A grand, stone mansion loomed against the night sky, its windows throbbing with light and sound. From its depths, the heavy, metallic pulse of rock phonk music echoed into the street. A sleek, black Bentley coupé arrived, its tires biting the asphalt in a sharp screech—a silent, visceral warning of the danger it carried.
The door flew open. Uriel emerged, his emerald-green eyes glinting with a volatile mix of frustration and tightly bridled anger.
The throng of teenagers partying on the lawn before the mansion instantly parted, creating a funnel that allowed him passage. He walked through the crowd, past the thrumming bodies, toward the massive, white front door.
He stepped inside. The transition from the dark street to the mansion's interior was blinding. A flash of white, clinical light momentarily stole his vision, an irritating final straw to his already frayed patience. When his sight returned, he saw a sea of bodies: partying, sweaty, "horny" teenagers kissing and grinding to the beat. The sight was instantly repulsive, and it only poured fuel on his simmering rage.
Suddenly, the music cut, replaced by the saccharine strains of "Shape of You" by Ed Sheeran. The transition caused a wave of exaggerated cheers and screams.
"Hey, over here!" Zack screamed, waving an arm from the back of the room as he half-wandered through the crowd, his mind clearly somewhere in the clouds.
Uriel stalked toward the VIP lounge. There, Hugo, Zack, and Bruce—a golden boy from the cousin school, Shinhwa High and an "external friend"—were seated on plush sofas, encircled by a bevy of girls who were already deep into the party. Uriel cut through their space and dropped heavily onto the nearest couch.
The girls nearest him physically shrank away. His intimidating presence was too much, his reputation as a "monk" despite his wealth and endless potential queue of women acting like a repellent. None dared approach him, wary of incurring the wrath that could ruin their social standing or well-being at school.
Bruce and Zack exchanged a knowing look. Zack, ever the fool, leaned in and clapped Uriel on the shoulder, only to be immediately and roughly shoved away.
"Yo, dude, why the long face? Did a girl turn you down or something?" Zack asked, rubbing his shoulder.
Uriel did not reply. He simply pulled a cigarette and a lighter from his jacket, lighting the smoke and bringing it to his lips.
"Change the damn music!" he growled, the command heavy with malice.
As Hugo turned to signal a DJ, he caught sight of Uriel's face—specifically, the undeniable, reddish-purple imprint of a hand across his cheek.
"The hell, dude! Who did this?" Hugo asked, his tone snapping with immediate worry.
The music finally shifted, the airy pop replaced by the dark, heavy beat of "Sicko Mode" by Travis Scott. The change, Uriel realized, did actually manage to cool his temper by a fraction.
"Yeah, this," Uriel said, pointing to his cheek, emphasizing the deep definition of the print. "This was done by a psycho I met this afternoon."
Zack bit back a laugh, covering his mouth with a fist. Bruce, less restrained, let out a loud guffaw.
"Damn, that's sick! The imprint is that strong? So, who did it? And you let it go?" Bruce asked, leaning forward, clearly anticipating a juicy piece of gossip.
Uriel almost flared at the suggestion. "Hell no! You think I'm going to leave him?" He drew a long hit from the smoke, releasing it in a thick, purposeful cloud.
"Uuuuhhhh, so it's a him and not a her?" Zack questioned, taking a slow sip of his alcohol before locking lips with a girl who had sidled up to him.
"It's a fucking dude!" Uriel snapped, the vein in his neck pulsing. Hugo quickly patted his back. "I don't even know how that happened, but I'm going to get him. And he'll wish he never crossed paths with me."
Next Week: Decathlon Day
The high school auditorium was packed, filled with students from various schools across the lower London region. The air buzzed with adrenaline as everyone cheered for their school's contestants.
But behind the curtains, the real drama was unfolding. Meghan, Sofie, Nathan, and Brenda stood in a tense cluster. Brenda, in particular, looked Meghan up and down with open contempt.
Brenda tossed her sleek hair over her shoulder and took a step closer to Meghan, stopping when they were almost nose-to-nose. "I hope everything I told you has finally sunk into your brain. If not, I'll make your life a misery you'd never forget in a lifetime."
