The school auditorium was packed. Parents, teachers, and students filled the seats, chatting in a cheerful buzz while awards were handed out on stage to the top performers in various clubs and competitions. From sports medals to prizes for art and science, every mention was met with applause and cheers.

Among the crowd, Felix made his way to his family with a small smile on his face and a ribbon in his hand. It was a yellow ribbon with a modest "5th Place" written in gold letters. It wasn’t much, but at least it was something. Something he could show them for once.

“Look!” Felix said with a spark of pride, handing it to Anthony, who took it curiously. “Fifth place in chess.”

Anthony examined it with a faint smile.

“Hey, not bad!” he said, clapping Felix on the shoulder. “Look, Mom, Dad, Felix got an award.”

His mother barely glanced up, nodding distractedly, and his father made a noncommittal noise of approval while continuing his conversation with another parent about Anthony’s achievements.

Before Felix could process their lack of interest, a teacher stepped onto the stage and announced:

“And now, a special recognition for those who made it to the podium in our competitions. A big round of applause for our champions!”

Felix watched as the students in first, second, and third place climbed onto the stage amidst applause and camera flashes. His small fifth-place ribbon, which had felt like an accomplishment just moments before, suddenly felt heavy in his hands.

Anthony, noticing the shift in Felix’s expression, tried to lift his spirits.

“Hey, don’t let that get you down. You participated in a ton of stuff this year. That’s more than a lot of people do.”

Felix scoffed, his eyes fixed on the stage.

“Yeah, I participated in a ton of stuff. Fifth in chess, eighth in painting, ninth in track… want me to keep going?” he said sarcastically, dropping the ribbon onto his lap. “It’s like I’m trying my hardest to be mediocre at everything.”

Anthony turned to him, surprised.

“How do you manage to do so well in so many things? Honestly, I thought you’d be terrible at all of them.”

Felix shrugged, tired, and leaned his head against the back of his chair.

“There’s a trick to everything, bro. If you have no idea what you’re doing, you just… wing it,” he said, catching Anthony’s curious look before continuing. “Take chess, for example: if you don’t know how the pieces move, just let the other guy make the first move. Watch and learn. He moves a bishop, and you think, ‘Oh, that thing goes diagonal.’ Then you just copy, adapt. By the end, you look like you know what you’re doing.”

Anthony blinked, incredulous.

“And that works?”

“More often than you’d think,” Felix replied with a weary smile. “Same with painting. I saw the girl next to me mixing colors and copied her. In track, I just kept pace with the better runners. It’s like… adapting in real time. Analyze, imitate, and learn. You don’t need talent, just attention to detail.”

Anthony let out a disbelieving laugh.

“You’re like a chameleon with a survival manual.”

Felix chuckled softly too, but the laughter faded quickly.

“It works… but only up to a point,” he murmured, his gaze drifting back to the stage.

Before Anthony could respond, a deep, firm voice interrupted them.

“Those aren’t accomplishments, Felix.”

Both of them looked up. Standing before them was Mr. Williams, a tall man with gray hair and thin glasses, known for his stern demeanor.

“They’re just beginner tricks,” the teacher continued, his tone calm but cutting. “Imitating, adapting, and advancing without real understanding can help you get by, but it won’t take you anywhere. It’s like walking in circles thinking you’re making progress.”

Felix stayed silent, uncomfortable under the teacher’s intense gaze.

“You know what, Mr. Williams?” Anthony chimed in with his usual carefree smile. “My brother got a ribbon. That’s better than nothing, don’t you think?”

The teacher ignored the comment and kept his focus on Felix.

“Felix, you have a talent for surviving, but not for deciding. And you’re running out of time to keep going in circles,” he said, his voice softening slightly as if offering advice. “You’ll graduate soon, and adapting won’t be enough. You need to decide who you want to be.”

An awkward silence hung in the air. Adjusting his glasses, Mr. Williams gave a final nod before walking off into the crowd.

Anthony waited a few seconds before breaking the tension.

“What a pleasant guy, huh? Like a fortune cookie… but grumpier.”

