POV: Narrator
The coaches lined up in front of Goldridge Academy's main gates looked like they belonged to royalty, not a bunch of students. Glossy black, tinted windows, the school crest stitched proudly into the velvet seats. Even the teachers had an air of formality as they supervised luggage being loaded into compartments.
Goldridge Academy excursions weren't simple "field trips." They were statements. When the UK branch traveled, it wasn't just about sightseeing. It was about reputation, power, and who would walk away the more dominant face of Goldridge across the globe.
This time, the destination was Sweden. More specifically—the Stockholm branch. And word had already gotten around that the US branch was flying in as well.
Three powerhouses.Three reputations to defend.One stage.
The UK Branch
Zion leaned against the coach, arms folded, expression unreadable as ever. The early morning chill didn't seem to bother him, though most of the other students shivered in their coats.
Mabelle stood close by, scrolling casually on her phone, her hair catching faint strands of sunlight. Every so often, her eyes flickered up toward Zion, and a small, private smile tugged at her lips—like she knew something no one else did.
Mikey cracked jokes about the ridiculous amount of luggage Celeste had brought ("What's in there, a spare house?"), while Isla sat a little apart, earphones in but eyes darting toward Kevin's usual spot—the empty space where he used to stand.
Kevin's absence was louder than any conversation.But no one dared bring his name up.
Arrival in Sweden
The UK branch's arrival at the Stockholm campus was nothing short of cinematic.
The Swedish branch lined the courtyard to "welcome" their counterparts, though their expressions looked less like hospitality and more like thinly veiled judgment. Tall, blonde, impeccably dressed students, their uniforms crisp as though ironed seconds ago. Their prefects carried themselves like soldiers preparing for a ceremony.
The head student, Elias Alström, stepped forward.Tall, broad-shouldered, with piercing blue eyes that felt like they could read the weight of your soul. His smile was polite, but there was steel behind it.
"Goldridge UK," Elias greeted, voice smooth but cold. "Welcome to Sweden. I hope your standards here will… match the ones you've built back home."
It was a jab disguised as courtesy.
Zion didn't blink. He extended his hand with a composure that made Elias hesitate for half a second before shaking it.
"We don't match standards," Zion said quietly. "We set them."
The crowd rippled with whispers.
First Tensions
The first day was about mingling, or so the teachers said. In reality, it was about sizing each other up.
The Swedish students hosted a luncheon, laying out a spread that looked straight out of a magazine. But beneath the surface-level politeness, eyes darted, whispers spread, and egos clashed.
Celeste, ever observant, leaned toward Mikey.
"They're testing us. Watching how we eat, how we sit, how we talk. It's all performance."
Mikey grinned, shoving a meatball into his mouth.
"Then I'm failing spectacularly."
Meanwhile, Mabelle caught the attention of several Swedish boys, their stares lingering too long, their smirks too bold. Zion noticed, of course. He always noticed. But instead of reacting, he leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable. The nonchalance was louder than jealousy—it said, Try if you want. She's already mine.
But what truly shifted the atmosphere wasn't Sweden.It was America.
The US Branch Arrives
Their entrance was louder, brasher, and deliberately disruptive. A private bus rolled into the courtyard mid-luncheon, music blasting through the windows.
They stepped out like celebrities—designer sunglasses, shoes worth small fortunes, their accents sharp and unapologetic.
At the center was Dante Miller, their de facto leader. Half-black, half-Latino, muscles toned from varsity football, his swagger filling the space before he even spoke.
"Goldridge UK. Goldridge Sweden. Guess the party finally starts now that we're here."
The Swedish students stiffened at the arrogance. The UK students exchanged looks, unimpressed.
Zion, however, studied Dante with quiet precision. Their eyes met for a brief moment across the courtyard. No words were exchanged, but something passed between them—an acknowledgment. Two alphas recognizing each other.
Dinner Disaster
That evening, all three branches shared a formal dinner. Teachers gave speeches about "unity" and "global excellence," but the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.
The Swedes kept their composure, their superiority complex simmering under flawless etiquette. The Americans were loud, careless, owning the room with sheer presence.
And the UK? They adapted, quietly dominant without needing to prove it.
Until Mabelle happened.
A Swedish girl named Freja leaned across the table, smirking as she said,
"Is it true you and Zion aren't actually together? That he just lets you orbit around him like the rest?"
The words were sharp. Purposeful. Designed to cut.
Before Mabelle could reply, Dante chuckled from the far end.
"Makes sense. Guy like Zion doesn't need to claim anything. Girls just line up."
The table erupted in murmurs.
Zion didn't rise to it. He didn't need to. He leaned slightly toward Mabelle, whispered something only she could hear. Whatever it was made her laugh softly, eyes fixed on him with a warmth that silenced the room louder than any comeback.
And just like that, the dynamic shifted.No one questioned it again.
Behind the Curtain
Later that night, in the dorms, whispers spread.
The Swedes were planning something—a challenge. Word was, they wanted to assert dominance by hosting a series of competitions: academics, athletics, even public speaking.
The Americans, predictably, were all in.
And the UK?Everyone waited for Zion's move.
Mikey sprawled across his bed, tossing a stress ball.
"So… what's the plan, Z? We going to crush them or keep pretending we don't care?"
Zion didn't look up from the book he was reading.
"We don't compete to prove ourselves," he said simply. "We compete to remind them why they'll never measure up."
Even Isla, usually quiet, shivered at the casual finality in his voice.
Seeds of Rivalry
The following days only intensified the storm. The Swedes flaunted their discipline, the Americans their brute energy. But slowly, everyone realized the truth:
The UK didn't need to flaunt anything.They had Zion.
And Zion had a way of turning even silence into dominance.
Still, beneath the surface, new threads of drama began to weave. A Swedish prefect seemed a little too interested in Mabelle. An American girl whispered just a little too closely to Zion. Isla caught Dante watching her across the hall. Celeste started spending late nights "studying" with a Swedish boy who definitely wasn't studying.
The trip had only just begun.
But one thing was certain:Goldridge UK wasn't just surviving in foreign territory.
They were about to conquer it.