____________________________________
No matter how strong or powerful you become, never try to do everything by yourself.
When you do… failure is certain."
— Uchiha Itachi.
____________________________________
Jamal's Monologue:
People like to talk about "till death do us part" and "happily ever after" as if those phrases magically hold marriages together.
Some believe in them.
Some desperately want to.
I used to wonder if those promises were ever real… if love could ever be that loyal, that lasting. Maybe it exists, but not for everyone. Maybe not for people like me. Or maybe I'm wrong.
Why do people make promises they can't keep?
Is it incompetence?
Or does life simply wear them down until their minds twist into something unrecognizable?
Take my father as an example.
To the outside world, he was everything perfect: a respected university dean, a hardworking man, someone who cared deeply about his family and career. That's what people saw. What they didn't know was how deceptive the world can be—how easy it is for the eyes to lie.
He divorced my mother when I was nine. I was too young to understand then, but three years later, I overheard him speaking with my uncle. That day shattered everything I believed about him.
My father admitted—almost proudly—that he had sabotaged his own marriage.
He created problems.
He blamed my mother for everything.
He broke her down emotionally…
All because he wanted to marry one of his students.
He could have taken her as a second wife, made both women happy even, but no—the university student refused unless he divorced my mother.
And he did it.
He tore our family apart just to please that girl.
I understood everything. I wasn't too young, not in the ways that matter. And I hated him from that moment. I couldn't even look at him without feeling sick.
When I told my twin brother, Jamil, he refused to believe me. He insisted our mother was at fault, that Dad had given her countless chances. He tried reasoning with me—reasoning built on lies.
But I knew the truth. I saw it clearly.
So I refused to live with my father and his new wife. I cut myself away from them completely. I never told my mother though… she's too kind. Too forgiving. She still blames herself, still carries the pain, still hasn't remarried. Sometimes I think she still loves him.
Every morning I wake up with one reminder:
I will never be like my father.
If I ever love someone, I'll never treat her the way he treated my mother.
That is my promise.
My name is Jamal, and I will fight for what's right.
_________________________
THE DAY OF THE MATCH
The pitch didn't just roar—
it erupted.
The day everyone had been waiting for had finally arrived.
Students, teachers, parents, and a handful of invited guests packed the football field, their voices blending into one deafening roar of excitement.
On one side stood Chyroma Amad Academy's team, FC Surgeons.
On the other stood their rivals, Almashkur International Academy (A.I.A)'s , FC Scorpions.
The referee raised the whistle.
FWEEEEET!
The match began.
The ball was immediately passed to Chiroma's star player and captain.
Jamal.
The crowd erupted.
"JAMAL!"
"JAMAL!"
"JAMAL!"
His name echoed across the entire field.
Jamal dribbled forward effortlessly.
The ball seemed glued to his feet as he danced past defenders with surgical precision.
Every movement was sharp.
Calculated.
Deadly.
Maybe that's why their team was called the Surgeons.
Within moments, he broke through the defensive line.
One touch.
Another.
Then a powerful strike.
GOAL!
The stadium exploded.
Students leaped to their feet.
Teachers cheered.
Parents screamed in celebration.
And through all the noise, all the excitement, all the praise…
Jamal only wanted one person to see him.
Sadeeqah.
He turned instinctively toward the stands.
Wanting to see her smile.
Wanting to see pride in her eyes.
Wanting to know she was watching.
Instead…
His heart stopped.
Sadeeqah wasn't watching him.
She was sitting beside Tahir.
Laughing.
Throwing popcorn at him.
And Tahir was throwing some back.
Both of them completely lost in their own little world.
As if the match didn't even exist.
As if Jamal's goal didn't matter.
As if he didn't matter.
Jamal's stomach dropped.
His chest tightened.
The cheers around him suddenly sounded distant.
Muffled.
Meaningless.
At that moment, he knew.
He had lost.
Not the match.
The battle.
The one he had been fighting long before he stepped onto this field.
And somehow…
He had lost before it even began.
Anger surged through him.
Followed by jealousy.
Then heartbreak.
His pulse thundered in his ears.
Yet the game continued.
_____________
A few minutes later, Mustyy received possession and immediately passed to Jamal.
A perfect pass.
The kind Jamal would normally turn into magic.
But this time…
Nothing.
His hesitation cost him.
A.I.A's FC scorpions stole the ball.
Counterattacked.
And scored.
1 - 1
The crowd fell silent.
Moments later, struck again.
Then again.
Then again.
Mistake after mistake from Jamal.
Poor decisions.
Missed opportunities.
Broken focus.
The score climbed rapidly.
4 - 1
By halftime, C.A.A's FC surgeons was being dismantled.