Felix didn’t respond at first. His eyes were fixed on the fifth-place ribbon he still held in his fingers. After a moment, he exhaled slowly.

“Maybe he’s right,” Felix finally said in a subdued voice. “I can’t keep copying everyone else. Sooner or later, I’ll have to choose what to do.”

Anthony glanced at him sideways and gave him a friendly nudge.

“Hey, don’t overthink it. You’ve got time to figure it out. And if all else fails, you can always copy my success,” he joked with a grin.

Felix weakly smiled, though the weight of the professor's words lingered in the air like a shadow that was hard to ignore.

Meanwhile, the auditorium filled with applause for the winners on stage.

Pegasi and unicorns have always been wrapped in an aura of fantasy and myth, symbols of the sublime in collective imagination. From the pages of stories and legends, they’re presented as embodiments of beauty, kindness, and magic. How could they not be? They’re extraordinary beings, exceptional by nature, the kind you’d only dream of encountering in fictional worlds or adventure films.

Pegasi, with their divine wings, capable of brushing the skies like celestial birds, are portrayed as brave, loyal, and noble. Unicorns, on the other hand, are the personification of elegance, solemn creatures whose horns seem to contain the secrets of the universe itself. Both are, in short, pure magic condensed into equine form.

And in contrast, what do simple horses have? Nothing. They’re just that: horses. No wings, no horns, nothing remotely magical or mystical.

When I realized where I was, I could hardly believe it. Pegasi exist! Unicorns exist! And magic, damn it, magic is real! All of this should have been a dream come true. Theoretically, at least.

But.

Recently, I had my first chance to see the other two pony tribes up close. The moment I had been waiting for so long finally arrived.

And you know what? I’m disappointed.

Yes, I said it. Deeply disappointed. In fact, I’ve lost track of how many times this world has managed to frustrate my expectations.

The first pegasi and unicorns I’ve seen… I don’t know if it was bad luck or if they simply weren’t what I expected, but far from being inspiring or majestic, all they did was glow their horns menacingly and spread their wings like roosters trying to stake their territory. From the moment they suspiciously quickly formed their groups, everything about them screamed arrogance and superiority, and honestly, I don’t know exactly what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.

At the moment, we’re near the obstacle course. We’re divided into three groups, each exclusively made up of one tribe: unicorns over there, pegasi here, and us earth ponies (Flashing joined us too), at the back, watching from a distance and feeling like the last pick in a schoolyard game.

“Welcome to the next phase,” announced Harshwhinny with that tense smile that felt more like a nervous tic than a genuine gesture. “Now that you’ve formed groups, you’ll participate in a series of team activities where we’ll evaluate your performance.”

Her words hung in the air, followed by a joke attempt so bad I’d rather not repeat it. Naturally, no one laughed. An awkward silence stretched between us, broken only by an occasional cough. I noticed her eye twitch slightly before she let out a nervous chuckle and motioned for us to follow her.

On the way, my group was as lost as I was. No one knew what to say. Glances darted from the ponies of the other tribes to one another, searching for any clue of understanding. What are we supposed to do? The unicorns kept lighting their horns as if to remind us they could, while the pegasi flapped their wings with an air of smugness that was impossible to ignore.

They led us near the edge of the forest, where they placed three enormous, empty baskets in front of each group.

The first challenge: apple collecting.

The premise was simple: some apples had been strategically placed at the tops of the trees, and our goal was to gather and deposit them in the baskets as quickly as possible. I have to admit, the idea was quite clever, though I couldn’t help but notice how alarmingly it favored certain participants with natural advantages.

Harshwhinny, maintaining her rigid demeanor, gave us a few minutes to prepare before starting. I appreciated it; I needed time to process everything that was happening.

Meanwhile, the other groups wasted no time. The unicorns and pegasi gathered in organized circles, clearly ready to discuss strategies or at least pretend they had them. In contrast, we earth ponies remained in a state of collective confusion. It was as if we were all waiting for someone to explain why on earth we were here in the first place.

In an attempt to mimic the others and hopefully make some sense of it all, I raised my voice.

