Dayo finally returned home after a while. At the doorstep, he noticed an extra pair of shoes neatly placed by the mat. His brows furrowed—his family rarely had unexpected guests, and for a moment, he wondered if he had walked into the wrong house.

He bent down slightly, inspecting them. They weren't familiar. The laces were muddy, the type of boots that looked like they'd seen long days and harder roads.

He shrugged it off, deciding not to overthink it, and pushed the door open. Maybe a neighbor stopped by. Or maybe one of his parents had a visitor.

The house was quiet, too quiet. The kind of quiet that always carried a warning. Dayo had barely stepped into the living room when—BAM!—a figure lunged at him from the side.

Instinct took over. His muscles reacted before his mind could. Years of military training from his old life, buried but never forgotten, rose like fire. He shifted back, grabbed the attacker's arm, and in one sharp, fluid motion, flipped them clean over his shoulder.

The body hit the floor with a heavy thud.

Dayo's chest heaved once, then stilled. He looked down, ready for anything—only for his eyes to widen in shock.

"Uncle Marcus?!"

Marcus groaned, rubbing his back before breaking into laughter. "Damn, JD… you actually got me this time."

Dayo blinked, still stunned. He quickly bent down, offering his hand from his memory his uncle always does this anytime he come. "Uncle, what are you doing here? You scared the life out of me."

Marcus grinned as he stood, brushing himself off. "I just got back from deployment. Thought I'd surprise you as always." His eyes narrowed slightly, amused. "And I didn't expect you to dodge me. You always fall for that trick."

Dayo chuckled, shaking his head. "Guess I'm not the same as before."

Marcus studied him for a long second, his soldier's eyes sharp and assessing. Then his expression softened. "Your dad told me you were still training… but to flip me like that? That's not just training, JD. You're sharper than me now—and that's saying something."

Before Dayo could respond, the rest of the family poured in, laughing. His younger brother immediately pointed, teasing loudly:

"Finally! Someone caught Uncle Marcus off guard!"

The whole room erupted in laughter, Marcus included. For the first time in a while, the house felt alive, filled with warmth and noise. They all sat down together, catching up, joking, and sharing stories.

At one point, Marcus leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "So… I heard you won the Wildcard. Qualified for the Global Competition, huh?"

Dayo scratched his neck modestly. "Yeah. Honestly, I couldn't have done it without everyone's support."

Marcus smiled proudly and gave his shoulder a firm pat. "Proud of you, kid." Then, his grin shifted into mischief. "But enough talk. How about we hit the gun range? Been a while since I tested my skills with you lot."

That sparked instant excitement. Soon, Dayo, his father, Marcus, and his brother piled into the car and drove out together.

The gun range buzzed with activity. The sharp scent of gunpowder hung in the air, and the metallic clang of spent shells echoed in the background. Marcus set down a duffel bag, pulling out a pistol first.

"Alright," he said, smirking as he handed it to Dayo. "Let's see what you've got. Don't embarrass me after all the training I gave you."

Dayo smirked back, took the pistol, and steadied his stance. Bang! Bang! Bang! Shots rang out, echoing through the range. Target after target dropped, nine clean hits, one just a hair off the bullseye.

The family blinked in disbelief.

Dayo's younger brother looked at his brother "WTF bro since when ? Are yiu some kind of spy or something?"

Jason looked at his younger son "Language Jeffery"

Marcus's jaw dropped. "…You're kidding me. Since when?"

Dayo let out a small breath, muttering under his breath, "Damn, I'm getting rusty."

Everyone froze. His father raised a brow, suspicion creeping into his voice. "Rusty? JD, when did you get this good?"

Marcus shook his head with a low whistle. "Kid… what happened to you?" He turned sharply to Jason. "You guys been going to the range without me?"

Jason threw up his hands. "Don't look at me. This is how he came back."

They cycled through different weapons—shotguns, rifles, even a sniper rifle. Each time, Dayo impressed them. Marcus, a seasoned special forces soldier, found himself half proud and half unsettled. He was supposed to be the expert, yet here was his younger cousin outshooting him.

Later, sitting on the benches to cool down, Marcus nudged him. "You've changed, JD. But it's a good change. Hold onto it."

Dayo smiled faintly. For him, spending the day with his uncle and family was refreshing. Marcus had always been someone he admired, and now, for the first time, he felt like he was standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him.

As evening fell, Marcus mentioned he'd be leaving soon, back to his post. Dayo nodded. He too had to prepare—because the Global Competition would resume the following week.

---

The Raffle Draw

After the Wildcard dust settled, the spotlight shifted to the next stage: the Raffle Draw.

It was the strangest part of the Global Competition. Thousands signed up every year, hoping to be chosen at random. For most, it was just a dream. The truth? No raffle entrant had ever survived the first elimination stage. The system was brutal, and raw luck rarely beat hard-earned experience.

Still, the tradition remained. It gave ordinary people a shot, however slim, to stand beside giants.

This year was no different. Over ten thousand entries poured in from across the globe. The stadium was packed, screens flashing, tension thick in the air. The lights dimmed, and the massive digital wheel spun as the crowd held its breath.

The first name appeared: Miguel Alvarez, Philippines.

A young man in the stands blinked, frozen. His jaw dropped, and he looked around like the name couldn't possibly belong to him. He hadn't even packed a suitcase. He had entered the raffle "just for fun." Now, cameras zoomed in on his stunned face as the announcer repeated:

"Miguel Alvarez!"

The audience erupted in applause while Miguel laughed nervously, shaking his head, unable to process what had just happened.

The wheel spun again. Seconds stretched. Then the second name appeared: Amelia Wright, United Kingdom.

Amelia stood slowly when her name was called. Shock lingered in her eyes, but unlike Miguel, her expression hardened into resolve. Her fists clenched at her sides as she whispered under her breath:

"Yes… this is my chance."

The contrast between the two winners was striking—Miguel still dazed, almost comical, while Amelia radiated quiet fire.

Both were escorted to the waiting area, handed simple cards confirming their entry. Miguel kept laughing nervously, fidgeting with the card, while Amelia sat upright, silent, already plotting her next steps.

And with that, the Global Competition officially had its final lineup. The Wildcard winners, the seeded stars, and now the raffle entrants—all paths had converged. The real battle was about to begin.

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