"I won't dim my light for you to shine, Brenda," Meghan said, her voice steady and adamant. "If you want to be the top, you should at least study harder than you currently do."
Brenda scoffed in disbelief, her lip curling. "Look, guys, it's a lowlife advising me to study better."
"She doesn't even know her place," Sofie hissed, her voice laced with disgust.
Meghan felt the tension in her jaw, but forced herself to remain outwardly calm. "I have no time for the likes of you. If you'll excuse me, I have a competition to prepare for."
Nathan quickly whispered something into Brenda's ear. She immediately backed away as he took a step forward, approaching Meghan, who instantly went high on alert.
"Hey, Meghan. It's only one competition. You'll have many more chances to win another one," Nathan said, trying for a placating tone that sounded hollow.
"Exactly. There's a Decathlon next year. I don't know why she has to make such a big deal out of this one," Sofie grumbled, but she shut up instantly upon meeting Meghan's sharp, icy death stare.
Meghan snapped her gaze from Sofie, fixing a hard glare on both Nathan and Brenda. "I never thought I'd hear something like this from you, Nathan." He sighed, clearly bored by her earnestness. "You know how important Decathlon is to me. It's the very essence of why I study. And you dare to ask me to dim my light so your cheap skate of a girlfriend should win?"
"You don't get it, do you?" Brenda asked, her voice oozing with arrogant glee and pride. "I'm the sky you look upon, and you're the dust that I walk on."
Meghan let out a short, cold chuckle. She took a deliberate step toward Brenda, causing Nathan, Sofie, and Brenda to instinctively shift backward.
"Get the hell out of my sight!" Meghan commanded. She then shoved past them, walking with purpose toward the designated competition platform.
"Nathan, do something!" Brenda whined, tugging desperately at the hem of his shirt. "Did you see the way she looked at me? Like she was going to kill me."
Nathan held her close, planting a comforting kiss on her forehead. "We'll figure out a way to take her down," he assured her, his eyes cold and calculating.
Meghan was tearing through the final rounds of the Inter-School Decathlon, her score soaring to an unprecedented 177 points, the highest total since the competition began. Beside her, Brenda had a flat zero. Every question Meghan flawlessly answered deepened the clear-cut gap, a humiliating indicator that Brenda had been partying, not preparing. Other competitors dotted the leaderboard with meager scores of 33, 77, and the like, none of them even close to breaching the top hundred.
Brenda's composure finally snapped. She shot Meghan a continuous stream of furious glares, each one intensifying every time Meghan met a challenge with a confident, effortless smile.
Then, Brenda did the unthinkable.
She raised her hand, interrupting the final round, and addressed the judges with a voice thick with feigned distress. "Judges," she choked out, tears welling up, "I have to report that Meghan is cheating! She forced me to keep quiet, threatening to ruin my life—my social life and even worse!"
A collective, stunned gasp swept through the entire hall. Whispers turned into an angry buzz.
"See, I told you!" one student hissed. "No one can answer that fast without cheating. She memorized them all!"
"She must be bewitched!" another cried out. "How dare a poor miscreant like her threaten our school's queen!"
Meghan's world tilted. Her vision blurred with the sudden urge to cry. She wasn't expecting any specific questions; she had simply spent years preparing, driven by the dream of making her mark on the world. Cheating had never been an option for her. She had been taught by the best—world-class tutors and subject experts—back when her family had money. Did their lack of diligence give them the right to accuse her of a crime she hadn't even conceived?
Brenda turned, a cold, triumphant smirk playing on her lips. "Hear that, cheater?"
Meghan faced her, her voice trembling but firm. "I did not cheat! And how can you possibly prove I did? I am on the board and in Forbes for having the highest IQ in the UK."
Brenda scoffed, wiping a tear dramatically. "That's fake! Your rich father bribed those testing agencies to lie. But now he's reduced to the bottom—the truth is finally coming out!"
Meghan's eyes narrowed. "Don't you dare bring my father into this."