“Alright! Let’s gather like the others. Form a circle. Or something that looks like one.”

Surprisingly, it worked. My group obeyed, though with clumsy movements, forming something that resembled more of an irregular oval than a circle. I sighed and decided to take charge.

“I’m just going to say what we’re all thinking: I have no idea what’s going on,” I declared, being as blunt as possible.

Several nodded in unison, their faces reflecting the same confusion I felt.

“Are those… unicorns and pegasi?” asked Starry, a bluish-gray colt from my class, his eyes shining with both curiosity and disbelief.

“Definitely!” exclaimed Dusty, a brown-coated colt, with enthusiasm. “My family visited Canterlot recently, and I saw unicorns just like them. Exactly the same!”

Before I could respond, Flashing’s voice abruptly interrupted the conversation.

“Alright, minions, stop wasting time. None of that matters now. Just pick apples, stay out of my way, and we’ll win this challenge,” he declared, exuding an overwhelming confidence I had no idea where he got from.

I frowned, unable to stop myself from asking aloud, “And how exactly did you end up in this group?”

Flashing shrugged with total indifference. “They needed a captain, and here I am.”

Oh, of course, because nothing screams "captain" like Flashing. To be fair, he had neither wings nor a horn, just a messy mane that looked like it had lost an epic battle with the wind. I guessed that the unicorns and pegasi had organized themselves in advance, ensuring they stuck with their kind, leaving Flashing excluded and relegated to our group.

With Harshwhinny’s call, we scattered and took our positions.

As I stood at the starting line, I couldn’t help but think about how chaotic this seemed. Each group had at least forty members. How was this supposed to work without becoming a complete disaster?

I glanced around. The pegasi and unicorns. I had imagined my first encounter with them as something far more magical, like a dream come true—not… this.

I looked at my group. Surprisingly, Flashing had taken the lead and stood at the front like he actually knew what he was doing. I let out a deep sigh.

The sound of the bell marked the start.

As soon as the bell rang, a stampede of ponies darted toward the apple-laden trees. I stayed in place, coughing from the dust they kicked up and wondering if this was a competition or some kind of military training.

“Echo? Are you alright?” Maud’s calm voice broke through my daze.

With a nod and an effort to clear my mind, we moved toward a nearby tree.

We stood staring up at it. The branches were full of shiny, red apples. Perfect. Now, how exactly were we supposed to do this? If I still had hands, this would’ve been a breeze. I sighed, giving a nervous smile of resignation. With nothing else to try, I began climbing.

It was clearly more complicated without appendages designed for the task, but I’d climbed before—ropes during the obstacle course, even a mountain once—so I figured I could handle it.

After some effort (and possibly a scrape or two), I managed to reach a branch high enough to use as a foothold. Stretching my neck as far as I could, I finally grabbed an apple with my teeth. I dropped it below, where Maud waited with a bucket.

One down! I thought this would be easy… until I looked around from my elevated position.

Chaos had erupted.

My group was scattered, each pony inventing their own strategy. Some were forming pony towers, but their clumsy attempts to balance ended with piles of bodies on the ground. Others were headbutting trees, likely earning headaches instead of apples.

I sighed and refocused on my task, picking as many apples as I could before my neck began to protest. Once I cleared the tree, I tried to climb down. It was more of a controlled fall, cushioned by a cluster of bushes that, thankfully, decided not to fight me.

Maud and I filled a couple of buckets and hurried them over to the team basket. But as I placed the apples inside, I couldn’t help but look at our progress. To my horror, we’d barely gathered four buckets. Four. Buckets.

With resignation, we rushed toward another apple tree. Same routine: I climbed, Maud collected. But just as I was about to grab the last apple from the tree, someone beat me to it.

I looked up, dumbfounded. It was a dark blue pegasus, floating effortlessly with their wings as they held the apple in their teeth.

“Too slow, rockhead,” they said with a smug smile before flying off.

I shook my head and took another look around, this time really observing what was happening.