The spectators couldn't believe what they were seeing.
The same Jamal who usually carried the entire team looked completely lost.
____________
"What is wrong with him?"
"Why are they losing?"
"That's not the Jamal we know!"
The questions spread throughout the crowd.
Meanwhile, the A.R.C students in attendance were having the time of their lives.
Laughing.
Mocking.
Gloating.
Every missed chance from C.A.A only made them louder.
And that irritated C.A.A's supporters even more.
Especially Mustyy.
Because in his mind…
Today was supposed to be different.
Today was supposed to be his moment too.
The moment MiMie would finally see him.
Really see him.
Maybe even start liking him.
But now?
It looked like they were about to get humiliated.
______________
During halftime, the coach gathered everyone together.
His face was tense.
His voice even more so.
He turned directly toward Jamal.
"What is going on?"
No answer.
Jamal simply stared at the ground.
The coach frowned.
"Do you want to be substituted?"
That finally got a reaction.
Jamal's head snapped up.
"NO!"
The answer came out louder and harsher than anyone expected.
The entire team fell silent.
_________________
The second half began.
Almost immediately, Jamal intercepted a pass.
The crowd erupted with hope.
Maybe their captain was back.
Maybe this was the turnaround.
Jamal charged toward the opponent's goal.
One defender.
Then another.
His teammates screamed for the ball.
"PASS!"
"JAMAL!"
"RIGHT SIDE!"
But he ignored all of them.
He kept going.
Determined to do everything himself.
Determined to prove something.
Then disaster struck.
A defender lunged.
A brutal tackle.
Jamal crashed to the ground.
The ball rolled away.
The crowd gasped.
Jamal tumbled across the grass, clutching his ankle in pain.
The medical team rushed onto the field.
The diagnosis was obvious.
A sprained ankle.
He couldn't continue.
The captain had to be substituted.
And for the first time, everyone in Chiroma Ahmad Academy truly understood what was happening.
They were going to lose.
_____________
A free kick was awarded.
Mustyy was selected to take it.
The moment his name was called, his stomach twisted.
He wasn't ready.
At least, he didn't think he was.
Still, he stepped forward.
The ball sat several meters from the goal.
A defensive wall formed between him and the net.
The goalkeeper bounced lightly on his feet, waiting.
The entire field held its breath.
Mustyy inhaled deeply.
Then glanced toward the stands.
Toward MiMie.
And what he saw there almost broke him.
She looked worried.
Desperate.
Like she wanted this victory just as badly as the players did.
His heart pounded.
Then he clenched his fists.
This is it.
Mustyy…
This is your moment.
Your chance to shine.
Your chance to show Mimi you're amazing.
Reliable.
Someone she can count on.
He took his run-up.
And struck.
The ball soared high.
Spinning through the air.
Clearing the wall perfectly.
The goalkeeper reacted instantly.
Jumping.
Reaching.
Certain he had it covered.
Then came the twist.
The ball curved.
Violently.
Away from his reach.
Toward the corner of the net.
GOAL!
The commentator nearly lost his voice.
"IT'S A GOAL!"
"4 - 2!"
The crowd exploded.
Students jumped from their seats.
Teachers screamed.
Hope returned.
___________
Mustyy stared in disbelief.
He had actually done it.
Then he heard it.
"Mustyy!"
His head snapped toward the stands.
MiMie was on her feet.
Cheering.
Smiling.
Shouting his name.
"Mustyy!"
"Mustyy!"
"Mustyy!"
Moments later, the rest of Chiroma joined in.
"Mustyy!"
"Mustyy!"
"Mustyy!"
A rush of adrenaline surged through his body.
For the first time all day…
He felt unstoppable.
_____________
The game resumed.
A.I.A nearly scored again.
But C.A.A's best defender stepped up.
Ali Amad.
Classmate of Jamal.
Older brother of both Sadiq and Aysha Amad.
Ali intercepted the attack brilliantly.
Then launched a long-range pass across the field.
The ball found Mustyy.
Perfectly.
Mustyy accelerated.
One defender beaten.
Then another.
Then another.
The crowd rose to its feet.
He was through.
One-on-one with the goalkeeper.
Mustyy planted his foot.
And unleashed an absolute rocket.
The shot blasted between the goalkeeper's hands.
Straight into the net.
GOAL!
The commentator screamed again.
"ANOTHER GOAL BY MUSTYY!"
The score became:
4 - 3
Only one goal behind.
And suddenly…
The impossible didn't seem impossible anymore.
____________
After the celebrations, the match intensified.
C.A.A pushed relentlessly.
Attack after attack.
Then Sadiq was brought down inside the box.
The referee pointed immediately.
PENALTY!
The crowd held its breath.
