All eyes were on William again.
But this time, the mood had shifted. There was no awe. No tension. Just a quiet sort of dread, like watching someone walk barefoot toward a lit furnace.
And William? He wasn't leaping anymore.
He walked.
Not slow, not limping—just... walking. No theatrics. No power displays. Just one foot in front of the other, the same way someone walks toward a job interview they know they won't get.
He told himself it was strategy—not risking further damage to his leg.
The students around him didn't care.
"He's just trying to get it over with."
"Man, I almost feel sorry for him."
William heard them. He didn't respond. Didn't flinch.
Just clenched his jaw tight enough to strain the muscle and kept climbing.
**Thmp**—his boots hit the stage again.
Third time.
Final time.
He didn't look around. Didn't acknowledge the murmurs or the way some students avoided eye contact. He just moved to his position, fists already half-raised.
