Summary:
>>5954743>Should i flank him?[WEAK YES]
>>5954753>Is running straight to him a good idea?[WEAK YES]
>>5954762>Should I just shoot him?[YES]
>>5954770>Should I throw my knife at his head?[UNCERTAIN]
>>5954835>Will aiming above the target help my accuracy*?[YES]
>>5954839> Will holding my breath help me steady my aim?[YES]
>>5954848>will grenades help me during this training session[WEAK NO]
>>5954908>"Does the other student have any involvement with the Godlight?"[NO]
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After drawing card after card, all of your predictions coalesced into a single, audacious move. With a burst of hiver parkour, you launched yourself over the crates, landing with a silent crouch right behind your opponent. Before he could register your presence, you doused him with a blast of paint, crucially also using the trick to aim a bit higher as you held your breath to land enough paint for victory.
"ANON WINS!" Seflejo's voice boomed from the upper vox.
The impeccably dressed student spun around, wide-eyed. "I... what? -Damn. Alright then." A slow realization dawned on him, followed by a sly chuckle. "I think I've got to try something else then."
"RETURN TO YOUR CIRCLES FOR ROUND TWO--!" Seflejo's voice boomed with a hint of apology.
You stammered, caught off guard. "Round two? But I just..."
"Testing your combat abilities appropriately while you have those predictive powers is... troublesome, sorry! We had to keep it a surprise!" Seflejo boomed. "Get ready now!"
You shuffled the cards again, a knot of worry tightening in your stomach. Maybe you had given away the timing of your divining. Perhaps a single card would be–
"Round two... begins NOW!" Seflejo's booming voice cut through your thoughts.
You scrambled to form a question, but the world dissolved into a cacophony of sound. A series of cracks echoed – gunfire? Was he already attacking? Panic choked your mind for a brief instant. Then, a thud vibrated through the crates beside you. A split second later, a searing explosion erupted, a grenade showering you in a blinding splatter of paint.
"FIGALO WINS!" Seflejo's jubilant voice sliced through the ringing in your ears. A smug laugh followed from the student. "That's the money! Takes you a while to do your psyker stuff, doesn't it, Anon?"
You slumped back, defeated. "...Yeah," you managed.
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