Sadiq stepped forward.
Focused.
Calm.
Determined.
The whistle blew.
He struck.
GOAL!
4 - 4
A tie.
Only seven minutes remained.
The real battle had begun.
Who would score next?
_________
The answer came moments later.
Mustyy delivered a beautiful long-range pass to Sadiq.
Sadiq found himself one-on-one with the goalkeeper.
He shot.
The keeper saved it.
But only barely.
The ball deflected out.
Corner kick.
One final chance.
Sadiq swung the ball into the box.
High.
Spinning.
Dangerous.
An A.I.A defender prepared to clear it.
He jumped.
Ready to end the attack.
Then his eyes widened.
Because someone else was already higher.
Much higher.
Towering above everyone.
A figure rose into the air.
Seemingly floating.
And connected with the ball.
HEADER!
The ball rocketed toward goal.
The goalkeeper barely reacted.
He never even saw it properly.
It was like watching one of Ronaldo's towering headers.
Powerful.
Precise.
Unstoppable.
The ball slammed into the net.
GOAL!
The stadium exploded.
The commentator screamed himself hoarse.
"IT'S MUSTYY!"
"IT'S MUSTYY AGAIN!"
"HAT-TRICK!"
5 - 4!
C.A.A had completed the comeback.
_____________
The crowd lost its mind.
Students stormed the field.
Teammates rushed Mustyy.
The coach grabbed him in celebration.
Everyone was shouting.
Jumping.
Laughing.
Screaming.
The final whistle blew moments later.
FWEEEEET!
Match over.
C.A.A had won.
A miracle comeback.
From hopeless defeat…
To victory.
All because of Mustyy's hat-trick.
_____________
Later, after the chaos settled down, Mustyy was approached by MiMie and Tahir.
Both were smiling.
Both were congratulating him.
Praising him.
And every compliment from MiMie made his face burn red.
In his heart, he wanted to tell her the truth.
That every goal.
Every sprint.
Every ounce of courage he found out there…
Was because of her.
Because seeing her disappointment had hurt more than losing.
Because seeing her cheer for him had made him feel invincible.
Because she was the reason he kept pushing forward.
But he couldn't say any of that out loud.
So he simply smiled.
And accepted the praise.
________________
The next match was announced.
A.R.C vs EKIA
And what followed was nothing short of a massacre.
An absolute bloodbath.
ARC dismantled EKIA
11 - 0.
Every attack succeeded.
Every counterattack looked deadly.
Every player seemed unstoppable.
The entire C.A.A crowd watched in stunned silence.
Because tomorrow…
That was their opponent.
And to make matters worse…
Jamal was injured.
Their star striker wouldn't be playing.
Which left everyone wondering the same thing.
As they watched A.R.C dominate the field without mercy:
Could Mustyy really carry them against a team like this?
Because from what they had just witnessed…
A.R.C's forwards, midfielders, and defenders looked completely unbeatable.
_____________________________
BEFORE THE QUIZ — THE QUIET WING
The sun was has long passed midday when the corridors began to thin out.
Students flowed in one direction—toward the Great Hall—voices buzzing with predictions, rivalries, nerves.
Tahir moved the opposite way.
Hands in his pockets.
Expression bored.
Aysha Amad caught up to him near the staircase, her steps quick.
"Don't tell me that not going to the quiz?" she asked, disbelief stitched into her voice.
Tahir didn't slow.
"Okay I won't tell you, but something tells me you figured that out."
She blinked. "That's the Super-9 Elite Quiz. Almost all the schools are in there."
"Exactly," he replied. "Too loud. Too many expectations. Too many people pretending they care."
Aysha folded her arms as they walked. "Then where are you going?"
"The cyber café," he said casually. "Super Elite Wing."
Her eyes widened. "Are you serious? That place is restricted."
"Which is why it's quiet," Tahir said. "And quiet is perfect, and I am a member of super intelligence team, it means I might have access, so I'm going to have me a little nap"
She stared at him. "You're skipping the biggest event of the term to… nap?"
"Yes."
"…You're unbelievable."
They reached the junction where the polished floors of the Super Elite Wing began. The lights here were dimmer. The air cooler. Almost sterile.
Tahir paused, finally turning to face her.
"Listen," he said, lowering his voice. "The first round will take, what—forty, fifty minutes?"
Aysha nodded slowly. "About that."
"Good." He pointed back toward the Great Hall. "After the first round, teachers reshuffle duty schedules. New invigilators. New patrols."
She caught on instantly. "You don't want to be caught sleeping by the wrong one."
"Exactly," Tahir said. "So I need you to come wake me when the first round ends."
Aysha stared at him for a long moment.
"You're asking me to leave the quiz… to wake you up… so you can continue skipping school."
