Combat conditioning ran through the middle of most afternoons, the whole cohort working through drills under Instructor Sutton's watchful, exacting eye, and it was during a brief pause between exercises, the group catching their breath along the yard's low stone wall, that Briar noticed Finn hunched over a folded piece of paper with unusual, suspicious focus.
BRR: What are you doing?
FNN: Nothing.
BRR: You're being furtive. You're never furtive. It's deeply out of character.
FNN: I'm simply reviewing some private notes.
Briar, recognizing the particular quality of Finn's evasiveness as a near-guarantee that something worth investigating was happening, leaned over without asking permission and got a clear look at the paper before Finn could properly fold it away. It was, unmistakably, a betting sheet, covered in Finn's frantic handwriting, event names down one column, odds and predictions scrawled beside each, and Briar, scanning quickly down the list, found his own name listed clearly beside the academic relay. Beside it, in Finn's own handwriting: Briar - unlikely. Bet against.
BRR: You bet against me.
FNN: That's not-
BRR: You bet against me, Finn. In my own event. The one you personally assigned me to, because, and I quote, my general aptitude for anything requiring rapid information retrieval.
FNN: The odds simply favored someone else this particular round!
BRR: WHO?
FNN: Corin's cousin, apparently. Visiting relative, competing as a guest entry. Word is she's exceptional at rapid retrieval tasks.
BRR: AND YOU DIDN'T THINK TO MENTION THIS BEFORE ASSIGNING ME TO THAT EXACT EVENT?
The commotion had, by this point, drawn the attention of several nearby classmates, and Elsie, catching sight of the paper still clutched in Briar's outraged hands, crossed over with immediate, sharpening interest.
ELS: What's happening?
BRR: Finn bet against me. In my own event.
ELS: He did WHAT?
She snatched the paper before Finn could properly protest, scanning down the list with rapidly growing indignation, and Arthur, watching from a few feet away, saw her expression shift through several stages of betrayal in quick succession.
ELS: He's got me down as unlikely too! In the precision course! The event I'm ACTUALLY GOOD AT!
FNN: The odds shifted after a transfer student's course times leaked-
ELS: WHAT TRANSFER STUDENT?
By now the whole immediate area had gathered, the entire cohort's collective curiosity thoroughly engaged, and Yseult, arriving at the center of the commotion with her usual sharp attention, took one look at the sheet and burst out laughing.
YSE: He's got me down as a lock to win. Finally, some sense on this ridiculous document.
FNN: You ARE a lock to win, that's just accurate assessment.
YSE: I appreciate being spared your betrayal, at least.
Mira, arriving quietly at the edge of the growing crowd, peered at the sheet over someone's shoulder and made a small, surprised sound.
MRA: He's got me favored too. In the strategy tournament.
FNN: Also accurate! I'm not entirely without loyalty, you'll notice, I simply follow the data wherever it leads me.
BRR: THE DATA LED YOU TO BETTING AGAINST YOUR OWN FRIENDS.
FNN: The data doesn't care about friendship, Briar. That's rather the entire point of data.
The crowd's collective disappointment had, by this point, solidified into something approaching genuine outrage, several classmates who barely knew Briar or Elsie personally nonetheless voicing solidarity purely on principle, and Finn, finding himself increasingly surrounded and increasingly without allies, drew himself up with the particular defensive dignity of someone committed to defending an indefensible position purely out of stubbornness.
FNN: You don't make money betting on the favorites.
The declaration landed into a silence that somehow managed to be both stunned and deeply unimpressed.
BRR: THAT'S NOT THE POINT.
FNN: It's entirely the point! If everyone simply bet on who they liked, the whole system would collapse! Someone has to bet on the underdogs, or there's no actual profit margin in the enterprise at all!
ELS: You're betting REAL MONEY on this?
FNN: A modest amount. For entertainment purposes primarily. The profit motive is secondary.
BRR: You said profit margin about eight seconds ago!
FNN: Both things can be true simultaneously!
Arthur, who had been observing the entire escalating spectacle with considerable amusement, noticed, almost as an afterthought, that his own name hadn't come up anywhere in the ongoing commotion, and found himself, with mild curiosity rather than any particular concern, reaching for the sheet himself. Elsie handed it over without comment, still visibly aggrieved on her own behalf, and Arthur scanned down toward the endurance course listing. His own name sat there, beside a blank space where odds should have been, and a small note in Finn's handwriting that simply read: No data available. Nobody's taking bets on him either way.
ART: I'm not even on the board properly.
The commotion around them paused, several heads turning toward him with sudden, collective attention.
FNN: It's not personal! Nobody knows what to make of the endurance course odds because nobody's ever seen anyone do what you apparently did to that lightning bolt, so the whole betting community's simply too uncertain to commit either direction.
ELS: That's ridiculous. He should absolutely be favored.
FNN: Favored based on WHAT data, Elsie? One incident, years ago, that nobody present at this academy actually witnessed firsthand? The betting community operates on verified information, not secondhand legend.
BRR: You're doing this AGAIN. Dismissing people based on incomplete information.
FNN: I'm not DISMISSING anyone, I'm simply reporting the current state of uncertainty!
Arthur, listening to the whole increasingly heated exchange with genuine amusement rather than any real sting, found himself, somewhat unexpectedly, entirely unbothered by his own absence from the betting board. There had been a time, he understood clearly, standing in the cold training yard with the whole commotion continuing around him, when being overlooked this completely might have cut considerably deeper. He thought, briefly and without much weight, of a scorched schoolyard, of a word that had once followed him like weather. It did not touch him the same way now.
ART: It's fine, Finn.
FNN: It's not FINE, it's a gap in the market, and I fully intend to place a substantial bet on you myself the moment actual odds get established, purely for strategic advantage.
ART: That's not quite what I meant, but thank you.
ELS: I'll bet on you too. Properly. Not for strategic advantage, just because I actually believe you'll do well.
She said it with the particular fierce loyalty that had defined their friendship since a well and a schoolyard fence, years and a lifetime ago, and Arthur, meeting her eyes, felt something warm settle into his chest despite the whole ridiculous commotion still unfolding around them.
BRR: I'll bet on him too, honestly. And I'd like it formally noted that I still haven't forgiven Finn for his own betrayal.
FNN: Noted. Grudgingly. Can we please return to conditioning drills before Instructor Sutton notices we've all abandoned our stretches in favor of an impromptu financial scandal?
The group dispersed reluctantly back toward their exercises, the commotion gradually settling, though Finn continued muttering calculations under his breath for the remainder of the session, apparently already revising his entire betting strategy in light of the morning's developments, and Arthur, returning to his own drills, found the whole absurd episode settling into something he could genuinely laugh about, the particular easy comfort of being surrounded by people who, whatever their occasionally questionable betting practices, would absolutely, reliably, choose his side when it actually mattered.