fuming bulldog yanked his headset off. "I'm trying my damndest, Commander, but the blasted pup isn't listening to me. He keeps shutting off the comm, even the override frequency. Keeps saying 'he can manage fine without instruction'." His jowls wobbled, taken aback. "The sheer impertinence! Where in blazes does a child get all these unsightly qualities from?"

James glared at the small holographic image of the Cloud Stinger, muttering in a voice molten with a scathing disapproval that made even Katt raise an eyebrow.

"…'Where', ideed."

Once the radio was off and he no longer had that nagging Bulldog's voice in his ear, Wolf could finally fly his way.

Oh, sure, he could have easily flown by the book, using the same standardized set of tricks expected from him and everyone else…but that wasn't getting him anywhere. Certainly not to a better score.

Throwing the Academy standard out the window, he began flying wild: He was boosting where he should have braked. He used rapid-fire where he should have charged his shots. Instead of banking between widely-placed rings, he barrel-rolled aggressively from side to side, applying the boost where he needed. It became a hazardous game of adjusting to obstacles on the fly, and reacting how he saw fit. His style was a breathing orthodoxy, one built entirely around hasty improv.

…but it was paying off. He was scoring more rings and clearing more bogies than he ever did flying the standard way. It wasn't without its price; this constant gambling forced him to sacrifice his shields to the odd mistake—with enemy fire or nicks chewing through them. But as long as he never had to sacrifice his speed, Wolf didn't care. He could still blaze through on one last sliver of health, and that was all that mattered.

Just then, he saw the last gold ring up ahead, just as a turret began opening fire on him. Striving to cling to the last of his shields, Wolf felt a downpour of sensations:

The boom of a nearby turret. The rattle of his boosters roaring into high velocity. The splattering of foam on his cockpit window as he grazed the water in a panicked roll…

…the blinding flash of the last gold ring expanding around his craft.

A triumphant grin sprang on his face, still perched there even as his surroundings melted away and he felt the cold air of the Simple Map room wash over him. He mopped his brow for sweat that was no longer there, his racing heart abruptly resetting to a tempo it had never left. As the heat of the sim wore off, Wolf's exhale merged into a reckless laugh.

He felt amazing, unstoppable…the adrenaline and confidence still bristling through his fur. He'd done it…he'd found a way of flying that worked, one that could make him a force to be reckoned with.

Wolf glanced upwards, certain that James had seen his performance.

What happened, old man? I thought I didn't have the makings of a pilot… He suppressed a smirk. Where's all that big talk now?

He waited expectantly for the panel under his boots to glow. "Alright, how'd I do?"

"Finishing time: Two minutes and thirty-three second. You have reached a new record."

Wolf beamed. "Sounds about right."

"…Mission Failed."

"WHAT?" Immediately, Wolf jerked upright, as if doused with ice water.

There was no way. He'd made a decent time, scored enough rings, plenty of gold ones…and yet he failed. It was a contradiction that left him flabbergasted, completely clueless. Not even a "Mission Complete", an outright fail?

That was when he stopped rifling through his confusion, and the realization hit him.

James. It has to be.

Just as an irritated growl was brewing in his throat, he spotted the fox emerging through the elevator doors into the wide space, accompanied by his Dalmatian Junior Officer. He kept a leisurely air about him as the room hummed with the sound of the Map Hardware shutting off, yanking the students awake and blinking groggily.

"Alright, gang. That's enough skyhopping for one evening…I bet you're all ready for a well-earned rest." He seemed to anticipate the groans of uncertainty or protest, and quickly added: "You've all made good progress today, but I won't be allowing anymore sim trials. I'm more than happy to take any questions, though—" Several eager voices drowned him out before he was even finished. "—in turn, so form a line."

Fox moved his way to the front, fidgeting somewhat uncomfortably until he managed to get his father's attention. James seemed to already know what he wanted, shutting down his son before he could even talk.

"My orders haven't changed, Cadet, if that's what you're wondering."

"Sir, all I need is one more shot," the boy implored hastily. "This time I can get it right, I know I can—"

"Get it right next time, Fox," James said, breaking his formal composure to call him by his real name. "When you're fit and rested."

Fox straightened, determined not to break formality around the other students. "Sir. I'm telling you, that's not necessary. I can handle a few more rounds in the Sim, easy."

James glanced around, lowering his voice so others wouldn't overhear. "You don't have to push yourself to impress me, son. You got a fine score…now do yourself a favor and just be happy with it, huh?"

Fox's cheeks inflamed and he looked down, muttering. "Did you ever settle for a 'fine' score?"

"In my day, we didn't use scores. But we knew not to push ourselves past our breaking point…especially just to prove ourselves, like you're doing. You don't have to get 'Mission Accomplished' every time for my sake, okay?" He resumed his normal tone of voice. "Now, run along. We'll talk later."