The pegasi darted from tree to tree with an irritating ease, plucking apples from the branches as if they were picking flowers on a picnic. Meanwhile, the unicorns were working in silent cooperation, levitating apples with their horns and tossing them into their baskets with almost insulting precision.

And there I was, an earth pony, staring at the spectacle.

On one hand, it was magic. Magic! Real, tangible magic. Pegasi flew with wings so small they defied all aerodynamic logic, and unicorns moved things with their minds... or horns... or whatever they used. And that glowing aura surrounding the apples as they floated? Well, it was majestic.

I couldn’t help it. A manic laugh began to escape from me.

“MAGIC!” I exclaimed, feeling my excitement grow. “It’s like something out of fantasy novels or video games! Damn it, I want to cast a fireball with a d20!”

My laughter grew louder, probably scaring the ponies nearest to me.

“Echo? Are you okay?” Maud’s voice pulled me back to reality.

“Oh, yeah, yeah. Totally fine,” I replied, trying to sound normal while stifling another chuckle.

Then, the pragmatic side of my brain took over. I briefly glanced at my team: exhausted, sore, but still trying their best. Then I looked at the pegasi and unicorns, using flight and magic like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.

Magic? More like cheating on steroids. Bunch of leafy cheaters.

I climbed down the tree, covered in leaves and with my pride slightly bruised, but at least carrying a couple of buckets full of apples. Maud and I hurried back to our team’s basket to deposit them.

Six buckets. That’s all we had.

I glanced at the other teams’ baskets. They were overflowing. They easily had ten or twelve buckets each.

I turned my gaze back to the battlefield… I mean, the collection area.

The pegasi soared gracefully through the sky, moving from tree to tree like seasoned pros at fruit theft. Apples flew through the air into their buckets in a display of aerial coordination that almost looked choreographed.

The unicorns, on the other hand, were in full “heist movie” mode: groups of three worked together, levitating buckets of apples directly into their baskets as if rehearsing for the telekinesis Olympics.

And then there was us. The earth pony team.

I simply sat down, watching the show with resignation. There’s no way we can compete with that, I thought. Maud, always practical, immediately grasped the situation and sat beside me. One by one, the rest of the team followed suit, including my sisters. We all gathered in a circle in front of our half-empty basket, watching the other teams as spectators at a game we knew we couldn’t win.

And then Flashing showed up.

He was carrying two buckets of apples—one in his mouth and the other precariously balanced on his back. He slammed them down in front of our basket with a loud thud, almost as if to ensure everyone noticed his great achievement.

“What the hay are you all doing? Is this a picnic or what? Get up and do something!” His tone was a mix of frustration and what he probably thought was motivation but sounded more like a grouchy teacher’s scolding.

I opened my mouth to respond, but the sound of the bell interrupted me.

Flashing froze for a moment. His gaze quickly shifted from the other teams to our pitiful basket, and his frustration became palpable. Without a word, he kicked an empty bucket, which rolled away and crashed into a bush, and stormed off muttering under his breath.

“And just like that,” I muttered, “the great captain abandons ship.”

Harshwhinny announced the results:

“The pegasi have won this challenge with twenty-three buckets of apples. The unicorns take second place with twenty-one buckets.”

Of course.

I looked at our team. It seemed we were all thinking the same thing because no one said a word. We just stayed seated, watching the other groups celebrate, silently debating whether it was worth trying next time… or if we should just bring folding chairs and enjoy the show from the start.

The next challenge arrived quickly after our disastrous apple-collecting performance.

It was a relay race.

Finally, something where we could truly compete! I thought, a flicker of optimism sparking in me. Here, there were no trees to fly through or magic to help them… right?

The whistle blew, and the race began.

When Pinkamena reached me, visibly tired but determined, she passed the baton. My turn.

I ran with enthusiasm, feeling the wind in my mane. At last, a chance to showcase the endurance we earth ponies had—those of us who pushed rocks every day. A confident smile spread across my face as I approached Maud, who was waiting to take the baton.

And then the universe decided to remind me that hope is an expensive luxury.

