It started with a letter.
Not a text. Not a direct message. A handwritten envelope slid silently into Dre's locker, tucked beneath the physics textbook he hadn't opened in weeks. No name on the front. No traceable handwriting. Just one line on the paper inside:
"You're smart. But not invisible."
His breath caught for a second.
This wasn't a warning—it was a declaration. Someone had seen through the cracks. And they wanted him to know it.
At home, Dre laid the note flat on his desk, studying the handwriting like a puzzle. The penmanship was precise, emotionless. No curves, no pressure strokes. Controlled. Calculated.
Someone like him.
Whoever this was… they weren't just watching. They were challenging him.
The next morning at school, things had shifted. Subtly. A few people stared longer than usual. A teacher double-checked his ID at the gate. Nothing direct. But Dre knew how to read silence. Someone had planted suspicion.
That's when the announcements came through the speakers.
"Would all Class A students proceed to the auditorium for the surprise mental aptitude challenge... as required by the new School Excellence Committee."
Dre narrowed his eyes. "School Excellence Committee"? That didn't exist last week.
As students filed into the auditorium, the atmosphere shifted. Laptops had been set up in rows, each with a name tag attached. Dre found his and sat down.
A woman in black glasses stepped up to the mic.
"Today's challenge is sponsored by a private initiative seeking to identify outstanding cognitive talents. Complete all questions to the best of your ability. Your individual scores will remain confidential."
Dre's instincts screamed. Nothing here was accidental.
He glanced across the room—and then he saw him.
Row three, second seat. Neatly dressed. Calm. Sharp features. He didn't look worried. In fact, he looked... interested.
Their eyes met for a second.
A tiny nod. Not a greeting—an acknowledgement.
This was him.
Whoever he was, he had set this up. Or was part of it. And now he wanted to test Dre, publicly.
The timer began.
The questions weren't ordinary. Not math or science drills. They were layered logic problems, situational ethics, pattern decoding—questions that measured how someone thinks, not what they know.
Dre blazed through them—but carefully. If he scored too high, he'd draw attention. Too low, he'd lose ground. He needed to appear… competent. But not genius.
Across the room, the other boy did the same. Smooth keystrokes. Calm breath. He wasn't just playing. He was planning.
The moment the timer ended, the boy stood and walked straight toward Dre's seat. He handed Dre a second envelope.
"Welcome to the game," he said, then disappeared through the auditorium doors.
Dre opened the note under the desk.
"You're not the only one with a plan. Let's see how far yours goes before I break it."