He shrugged. "When you say it like that, it sounds irresponsible."
She scoffed. "Because it is."
Then she sighed. "…Fine. But if you get caught, I don't know you."
Tahir smirked. "Deal."
She hesitated. "You're really not curious? A.R.C versus C.A.A? MiMie? Safeeyah? Afreen?"
Something flickered in his eyes—quick, unreadable.
"At this point curiosity is dangerous," he said lightly. "I prefer boredom. It keeps me out of trouble."
Aysha didn't believe him.
But she stepped back anyway.
"I'll come wake you after the first round," she said. "Don't move."
Tahir turned toward the wing doors.
"No promises."
As he disappeared into the quiet corridor, the noise from the Great Hall faded completely.
And for the first time that evening—
The calm before the storm settled in.
_____________________
THE GREAT HALL — EVENING
The Sun was still burning bright, when the Great Hall filled again.
Dust from the football pitch still clung to uniforms.
Voices were hoarse from shouting.
Adrenaline hadn't worn off—it had simply changed shape.
This was no fresh morning.
This was the afternoon after battle.
Nine schools returned not as crowds, but as survivors.
_____________________
A DIFFERENT KIND OF NOISE
The hall buzzed—not with excitement, but calculation.
Whispers floated like static:
"Did you see ARC's score?"
"Eleven goals…"
"They're monsters."
"Super 9 decides everything."
Banners hung overhead, motionless, heavy with expectation.
Teachers lined the walls again, hands clasped behind their backs—present, but deliberately absent.
This was still a student war.
______________________
C.A.A — THE INNER CIRCLE
MiMie took her seat at the front, posture immaculate, exhaustion carefully hidden behind control.
Her body still remembered the pitch—the roar, the chaos, Mustyy's miracle.
But this?
This demanded something colder.
Beside her, Abbas spread the notes Isham had ordered earlier—neatly categorized intelligence reports on all eight rival schools.
AUN: aggressive risk-takers.
A.R.C: surgical, ruthless.
A.I.A: already broken.
Three others hovering at the edge of elimination.
Isham stood briefly, scanning the room like a general.
"Remember," she said quietly, "points here outweigh everything. Sports don't matter if we fail this."
MiMie nodded once.
This is where reputations are rewritten.
_____________
THE OTHER WAR ROOMS
Across the hall, A.R.C was doing the same.
Jamil leaned over their table, voice low, precise.
Afreen listened, pen moving like a scalpel.
No wasted words. No panic.
A.U.N whispered furiously.
Another school sat silent—already resigned.
Everyone understood the truth now:
Tonight wasn't about winning.
It was about surviving.
_____________
The Elimination Chambers — Super 9 Quiz
The evening finally arrived.
For many students, the football matches had been exciting.
For others, this was the event that truly mattered.
The battlefield of intellect.
The competition that could quietly destroy months of effort in a single night.
The Super 9 Quiz.
The Great Hall of C.A.A was packed.
Students filled the audience seats. Teachers stood along the walls. School representatives occupied their designated sections while judges sat behind long tables near the stage.
Bright projector screens illuminated the hall.
Nine elite schools had gathered.
The best of the best.
The moderator stepped forward and adjusted his microphone.
"Welcome, everyone."
The hall gradually fell silent.
"And so it begins."
A large screen behind him displayed the names of the participating schools.
Participating Schools
1. Ahmodu Rybadu College (A.R.C)
2. Chyroma Ahmad Academy (C.A.A)
3. Almashkur International Academy (A.I.A)
4. El-Kenemi International Academy (E.K.I.A)
5. American University of Nigeria (A.U.N)
6. Aliyu Mustapha Academy (A.M.A)
7. Concordia College (C.C)
8. Darul Alqam (D.A)
9. Yola Model (Y.M)
The audience applauded.
The moderator continued.
"These schools have been divided into three blocks."
The screen changed.
Block A
• C.A.A
• E.K.I.A
• C.C
Block B
• A.R.C
• A.U.N
• D.A
Block C
• A.I.A
• A.M.A
• Y.M
The moderator pointed toward the screen.
"There will be three rounds in total."
"The first round takes place this evening."
"The second round will be held tomorrow."
"And the final round will be held next week."
A murmur spread through the audience.
Everyone knew how brutal the system was.
"In every round, two schools will be eliminated."
The hall became noticeably quieter.
"Any eliminated school automatically loses twenty-five percent of its accumulated points."
Several students exchanged uneasy glances.
The moderator didn't stop.
"By the final round, only five schools will remain."
"Two more schools will then be eliminated."
"Leaving only three schools to be ranked according to the points accumulated, the school with more points, automatically wins."