I suddenly tripped and fell flat on my face, swallowing a generous mouthful of dirt.

Blinking, dazed, I turned to see what had happened. A faint purple aura surrounded my hooves.

“Magic…” I muttered with restrained irritation as I got back up.

Of course, the unicorns had found a way to sabotage us, making each of us trip during the race. We finished last. Again.

The next challenge was canoe racing.

Everything started well—or so I thought—until I glanced at the pegasi team. Instead of rowing, they simply lifted their canoes and flew over the water.

Then I looked at the unicorns, who were using telekinesis to move their paddles with a synchronization only magic could achieve.

As for us... well, we were just us. With our hooves and physical effort, we rowed as best we could. Last place, again.

Climbing the rope.

Guess what? The pegasi pretended to grip the rope while using their wings to fly up. The unicorns, being unicorns, enchanted the ropes to shake like angry snakes, making it practically impossible for us to climb.

Another defeat.

"I can't believe it! How is it possible for you to fail at everything?" Flashing shouted, clearly on the verge of a meltdown.

He glared at all of us, expecting some kind of response or reaction. But all he got were tired, defeated looks.

Flashing tried to take on the role of leader, but when your only instructions are "do something," you can't expect miracles. Especially against magic and flight.

The final event of the day was Capture the Flag.

We were led to an open field near the forest. Each team had a flag and matching vests: the unicorns wore purple, the pegasi gold, and us… brown. Because of course.

The goal was simple: capture the other teams' flags and bring them back to your base.

The bell rang, and the competition began.

Well, for the other teams.

Our team stayed seated at our base, staring at the ground. Some even lay down, completely resigned.

Flashing, frustrated, tried to give us a motivational speech, but his words had the opposite effect. When he finished, he ran off alone, leaving behind a group that was more demoralized than ever.

Dusty sighed, staring into the distance. “What’s the point? We tried, and they crushed us in every game.”

“It’s true,” another murmured. “We just can’t compete against them.”

One by one, the comments filled the air. Everyone agreed: we didn’t stand a chance.

I sat quietly, observing the scene. Honestly, I couldn’t blame them. What was the point of competing when the rules were so clearly stacked against us?

Unicorns had magic: they could move things, manipulate objects, and multitask with ease. Pegasi could fly, overcome obstacles, and move with agility we couldn’t hope to match. And earth ponies?

We’re strong, sure. But our strength isn’t special; it’s a necessity. We don’t have magic or wings. All we have are our hooves and determination. And in a world where those two things aren’t enough, we’re perpetually relegated to last place.

I thought about how unfair it all was. Being an earth pony meant being limited from the start, not because of a lack of effort but because of simple biology.

We weren’t special. We weren’t magical.

We were just normal horses in a world that wasn’t.

And for the first time, I understood what it meant to be an earth pony: living with the knowledge that there would always be someone who could do things better, faster, and more easily than you, simply because they were born with the ability to do so.

This wasn’t the friendly encounter I’d hoped for with unicorns and pegasi. No, this was humiliation, plain and simple.

As I wallowed in these negative thoughts, reflecting on the harsh reality of this world, the voices of my sisters pulled me out of that pit.

Not with encouragement or words of inspiration. No, they joined the chorus of resignation echoing throughout our team.

“We lost before we even started,” Pinkamena declared.

“Sometimes, accepting defeat hurts less when it comes,” Maud said calmly.

“I hate to admit it, but we just can’t do anything. We’re nothing against those cheaters,” Limestone added.

Marble chimed in with a soft “hmmph-hmm,” which was sadder than any word she could have said.

I sighed deeply.

Defeat. That’s all we’d experienced from the beginning. They were superior, better. They already had the podium secured, while we... the only thing we could do was survive.

And there was the word.

Survive.

Adapt.

And improve.

I closed my eyes. Surviving was something I’d been doing since my past life. And surviving was something I had to keep doing in this second chance.

If this world worked like this, with earth ponies always at a disadvantage, then I had to learn to live with it. Not just live, but adapt and improve. This was the perfect moment to start, here, where there were no prizes or recognition—just educational trials.

