Narrator's POV
The auditorium of Goldridge Sweden shimmered under bright white lights. The banners of the three branches hung over the stage, silent witnesses to another war—not of bodies, but of minds.
If the athletic challenges were sweat and grit, this was steel and fire. Here, mistakes weren't measured in bruises but in humiliation.
The Math Duel
The Math Competition was the first test. Long tables lined the stage, calculators forbidden, pencils scratching furiously.
Representing UK: Zion.US: Dante's right-hand, a wiry genius named Marcus Chen.Sweden: Elias himself, smug as always.
The questions flashed across a giant screen, equations so dense the average student in the crowd couldn't follow. The tension wasn't in the math itself, but in how each boy carried himself.
Marcus scribbled furiously, erasing and rewriting. Elias wrote with confidence, pausing only to sip water as if he were performing. Zion… leaned back. He tapped his pencil against the desk, eyes half-lidded, like the entire thing was a bore.
But every time the judges checked his sheet, his answers were flawless.
When the results came, Zion and Elias tied at first place. Marcus fell short.
The crowd erupted. Elias extended his hand, smiling, but Zion didn't move. He simply gave a slow nod, his nonchalance sharper than any insult.
The Chess Arena
Next came the Chess Tournament.
The hall fell silent as the boards were set up. This wasn't just a game—it was a battle of wills. The first few rounds eliminated weaker players quickly, leaving only the leaders at the top.
Zion vs. Elias.The match everyone expected.
Elias played aggressively, opening with a bold gambit that had the crowd murmuring. Zion countered lazily, almost distracted, but every move seemed to dismantle Elias' plans before they fully formed.
Half an hour in, Elias leaned forward, his voice a whisper only Zion could hear.
"You think you can read me? You're just a shadow. And shadows fade."
Zion's lips curved into that half-smile.He moved his queen.Checkmate.
The audience roared. Elias froze, staring at the board as if the pieces themselves had betrayed him. Zion rose smoothly, adjusting his blazer.
"Shadows don't fade," he murmured as he passed. "They consume."
The Spelling Bee
By the time the Spelling Bee began, the room was restless. Dozens of students lined up, one by one stepping to the mic to spell words most had never heard before.
Celeste stunned the crowd, her confidence slicing through every word like a blade. Isla tripped halfway through but recovered, drawing laughter from the Americans and icy glares from the Swedes.
But the final round came down to something no one expected: a duel between Celeste and a smooth-voiced American boy who had been circling Isla since the first night.
The word: labyrinthine.
Celeste spelled it perfectly. The American stumbled, missing a letter. UK took the win.
Celeste smiled sweetly at him, but when she returned to her seat, her hand brushed against his as though promising something later.
The Essay Contest
The last competition stretched into the evening. Students hunched over desks, pens scratching as they poured thoughts into pages.
The topic: "Unity in Diversity: The True Power of Global Academies."
Mabelle represented the UK.
She wrote quickly, passionately. Not about unity as the judges expected, but about the illusions of unity. About how rivalry bred greatness, about how truth lay in competition, not forced harmony. Her words burned across the page, her heart in every line.
When the results came, the judges whispered in surprise. First place: Mabelle.
As she stood on stage accepting the ribbon, she spotted Zion in the crowd. For the first time, he wasn't unreadable. He was proud.
Nightfall – Unraveling Restraints
The competitions ended with the UK branch unexpectedly on top. The Americans sulked, the Swedes brooded. But the night brought freedom, and freedom brought temptation.
In the common lounges, groups mingled. Drinks were passed around. Music hummed low.
Celeste vanished again, this time with the American she'd dueled in spelling. They slipped into a darkened room, laughter muffled by a closing door.
Isla wasn't far behind, tangled in conversation with the tall American boy who had been eyeing her. Soon, whispers turned to touches, and touches turned to something more.
Even quiet girls from the UK group found themselves drawn into Swedish arms, lips meeting lips, the frost outside no match for the fire inside.
Zion and Mabelle
But for Zion and Mabelle, the night took a different path.
He found her on the balcony, the city lights glimmering on her face, the essay ribbon still pinned to her chest.
"You wrote like you were tearing the world apart," he said softly, stepping beside her.
She glanced at him, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "And you? You crushed them without even breaking a sweat."
He shrugged. "It's what they expect."
For a long moment, silence stretched. The kind that wasn't empty but full—of unsaid words, of the heat neither wanted to name.
Finally, she spoke."Zion… why do you always act like nothing touches you?"
He turned, meeting her eyes, and for once, his mask slipped."Because if I let it touch me… it would consume me. And I can't afford that. Not here. Not ever."
Mabelle's heart pounded. She stepped closer, so close she could feel the warmth radiating off him despite the cold."Then let me touch you."
And before either could stop it, their lips met.
It wasn't rushed. It wasn't frantic. It was slow, burning, deliberate. A kiss that spoke of months of tension, of stolen glances, of words never spoken.
When they broke apart, Zion's hand remained on her cheek, thumb brushing her skin.
"You're mine now," he said quietly."No," she whispered back, a smirk curling her lips. "We're each other's."
The world outside kept spinning—students slipping into dark rooms, secrets unfolding across the campus. But in that moment, Zion and Mabelle existed in their own universe.
One kiss became another. And another. Until the balcony itself seemed too small to contain them.
By the time they finally pulled away, breathless, the frost had melted from their skin.
And Mabelle knew one thing with certainty: Zion wasn't just the boy everyone envied.He was hers.