It hadn’t been Tatta’s fault. What else was he supposed to do? He could only take out one. And that’s exactly what he did—he reached out and touched Shitara, knocking all his points to zero, eliminating him instantly. But the other three still managed to slip past and hit the base. Ten thousand points each. Thirty thousand total.

There was nothing more Tatta could have done. He defended the base the only way he could, in the best way possible.

But Niragi didn’t care about that. No, all he saw was failure.

And of course, he had to pin it on Tatta. He barked at him, called him every shade of useless under the sun, shook him by the shoulders, sneered in his face, even flicked his hat right off his head.

Tatta just sat there, back pressed against the tall metal pole that marked the base. He pulled his knees to his chest, reached for his cap, and set it back on his head with trembling fingers. He let out a quiet sigh, saying nothing—too afraid that opening his mouth would only make things worse. Inside, he was already blaming himself, even though he knew there had been nothing more he could have done.