I opened my eyes and stood up.

Alright. Think, Echo. Think.

I scanned the field. Capture the Flag. The rule: take the other team’s flag. But the pegasi could fly over us, and the unicorns could simply levitate it to their base.

Building a fort? Useless.

Digging a hole? Equally pointless.

My eyes roamed the field and stopped on my team—defeated ponies sprawled on the ground in their brown vests, as if waiting for someone to give them official permission to surrender.

And then I saw it.

“That’s it!” I exclaimed aloud, catching the group’s attention.

“Come on, we can still do something!” I said, trying to inject some enthusiasm into the air.

The others looked at me with disbelief, their dark, defeated expressions barely reacting.

“What are you talking about?” Dusty muttered. “Forget it. We’re nothing against them. We’re going to lose. Why even try?”

I smirked—the sly grin that always appeared when I had a plan. “Because we’ve got nothing to lose.”

A few ears perked up, though their faces remained skeptical, as if dealing with a lunatic.

“I know what you’re thinking,” I continued, raising a hoof as if reading their minds. “‘This guy is crazy. We’ve already lost; there’s nothing we can do.’ But tell me something: will we really lose anything? There are no prizes, no recognition. What we’re doing here is just an exercise, a simulation. So, even if we lose, we won’t have truly lost anything... except ourselves.”

“What are you saying?” Pinkamena asked, her gaze sharp and penetrating.

“What I’m saying is this: those cheaters are using magic and wings like it’s nothing, sabotaging us and breaking the rules. But we’re earth ponies. We’re from Rockville. We’ve worked with rocks our whole lives. Some of us are rock farmers, others are artisans, but we all know what real effort means. And if we give up now without even fighting, we’ll lose more than a flag—we’ll lose who we are.”

“But what can we do? We’re earth ponies. We have no way to compete,” someone from the back interjected.

“Maybe we can’t win this battle,” I admitted, my voice softening, “but this isn’t just a test. It’s a fight for something bigger: our ideals. I’m asking—no, begging—each of you to help me in this competition. If you choose to give up, that’s fine, stay where you are. But I choose to fight. And I hope you’ll join me.”

For a moment, silence.

No one said anything, and for an instant, I thought my words had been in vain. But then Maud stood up. Without a word, her mere action spoke louder than any speech. One by one, my sisters followed her example. Then, slowly, the others began to rise as well. Lowered heads started to lift.

“What now?” Limestone asked, her tone more defiant than defeated.

I smiled. “Now, we execute my plan. I need sticks. Lots of sticks. And vines.”

And I grinned to myself. Thanks, movies and TV shows, for giving me a killer speech I could replicate.

The sound of bells marked the start of the game.

On the unicorn and pegasus sides, things couldn’t have been more relaxed. They walked with confident strides, sure of their victory. Their strategy was simple: eliminate the weakest group—the earth ponies—and then focus on the other team.

Both rival groups advanced through the bushes, eventually encountering each other. The initial surprise quickly turned into an unspoken alliance: get rid of the “nuisance” first.

But when they arrived at the brown team’s base, what they found wasn’t what they expected.

There were no ponies lying on the ground in surrender. Instead, every member of the earth pony team stood tall, wearing something strange. Each carried sticks strapped to their backs, and at the top of those sticks fluttered scraps of brown fabric, improvised to look like flags.

The unicorns and pegasi froze.

“What…?” a unicorn murmured, confused.

Every earth pony had a flag. But which one was the real one?

Before they could react, the earth ponies broke formation and scattered in all directions.

They had shredded their team-colored vests and transformed them into decoys. Using sticks and vines, they’d created fake flags, each identical to the original. Now, finding the real flag would be like searching for a needle in a moving haystack.

From the safety of a narrow path between bushes, I ran with a sly, almost malicious grin.

I knew that, as earth ponies, we couldn’t face the advantages of pegasi or unicorns directly. Flying or using magic wasn’t an option for us, but that didn’t mean we were defenseless. If we couldn’t stop them from taking the flag, we could make the process as difficult as possible.