The smaller fox gave a conceding, if forlorn, nod. "Yes, Da—I mean, sir."

Tempted to give Fox an affectionate ruffle between the ears, but knowing Fox wouldn't appreciate that in front of the other students, James simply let him trudge off. That was when Wolf stepped in, barely waiting for Fox's reddish-gold plume of a tail to escape the range of his boots as he stormed over and threw up a very non-committal salute. "Commander."

"Cadet 64." James' smile vanished instantly. "I take it you have a question."

Words almost failed Wolf at how James retained a calm façade, and seemed to pretend there was nothing wrong. Nevertheless, he fought to keep his tone civil.

"Yes, actually. I just got a 'Mission Failed' on my trial, despite checking all the right boxes. Y'mind telling me what that's about?" Wolf's eyes sent a private, warning glare between them. "Or are you letting something personal determine my score?"

"That's overthinking things a bit. It's far simpler than that," James said stiffly. "You were just doing it all wrong."

Wolf's eyebrows immediately locked together. "Nearly all enemies defeated, and rings collected? How does that amount to doing it wrong, exactly?"

"It wouldn't have mattered if you'd taken out every bogey on the map, Cadet." He folded his arms. "Fact is, you didn't use a single standardized maneuver I assigned you. Instead, you used—" He curled his snout in disdain. "—whatever you want to call that dance routine in the sky just now."

"And that means I fail? Why is improvising some unpardonable sin? It's not like I'm the only one to do it." He glanced around, aiming an accusatory finger. "Your kid Fox even beat the obstacle by mixing up moves."

Fox turned alertly at the sound of his name, but his father simply shook his head.

"He still used the approved maneuvers for most of his flying..." James' ears flicked disapprovingly. "Whereas you didn't use any. And you're not passing till you get them right. You'll try again tomorrow, properly this time, the way you're supposed to, not improvising all over the place."

Wolf didn't turn to join the other students. He knew it probably would have been better to just fall in line, to avoid the confrontation that was brewing. He could practically hear Peppy's voice in his head, urging him to quit this argument while he was ahead, to just swallow it up before things got worse. That would be the responsible thing to do, the grown-up thing to do.

Why should I? I'm not getting into some petty scuffle over ego. My grades are at stake here…I should be able to speak out about this.

Wolf held his ground, demanding: "If improvising and doing it my way gets it done faster, then what does it matter what maneuvers I use?"

James sighed. "Cadet. I have other students." He flashed a look that clearly said: Now's really not a good time for one of your tantrums. "Frank, escort Cadet 64 with the others back to their dorms."

Wrenching out of the Dalmatian Officer's grip, Wolf could only scowl. It was classic, insufferable behavior from James; brushing him off and ordering Peppy or someone else to reel him in, like a stain he couldn't be bothered to clean. Wolf had endured that humiliation all throughout childhood, and he wasn't going to endure it here.

"This is ridiculous. Why am I being punished for finding a better way to clear the course? Just because it wasn't one-to-one with how you want me to fly? All that should matter is that I DID it. If the obstacle is cleared, or the enemy stays dead, it shouldn't matter how I do it."

James sighed. "The point of the exercise is to make sure you've memorized all the tricks we need you to learn to be part of the fleet. To be the pilot we need you to be."

"So you want me to become a better pilot, by picking your approach. The one where I fly worse." He looked at the Dalmatian, as if in need of another witness for this absurdity. "Am I missing something here? Or am I crazy for having my priorities straight?"

James wasn't one to lose his composure in public, certainly not around the students. But the spike of impatience was present in his features, from how his brown-tipped ears twitched and the way his speech drew more of his vulpine teeth than usual.

"You're going to fly with the maneuvers we expect from you in the field. You'll fly how you're ordered to, not however you want. And you'll do it by the book or not at all."

He immediately transitioned out of his stern voice, and resumed, kindly attending to another student…but Wolf wouldn't budge. As the Dalmatian Officer dragged him away, he called after him:

"What if 'the book' is outdated? What if we find ways of flying that are better than what came before?"

The sheer audacity of his statement every student within earshot to gape, looking utterly stunned. What Wolf was saying was patently insane, and on top of that, to say it to James McCloud of all people was beyond disrespectful. It was practically the equivalent of defacing one of the marble statues outside. Even James turned, with his eyebrows raised above his sunglasses in bewilderment.

The Dalmatian Officer stepped forward. "You're out of line, Cadet. Get back with the others. Now."

"Hold on." The fox stopped him, turning to Wolf. "Are you actually suggesting that you've got a better way of flying than the Academy standard? Better than the maneuvers perfected by the last fifty generations of Cornerian pilots?"

