Time dragged by.
It was finally Harrison's turn at the front of the line when the broadcast interrupted.
"One minute remaining. All students, please line up by class in height order at your designated area. Countdown: 59, 58, 57..."
Harrison tensed as the countdown began.
Finally, the person ahead of him emerged.
Harrison dashed inside.
I kept one eye on Harrison while gathering our team into position.
With twenty seconds left, Harrison burst out clutching a white board—the same speeder the first person had redeemed.
He jogged back, sweating. "There were tons of items inside, all swim-related. Most I didn't recognize. I could've picked something better, but there wasn't enough time."
Yang reassured him. "This works too. Extra advantage for the team."
I scanned the other classes. Some had redeemed up to three items; others had none.
Of course, the classes with three items had fewer members than we did.
They only had four people. We had seven.
Either way, we had the numbers advantage.
The countdown ended. The broadcast began announcing the rules.
"This competition has two rounds. Round One is a relay. Within thirty minutes, each team must swim from start to finish and back, in queue order. Each completed lap, the swimmer goes to the back of the line and goes again. Continue until time expires."
That rule made me breathe easier.
What should have been a disadvantage for us was now an advantage.
Teams with only one or two members would have to swim nonstop for thirty minutes—basically impossible.
I glanced at those smaller teams.
Sure enough, they all looked defeated.
The game hadn't even started, and they'd already lost.
Harrison patted my shoulder with a grin. "See? Told you we were lucky."
I nodded. "Yeah. Just hope Round Two isn't too bad."
No sooner had I spoken than the broadcast outlined the second game.
"After Round One, there will be no rest period. Each class must send one representative to dive to the bottom and retrieve a pearl hidden there by the Rabbit Overseers—one pearl per class. Same thirty-minute time limit. The class that finishes first earns a bonus reward. All other classes that complete the task within the time limit may rest on the shore until the event ends."
Diving was different from swimming. Non-professionals couldn't even get to the bottom.
I instinctively looked at Yang.
I wanted him to go, but I worried his age made diving too risky.
The others had the same thought—all glancing at Yang, looking hesitant.
Yang didn't think he was too old at all.
He volunteered immediately. "Harrison, leave Round Two to me. Mission guaranteed!"
Harrison had no choice but to agree.
To prevent cramps, we all stripped to our trunks and Yang led us through some warm-up stretches on the shore.
The game began. The first woman in our line entered the water at the sound of the starting whistle.
She dove in with perfect form, swimming like a fish.
She chose not to use Harrison's speeder.
Her reasoning: they didn't know how much charge it had left.
To guarantee passing the round, she'd save the device for the three of us who couldn't swim.
Even without it, she was fast.
In no time, she'd completed a full lap.
She burst from the water and high-fived the second woman.
Number two dove in gracefully.
Number one climbed out and took her place behind Seth.
Wiping water from her face, she grinned at us. "I'm amateur, but at least I didn't embarrass myself."
Seth gave her a thumbs-up. "You're amazing, Rosa."
Rosa waved it off. "Nowhere near Yang. You civilians might not know, but anyone who swam competitively knows the name 'River Crossing Flash.'"
Right on cue, it was Yang's turn to demonstrate.
The moment he hit the water, it was like a tiger returning to the jungle.
Suddenly, Yang was electric—no trace of his earlier sluggishness.
He flew through the water like a great fish, shooting to the far end in a flash.
Before we could even cheer, he was already back at the start.
Just as Rosa had said—Yang wasn't just fast. His form was beautiful.
The rest of us non-swimmers stared in awe.
Yang climbed out, utterly humble. "Haven't swum in years. Not what I used to be."
Seth and I clapped enthusiastically, piling on the praise.
Harrison stroked his chin, then pointed out something the rest of us had missed.
"This is a timed event. Don't swim too fast—save your energy."
Everyone blinked.
He was right. Coming in first didn't matter.
Fast or slow, everyone had to wait until the thirty minutes expired.
I looked around. No wonder the other classes were gliding along lazily—our team was the only one going all out.
Harrison set the speeder to its lowest speed and eased into the water, lying flat on the board as it towed him forward at a crawl.
From the side, it looked almost comical.
The rest of us sat in a circle on the shore, chatting.
After what felt like ages, Harrison finally completed his lap.
Then it was my turn.
I stood up, rolled my shoulders, bounced in place.
Yang offered last-minute swimming tips from the shore.
But I was too nervous to process anything.
A floatation device wasn't going to teach me to swim in two minutes.
Yang kept patiently demonstrating anyway.
Harrison climbed out and handed me the speeder. "Don't overthink it. Lie flat, steer, stay balanced."
Easier said than done.
The moment I entered the water, every muscle locked up.
My upper body lay on the speeder, but my legs wouldn't float.
I wasted half a minute. The entire lane suddenly flashed red.
"Warning. Warning. System detects Class 8 has stalled. Adjust immediately or the entire class will face penalties."
The broadcast made it real—there were sensors monitoring the water.
If the pool went still for too long, the organizers would know.
Yang, who'd been coaching from above, panicked at the threat.
He dove in and grabbed my legs underwater.
I screamed, clinging to the speeder for dear life.
As I flailed to adjust, red numbers appeared on the lane above me.
A countdown.
When it hit zero, we'd face the penalty.
I stopped caring about form. Moving the water was all that mattered.
"Let go! I'm fine!" I shouted to Yang.
He released me. The moment his hands slipped away, my lower half sank back under.
But I'd also figured it out—form didn't matter. Movement did.
I adopted the most ridiculous swimming posture imaginable, lying on the speeder and inching forward like a man adrift at sea.
Behind me, Yang asked, "Is that working?"
Harrison called back, "Should be. The rules don't specify technique—just keep the sensors detecting motion."
I nervously paddled to the midpoint of the lane.
Just as I hit the red countdown zone, the overhead sensors caught my movement.
The projection vanished. Countdown stopped.
The method worked. I exhaled in relief.
And so I drifted—the ultimate shipwreck survivor—slowly bobbing to the far end and slowly bobbing back.
Aside from a minor hiccup turning around at the wall, the trip was uneventful.
Or so I thought.
Halfway back, I felt a current pushing against me from below.
Since I was barely moving—essentially just lying still on the speeder—I noticed every shift in the water.