Gordon sat alone in the dimly lit competitor's lounge, his head resting heavily in his hands. The faint chatter of other benders filtering in from the halls felt distant, like echoes from another world. The excitement of the tournament, the cheers and triumphs—it all felt hollow now, overshadowed by the weight of his own actions.He clenched his fists, feeling the last tingles of that sinister energy that had surged through him, making his blood feel like molten metal. The thrill of power had been intoxicating, but the emptiness that now filled him left him feeling gutted. For all he'd gained, what had he lost in the process?His mind drifted back to the match, to the look in John's eyes as they'd clashed. Not just determination, but genuine concern. Why did John, of all people, get to look at him like that—as if he were something broken?"Gordon."The voice was low, steady, yet held an unmistakable note of disappointment. He looked up, seeing Benji standing in the doorway, his arms crossed, eyes sharp with scrutiny. Benji stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and a tense silence settled between them."Nice of you to join me," Gordon muttered, his tone laced with a bitterness he wasn't entirely sure he felt.Benji's gaze remained unyielding. "I've been watching. That was... quite the display of power back there."Gordon felt the sting of the words, the subtle rebuke. "Yeah, well, it wasn't enough, was it?" he retorted, bitterness creeping into his voice.Benji took a seat across from him, his gaze steady. "That wasn't your power out there, Gordon. That was something else entirely. You felt it, didn't you?"Gordon avoided his gaze, an involuntary shiver running through him. "I don't know what you're talking about."Benji leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "Don't play games with me, Gordon. I've seen this kind of darkness before. Whatever you tapped into, it wasn't natural."Gordon's fists clenched, his shoulders tense as he fought to keep his emotions in check. "So what? Isn't this tournament about proving ourselves? About being strong enough to win? Isn't that what you taught us?"Benji's gaze softened slightly, though his tone remained firm. "Strength isn't about taking shortcuts. Power like that—it comes at a price, Gordon. One that's often too steep to pay."Gordon scoffed, bitterness flaring up in him again. "You're one to talk. All of you—the instructors, the upper ranks—you're always talking about strength and then keeping it just out of reach. Maybe I'm tired of waiting."Benji took a slow, measured breath, his expression unreadable. "What you used in that match wasn't strength; it was desperation. Power like that is corrosive. It tears down everything it touches—starting with you."Gordon looked away, his face clouded with frustration and shame. Part of him wanted to lash out, to tell Benji he didn't understand, but deep down, he knew there was truth in his instructor's words. The darkness had felt wrong—tainted, even. It hadn't been his power, but something else entirely, as if he'd borrowed it from someone, or something, that had nothing to lose by leaving him drained.A silence settled over them, weighted with everything unsaid.After a moment, Benji spoke again, his voice gentler but no less resolute. "Gordon, you're one of the most capable fighters I've ever seen. You don't need that kind of power to be strong. Whatever doubts you have about yourself, don't let them drive you into something that could destroy you."Gordon scoffed, attempting to deflect the sincerity of Benji's words. "Easy for you to say. You're already strong."Benji's gaze sharpened, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. "And you think that was always the case? Do you think I've never faced doubt, never questioned my own worth?" He leaned forward, his tone hardening. "Strength isn't handed to you, Gordon. You earn it, with every battle, every failure, every mistake. You don't borrow it from something you don't understand."Gordon's anger softened, replaced by a feeling he hated to admit—uncertainty. He knew Benji was right; the words struck deep, cracking the walls he'd built around his pride. He had felt that desperation in the match, the gnawing doubt that had driven him to seek something darker.For a long time, he said nothing. Finally, he looked at Benji, his voice quiet. "So... what do I do now?"Benji's expression softened, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You start by letting go of the anger, the need to prove yourself through shortcuts. Strength isn't about beating someone else; it's about facing yourself and coming out better."Gordon looked away, struggling to find his footing within himself. He felt raw, his defenses stripped away, and the vulnerability made him uneasy. But beneath it all, he felt the faintest stirrings of hope—a small, quiet part of him that yearned to be something better, someone more than his doubts and anger.Benji placed a hand on his shoulder, the touch reassuring but firm. "You're stronger than you know, Gordon. Don't let anyone—or anything—convince you otherwise." He stood, pausing at the door. "Think about it. The tournament's not over yet."As Benji left, Gordon sat alone once more, the silence heavy with reflection. The darkness had given him a taste of power, but it had also shown him the emptiness within himself. For the first time, he felt the urge to face that emptiness without turning to shortcuts, to find strength in himself, not from something that sought to use him.But he knew it wouldn't be easy.