Wolf's eyes flashed at him daringly. "Possibly. It could be me or someone else in this room." He acknowledged the other students. "You'd have no way of knowing. We're not allowed an inch of room to experiment in how we fly."

"Because it would be a waste of time," James snapped. "Just like you're doing right now."

"Funny how anything challenging your way of flying is suddenly a waste of time," Wolf fired back.

Rather than be frightened by their teacher's aggressive tone, the Cadets looked on in excitement. Even some of the students in the midst of leaving turned their heads as Wolf's adolescent voice and James' older one continued to clash.

One by one, they gathered around the pair, like bar patrons eagerly observing a brawl in its infancy, their interest piqued by the aggressive tones and raised voices.

"This school isn't about letting hotheaded pilots fly about and experiment outside the proven standard. It's about prepping pilots with the methods that work...that have been proven to work," James added with a cold glance.

"But if we accomplish the mission anyway, then what does it matter?" Wolf demanded. "You really think if I'm out in a battle, and I manage to take down enough enemy pilots to keep my wingmates safe, I'm gonna get demoted for not using the right moves to do it? Like, how arbitrary is all this? There's no reason we shouldn't—"

"You're being taught how to accomplish missions the way you're supposed to," James said flatly. "Not the way you want to. That is the first duty of any soldier or pilot."

Wolf started: "But why can't we—"

The Fox finally closed in. "Look. I'm done trying to spell this out for you, and clearly, nothing is sticking. I need the remaining classtime to attend to the other students, not bicker the superiority of flight maneuvers with a Cadet. Until your way of flying wins wars or becomes the military standard, I suggest you get back in line, and practice tomorrow like you're told." He bit into his words warningly. "For your sake, pup."

Wolf felt a sting of embarrassment as some of the other students chortled, right before he felt the Junior Officer grab ahold of his sleeve. "I'm really sorry, sir. I'll deal with this one immediately…I have no idea what's gotten into him."

James give him a cold, dismissive glance only fueled the familiar spike of irritation in Wolf's blood. In blind, brash and raw impulse, Wolf called out to James over the shoulder of the Dalmatian restraining him:

"You know what I think? I think the reason you keep us in line is because you're afraid that we'll discover a better way of flying...that your way of flying'll be made obsolete. That's the real reason, isn't it?"

It caused James' boots slid to a stop, as he turned to face him.

"On our first day here, you went on and on about how you want each of us to be the pilot who makes our own mark, who doesn't fly in your shadow, to be the one who surpasses you—" He shouted the in the same, defiant growl, scarcely stopping for breath as he marched up to James. "But that's not something you really believe in, is it? You really just want to hold us all back from our real potential, because it scares you!"

No sharp retort came. James simply bored his gaze down into him, letting the air drift into brittle silence. The two of them continued to stare each other down, the air practically crackling in the absence of any shouting.

A collective inhale swept over onlookers, all of them exchanging wide-eyed, incredulous looks. No one knew where this upstart got the confidence to attack James, despite the gulf in fame and experience between them both.

"Geez. The balls on this kid..." A Beagle Cadet breathed.

Katt tapped her chin, mildly intrigued. "He's uncompromising, I'll give him that."

"Are you kidding?" Falco scoffed. "This cocky idiot's asking to get his face caved in. I don't know who he thinks he is, trying to lecture James McCloud of all people on flying."

Amidst the crowd, Fox looked stunned. It was a startling rarity to see his father launched into such a vicious shouting match, or to have a student be the thing to get under his skin. It was such a strange sight to behold, as despite his lean, lanky build being overshadowed by James' muscular height, the wolf retained his defiant scowl, his blazing purple gaze dueling with the cold, reflective sheen of his opponent's glasses. Fox stared at the brash boy from afar, wondering who he was…

The silence was broken when the Dalmatian Officer barked at him. "Alright, that's it, Cadet! You're officially grounded to your barracks until morning!"

"No—it's alright, Frank." James held his hand up calmly. "If Cadet 64 takes issue with the Academy standard and wishes to challenge it, I'm more than willing to indulge him."

The Dalmatian looks at him in confusion. "Sir...?"

"Raging hostility aside, there's a kernel of validity in what the Cadet's saying." James raised his voice for the whole class to hear. "In fact, I'll bet he's saying what most of you have been already thinking: why do we keep you on a tight leash? Why is the Academy bent on having you memorize our maneuvers to the letter, instead of letting you fly free?"

The other students look at each other uneasily, none of them daring to come forward...already shocked that Wolf would sprint so far out of line than they'd ever dare to cross.

James turned to him. "And because Cadet 64 has been so good as to volunteer himself, it means I don't have to bother explaining it to you when I can show you instead."