Confuse the enemy, scatter them, make them waste time. That was the plan. And while the rivals frustrated themselves searching for the real flag, a smaller group, led by Maud and Pinkamena, would infiltrate to capture the enemy flags.

A pegasus was chasing me now, flying low and trying to catch me. But I, ever agile, zigzagged between the trees, forcing the pegasus to maneuver awkwardly. With every twist and turn, the space became narrower.

Alone and out of immediate danger, I couldn’t help but laugh. It was a manic laugh, a mix of adrenaline and satisfaction.

Everything depended on Maud and Pinkamena now. If they pulled off their part of the plan, we, the “weaklings,” would have changed the rules of the game.

Meanwhile, Maud and Pinkamena led a group of five earth ponies. Silent but determined, they crept toward the pegasi team’s zone. Their firm gazes betrayed no doubt, even if their strategy was as basic as “grab the flag at all costs.”

The path was clear; most of the pegasi had flown off to chase down the brown team. However, as Maud and her group approached the enemy base, they encountered two winged guards protecting the flag. The pegasi patrolled confidently, certain that no earth pony would pose a challenge.

With no time to think, the five of them charged forward.

The initial surprise caused the pegasi to step back, baffled by the sight of earth ponies charging directly at them. Their hesitation didn’t last long. Regaining their composure, they began lifting the earth ponies one by one, carrying them into the treetops like discarded toys.

Maud led the charge initially, but Pinkie soon overtook her. When the pegasi moved to intercept her, Maud made a split-second decision: she lunged at the pegasi, sacrificing herself to give Pinkamena a chance.

As Maud was deposited atop a tree, the guards turned, only to see Pinkie grabbing the flag and vanishing into the bushes.

The pegasi tried to follow, but the dense branches obstructed their path. They were forced to fly above the treetops, losing sight of their target. Pinkamena, meanwhile, sprinted with all her might, the flag clenched tightly in her mouth, determined to make it back to base.

Just as her base came into view on the horizon, an invisible force yanked the flag from her grip. The fabric floated in the air, suspended by the magic of a unicorn waiting at the base, a smug smile on their face.

The pink pony skidded to a halt, panting. She looked around and saw several earth ponies sitting dejectedly—those who had been captured along with their decoys.

Snorting in frustration, only one thought crossed her mind: "I hope she hasn’t been caught."

Meanwhile, Echo kept running. A pegasus was hot on his heels, and to his dismay, two more joined the pursuit, followed by four unicorns. The pressure mounted with each step.

The forest path split into multiple trails, each promising salvation or disaster. Echo tried to recall the terrain, searching for a clue about which path to take, but the closeness of his pursuers left no time to decide. He veered right, hoping for the best.

It was a mistake.

The trail led him into an open field.

In seconds, the pegasi blocked his path, and the unicorns caught up. Before he could react, the pegasi snatched the flag he was carrying and began squabbling with the unicorns over it. Without wasting another moment, both rival teams sped away, confident in their victory.

Echo collapsed onto the ground, exhausted but satisfied. His sly grin revealed he still had a trick up his sleeve.

The flag they had taken was also a decoy. The real one was hidden, protected by Marble, who, instead of running, had chosen to hide among the bushes. Now, he could only hope his sister hadn’t been discovered.

Twenty minutes later, the bells rang, signaling the end of the exercise.

All the foals gathered in the center of the field, where Miss Harshwhinny waited alongside a group of assistants. Tension hung thick in the air, especially among the brown team.

The Pie family reunited with Marble, who walked toward them with her head lowered. Her faint, barely audible “sorry” seemed to confirm their worst fears: the earth pony team had lost.

Before they could react, Harshwhinny stepped up to the podium, a sheet of scores in her hooves.

“TIE!” she announced, her voice cutting through the air like lightning. “Each team earned one point. Congratulations!”

The earth pony team was stunned for a few seconds before erupting into cheers. Meanwhile, the other teams couldn’t hide their confusion.

“That’s not fair! They cheated!” protested a pegasus. “Those fake flags should be banned!”

