The Olympus High auditorium was transformed into a war zone.
Lights dimmed. A single spotlight circled the grand stage. Rows of students from every tier filled the balcony seats, watching as the final round of Startup Pitch Week unfolded. Live Debate & Crossfire Format.
One-on-one.
No slides. No fancy graphics.
Just sharp minds and sharper tongues.
Lucas Grant adjusted his blazer collar as his name was called. The screen above the stage flashed:
Debate Match 1 – Lucas Grant (Provisional Tier 1)vsBrayden Holt (Tier 1)
Raj leaned over from the front row. "Brayden Holt? That's Arena's attack dog."
Theo added, "This guy's been in three startups. Knows how to talk trash. Be careful."
Lucas nodded calmly. "Talking doesn't scare me."
Brayden strutted onto the stage, all swagger and arrogance. Designer shoes, polished hair, and a custom school blazer with a gold pin labeled "StartUp Council Intern."
He grabbed the mic first.
"Lucas Grant. Tier Zero until, what, five minutes ago?" he sneered. "You're ambitious. I'll give you that. But Microvest? A charity piggy bank app for broke teens? Come on."
Laughter erupted in scattered pockets of the audience.
Lucas stepped forward, eyes cold. "Done?"
Brayden grinned. "Not even close. You're trying to teach Olympus elites how to invest spare change? Why would we care about kids outside these walls? What do we gain?"
Lucas tilted his head. "Everything."
The room quieted.
Lucas took the mic.
"You think this is about helping outsiders? No. This is about control. The next 1 million creators, coders, and hustlers aren't coming from Olympus. They're coming from the world Olympus ignores."
He pointed toward the screen.
"And when they need capital, mentorship, and reach—guess who they'll remember? The first system that believed in them."
Brayden scoffed. "That's fantasy. Olympus runs on power. Not pity."
Lucas smiled. "Exactly. Which is why Microvest isn't about pity. It's about positioning. You're selling VIP coffee cards. I'm offering a financial network with long-term influence."
Brayden's jaw clenched.
Time for blood.
Lucas stepped forward again, his voice sharper now.
"You know what your real business model is, Brayden? Vanity. Olympus investors backing Olympus startups for Olympus fame. That's a closed loop. A dying loop."
He turned to the audience. "Ask yourselves: when this school is done, what will you own? A pitch deck? Or a piece of the future?"
A hush fell.
Brayden rushed in, flustered. "This guy talks big. But no traction, no users, no revenue—"
Lucas cut in. "We launched beta two nights ago. 183 early sign-ups. 12 test investors. 3 outside-school startup listings. MVP is live, code is clean, and guess what?"
He turned to the judges.
"One of the startups backed was a project from a Tier 0 Olympus freshman. She's now running a small dropshipping operation with $70 revenue in 48 hours."
Gasps.
Even the judges leaned forward.
Lucas added, "Meanwhile, Brayden's last two startups failed to make it past the prototype phase. All flash. No users."
Brayden looked stunned. "You… researched me?"
Lucas gave a slow nod. "I prepare."
The debate buzzer rang.
Moderator: "Time's up. Judges will confer."
Brayden turned, furious. "This isn't over."
Lucas calmly walked off stage, the crowd murmuring louder now.
Backstage, Theo grinned. "You just nuked him."
Raj added, "They didn't even clap for Brayden. It's over, man."
Lucas didn't smile.
But in his chest, he felt it.
The shift.
That night, the leaderboard updated:
Final Results—Olympus Startup Pitch Week:Arena Grant—Athlete AI Recovery Pods Aditya Mehra—Crypto Loyalty CardsLucas Grant—Microvest: Teen Investment Platform
Lucas stared at the screen.
Third place.
Not first.
Not yet.
But he had forced Olympus to take him seriously—and taken down Arena's puppet in public.
He wasn't trying to win.
He was trying to be undeniable.