Wolf narrowed his eyes, attempting to read the man's face, wondering what kind of game he was playing. There was almost something sly about the new look that had entered his face. Something he didn't like.

The Dalmatian looked just as baffled, stammering. "B-But sir..."

James' shielded gaze searched the students. "Hmm, let's see...Cadet 51!

There was a soft pitter-patter of boots as a student raced forward. She was a dainty white Tabby, whose forehead and ears were splashed with orange. She was the tallest feline in the room, a fact she seemed all too conscious of with the way she awkwardly stooped as she walked. She had her velvety snout buttoned in a seemingly permanent expression of insecurity, one she was clearly trying to wash off as she saluted James and nervously locked eyes with him.

Sensing her intimidation, James softened his tone. "Cadet…Meryl, is it?"

The Tabby nodded. "Yes, sir. Thank you for remembering."

Wolf's ears suddenly perked up, recognizing her voice. She was the cadet who had been calling for help during the hectic, impromptu simulation on the first day…the one he and everyone else had left behind. Everyone else seemed to recognize her too, judging by the way they started squirming uncomfortably.

"I noticed you managed to beat the record time using every assigned maneuver," James remarked. "Very impressive."

The feline's cheeks become bright red, and even the students behind her winced in envy. "Oh. Thanks, I...I mean, I try, sir." She said, quickly trying to harden her sheepish voice.

"And why didn't you improvise any moves?"

Meryl paused thoughtfully, as if wary that she was being tested. "...I didn't feel the need, sir."

James tilted his head, considering her. "Well, it's not too much trouble, I'd like you to go one more round for the class, exactly how you did it before, using all the same maneuvers." He raised his voice to the ceiling. "Inari Routine 11-B, Duplicate mode. And raise the difficulty five levels."

Upon his order, the sensory waves of the Simple Map morphed around them and changed into the sprawling seascape from the students' training, but altered to have duplicates of every landmark and obstacle; sporting two rows of arches instead of one, two waterfall-laden passages, and two mountain ranges...all forming two separate serpentine paths that ran opposite of each other. Across from them were a pair of docked Cloud Stinger ships.

Wolf furrowed his eyebrows. "What're you—?"

"If you think there's a better way to fly, here's your chance. Clear the course before Cadet 51 does."

Wolf blinked. "Me? Like, right now?"

The other Cadet, Meryl, looked equally surprised. But there wasn't a wrinkle of mirth in James' face; he looked perfectly serious.

"You're so convinced that I'm holding you back? Prove it. You should have no problem clearing this course in first, especially when Meryl here will be flying—oh, sorry—hindered by the Academy standard." He said it with such a stab of condescension in his tone. "Heck, you should be able to fly circles around Meryl her, if your technique is as flawless as you say."

A ripple of confusion spread within the mob of onlooking students.

"Use whatever tricks and improvise to your heart's content...and if you beat her, I'll give you free reign to fly however you like for the rest of your classes," James offered. "Unbeholden to any maneuvers I or anyone else force upon you."

The other students' jaws dropped, one of their whispers spiking into audibility. "WHAT? He's just gonna let him do whatever he wants?"

Wolf narrowed his eyes, enamored by such a tantalizing offer, but not enough to alleviate suspicion. "And if I lose?"

James' voice hardened. "Then you can get used to spending classes flying the normal maneuvers. My way, without question, just like everyone else."

Wolf studied his mentor's face. He could tell, from the self-assured, smug ripple in his voice, the kind of ploy that James was trying to lure him into.

The bait couldn't have been more transparent…or enticing. This was far too much freedom to retaliate, too gaping of an opportunity for Wolf to kick mud back into his face. Even under the thin excuse of teaching, James would never allow this… not unless he was dead certain that the outcome would play out in his favor.

A sneer played on Wolf's lips. All the more satisfaction when I prove you wrong.

With all gazes locked on him in anticipation, he straightened up to reach the pilot's towering height. "Deal."

It was one of the rare instances where James smiled at him. "I'll leave you two to it, then. Board your ships."

Wolf didn't return his cordiality. In a blur of venomous confidence, he stormed towards the open cockpit of his Cloud Stinger, stepping onto the boarding ladder.

"Um…"

Just before turning to board his own craft, Wolf heard a small squeak behind him. He turned to find Meryl, who had refrained from climbing her boarding ladder long enough to dip her head in Wolf's direction, looking hopeful. "No hard feelings about who wins, right?"

Wolf relinquished his scowl. There wasn't a point in taking out his private feud with James out on her. Especially when the poor girl had no idea how badly she was about to lose.

"Last thing on my mind." He smiled with an almost backhanded sense of sympathy. "Give it your best up there…whatever that amounts to."

That seemed to work for Meryl, who beamed in oblivious relief and climbed up into her own craft.