An earth pony was quick to retort: “We don’t want to hear complaints from a bunch of flying chickens!”

The atmosphere grew tense, and arguments threatened to escalate when Harshwhinny, in a dry tone, tried to restore order:

“Please, calm down. Do you think they pay me enough to deal with this? Because I assure you, they don’t,” she said, attempting a joke, followed by a nervous laugh.

An awkward silence immediately followed. Harshwhinny huffed, stepping down from the podium. “That’s the end of the day. Return to the square tomorrow at the same time,” she added, muttering to herself, “Why do I even bother?”

Once things settled down, a question arose among the members of the earth pony team: if Pinkamena had been stopped before reaching the base, how had they managed to score a point?

The answer wasn’t long in coming.

Flashing, with an arrogant posture and his chest puffed out in pride, strode toward the group as if marching in a parade.

“I told you, I don’t need any of you,” he declared, a smug smile adorning his face. “I can shine for the whole team on my own.”

And with that statement, he turned on his hoof and walked away, leaving behind a mix of incredulous stares and slack-jawed expressions.

Confusion spread among some ponies who, after a brief silence, began to disperse, heading home.

Meanwhile, my sisters and I trudged in the direction of the farm. There was much to think about.

If Maud and Pinkamena's squad had gone up against the pegasi, that meant Flashing had chosen to take on the unicorns. And from the looks of it, not only had he managed to reach their flag, but he had also crossed the entire enemy field to deliver it back to our base.

Alone. Without magic.

Against unicorns.

I wasn’t sure if the unicorns had guards as organized as the pegasi, but even so, it didn’t diminish the feat. Flashing had faced ponies capable of wielding magic and not only emerged victorious but had done so without assistance.

The conclusion was undeniable: either Flashing was incredibly lucky, or he was absolutely terrifying.

Footsteps echoed down the majestic hallways of the royal castle.

As the massive doors of the throne room opened, Kibitz, Princess Celestia’s loyal assistant, entered carrying a scroll enveloped in his magical aura. His movements were precise as always, balancing the seriousness of his duties with the grace of his position.

He approached the throne and, after bowing in a respectful gesture, offered a formal greeting.

Princess Celestia, with her usual serene demeanor, broke the silence. “Do you have the reports on the trials being conducted?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Kibitz replied professionally, adjusting his glasses as he consulted the scroll. “According to the reports, there are four participants who have drawn considerable attention, particularly three of them, who have performed exceptionally well.”

“Three?” Celestia raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “That’s quite impressive. In other locations, the maximum has been two.”

Kibitz nodded, though his expression took on a more serious tone. “However, I must inform you that these results may not be entirely reliable. It seems there was an unexpected incident during the trials.”

Celestia’s gaze drifted momentarily to one of the grand windows in the hall, where a beam of sunlight filtered through, illuminating her ethereal mane. After a brief pause, she declared, “I see. If that’s the case, I believe it would be best for me to personally observe tomorrow’s trials. I need to ensure everything is under control.”

Author's Note

In his past life, Felix participated in several school competitions. Although he used tricks to adapt, he often finished in mediocre positions. Nonetheless, Anthony was always there to cheer him on, boosting his morale.

In the present, Echo faces a series of team trials. Unicorn and pegasus teams dominate thanks to their innate abilities, leaving the earth ponies at a significant disadvantage. Humiliated and defeated, the earth ponies lose all hope… until Echo has an idea.

During the final trial, “Capture the Flag,” Echo decides that if they can’t win, they should at least survive. Using his ingenuity, he creates decoy flags for his team to confuse the other teams. His strategy prolongs the competition, but ultimately, Flashing secures victory for his team, resulting in a three-way tie.

Meanwhile, Celestia receives reports about the trials, highlighting three particularly promising participants. Despite mixed news, she decides to personally oversee the next stage.

Fun Facts:

• To streamline the narrative, some trials such as “Tug-of-War” and “Long Jump” were excluded. These trials would have further illustrated how earth ponies were repeatedly outperformed, emphasizing their disadvantage.

Thanks for reading!