When she pulled back, Philip only smiled faintly, composed as ever—
—but the tips of his ears had turned red.
Rick nearly lost it, clutching his stomach as he tried not to laugh out loud.
"Next!"
The game rolled on.
Sophia chose truth.
Then truth again.
When the group started to protest which punishment she got she agreed to remove pieces of her clothing, she simply slipped off her gloves, her calm gaze sweeping over them.
The complaints died instantly.
No one pushed further.
Just then—
The door opened.
Felix walked back in.
Calm. Collected. Like nothing had happened.
He had clearly handled his dare.
But the moment he stepped in—
"Perfect timing," someone muttered.
Because now—
It was Aiden's turn.
Sophia's gaze shifted briefly to Felix, then back to Aiden.
Her voice was steady when she spoke.
"I dare you… to hug Felix for ten minutes. With him sitting on your lap."
Silence.
Then the room erupted.
Felix froze at the door.
"…What?"
Laughter spread, louder this time.
Aiden's lips twitched slightly.
His eyes slid toward Felix, who was still standing there, clearly not amused.
"Come here," Aiden said softly. "Or do you want me to carry you?"
Felix smiled faintly, unimpressed.
"You're the one doing the dare, not me," he replied, shrugging as he walked past and sat down instead. "I don't see why I should help you."
A few people laughed under their breath.
Aiden watched him for a moment—but Felix didn't return the look.
"So what happens if someone refuses?" Jay asked, leaning forward.
Rick rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm… I didn't think of that."
He looked at Aiden, eyes lighting up with mischief.
"Then kneel and apologize. Maybe massage his leg while you're at it."
The room went quiet.
Every eye turned to Aiden.
Waiting.
Watching.
Aiden let out a low chuckle.
Then her phone rang.
The vibration buzzed loudly from the bench near the court, slicing through the rhythm like an interruption that dared to exist.
"Friends helping friends," he said lightly.
He stepped forward—then leaned close to Felix, his voice dropping low enough for only him to hear.
"Feels familiar, doesn't it? From you kneeling to me to this do they know something"
Felix flinched as he was sensitive there .
" They don't know what they should not know do don't worry or threatening me Felix said
Aiden rose, dropped to his knees, draped Felix's leg over his thigh. Massaged the ankle, then slid a hand under the pajama hem, kneading slow, sensual circles up his calf.
Felix but his lip not to let out a reaction his leg twitching trying to escape
But his fingers curled slightly against the couch.
Aiden's grip was firm—controlled. Like he already knew how Felix would react.
Felix looked away, forcing his expression blank trying to not think of his touch on his leg.
Don't react.
That was exactly what Aiden wanted for him to let something out in front of everyone as punishment for him kneeling he wants to humilate Felix and he knew just what to touch
"Felix."
Matthew's voice cut through the room.
Calm.
Sharp.
"Come with me."
He was already standing.
Felix didn't hesitate.
He pulled his leg free and stood up immediately, using the moment to break away.
Without looking back, he followed Matthew out.
The door closed behind them.
The room stayed quiet for a second longer.
Then Aiden straightened.
Like nothing had happened.
He walked to the sink, washed his hands slowly, and returned to his seat.
The game continued—
But the mood had already changed.
When the game was over, everyone quietly went back to their spaces. Matthew and Felix were already in the dormitory.
Jay carried Rick on his back—Rick had fallen asleep halfway through the walk.
Philip, on the other hand, couldn't stop talking.
"Do you know how soft Olivia lips is? I swear, I feel like screaming it to the whole world—"
"Shut up," Jay muttered, adjusting Rick's weight as they walked past the peach tree pathway.
By the time they reached the dorm, the building was silent.
Jay carefully placed Rick on bed space 7, removing his gloves, coat, scarf, and hat before setting them aside neatly. After that, he took off his own things and slipped into bed beside him.
Philip entered last, closing the door gently so he wouldn't wake anyone. He walked over to Kai's reading table, where a small lamp was still on.
Kai had left it for them—so they wouldn't have to turn on the main lights.
Philip smiled faintly, switched it off, closed the balcony door, and went to bed.
The room fell into complete silence.
The next morning, they woke early, took their baths, wore their uniforms, and headed to class.
During break time, Matthew left for practice before heading to the selection hall for the Brain Maniac Group—the top academic team in the school.
They had decided to conduct their selection first.
The moment Matthew stepped in, heads turned.
It wasn't just his presence—it was his calm.
"Take a seat," the teacher instructed.
Sheets were distributed.
"Four hundred questions. Two and a half hours. All theory."
A collective breath was drawn.
Damn… no wonder they're the top group.
But the moment they looked at the questions—
Their minds went blank.
What kind of questions are these?!
These weren't even normal university-level problems.
The teacher smiled, as if reading their thoughts.
"These questions were set by professors, lecturers, award-winning researchers, and top high school educators," he said calmly.
"Now… solve."
Silence fell.
Pens moved.
Some students froze. Others skipped rapidly, panic rising as their eyes kept darting to the clock.
But Matthew—
Was already writing.
Focused.
Unshaken.
Time passed.
His pen stopped the moment time was called.
