AGAINST THE RULES: their scentless omega-Chapter 63: Chosen leaders

(Purple Team – Spawn Point)

"—And your ten minutes are up, boys!" the presenter’s voice boomed through the speakers scattered across the field. The echo bounced off metal rails and concrete barriers. "Time for the leaders to reveal themselves. Tap your wrist watch now!"

A thin electronic chime rang almost simultaneously across the spawn points, a synchronized reminder that the decision window had closed.

Within the purple zone, the atmosphere tightened.

Timothy and Ryven stood a few meters apart, engines of their bikes idling softly beside them like restrained beasts. Neither moved. Neither blinked. Their gazes locked in a silent standoff that made the surrounding team members shift uncomfortably in their seats. No one dared speak. Even the wind felt hesitant to pass between them.

’Who’s it going to be?’

’Did Timothy already press it?’

’Is Ryven bluffing?’

’Damn its so intense’

The murmurs stayed trapped behind closed visors.

Ryven finally lowered his eyes,not in submission, but in calm certainty. He lifted his wrist slightly, the screen of his watch glowing faint purple. His thumb hovered for a second... then tapped LEADER.

A soft confirmation beep followed.

Across the arena, the presenter’s voice cut through the tension.

"From the Purple Team—Ryven has been chosen as the team leader!"

A few of the members let out quiet sighs of relief. Others exchanged glances, surprised but not entirely displeased. The choice felt... stable. Calculated.

Timothy scoffed loudly, the sound sharp enough to slice through the brief calm. He rolled his shoulders once as if loosening invisible tension. "Congratulations on becoming the team leader," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm so thick it could have been bottled. "Try not to choke on the responsibility."

Ryven didn’t respond. He merely adjusted his gloves, gaze already shifting to the holographic map projected near the spawn barrier. Detached. Unbothered. As if Timothy’s presence had already been filed away as background noise.

That indifference stung more than any insult.

Timothy clicked his tongue, swung his leg over his bike, and revved the engine harder than necessary. Gravel spat from beneath his tires as he turned. "Just don’t expect me to babysit," he muttered before speeding off to reposition within the spawn perimeter.

Behind him, the remaining members instinctively drifted closer to Ryven, waiting for instructions.

Ryven lifted his head slightly, eyes scanning the terrain beyond the boundary lines, the open sky, the distant dust clouds from the blue team’s earlier clashes, the orange team’s numbers moving like a swarm on the edge of the map.

His voice, when he finally spoke, was calm. Controlled.

"Form two defensive rings. No reckless advances."

The purple flag fluttered above them, and for the first time since the announcement, the team moved with unified purpose.

The presenter’s voice rang out again, louder this time, feeding off the crowd’s growing excitement.

"From the Blue Team — Bulldozer has been chosen as the team leader!"

A wave of cheers erupted from the audience stands. Cameras immediately switched to Bulldozer, who simply rolled his shoulders once and adjusted the strap of his gloves as if the announcement meant nothing more than a change in weather. Beside him, Spike threw his hands up dramatically.

The presenter continued without missing a beat.

"From the Orange Team — Eric has been chosen as the team leader!"

Unlike the others, the orange zone erupted into loud internal celebration. Their numbers gave them confidence, and Eric raised a fist in the air, feeding into their morale. Their formation tightened quickly, bikes aligning like a moving wall of metal and color. Strategy through numbers , crude, but effective.

"And finally, from the Red Team — Consta..."

The presenter paused, squinting slightly at his screen. A faint awkward cough slipped into the mic.

"—has been chosen as the team leader!"

For a split second, the arena fell into confused silence before scattered laughter rippled through the crowd. The camera panned to the red spawn point where the unfortunate young man stiffened on his bike, visor hiding the panic clearly written in his posture. Ethan leaned slightly toward Hunter and muttered something that made Hunter’s jaw tighten in irritation.

The presenter quickly recovered, voice booming again to smooth over the moment.

"Congratulations to all team leaders for being chosen! Good luck with your teams — and may the best strategy win!"

Digital horns blared across the field. The flags above each spawn point fluttered harder as engines revved in unison. What had started as a game of speed was now shifting into a game of command, coordination, and ego.

Four teams.

Four leaders.

One battlefield waiting to erupt.

(Red Team – Perimeter Route)

Hunter’s bike carved a smooth arc along the outer boundary of their spawn zone, tires humming against the asphalt like a restrained growl. He didn’t rush. He never did. Every turn was measured, every glance calculated beneath the tinted visor. To anyone watching from the stands, it looked like idle circling. To those who understood him, it was reconnaissance disguised as boredom.

Lucian’s voice crackled through the earpiece, calm but alert.

"So far the blue team hasn’t made any initial move yet. They’re either planning a sneak attack... or they don’t want to leave their spawn point exposed."

Hunter’s gaze flicked toward the distant stretch of open ground where the blue flag stood ,painfully visible, almost mocking. Too obvious. Bulldozer wasn’t the type to sit still without reason. The stillness itself was a warning.

"What about the orange team?" Hunter asked, leaning slightly as he took another curve, engine purring low.

"Most of them are on the move," Lucian replied. "But they’re not reckless. They’re maintaining distance from other spawn points. That usually means they’re studying formations... or looking for weaknesses before committing."

Hunter clicked his tongue softly. Orange was predictable in numbers , strong in presence, weak in coordination. They would wait until they smelled vulnerability, then swarm like ants. Annoying, but manageable.

"And the purple?" Hunter added after a beat. "I’m still surprised that piece of junk never got elected as leader."

There was a short pause on the line, the faint sound of Lucian shuffling papers or tapping on his tablet bleeding through the static.

"True. It’s still shocking that a rider like Ryven was chosen," he admitted. "But it’s not entirely surprising. Ryven is... formidable. His riding skills go beyond what most people can replicate. He participated in the last event, and I kept a close eye on him."

Hunter’s grip tightened slightly on the throttle..

"So he’s more of a threat?" Hunter asked, voice lower now.

"Positive," Lucian answered without hesitation. "He doesn’t just ride fast. He reads the field. He adapts mid-motion. And unlike the others... he doesn’t chase attention. That makes him harder to predict."

Hunter exhaled slowly through his nose. Riders who wanted applause were easy to bait. Riders who wanted results were not.

As he completed another lap, he caught sight of Ethan on the opposite stretch of the perimeter, bracelet glinting briefly under the sun as his hand shifted on the handlebar. Even at a distance, their movements mirrored each other ,two predators pretending not to notice the other was hunting the same ground.

"Keep watching purple," Hunter muttered. "If Ryven moves, I want to know before he finishes the thought."

"Already on it," Lucian replied. "And Hunter..."

He didn’t answer immediately, but he didn’t cut the line either.

"...don’t underestimate the quiet ones," Lucian finished.

Hunter’s eyes narrowed behind the visor.

"I never do."

His engine roared a little louder as he accelerated out of the curve, the perimeter shrinking beneath his wheels. The game hadn’t truly started yet, this was just the breath before impact, the silence before metal collided with intent.