Meanwhile, James ushered the other students back with a swing of his arm. "Everyone else, step over here. You're going to watch all of this from outside the simulation…and whatever transpires, be sure to observe it closely."

As the rest of the class stepped into the swirl of sensory particles transporting them outside the simulation, the Dalmatian Junior Officer seemed to squirm in displeasure, aiming a scornful look in Wolf's direction before scampering closer to James.

"Commander, it's not my places to question your methods, but—" Hastily, he lowered his voice. "I'm not sure this it's a good idea. It doesn't set a good precedent, bargaining with a student...especially just to teach him a lesson."

As the sensory particles illuminated his orange fur, James raised a brow at him. "What makes you think I'm teaching him the lesson?"

He was seemingly indulging himself in a covert sense of satisfaction even as the Simple Map's energized particles washed over both him, and the dumbfounded Dalmatian Officer standing next to him.

Shrouded in the dark confines of the cockpit, with his cool leather seat being gently moved by standby engines' deep growl traveling up its spine, Wolf waited.

He drummed his fingers on the flight stick, keeping his breath steady as he waited for the synthetic voice to sound off. As he kept his gaze locked ahead, a searing look of determination scowled back at him through canopy's reflective glass.

It was all going to change today. The patronizing, the snide dismissal, the never-ending verbal degradation…for years, he'd taken it all from James. And now, Wolf finally had an arena to cut him down to size, to make him choke on every bitter word…

You made a mistake in giving me this opportunity, James… He flexed his fingers around the steering. Now I'm going embarrass you in front of your own students…

There was a sudden crackle on the comm board, and Wolf's breath tensed.

"On three…

Two…

One…"

The dulcet voice was drowned out almost instantly. The engines of Wolf's ship roared the entire valley awake as he wrenched the thrust vectors forward. His rotation beaming energy conduits whirred as his wings arched out, ribbons of wind gathering on the nose as Wolf yanked it up into an ascent.

BOOM.

With a deafening, thunderous quake of his reactor engines, Wolf's ship rose towards the sun like a steel Pegasus and rolled into a boost in one, slick maneuver, punching a supersonic pulse around him as he tore across the sky.

White sheets of high-altitude wind skirted past Wolf's canopy window as he slipped almost immediately into his preferred flight pattern: merging rolls into boosts, divebombing and spinning between the first set of obstacles rising out of the water: Horizontal vine-covered canyon bridges, stretching over the curling waves in sporadic rows, both and above and below, pelting the canopies of both ships with rippling shadows.

Reacting them as best he could on blindingly short notice, Wolf guided his craft nimbly between them, drawing sharp inhales as he wrenched at his flight stick. On occasion, he'd dart his eyes sideways to see Meryl's ship racing alongside him. Whoever this girl was, she was no slouch; she guided her bronze ship gracefully, plunging and rising at blazing speed, struggling far less than Wolf on her timing.

No matter what did, Wolf couldn't outpace her. What she lacked in in speed, she more than made up in consistency…rarely boosting, but orienting herself around the oncoming obstacles with laser-sharp precision, darting between rock pylons like a gleaming homing missile, matching Wolf speed-for-speed.

The two ships slid closer in proximity, the rumble of Meryl's engines so close that they revibrated off of Wolf's canopy, their wing tips practically grazing each other. Meryl stayed glued to him, even as they passed through the course's waterfall, their boosters flaring green and illuminating the gushing foam around them.

Wolf didn't climb into an ascent, or anything else to throw her off. He narrowed his eyes, knowing that's precisely what she wanted. She really was flying by the book, this girl…

Waiting for me to slip up and overtake me in a boost, are we? He sneered. Not gonna happen, girlie…

Then, out of nowhere, he watched her ship jolt to a sudden stop, her G-Diffuser banks flaring. In instinctive panic, Wolf's hands flew to his brakes, swerving his ship back and his gaze forward to see what obstacle Meryl was avoiding…only to find nothing.

FWOOM!

Meryl's retaliation was swift. She picked up speed right as Wolf's had dropped in surprise, curling behind and barrel-rolling over his craft before zooming past. Still in a dazed spell of startlement, Wolf kicked his ship back into gear, realizing too late that it had been a feint…a devious one that James had only taught them a few days before.

SHIT! Wolf mentally fumed, wrenching his ship in a furious boost after her. How stupid could he have been to fall for that?

Now, that the feline's ship was ahead of him, she was persistently blocking his every effort to past her. It wouldn't matter what stunt he would pull, how much he tried to zip, bank or weave his way around her: Meryl would orient her craft directly in front of him, firmly holding onto the lead that she'd just snatched from under his nose.