He paused dramatically.
"To the Final Stage."
The projector displayed a massive graphic.
THE THREE-WAY Block battles.
The audience erupted.
The moderator smiled.
"And let's see which of these schools will emerge victorious."
_____________
He allowed the excitement to settle before continuing.
"Out of all the competitions in the Elite Tournament…"
His voice deepened.
"This is the defining competition."
The hall became completely silent.
"The competition that determines whether your school survives until next week."
Nobody laughed now.
Nobody whispered.
Everyone understood the stakes.
"By the end of this week, any school that loses thirty-five percent of its total points…"
He paused.
"…will be eliminated from the Elite Competition entirely."
The announcement hit like a hammer.
Even students in the audience looked nervous.
_____________
The projector changed again.
QUIZ FORMAT
• 90 Questions Total
• 9 Subjects
• 10 Questions Per Subject
The moderator explained carefully.
"Each school receives one designated question per subject."
"Every correct answer earns 3%."
"Failure to answer results in the loss of that question's points."
The screen shifted once more.
BONUS QUESTIONS
"The tenth question of every subject becomes a bonus question."
"Each bonus question is worth 1%."
A few students nodded.
Then the moderator raised a finger.
"Except Mathematics."
The hall immediately reacted.
Because everyone knew Mathematics was different.
"In Mathematics…"
The projector flashed.
MATHEMATICS BONUS
WORTH 4%
Several students groaned.
Others smiled.
Math could completely change the rankings.
⸻
"And finally…"
The moderator raised his stopwatch.
"You will have only 9 seconds to answer each question."
The room became tense.
"Except Mathematics."
A few people chuckled.
Naturally.
Math always had special rules.
"If you fail to answer within the allotted time…"
The moderator pressed a button.
A loud buzzer echoed through the hall.
"…your answer is automatically nullified."
The sound sent chills through several contestants.
"And the question becomes available as a bonus opportunity to the opposing schools within your block."
_______________
The moderator smiled.
"Now then."
He looked toward Block A.
"Let us begin."
________
Biology
Block A
The projector lit up.
C.A.A
The moderator looked directly toward their table.
"C.A.A."
"Choose your question."
Isham leaned toward the microphone.
"Question 9."
The moderator nodded.
The screen immediately displayed the question.
___________
09. Who discovered the world's first broadly effective antibiotic substance, known as Penicillin?
_________
"You have nine sec—"
BEEEEP!
The answer buzzer sounded before he could finish.
Several heads turned instantly.
MiMie had already pressed it.
She looked almost offended that the question had even been asked.
A few students laughed.
MiMie adjusted the microphone.
"And of course the answer is…"
She smiled confidently.
"Alexander Fleming."
The moderator nodded immediately.
"Correct."
The scoreboard updated.
C.A.A +3%
Applause echoed through the hall.
_________
The moderator shifted his attention.
"Next."
"E.K.I.A."
"Choose your question."
A student from El-Kenemi leaned forward.
"Question 4."
The next question appeared.
___________
04. Which type of conjoined twins are joined facing each other at the chest?
___________
Silence.
The E.K.I.A table froze.
One second.
Three seconds.
Five.
Seven.
The audience began shifting in their seats.
Nine seconds passed.
BUZZZZZT!
Time expired.
The moderator sighed.
"No answer."
The question was forfeited.
Before he could continue—
BEEP!
MiMie's buzzer sounded again.
The hall laughed.
The moderator couldn't help smiling.
"Bonus question awarded to C.A.A."
MiMie leaned toward the microphone.
"Thoracopagus."
A brief pause.
"Or Xiphopagus."
The moderator checked his sheet.
Then nodded.
"Correct."
The scoreboard updated again.
C.A.A +1% Bonus
The audience applauded.
Even some students from other schools looked impressed.
_______
Across the hall…
Safeeyah's expression darkened.
Very slightly. Barely noticeable.
But it was there.
Because this wasn't just a correct answer.
This was a statement.
MiMie hadn't hesitated.
Not once. Not even for a second.
She wasn't answering questions.
She was hunting them.
And judging by the confidence in her eyes…
She had only just begun.
______________
AYSHA'S WATCH
The Great Hall had gone unnaturally quiet.
Not silent—never silent—but hushed in that way people get when they realize they're watching something dangerous unfold.
Aysha Amad sat stiffly in her seat, fingers laced together so tightly her knuckles ached. The quiz lights washed the stage in cold white, and at the center of it all sat Afreen Omar.
Calm. Collected. Smiling—just enough.
Afreen hit the buzzer again.
Correct.
Another school from her block faltered. Afreen didn't even look at them as she claimed the bonus, her voice precise, emotionless, like she was reading off a grocery list.
