Prologue

Disclaimer.  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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Recurve Men's Junior Category; National Archery Competition

A loud beep sound echoed the entire field. I closed my eyes and took a deep sigh.

The game starts.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the athletes to the field for the Recurve Junior Men's Gold match."

The field was filled with loud claps and shouts from the audience, others are screaming their favourite athlete's name. I walked to the ground with my coach carrying my recurve bow and a huge water jug. Kyzer Teleron looked at me intently with his sharp eyes. I just gave him the I-don't-give-a-fuck look.

Coach Buenavista tapped my shoulder, I turned my head around and looked at him.

"Do your best," He uttered, leaning forward. "I know you can do it, prove them wrong," He continued and smiled at me.

I nodded my head and placed my recurve bow next to the coach's station. I fixed my archery cap and walked straight beside the line judge; my competitor followed.

"On target number one shooting for the gold medal – representing Southville International School and Colleges, the supreme, Kyzer Teleron."

The announcer stated with his deep voice introducing the unbeatable, Kyzer Teleron. The whole crowd screamed and applauded.

They chanted his name in unison. I couldn't hear a single word on the field but his name.

He is really something else.

I intentionally looked at him and without expecting he looked back at me – our eyes connecting. I grinned from ear to ear but he just kept his head up and smirked at me.

"And his opponent on target number two, shooting for the gold medal – representing Brent International School, rookie of the year, Laurent Leyva."

No one screamed.

I was expecting that.

The silence was deafening.

I kept my heads up, smiled at the crowd and waved my hands as if someone would dare to scream and support me.

No one would.

"Laurent Leyva!" A familiar deep voice echoed the entire ground. Everyone tried to find where the voice came from.  "You can do it! Prove these bitches wrong!" He screamed his lungs out. 

Everyone looked at him in unison when they saw him waving his hand, not knowing how to react. 

I saw him flashing his teeth and raising his hand to the sky trying to get my attention. He stopped waving his hands when he noticed I found him. He was few meters away from me but I can see his eyes welled with tears, his lips forming a smile. He looked so proud of me.

I looked at him straight into his eyes – not noticing that a single tear is rolling down my cheeks. The audience's silence was immensely cold, I could hear the abnormal throbs of my heartbeat. 

Thank you, arch.

Yes, I am going to prove them wrong. I am sick of being labelled as the black sheep of the family and the child born in the vestry.  I am more than what they think I am. 

Not in a distance, the crowd's attention was averted when a  woman

started running frantically towards me. The tournament's slogan was printed on her shirt; a tournament staff I believe. I could see the terror flashed in her eyes, creasing her forehead.

"Are you okay?" The line judge approached her in confusion. She looked at me straight into my eyes. Her hands were both on her knees, trying to catch every single breath. She quickly stood up and moved forward. 

"The president was assassinated." She mumbled in a trembling voice. Their eyes widened in shock and disbelief. 

I slowly turned around, re-adjusted my chestpad and removed the archery tab on my finger. 

A vile smirk crossed my face. 

"Deserved," I whispered.