Royally annoyed, Wolf fought to keep his frustration from seeping into his steering, as he scanned past the flashing outline of his opponent's ship for an opportunity he could exploit—

Suddenly, the competitive fever seeped out of him, as the oceanic layout led both pilots into the gaping mouth of a rock basin. On barely a second's notice, Meryl forced her ship into a hasty vertical bank, with Wolf following suit behind her, just as the canyon walls began to narrow around them. The basin grew claustrophobically thin, walls closing in and practically hugging their craft even as they were in a fixed tilt. Keeping a frantically-ginger hold on his steering, Wolf darted his eyes from the blurry rock face racing past his window to the flashing speck of Meryl up ahead. He gritted his teeth; this would have been the perfect opportunity to boost past her…but that would be a laughable risk in such a tight space, where one inch of hasty movement could send him smashing right into the canyon wall. He could even see Meryl's speed fluctuating up ahead, as she fought to keep her ship on tilt.

No sooner had both pilots adjusted to the hazard around them than a loud hiss startled them. Hatches on either side of the basin popped open. Bulbous auto-turrets emerged, and opened fire.

Wolf jerked his neck, both in outrage and disbelief. What the hell is THIS bullshit? It's not enough we have to go through this narrow death-trap, but we've gotta deal with ENEMIES, too?!

Relentless laserfire rained above and below both ships while they were still locked sideways and vulnerable, unable to so much as deflect the oncoming fire with a barrel roll. Meryl's disarmed state was blatant in how she was flying, swerving her ship forward and back, seemingly bewildered at how unfairly stacked the hazards were against them.

But even as Wolf struggled, he could tell what was going on. A jaded scowl warped his expression.

Cranking up the obstacles to dissuade me from flying how I want, are we? That's petty, even for you, James…

He defiantly held his tilt, refusing to go down to either the canyon or the turrets. Right as he was wrestling with his steering, he saw Meryl's ship climb. She was using the standard somersault to evade fire…which drastically lowered her speed.

Wolf's ears perked up, suddenly struck by a devious idea. It was unbelievably risky, and come with a price…but it was a surefire way of pushing back against the pitiless odds James was stacking against him.

In the slim window of a few seconds, Wolf raced under Meryl's ascent and glided past. Instead of somersaulting, he guided his craft into the enemy line of fire, wincing as he took the rattling hits to his hull. The bolts chewed through shields, but he didn't care; the pulsating sonic winds gathering at the nose of his craft assured him that the sacrifice was worth it: that he was hitting Mach speed, shooting down as many turrets as he could while remaining on tilt. Even with their comms turned off, he knew that Meryl must have thought he was insane, not just for essentially taking a bath in enemy fire but risking collision against the basin by going at high speed.

But just as the last turret in Wolf's path exploded, he could see the gaping exit of the basin ahead. He didn't waste a second. he sped forward, maintaining his tilt until he emerged—blackened, scorched, and gliding out of an unfurling plume of smoke, with a freshly-reclaimed lead.

The stunt had paid off. Wolf was at last ahead of Meryl, savoring the sight of her several yards behind him with a rush of triumph and adrenaline snaking through his fur. Just the mental image of the angry look that was probably materializing on James' face right now filled him with a newfound surge of confidence.

You watching, old man? He thought. Your little 'obstacle' gave me exactly what I needed…

He was in such high spirits that nothing bothered him: not the flashing red from his dwindling shield array, or the high-pitched blare of his UI alarms. Gripping the control stick, he dropped out of his tilt and sped towards the next obstacle yawning before him: a labyrinth of sporadic archways, rising out of the stark blue water like grey, stony, moss-covered fungal growths.

Arches. He smiled. Nothing I can't handle.

But as the twisted rock formations came hurtling at Wolf at high speed, that sigh of relief quickly turned to sharp inhales of alarm. The scattered arches began to increase in frequency and form he flew—some lithe, some twisted, some towering and others practically kissing the waves. All were locked in close formation, their thick jagged exterior requiring nothing short of massive bank to avoid collusion. Bit by bit, the cocky grin he'd formed under a trickle of sweat began to fade. His confidence began to chip away, as he struggled to maneuver between the parade of arches…and quickly realized the much bigger deathtrap he was suddenly in.

As the arches hurled at him at a merciless second's notice, Wolf felt his fingers tensing up around his control stick, his battered ship hinging on ginger and precise movements now more than ever. Normally, this would have been the place to slow down, to avoid risks.

But he couldn't.

In a space this open, the slightest misstep or decrease in speed would practically hand Meryl the lead on a platter. Wolf could already see her moving in closer, as he snuck an occasional, frantic glance at his radar to make sure his lead was secure.

A single blunder. That's all it would take for the feline to overtake him. He'd sacrificed so much of his shields to get ahead, chewed through the entire gage till there was only one measly sliver left.