Aysha's stomach twisted.
I've seen this kind of confidence before.
Her mind slipped backward, unwilling but helpless.
____________
2 years ago.
Her best friend's older brother—soft-spoken, brilliant, hopelessly kind. He'd fallen for Afreen the way people fall into wells: suddenly, completely, with no ladder back up.
At first, it had been admiration.
Then obsession.
Afreen had encouraged it. Not loudly. Not obviously. Just enough smiles. Just enough attention. Enough to hook him.
Then one day the boy confessed his feelings.
She rejected him and blocked him.
No explanation. No remorse.
That break the boy's heart into million pieces.
He stopped coming to school.
Stopped answering calls.
Stopped eating.
Aysha still remembered the night her friend had called her, voice breaking.
"He locked himself in the bathroom. He says he can't breathe. He keeps asking why she did it."
He fell sick. Taken to the hospital
Aysha remembered vividly. When she visited the next day.
The hospital lights.
The bandages. Covering the self-inflicted wounds.
The shame nobody spoke about.
Afreen had never visited.
Never called.
Never cared.
__________
Now she sat here again, older, sharper, even colder.
Afreen buzzed—another correct answer.
The other schools in her block struggling desperately not to fall short.
After Afreen took on their bonus points
Gasps rippled through the hall.
Afreen didn't react.
She never does, Aysha thought, heart pounding.
She doesn't compete. She hunts.
Her eyes flicked briefly toward C.A.A's table. Toward MiMie
There was no rivalry in that look.
Only calculation.
Aysha swallowed hard.
She's not just trying to win.
She's trying to dismantle everyone.
One school at a time.
A shadow fell across the seat beside her.
Someone sat down.
Aysha stiffened—then relaxed when she recognized the familiar presence.
Amar.
He leaned in slightly, voice low. "You've been staring for five minutes straight."
She exhaled shakily. "You see her?"
He followed her gaze. "Afreen Omar? Yeah. Hard to miss."
Aysha's jaw tightened. "She's dangerous."
Amar glanced back at her, concerned. "Dangerous how?"
She hesitated. This was the part she rarely shared.
"She almost destroyed someone I care about," Aysha said quietly. "And she's about to do it again. Just… on a bigger stage, she is coming after C.A.A."
Amar's expression hardened. He shifted closer, their shoulders almost touching.
"You're shaking," he murmured.
"I know," she said. "I hate that she still does this to me. Just by existing."
Amar gently called her by her pet name, grounding. Steadying her breath.
"She doesn't get to own your fear," he said. "At least not anymore, because I won't let her."
Aysha nodded—but her eyes never left Afreen.
Onstage, Afreen answered another question flawlessly.
Another school sank.
Aysha's chest tightened.
And somewhere deep down, a single thought refused to let go:
Is there anyone in C.A.A who actually knows what kind of person Afreen is…
I mean she kind of reminds me of someone that I have recently met.
Tahir.
I feel like they are the two sides of the same coin may be.
I wonder if they know each other.
_________________
EYES MEET
Afreen lifted her head.
For the first time that day, her gaze locked onto MiMie.
Recognition flashed—nothing more.
MiMie didn't look away.
I took a lot from you once, she thought.
I'd do it again
_______________
08. "Which organelle is responsible for ATP production—"
___________________
BZZZT.
A.R.C.
"Mitochondria."
Correct.
ARC — 3%
Safeeyah smiled faintly.
Afreen didn't.
She was already reading ahead.
__________________
01. "Definition of homeostasis is as follows:"
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C.A.A buzzed.
MiMie answered without blinking.
"The regulation of internal conditions to maintain a stable, constant state."
Correct.
C.A.A — 3%
The air thickened.
C.A.A is dominating its block
While A.R.C is doing the same
And the battle is purely
MiMie vs Afreen.
⸻
By the 2nd Subject only three schools were consistently answering:
C.A.A
A.R.C
A.U. N
The rest were already slipping.
Sweat dotted foreheads.
Hands shook over buzzers.
This wasn't a quiz anymore.
It was survival.
____________
The Sabotage
The atmosphere inside the Great Hall shifted.
For the first time that evening—
C.A.A was in trouble. Real trouble.
The giant scoreboard hanging above the stage displayed the current standings.
ARC had just surged ahead by a narrow margin.
Only a few points separated the two rival schools.
One correct answer here would put C.A.A back in front.
One mistake could hand the advantage to ARC.
The moderator adjusted his glasses and looked toward the C.A.A table.
"Question Seven."
The projector illuminated.
A complicated chemistry question appeared across every screen in the hall.
The moment the words appeared—
MiMie's eyes widened.
She knew it. She knew the answer.
Instantly.