"Take a break. Your results will be announced shortly," the teacher said.
As everyone filed out, Matthew headed toward the cafeteria—
—but a takeaway bag suddenly appeared in front of him.
He looked up.
Ava stood there, smiling.
"I bought this from Star Restaurant. It's expensive, so eat it properly," she said quickly. "And don't you dare throw it away. If you don't want it, return it to me. Don't waste food… or I'll bite you."
Then she ran off.
"…Idiot!"
Jake's voice echoed as he chased after her.
"You gave away the food I bought you! What am I supposed to eat i only bought two bag"
"Oh, stop being stingy," Ava shot back. "We can share mine."
Jake's lips twitched. "Using what I bought for you to impress someone else? Shameless."
"So now you're keeping track?" she teased.
Their voices faded.
Matthew glanced at the takeaway in his hand.
"…Free food is free food."
He went to a quiet corner and ate, saving the rest for later.
When it was time, he returned to the hall.
It was now packed—students from different grades had gathered to hear the results.
Names were called one after another.
"10 questions attempted. 2 correct."
"50 attempted. 20 correct."
Out of thirty contestants, fifteen were eliminated almost immediately.
Some managed between 100 and 120 questions, scoring around 50–60.
Soon—
Only five remained unmarked.
Matthew was among them.
The tension thickened.
"The next—150 out of 200."
Applause.
"120 out of 120."
More applause.
"200 out of 200."
Cheers.
"250."
The room buzzed.
Then—
Matthew's paper.
The teachers paused.
They exchanged looks.
Then looked back at the paper—filled with clean, precise handwriting. Some answers were short, others detailed.
But that wasn't the shocking part.
"He… answered all 400 questions," one teacher said slowly.
Silence.
Even the top twenty members of the group usually stopped around 320.
This alone was terrifying.
Then they began marking.
Minutes passed.
No one spoke.
Hearts pounded.
And then—
A teacher finally spoke.
"Out of 400 questions… he got 399 correct."
The hall froze.
"The last question wasn't wrong," the teacher continued. "It was intentionally false. He corrected it before solving it."
A pause.
"So… effectively—he got everything correct."
Silence.
No cheers.
No whispers.
Just shock.
Matthew sat calmly, finishing his food.
My speed still needs improvement.
That was his only thought.
"Matthew," a teacher called. "Come meet us later. We have more questions for you."
He nodded.
"Out of the thirty participants, only ten will be selected to join the twenty current members," another teacher announced.
"Next week, the thirty of you will face another school. After that, a final selection—only fifteen will remain."
The room buzzed again.
But all eyes were on Matthew.
As he followed the teachers out—
The news spread.
Across the school.
Across platforms.
Even beyond.
A storm had just begun.
The hall wasn't just crowded—it was packed to the point where even the air felt shared.
Rows upon rows of seats stretched across the massive auditorium, every single one filled. Crownside students sat on the left side like a controlled storm—uniforms crisp, posture straight but eyes restless.
Some leaned forward with elbows on knees, whispering between clenched teeth. Others sat completely still, but their fingers kept tapping against their thighs without realizing it.
On the opposite side—
The rival school didn't sit quietly.
They took space like they owned it.
Some stood behind the seats entirely, arms folded, smirking openly. A few leaned on railings, laughing too loudly at nothing in particular, as if confidence alone could tilt the outcome.
Between them, the stage stood wide and brightly lit—too bright, almost blinding.
White panels. Metal tables.
Experimental setups already arranged in clean, sterile order.
Everything looked calm.
But nothing felt calm.
Even the silence before the first round carried weight.
Grade 10 Stage
The moment the timer started—
The hall changed.
Clocks ticked loudly through speakers mounted on the ceiling. Each sound felt amplified, like time itself was being pressed into their ears.
On stage, students moved quickly to their stations.
One boy from Crownside reached for a beaker too fast—his hand shook slightly before he steadied it. Another adjusted goggles repeatedly even though they were already in place.
Across the stage, rival students worked differently—fast, loud, confident movements. One of them knocked a tool slightly too hard against the table, making a sharp metallic sound that echoed through the hall. Some audience members reacted immediately, whispering.
"Careless…"
"No, he's confident."
The experiment wasn't just chemistry—it was pressure under observation.
Every mistake was visible.
Every hesitation noticeable.
At the front row of Crownside seating, a girl covered her mouth as one student's solution turned slightly wrong color. Her hand tightened around her skirt unconsciously.
Behind her, someone whispered, "He's out."
And he was.
A buzzer sounded softly.
Red light above his station blinked.
One down.
Then another.
And another.
Each elimination triggered a small reaction in the audience—gasps, sharp exhales, subtle shifts in posture as people leaned forward more.
By the time only a few remained—
Crownside had three students left.
Rival school had five.
The rival side immediately erupted.
Some clapped. Some shouted names. One even stood up halfway, pointing toward the stage like victory was already theirs.
Crownside students didn't respond.
But their silence was heavier than shouting.
Their eyes stayed fixed.
Unblinking.
Waiting.
The timer hit zero.
The final beakers were placed down.
Hands withdrew slowly like the air itself was dangerous.