Wolf tried to shake himself out of it, fighting to concentrate on the arches. But his UI's shrill alarms only continued to remind him of the pitiful state of his shields, burrowing a growing panic in his stomach. Wolf swallowed it back, repeatedly telling himself that he could handle it.

That's when his absentminded visual juggle between his window and radar stopped. He caught sight of a hazy green line at the edge of the radar's glittering interface: the finish line.

It was just beyond these last few rows of arches, just within and determined more than ever not to drop his speed, Wolf pushed himself into a far more aggressive boost, eyes feverishly darting to the blurry green haze of the finish line. He began barreling and diving between arches, fighting tooth and nail to keep his lead for just a few seconds longer.

The sound of Meryl's engines growing louder made his fur prickle. She was closing in, patiently building speed by sticking to a well-worn textbook maneuver, the Serpentine Pass, alternating between slow banks and light boosts. She had the shields and the breathing room to play things safe…but Wolf didn't.

For better or for worse, he'd put himself in a position where he had to breathlessly fight to retain his lead. Even as Meryl passed under the same lane of archways, he barreled his smoldering ship in her path.

No. You're NOT going to get ahead. Not when I'm this close—

Sweat gathered around the flight stick beneath his shaking hands, desperately juggling his stunts to block Meryl with keeping a distance from the rocks whizzing past. One more hit would surely finish him, depending on where he was hit. He might have been able to afford another graze to his hull or wing-tips, but anywhere more fragile...

Wolf swallowed, shaking himself out of rising panic. He was going to make it. He was—

BOOM!

A thunderous sound from overhead made Wolf's heart leap to his throat.

He looked up just in time to see the flash of orange erupt from the arch overhead, causing the caprock to crumble. His pupils darted behind the sweaty, matted bangs dangling over his eyes, alit by a millisecond's panic and realization.

Another one of James' booby traps. A motion-sensitive bomb.

Rocks came pouring down like a vicious swarm of _ wasps, pelt the waves and sending up splashing plumes around both craft. Meryl's panicked yelp erupted on the comm., her bronze ship swerving to a slow bank to avoid the shower of crumbling rocks.

The safe thing for Wolf would have been the same bank. But doing so would make him lose all forward momentum—all the speed he'd sacrificed his shields to build, to gain over his opponent. He'd lose it, and practically drop the victory into her lap. Acting in blaze of thoughtless impulse, Wolf latched onto one final stunt: he dove into a hasty barrel roll, deflecting the rocks falling from above while furiously thumbing the booster simultaneously to retain his speed—

One rock.

Of all the unlikely, impossible luck, one rock made it through a gap in his spinning wings. One stray jagged piece of debris was all it took to wedge into his smoking, damaged G-Diffuser banks.

The whine of his UI alarms climbed to the pitch of his engines, shuddering to a crawl that made Wolf's eyes bulge in panic, just before the explosion deafened and blinded him.

Still reeling from the explosion, Wolf was flung back into the Map Room, stumbling to his knees. For a moment, the sense of disbelief rendered him immobile, with his eyes static. Had he been alone in the room, he might have just sat there on the cold tiled floor with the gutted feeling in his stomach, trying to fathom what had just happened.

But the ripple of hushed voices just a few yards away wouldn't allow for it. In that moment, Wolf kept his gaze lowered, feeling his face searing with embarrassment, knowing that all the other students' eyes were on him—that they had seen everything. And when his eyes found a pair of silver boots planted just across from where he sat, his stomach lurched in anger. He didn't need to look up to know that James was staring down at him, probably wearing that smug, condescending look of his.

Neither one of them spoke…neither had to. The nature of Wolf's catastrophic blunder was so nakedly obvious that he couldn't refute it, and James had no need to elaborate on it.

All that big talk, all that scornful boasting…and Wolf had lost the race to something as minute and non-threatening as a rock. Something so unassuming, and yet was made a lethal hazard by no one but Wolf himself; by the pitiful state of his shields, which he'd gambled away in one stunt after another.

The air in the room changed. Everyone had gone from admiring the boldness of the cadet in the middle of the room, to wincing at the sight of him. They all began retreating into snide whispers, though some didn't even try to hide their callous voices:

"Pfft. Serves the idiot right. What did he think was going to happen?"

"That's what gets for trying to show up James McCloud of all people. He was always going to lose."

"The nerve of him, thinking he knew more about flying…and now, look at him: tail between his legs, like a whipped mongrel."

Face boiling, Wolf clamped his mouth shut, refusing to meet the gaze of everyone staring at him. Part of him was desperately hoping James would hurry up and dismiss everyone, to spare him the humiliation.

