The morning after the Great Pink Hair Incident, Kwaku discovered a folded piece of paper beneath his dorm room door. The note was stark, its message unyielding: REPORT TO STRESS TESTING LAB. DO NOT MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH ANY TEACHERS. This missive cast a heavy shadow, a palpable premonition that the day ahead would be far from ordinary.
The supposed "Stress Testing Lab" was a far cry from any sterile, academic environment. It was a former storage room, tucked away in the less-trafficked corridors behind the chemistry department. Its walls bore the grim testament of past experiments, marked with suspicious burn stains that seemed to absorb the light. The air itself was thick, carrying a lingering scent of regret and something vaguely chemical. Presiding over this grim domain stood Mr. Ampofo. He appeared utterly drained, his face etched with the exhaustion of someone who had clearly not seen a restful night's sleep in days.
"Today," he announced, his voice raspy, "we will focus on control."
Ebo, ever the inquisitive one, raised a tentative hand. "Control of what, precisely?" he inquired.
"Yourself," Mr. Ampofo replied, his eye twitching almost imperceptibly. "Your powers. The persistent urge to magnify every problem. All three, preferably."
The initial exercise was designed to be straightforward: harness your inherent abilities without causing any unintended destruction. Yaw volunteered to go first. He furrowed his brow in deep concentration, the veins in his forehead standing out starkly against his skin. With a visible effort, he managed to teleport his left pinky toe precisely two inches to the left. It rematerialized, with an audible thump, directly inside his shoe. "Progress," Mr. Ampofo stated, his tone devoid of any discernible emotion.
Ebo stepped up next. He closed his eyes, focusing his intent. Then, a perfect printout of the school's official rules materialized before them. However, it was rendered entirely in Comic Sans, a jarringly large size 72 font, and unfortunately, contained three glaring typos. "At least it's legible," Mr. Ampofo sighed, a sound heavy with weariness.
Then, it was Kwaku's turn. The anticipation in the small room was thick. "Just," Mr. Ampofo began, pinching the bridge of his nose as if bracing for impact, "try not to alter reality too drastically."
Kwaku took a deep, steadying breath. He aimed for something minimal, something utterly harmless. He whispered, "Ten percent chance it rains inside this room."
The universe, with its peculiar sense of humor, interpreted this as a direct challenge. The ceiling above them suddenly cracked. Not in a metaphorical sense, but with actual fissures splintering across the plaster. Then, without warning, a downpour began. It wasn't water that cascaded from above. It was marshmallows. Small, white, sticky marshmallows descended in a relentless, sugary blizzard.
Mr. Ampofo remained utterly still as a single marshmallow landed squarely on his bald head. "Why," he managed to utter, the single word laced with profound disbelief.
Kwaku opened his mouth to offer an explanation, but his words were cut short by a piercing scream from the hallway. The door to the lab burst inward, revealing Kofi, his eyes wide with panic, clutching the mangled remains of a plastic chair. "I DIDN'T MEAN TO THROW IT THAT FAR—" he stammered. The chair, it seemed, had projectile through at least one window. Possibly several. Mr. Ampofo exhaled a long, slow breath. "Class dismissed."
Kwaku began to squelch his way through the thickening marshmallow flood. Ama materialized beside him, her presence as calm and unaffected as always. "Word of advice," she commented, plucking a rogue marshmallow from his hair and popping it into her mouth with a casual air. "If you're going to break reality, at least make it chocolate next time." Kwaku found himself without a response. All he could do was absorb the stark, undeniable truth: this was only his third day. And things were unequivocally, predictably, only going to get worse.