Every part of it.
The answer formed in her head before she had even finished reading the question.
A confident smile appeared on her face.
Got it.
Her hand slammed toward the buzzer.
CLICK.
Nothing happened.
Mimi blinked. She pressed again.
CLICK.
Still nothing. Her heartbeat skipped.
Again.
CLICK.
Silence. No light. No sound.
No registration.
The buzzer wasn't working.
For a split second she stared at it.
Then at the wiring beneath the desk.
Then at the moderator.
Then back at the buzzer.
And suddenly—
Everything clicked.
Her eyes slowly moved across the hall.
Until they landed on one person.
Safeeyah.
The ARC representative sat calmly in her seat.
Watching. Waiting.
And then…
She smiled. A tiny smile. Barely visible.
But it was there.
A smirk.
MiMie's stomach twisted.
Her fingers tightened around the dead buzzer.
No way…
A cold realization crashed into her.
You've got to be kidding me.
Her gaze sharpened.
Right under my nose.
Someone sabotaged it.
For the first time all evening, genuine frustration flashed across her face.
And I didn't see it coming.
_______________
The countdown continued.
5 seconds.
The moderator glanced toward the C.A.A table.
Waiting. No answer.
The audience began murmuring.
4 seconds.
Abbas stared helplessly at the screen.
He had no idea. Not even close.
3 seconds.
Isham bit her lip. Nothing.
The question might as well have been written in another language.
MiMie's mind raced.
Thousands of thoughts colliding at once.
Tahir was right.
The memory surfaced immediately.
His warning. His skepticism.
His prediction that the competition wouldn't be won purely through intelligence.
Not against people willing to play dirty.
Tahir was right…
Her jaw clenched.
I can't possibly win like this.
Then another thought followed.
A much stronger one.
A much more stubborn one.
No.
Her eyes hardened.
I refuse.
The words echoed through her mind.
I refuse to lose.
Her heartbeat accelerated.
I am MiMie.
Losing isn't for me.
2 seconds.
The moderator lifted his hand.
Preparing to invalidate the question.
Around the hall, students leaned forward.
The opportunity was slipping away.
MiMie looked at the dead buzzer.
Then at the screen.
Her mind raced, flipping through rules, clauses, loopholes—anything Isham had ever drilled into her.
Think, Mimi. Think.
The emergency clauses Isham had drilled into them once and never revisited.
Then she looked at the microphone sitting in front of their table.
A microphone that wasn't part of the answering system.
A microphone meant only for speaking.
Not buzzing. Not registering answers.
Just speaking. And suddenly—
An idea exploded inside her mind.
Her eyes widened.
Wait.
A slow grin formed on her face.
I figured it out.
The realization hit with perfect clarity.
The rules only say the answer must be given within 9 seconds.
They never said it absolutely had to come through the buzzer.
The moderator had already started lowering his hand.
The audience held its breath.
Safeeyah's smirk grew slightly wider.
Certain she had won.
Certain C.A.A had missed their chance.
Then—
MiMie stood up.
Her chair scraped loudly against the floor.
The entire hall turned toward her.
And before the final second could expire—
She grabbed the microphone.
A fierce determination blazing in her eyes.
Yes.
This is the only way.
I have to—
MiMie leaned forward.
And then—
One second.
The hall felt impossibly quiet.
Like the world was holding its breath just to watch her fall.
She inhaled sharply.
I figured it out.
Yes.
I have to—
"According to Rule Twelve, subsection C," she said, voice steady and loud enough to carry,
"in the event of a technical malfunction affecting a team's response system, verbal answers are permitted if delivered before the countdown ends."
The timer hit zero.
The bell rang.
Silence followed—thick, electric.
All eyes snapped to the moderator.
Safeeyah's smirk twitched.
Afreen's pen froze mid-stroke.
The moderator hesitated, then glanced down at his tablet. His brows drew together. Slowly—reluctantly—he nodded.
"…That is correct."
A murmur surged through the hall.
MiMie didn't pause.
"The answer is Le Chatelier's Principle," she said evenly.
"A system at equilibrium shifts to counteract imposed changes."
The moderator stared at her.
Then—
"Correct."
The scoreboard updated.
C.A.A: +3%
The hall erupted.
Safeeyah slammed her palm onto the table.
"That's not fair!"
MiMie turned slowly, eyes cold, smile razor-thin.
"Neither is sabotage."
Across the hall, Mustyy leaned forward in his seat, a faint curl at the corner of his mouth, as he claps and smiles and blush.
There she is, he thought.
That's so MiMie, so pretty and brilliant.
I am so falling for you MiMie.
Afreen finally looked up—really looked at her.
Not amused. Not impressed. Interested.
