Mike wanted one thing: to beat the champion in the zero-gravity tournament. He had trained for it in the flooded gyms of Xylem Deep, the university sunk far below the ocean surface. He knew every trick of moving in weightless water. But this morning the tournament committee posted a new notice, and it broke him. The entry price had doubled. Below the numbers, one line stung worst: only students with standing or credits could join the roster. Mike read it three times. He had neither. He was a scholarship student, dark-skinned, twenty, with empty accounts and no family name to trade. The champion had both. Mike pressed his palm to the wet glass and watched fish drift past the dorm window. His plan to fight had a wall in front of it now. He went to the one place that might help. The committee's registrar worked from a refined luxury house near the surface docks, its warm windows glowing above the water line. A polished car sat outside it, deep black, low and sharp, the kind Mike would never own. Its owner was inside, and so was the woman who decided fees. Mike knocked. The registrar opened the door. A small yellow corgi pushed past her legs, tail spinning, and pressed against Mike's shins. He crouched and scratched its ears without thinking. "He doesn't do that," the registrar said. She watched, arms folded. "He bit the man who owns that car out front. Bit him twice." Mike looked up. "I came about the entry fee. I can't pay it. But I can win." "Everyone says they can win." "I trained in the deep gyms. Free lanes, no coach." He kept rubbing the dog's head. "The champion trained in heated tanks with three trainers. If I lose, you lose nothing. If I win, your tournament stops being a rich boy's club." The registrar's jaw tightened. She glanced at the black car, then at the dog leaning into Mike. "That car belongs to a sponsor," she said. "He wanted the fee raised. He wanted students like you kept out." She knelt and touched the corgi's back. "This dog trusts almost no one. He trusts you." "Then let me in." She stood. She pulled a slate from her pocket and tapped it twice. "I can waive one fee a season. My discretion. I've never used it." She turned the screen toward him. His name sat on the roster now, unpaid, cleared. Mike breathed out. "Thank you." "Don't thank me yet." She nodded at the black car. "The sponsor will see your name added for free. He'll know I did it. He'll want you gone before the first match." The corgi barked once, sharp. "So don't just enter, Mike. Win. Or he'll make sure no committee ever lets you near a tournament again." Mike stepped back into the wet air. He was on the roster. But now a sponsor with money and a grudge wanted him crushed before he ever reached the champion.