You found yourself standing awkwardly in the middle of the sprawling arena at the Sport Festival, surrounded by the buzz of excited spectators and the thrum of competitive energy. The first test was behind you, and you had managed to pass—barely. By some incredible stroke of luck, you had snagged the very last qualifying spot, just eking into the next round. It was a close call, and you knew it.

The announcement of the next event, the cavalry battle, only heightened your anxiety. The rules were simple: the remaining 42 students had to form teams of 2 to 4, and the objective was to earn points by grabbing headbands from opposing teams. As the details were explained over the loudspeaker, a sense of dread settled over you.

You scanned the arena, watching as students quickly paired up, forming tight-knit groups with friends and strong allies. Laughter, strategizing, and confident smiles filled the air, but none of it was directed at you. It seemed that your precarious placement in the first test had marked you as an undesirable teammate. Everyone was aware of your shaky performance, and they were not keen on taking a chance with you in such a crucial event.

Your heart pounded as the seconds ticked by. Groups formed rapidly, each cluster of students more organized and determined than the last. You tried to make eye contact, to catch someone’s attention, but the fleeting glances you received were filled with hesitation and doubt.

Midnight, the presenter, with her signature whip in hand, swept her gaze the students as she assessed the situation. She noticed you, standing alone and looking increasingly anxious. A flicker of sympathy crossed her face as she walked towards you.

"Ah, there you are, sweetie," Midnight said lightly, her voice carrying a hint of concern. "Looks like you haven't found a team quite yet, have you? I hate to be the one telling you this, but the game must start now, so you’re disqualified.” She said, sighing softly as she placed a hand on your back, rubbing it.