James, however, appeared to have other plans…seemingly content with letting the silence linger and fester. Even as the quiet became unsettling and torturous, as the other students began to show visible discomfort, shuffling their feet and glancing at him expectantly, the fox remained eerily quiet. Even when Meryl emerged from the sim, having reached the finish line within the program, she just stood there awkwardly for acknowledgment that never came.

James just stood there, with his expression frigid and gaze locked on the crumpled student at his feet.

"Splendid work back there, Cadet 51," he finally said, though he didn't turn to address the Tabby. "I noticed you used Maneuver C to avoid that little skirmish with the rocks."

Meryl straightened promptly. "Yes, sir."

"But you could've used a different trick," he followed up sharply. "You could've made a boost, or a spin to maintain your speed and blaze ahead of Cadet 64. It could have bought you the race in an instant."

Her formal features subsided somewhat. "Yes, I suppose, it could."

"So why didn't you do it?" James asked. "What happened to Cadet 64 wouldn't necessarily have happened to you. You could have still gone outside what I've taught you. Found a better way."

Meryl paused, somewhat confused by the tone of his voice. Her eyes narrowed, seemingly trying to detect if she was being tested or not. But more than that, the brittle tone of his voice seemed to confuse her, as if she wasn't sure if he was praising or reprimanding her.

Finally, she raised herself in a confident military posture. "You're right, sir. There may have been a better way." She glanced nervously at Wolf before resuming. "But I wasn't willing to risk finding out. Especially in a battlefield filled with factors beyond my control, that could doom me at any second."

James nodded, whiskers twitching contemplatively. "Hmm. How interesting." Scarcely transitioning back to his normal, relatable voice, he turned to the class. "Well, I think you've all gleaned he value of today's lesson. I trust it'll give you something to consider before veering outside the textbook, or doing any daredevil theatrics in the future."

Each word, pleasant and restrained, lashed at the back of Wolf's lowered neck like the biting sting of a barb. But James didn't notice—or at least, didn't give any signs that he did. He directed the sheen of his sunglasses at the other students.

"You're all dismissed. Frank, if you would kindly escort everyone back to the Dormitory Wing." He turned towards the door, before stopping mid-stride to glance back at Wolf. "Oh, and Cadet 64? I expect to see you at tomorrow morning's practice session…as per our agreement."

Wolf didn't lift his head to acknowledge him. As the Dalmatian Junior Officer began ushering everyone out the door, the flock of Cadets passed by Wolf's crumpled shadow on the floor, casting unenvious glances at him on their way out. As their numbers depleted, Meryl saw her chance to trudge over to him, wearing something resembling sympathy in her expression. She offered a hand to help him up, but Wolf just glowered past her, ignoring her open hand. He didn't need her niceties…not when she'd just made him look like a fool.

Ears dipping disappointedly, she withdrew and trudged off…completely unaware of the curious, almost hungry way that Katt was staring at her from afar, just as she had been throughout the entire race. Every perfect bank and weave had molded a sly smile on Katt's face, one she kept even now as she followed the others out.

For a moment, Wolf remained in a crestfallen heap, the nauseous curdle to his blood creeping to his shaking fingers like nettle...not bitter or angry at James. Just at himself.

No matter how much he resented James' insufferable condescension, Wolf knew deep down that the Fox wasn't to blame. How angry could he truly be at James reveling in his defeat, when he'd leapt headfirst into that embarrassment himself?

All he did was provide just enough rope for me to hang myself with, Wolf thought. Everything after that was my mistake.

The remorseful part of him spurned him to raise his gaze. And it was then, by sheer chance, that he caught a glimpse of the outline of James' face just as he turned out the hall:

There, plain as day in the Fox's expression, was the look Wolf only knew too well. The same look he'd get after a successful day at work, or a mission accomplished flawlessly.

Just like that, the crestfallen sense of defeat hollowing Wolf's stomach vanished, as he put the pieces together immediately. He saw right through James' facade, fur spiking up furiously as he stared daggers into the Commando Pilot's back. There was no mistake: no lesson had been taught here. Couched in the position of Instructor where he'd never have to justify himself, the Fox had done this for his own satisfaction...Wolf just knew it.

James had enjoyed seeing him humiliated. Savored it.

A deep, angry growl burrowed in his throat, as his sprawled fingers on the floor clenching so hard that he could feel the points of his claws dig into his palms. However determined he was before, he was now driven more than ever: furious intent boiled in his bloodstream like venom, flourishing as a seething vow in his mind:

This is far from over, James…

When I first came here, I was planning on staying in line, blending in with the other kids…avoiding you whenever possible. But you crossed the line today…

I don't care how long it takes, how much sweat, or countless hours of training…

I'm going to surpass you. I'm going to become a better pilot than you EVER were. And I won't do it for fame or recognition, or to be some hero to the Cornerian cause…I'll do it just to spite you. To prove you wrong.

Just you wait…