The moderator cleared his throat, excitement tightening his voice.
"Moving on."
The lights felt brighter now.
The air heavier.
MiMie lowered herself back into her chair, pulse racing—but her hands were steady.
You tried to break me, she thought, eyes locked on Safeeyah.
You failed.
And somewhere between the hum of the lights and the scratch of pens, everyone in the Great Hall understood one thing:
This quiz was no longer about intelligence.
It was about who refused to fall first.
______________
BONUS Question— THE SECOND STRIKE
The hall shifted. Not louder—sharper.
Screens refreshed. Timers reset.
This was where rankings were decided.
Where margins became graves.
The next question appeared.
AUN choked
ARC hesitated.
D.A did not even attempt.
This was it. The block faltered, bonus to block A.
MiMie was not sure of the answer
Abbas either.
2 more seconds
Isham is not entirely sure either but she wanted to attempt.
3 seconds.
Isham's fingers slammed the buzzer—
Nothing. No sound. No light.
Dead.
Again ?.
Her breath hitched. Not now.
Not again.
The seconds bled away.
Safeeyah turned her head just enough to look at MiMie.
Her lips curved—not a smile, a verdict.
In her mind, sharp and venomous:
That's right. You think we came here unprepared?
We didn't just come to win.
We came to dismantle you.
You—and this circus you dare call a school.
MiMie's pulse thundered in her ears.
This is bad. This is really bad.
The bonus point mattered.
One percent here meant momentum.
It meant control.
Her palms were slick.
For half a second—just half—panic clawed at her chest.
What would Tahir do
I know he can't brute-force this.
He will think of a way.
Even though if they had already planned for this in advance.
They planned for me.
Then—
She closed her eyes.
Breathed in.
Slow.
Measured. No.
I am better than this.
She straightened in her seat, spine locking into place.
Tahir would have told me something like,
Don't fight ghosts.
Let them believe they're winning.
Confidence is a weapon too.
Her gaze lifted—not to Safeeyah, not to Afreen—
To the scoreboard.
Fine, she thought.
Take your illusion.
The timer ticked down.
1 second.
BZZZT.
A green light flared.
Not MiMie.
Abbas.
The hall gasped.
Abbas looked closely at the buzzers, like he figured something out.
Abbas leaned forward, voice steady but burning underneath.
"The answer is plank's Constant."
Silence.
The moderator blinked, checked the screen—
Then nodded.
"Correct."
The scoreboard updated.
C.A.A — +1%
C.A.A surged ahead.
Safeeyah's smirk cracked.
MiMie didn't look at her.
She looked at Abbas.
And for the first time that evening—
She smiled. Not relief. Recognition.
The war wasn't over. And C.A.A
wasn't standing alone anymore.
As it turns out, not all buzzers are sabotaged, they only attacked mine and that of Isham's and even that… they made sure it was intermittent, as soon as the maintenance team arrived to check the buzzers, it was working perfectly.
Who could have done such a thing.
Who does ARC has that can so sophisticatedly…
________
REALIZATION — PIECES ALIGN
The hall buzzed again, voices rising, chairs shifting, tension thick as heat.
MiMie didn't join the noise.
Her eyes stayed on the console in front of her—
on the dead buzzer that had failed her team twice now
Once is luck.
Twice is intention.
Her pulse slowed.
Think.
Who will sabotage C.A.A's buzzer.
Tahir said he wouldn't interfere.
And for all his arrogance, Tahir didn't lie about things like that. When he stepped back, he stepped back completely.
Her gaze slid sideways.
Safeeyah. Too calm. Too prepared.
Watching MiMie instead of the screen.
That wasn't confidence.
That was confirmation.
She orchestrated this.
But Safeeyah wasn't technical. Never had been.
MiMie's thoughts sharpened, clicking into place like a lock turning.
Who does Safeeyah trust?
Who would do this for her?
Her breath caught.
Malik.
Of course. Malik loved computers.Lived in systems.Thought in code.
Since childhood—
Tahir taught him.
Not everything.
But enough.
Her fingers curled slowly into her palm.
So that's the play.
Safeeyah baited me.
Malik pulled the strings.
And A.R.C smiled while pretending to be clean.
Her eyes scanned the A.R.C table.
Afreen was focused.
Calculating.
Safeeyah was smug.
But Malik—
He wasn't there. Not watching. Not reacting.Hiding.
Coward.
MiMie leaned back in her chair, outwardly composed, inwardly burning.
After this round, I find him. I don't accuse.
I don't beg. I stop him.
Her jaw set.
You want to win with shadows? Fine.
But I don't lose to ghosts.
MiMie lifted her head.
Game face on.
But now—
she wasn't just playing the quiz.
She was hunting.