The announcer stepped forward.
"Grade 10 results."
A pause.
Even the audience stopped shifting.
"Rival School — 300 points."
A cheer exploded instantly from the right side of the hall. Some students jumped up, slapping each other's backs, laughing loudly like relief had just been released.
Then—
"Crownside Elite — 200 points."
A different reaction.
Not loud.
Not chaotic.
Just a slow sinking feeling across the left side.
A few students lowered their heads slightly.
One clenched their jaw so tightly it visibly tightened their cheek.
But no one spoke.
Not yet.
Grade 11 Stage
This round felt heavier immediately.
The tables were rearranged. The materials changed. More complex equipment was brought in—glass apparatus, digital readouts, layered problem stations.
Even the students looked different now.
Less confident.
More aware.
The rival school still talked among themselves, but quieter now.
Crownside students had stopped whispering completely.
The moment the timer started—
movement was sharper.
Faster.
More controlled.
A Crownside student flipped through instructions too quickly, then slowed down mid-way as realization hit—adjusting carefully now.
On the rival side, one student confidently began without reading fully. Ten seconds later, he froze, realizing he had skipped a key instruction.
A buzzer.
Eliminated.
That sound made the audience react again—this time with louder murmurs.
It was survival under intelligence pressure.
By the final minutes—
Crownside had adapted.
Their movements became synchronized in instinct, not communication. They didn't look at each other—but their pacing aligned.
The rival side began to slow slightly.
Not physically.
Mentally.
Time pressure was starting to show.
When the timer stopped—
silence again.
Then results.
"Crownside Elite — 400 points."
A shift in the room.
Crownside side erupted this time.
Not chaotic—but strong. Controlled cheering. Some students stood halfway before sitting back down quickly, trying not to break discipline.
The rival side didn't respond immediately.
Their smiles were thinner now.
Grade 12 Stage
This was different.
Even before the timer started, the atmosphere changed.
No jokes.
No whispers.
Even movement in the audience reduced.
The stage lighting felt sharper.
Colder.
First ten minutes.
Two students froze.
Then one.
Then another.
Not from mistakes—
but from hesitation.
Audience members started gripping armrests tighter. Some leaned forward so far their backs curved off seats.
A woman in the Crownside section whispered, "This is insane…"
Then covered her mouth immediately like she regretted speaking.
Time continued to break people down.
Until—
only a few remained.
From Crownside:
Matthew.
Sophia.
One boy.
From rival school:
Five students.
Now the hall was almost completely silent except for the ticking clock and occasional pen scratches amplified through microphones.
Every sound felt too loud.
Even breathing felt like it might interrupt something important.
Then—
final submission.
The announcer walked forward slowly, almost deliberately, holding the results sheet like it weighed more than paper should.
"Grade 12 results…"
A pause that stretched too long.
Even someone in the back coughed—and immediately stopped like it was illegal.
"Rival School — 700 points."
A wave of reaction—some loud, some stunned, some uncertain.
Then—
"Crownside Elite — 800 points."
Silence broke.
Not immediately into chaos—but into disbelief first.
Like the brain needed a second to accept it.
Then—
explosion.
Crownside students stood up at once.
Shouting.
Cheering.
Waving hands.
Some pointed at the stage, chanting Matthew's name like it was now part of the school identity as he was the one that gave their school a whole four hundred points alone.
Even teachers exhaled deeply like they had been holding their breath the entire time.
Sophia stood still for a second too long.
Her hands trembled slightly at her sides.
She nearly destroyed their chances of passing that was why members of their team were evicted out, who would knew her period would start the cramps nearly made her die she could feel the stares from the audience now .
When Mattew walk up to her,He removed his jacket and tied it around her waist—simple, controlled movement, like fixing something without making it a spectacle.
Sophia froze completely.
From Shame but it didn't hide the fact her heart skip a beat
Somewhere in the middle rows—
a phone camera clicked.
Luna lowered her device slowly, watching the image preview of Matthew and Sophia close and sent it to ava with a message that read a week away from school and your crush already forgot you , those close to her were already pairing the two taking our perfect they were forgetting Sophia mistake suddenly,
Ava's tennis outfit looked like it belonged on a magazine cover rather than a backyard court.
A crisp white pleated skirt cut just short enough to move freely with every turn, paired with a fitted sporty top trimmed with subtle red accents that matched her hair.
The fabric hugged her form cleanly without being loud about it—chic in that effortless, expensive way.
Even her wristband and shoes looked carefully chosen, not for function alone but for that quiet "wow" effect people notice a second too late.
Her red hair was pulled high into a ponytail, swinging sharply each time she pivoted.
Every movement made it flick like a ribbon of fire against the green court.
Across from her, her grandpa didn't go easy on her.
The old man moved with stubborn energy, hitting each ball like he was still proving something to time itself. The sound of the ball bouncing between them filled the open yard, sharp and steady, occasionally mixing with the distant hush of the mansion behind them—life continuing in layers.
Inside, her parents were somewhere in the mansion. Her grandmother too. Her brother… well, nobody ever really knew where he drifted off to.
Ava didn't care enough to look back.
Her eyes stayed on the ball.