Brenda just flashed a wicked smile, then turned back to the crowd, weeping louder. She held up a phone and pressed play. A recording blasted over the loudspeakers: it was a chilling, distorted voice—a perfect, sinister imitation of Meghan's—threatening to kill Brenda if she revealed the cheating.
The crowd erupted into furious shouts and curses directed at Meghan.
"This is FAKE!" Meghan screamed, tears streaming down her face. "It's a voice actor's work! This is a setup!"
Brenda lowered the phone, her voice dripping with scorn. "Don't be ridiculous, Meghan." She then dramatically pointed to Meghan's bag, which was resting near her chair. "The script of the decathlon questions and answers is in her locker right now. Proof, judges!"
The head judge immediately sent an official. Moments later, the judge returned, holding a stack of neatly printed papers. The evidence was undeniable.
"Meghan," the head judge asked gravely, "what is the meaning of this?"
"It wasn't me! I swear! Someone planted that!" But the crowd's angry silence told her no one believed her.
Meghan turned on Brenda, desperation fueling her fury. "You are lying! Stop this now, Brenda!"
Brenda looked at the judges, a chilling calm in her voice. "The evidence is clear. I rest my case."
Adhering to the damning proof, the judges made their final, swift decision. Meghan was disqualified and immediately expelled from the hall. Her 177 points were tragically awarded to Brenda. As the security guards escorted a sobbing Meghan out, Brenda watched her go, a slow, malicious wicked smile spreading across her face.
FLASHBACK: AN HOUR AFTER THE CONFRONTATION
In the dusty, dim confines of the janitor's closet, Brenda stood with Nathan. She was holding the folded cheat sheet, her eyes gleaming.
"It worked perfectly," she purred. "How did you manage to get the questions from the Decathlon's private website, Nathan?"
"My father's ex-girlfriend," he explained, a slight nervousness in his tone. "I had to do a bit of blackmail. Knowing how my mother would react if the details came out, she contacted her brother—he works as a secretary to the program's managing director. That's how I got it."
Brenda didn't wait for another word. She grabbed his tie, pulling him down possessively, and kissed him deeply. He melted instantly into the embrace.
She pulled back, her eyes shining with triumph. "You're a good boy, Nathan." She paused, her smile fading. "But what about the sheet? It's too late for me to study all of it."
"It's not for you to study," Nathan said, already moving toward the door. "We plant it in Meghan's locker to frame her. And I already had the voice actor prepare the recording. Just stick to the script I gave you for the accusation."
They slipped out of the closet. Nathan quickly located Meghan's locker, placed the sheet neatly inside her textbook, and returned the book just as it was before. They hurried away, the sound of the locking metal door sealing Meghan's fate.
PRESENT
Meghan stood outside the school gates, her backpack heavy in her hand. She descended the stone steps, weeping silently, utterly alone.
Suddenly, her phone buzzed. It was Tobi.
"Meghan, I saw everything on TV. I'm coming to get you right now. Just stay there."
She sank onto a low bench by the school hedge, raking a frantic hand through her short, cropped hair.
Her father, Denver Smith, called. "Hey, my champion! How was the competition?"
Meghan swallowed, forcing her voice to sound light. "It was fine, Dad. No problems at all."
"Dad," she asked tentatively, "have you ever, even once, thought of me as a cheater?"
"What? No, honey! Of course not," he chuckled, sounding genuinely shocked. "You are the most hardworking kid I know; you always study harder than anyone else. Why are you asking such a ridiculous question?"
"It's nothing," she sighed, a small sense of relief washing over her. "It's just good to hear your voice."
He playfully chided her, "Don't talk like you're dying, kid!"
Meghan managed a soft, genuine laugh, diverting his attention. He told her his boss was arriving and he had to go.
"I love you, Dad," she whispered.
"Love you too, sweetie. Call you later." The line went dead.
Just then, two female students walked by. They shot her a venomous glare and whispered loudly to each other.
Like a lifesaver, a red Toyota Camry screeched to a stop nearby. Tobi. Meghan bolted toward the car, collapsing into his arms in a rush of tears she could no longer suppress. He quickly ushered her into the passenger seat, driving them away from the hateful, watchful gaze of her former schoolmates.