Chapter 2, Competitions.
987 Words
Zaid woke up in the morning to find a message from the system. He opened it and read:
[The 24 hours challenge have begun. If you can endure them, you will receive the money.]
He rubbed his eyes, making sure he had read it correctly, and realized the message wasn't a dream. He got up to shower and get ready for school, then went to wake Bassam.
"Bassam, wake up. We can't be late on the first day," Zaid said, shaking him.
Bassam groaned, struggling to get up, his sleep was always heavy. After finally dragging themselves out, they headed to class, only to find that even the seats were assigned. The two of them ended up at the very back, behind the last row.
The teacher walked in and greeted them. Then she began explaining the subject: Chemistry.
"Chemistry is a pleasant subject," she said. "Most of it is experiments, you'll enjoy them a lot. Every month, there will be a quiz and an experiment. At the end of the term, you must complete a project."
She continued, "To ensure fairness, I'll divide you into groups. Each group must have at least one White Card, one Green Card, and one Blue Card. Since there are only two Red Card students, their group must include two White Cards."
The students exchanged glances, clearly unhappy. Some muttered under their breath, smirking at each other. The teacher silenced them with a sharp look and began the lesson.
Second Period: P.E.
The P.E. teacher was a former Olympic champion. He stood tall as he addressed the class.
"There are many tournaments this year," he said. "Every student must join a sports team and win at least a gold, silver, or bronze medal. This is a requirement to pass. Our school is known for winning most competitions, students who fail to win anything will either get a lower grade or be expelled."
He added, "Teams must also include all card types."
A White Card student, arrogant and confident, scoffed and raised his hand.
"If only White Card students were allowed to compete, we'd win everything, we'd secure first place, every time. We'd protect the school's reputation. But if we let the other cards play, they'll barely get bronze medals at best. Worse, they'll lose and drag the school's name through the mud."
The teacher's expression hardened.
"The school's reputation has never been tainted," he said firmly. "All students must participate in the tournaments."
Then, he started the class, making them run laps in the gym. Afterward, he divided them into two teams for basketball. The best players would be chosen for the school team.
During the game, the same arrogant student targeted Zaid, shoving him and mocking him.
"You're too short and slow. Why are you even here?" he sneered, bumping into him hard.
Every time Zaid protested, the coach pretended not to see anything.
"I didn't see anything wrong. Keep playing."
Finally, the bully elbowed Zaid in the ribs, then immediately acted innocent.
"Oops! Didn't mean to! You okay?" he said, faking concern.
The coach, falling for the act, told Zaid, "Go to the nurse."
Bassam went with him. As they walked, Bassam cursed under his breath.
"These people are insane. I'm telling my uncle that I don't want to stay here."
Zaid felt the same but hesitated. He thought of his mother, how upset she'd be if he told her he wanted to leave this prestigious, expensive school, one that guaranteed admission to any university in the world.
After a moment, he shook his head.
"Every school has bullies. It's normal. We'll figure out how to deal with them."
Zaid walked into the small clinic, holding his side where the elbow had struck him. The nurse, a middle-aged woman with tired but kind eyes, looked up from her desk.
"Another P.E. injury?" she asked, already reaching for the antiseptic spray.
Zaid nodded, wincing as she lifted his shirt to check the bruise.
"It's just a minor bruise," she said after a quick examination. "No broken skin, no swelling. You'll be fine but you need to be more careful. Those basketball games get rough."
She handed him an ice pack. "Rest here until the next period starts. If you feel dizzy or the pain gets worse, tell me immediately."
Zaid thanked her and sat on one of the cots, pressing the ice to his ribs. Bassam hovered nearby, still fuming.
"This is ridiculous," Bassam muttered. "He did that on purpose, and the coach"
"It's fine," Zaid interrupted, though his jaw was tight. "Just drop it."
Bassam scowled but didn't argue further. They stayed in silence until the bell rang.
When they entered the math classroom, the atmosphere was tense. The teacher, a stern man with sharp glasses, stood at the front, arms crossed.
"Sit down," he said, and the class obeyed instantly.
He waited until everyone was settled before speaking again.
"Your first exam will be next week," he announced. "The top three scorers will represent our school in the National Mathematics Competition."
A murmur ran through the class. The teacher continued, his voice firm.
"Winning this competition doesn't just bring honor to the school it will significantly raise your academic rank. Universities take notice of students who compete at this level. If you want to stand out, this is your chance."
He paused, scanning the room. "That said, I expect only the best to qualify. If your performance is mediocre, don't bother wasting my time."
Zaid exchanged a glance with Bassam. The pressure was clear, this wasn't just about grades anymore. It was about opportunity, about proving themselves in a system that already seemed stacked against them.
The teacher turned to the board. "Open your textbooks to page forty-two. We're starting with advanced calculus today."
As the lesson began, Zaid's mind r
aced. The bruise on his side still ached, but the sting of the teacher's words burned sharper.
- Writer
