Arden's POV
I didn't sleep well that night.
The letter, the red ink, the words "You don't belong here" kept replaying in my mind like a broken record.
I stared at the ceiling for hours. Tried to tell myself it was just nerves. That it was normal for someone like me, coming from nothing, to feel out of place.
But deep down, I knew.
Edelweiss didn't let anyone feel normal.
Morning arrived cold and quiet. I dressed in the uniform provided — crisp, starched, a little too big in the sleeves. My reflection in the mirror looked like a stranger.
"Alright," I muttered, tying my shoes. "Let's survive this day."
I grabbed my bag and stepped out. The corridors of the dormitory were empty at first, but the moment I reached the courtyard, I realized something.
Everyone here moves in patterns. Controlled. Precise. Predictable.
I tried not to be noticed, walking past students who were already forming small groups, laughing softly, whispering to each other.
"Hey, you're new, right?" a voice called.
I turned to see a girl with short black hair and sharp eyes. She looked about my age. She held a notebook close to her chest.
"Yes," I said cautiously.
"I'm Mira. Science department. I'm guessing you got the scholarship too?"
"Yeah… something like that," I replied.
She smiled faintly. "Don't expect them to make it easy. We weren't chosen for fun. The school… watches. And the numbers? They decide almost everything here."
I frowned. "Numbers?"
She glanced around, lowering her voice. "Your ID, the number on your card. Your provisional rank. The higher the number, the lower your status. It's called… The Game. People talk about it in whispers."
"The Game?" I asked, still unsure if she was joking.
"No joke," she said, her expression serious. "You'll see soon enough. Rules are subtle. Rewards are subtle. Punishments… not so subtle."
I nodded, feeling a chill creep into my chest.
Orientation came next.
The hall was enormous. Students sat in rows, all perfectly aligned. I found a seat near the back. Mira sat beside me. Two others joined — a boy named Kian, quiet but alert, and a girl named Sylvie, cheerful but cautious.
The Headmaster entered. Tall, silver-haired, his presence demanding silence.
"Welcome to Edelweiss Academy," he began. His voice was calm but heavy, each word echoing. "This institution is not just a school. It is a system. Excellence is not requested. It is required."
His eyes scanned the room. When they paused on me, I felt a cold awareness settle in my stomach.
"Each student has a number," he continued. "It represents your position. Your privileges. Your responsibilities. Your place in the hierarchy. You may improve it… or lose it."
I glanced at my student ID. #013 – PW Division.
The number looked small, meaningless. But it carried weight. I could feel it.
After orientation, Mira, Kian, Sylvie, and I walked toward the dorms.
"The Game isn't just in the classroom," Mira said quietly. "It's everywhere. Every hallway. Every lunch table. Every interaction. Even here, with us, you're being measured."
I swallowed hard. "Measured? For what?"
"For rank. Survival. Whether you stay or leave. Some students… never come back."
The words sank into me like a stone in my chest.
I didn't want to ask who "some students" were. The thought alone was unsettling.
We turned a corner and froze.
The wall ahead was covered in strange markings. Names, numbers, symbols, carved and etched into the plaster. Some fresh. Some fading.
At the top: RANK BOARD — TERM ONE
I scanned the list. Students I recognized, numbers beside their names. And at the very top: Elaria Montclair — Rank I
I swallowed.
And then I found my own: Arden Eversen — #013 (Provisional)
I didn't know what provisional meant. But it felt wrong.
Mira leaned closer. "That's not normal," she whispered. "Provisional means… they're testing you. Watching you."
I felt my chest tighten.
Someone had written, etched, or painted this list. Someone knew.
And now, I was part of it.
Back in Room 013, I sat by the window. The courtyard below glimmered faintly under the fading light. The white flowers swayed in the wind.
I pulled out the letter again. Red ink. Words I couldn't ignore: You don't belong here.
And then, above my bed, faint but unmistakable, I saw new writing:
Learn the rules, or fail the game.
I touched it, heart hammering.
Who had done this?
Someone was watching me. Someone already knew I was here.
I didn't know them. I didn't know why.
But I knew one thing.
I wasn't going to run.
Not yet.
The next morning, I was called to a small exercise in the main hall.
We were paired with higher-ranked students. The first one assigned to me was a tall senior, gray eyes, pale hair. He smiled faintly. Coldly.
"Number 013," he said. "I hope you survive today."
I nodded, unable to speak. My stomach was tight.
The exercises were subtle — mental challenges, physical coordination, observation. Every move noted, every hesitation observed, every glance remembered.
By the end, I was exhausted. Mentally, physically, emotionally.
But something inside me stirred.
This wasn't a school. This was a test. A system.
And I was now a number in it.
Back in the dormitory, I stared out the window at the courtyard. Students walked, paired or in small groups. Laughter soft. Eyes sharp. Movements precise.
I thought of my family. My home. My past.
I had nothing here. Nothing but this number. This provisional rank.
And a feeling deep in my chest — the sense that I was being pulled into something bigger than me.
Something dangerous.
I clenched my fists.
If this was a game, I would play it.
Even if I didn't yet know the rules.
Even if it killed me.