POV: Mabelle
The mornings in Stockholm felt different. Colder. Sharper. The air had that kind of bite that seemed to remind you where you were: away from home, away from comfort, standing on someone else's stage.
Goldridge Sweden's campus was like a palace. The main building stood tall with glass walls and polished stone, each corridor designed to impress. Even the students seemed to walk with an arrogance that wasn't taught but bred.
And here we were—the UK branch—expected to blend, to socialize, to compete.
I wasn't nervous. I was curious.Because if there was one thing Zion taught me, it was this: people showed their true selves when they thought they had the upper hand.
The Announcement
The first assembly brought every branch together in the great hall. Flags of all three academies hung side by side—Sweden in the middle, of course.
Elias Alström, the Swedish head student, stood on the stage with the composure of a monarch. His pale blue eyes swept over the crowd before he spoke.
"Goldridge Academy prides itself on excellence," he began. "And what better way to celebrate unity than to measure our strengths? For the duration of this excursion, there will be a series of challenges—academic, athletic, and cultural."
The hall buzzed immediately. Whispers, laughter, excited chatter. The Americans clapped and whistled.
Elias raised his hand for silence.
"The first challenge begins tomorrow. Teams of five. A debate tournament."
I felt Mikey groan beside me."Debate? Great. I'll bring the popcorn."
But I noticed Zion wasn't laughing. His eyes were fixed on Elias, calm but sharp, like he was already dissecting the man's intentions.
The Lunchroom Divide
After assembly, the branches poured into the dining hall, and the divide was clearer than ever. Swedes sat together, perfect posture, speaking in low, measured tones. Americans were loud, dominating whole tables with their laughter.
And us? We sat somewhere in the middle, neither loud nor stiff, but still the table people glanced at too often.
Celeste leaned in, voice low.
"They're watching Zion," she said. "Not us. Him."
"Of course they are," I muttered. "He's the one they're threatened by."
Across the hall, Elias sat with his prefects, whispering something that made the others smirk. Dante Miller from the US branch leaned back in his chair at a different table, eyes occasionally flicking toward Zion with a grin that was more challenge than friendliness.
I stabbed my fork into my salad.Three leaders.Three egos.And we were caught in the middle of their storm.
A Moment with Zion
Later that evening, I found Zion outside near the glass courtyard, away from the noise of the dorms. He leaned against the railing, a cigarette between his fingers—unlit. He never smoked, but he always carried one, almost as if daring the world to question it.
"Thinking?" I asked, stepping closer.
He didn't look at me immediately. His eyes were on the city lights beyond the campus."They want to break us," he said simply. "Divide us, weaken us before the real games begin."
"The Swedes?"
"The Swedes. The Americans. Doesn't matter. They both want the same thing—to prove we're not what everyone says we are."
I tilted my head. "And what are we?"
Finally, he looked at me, eyes dark, steady, unreadable.
"The ones they'll never surpass."
For a second, I almost laughed. Not because it was funny, but because the way he said it—so calm, so assured—made it impossible not to believe him.
And that's when it hit me.Zion wasn't just smart.He was dangerous.And I was glad—so glad—he was on our side.
Day of the Debate
The debate was held in a sleek auditorium, students packed into rows, teachers watching from the back.
The first match: Sweden vs. US.
The Swedes were methodical, their arguments crisp and rehearsed. The Americans countered with charisma and brute confidence, their words less polished but their delivery magnetic.
The crowd loved the Americans. But the judges loved the Swedes.
"Figures," Mikey muttered beside me. "Robots versus performers. No soul in either."
Then came us. UK vs. Sweden.
Our team: Zion, Celeste, Isla, Mikey, and me.
The topic flashed on the screen: "Discipline versus Freedom: Which drives excellence?"
Perfect.
The Swedes argued discipline, obviously. Their speeches were filled with precision, statistics, examples of structure leading to greatness.
When it was our turn, Zion stood first. He didn't even glance at his notes.
"Discipline without freedom is slavery," he began, voice steady, carrying across the hall. "Freedom without discipline is chaos. Excellence requires both. But if I must choose…"
He paused, letting the silence stretch, letting every eye lock on him.
"…freedom breeds originality. Originality breeds greatness. And greatness is what makes the disciplined follow."
The hall fell silent. Even Elias shifted in his seat.
By the time the debate ended, the judges announced the UK as the winners.
The Swedes clapped politely. The Americans cheered louder than we did.
And Elias? He smiled. But it didn't reach his eyes.
The Party
That night, the Americans threw an unsanctioned party in their dorm wing. Music, flashing lights, drinks smuggled past the staff. Half the Swedes showed up, half stayed behind, and nearly all of the UK branch was there out of curiosity.
The atmosphere was electric, charged with something reckless.
Dante spotted Zion almost immediately, grinning as he approached.
"Impressive today. Didn't think the quiet act would actually win you points."
Zion tilted his head. "And yet here you are, acknowledging it."
The two locked eyes, the air around them tightening. It wasn't loud or theatrical. It was quieter than that. Deadlier.
And I realized something as I watched them.This trip wasn't about cultural exchange or unity.
It was about crowns.And only one would walk away wearing it.
Seeds of Betrayal
While Zion and Dante measured each other, I noticed Isla at the edge of the crowd. She was talking to one of the Americans, his hand brushing her arm just a little too casually. She didn't pull away.
Celeste disappeared an hour later, and when she returned, her lipstick was smudged, her hair tousled, and her expression unreadable.
Mikey stumbled in drunk, laughing with two Swedish boys like they were lifelong friends.
And me?I stayed close to Zion. Not because he needed me. But because I knew—somewhere in my gut—that everything was about to get far, far more dangerous.