April 24 – Wednesday / St. Ivy High – Class 1-A
The Calm Before Calculation
The school smelled like disinfectant and tension that morning. Rain from the day before had dried into streaked windowpanes, and the morning sun slipped in lazily across the desks of Class 1-A.
Jay arrived exactly three minutes before the bell, as he always did—neither too early to draw attention, nor late enough to cause a ripple. His blazer was crisp, his hair slightly tousled in a way that looked natural but wasn't. He slid into his seat at the back of the class, far-left corner by the window, the spot that felt more like a vantage point than a desk.
Yuki glanced at him once, then returned to her notebook. Shiori had already pulled out her biology textbook and was muttering chemical formulas under her breath.
Sofia yawned dramatically in the row ahead. "If I fail this one, I'm blaming the mitochondria."
Amaya leaned over and quietly handed Sofia a highlighter. "Try blaming your sleeping habits first."
Jay smirked to himself and reached for his own pen. He didn't need a final review. The science syllabus had been memorized, dissected, and stored away in his mind since the week he returned.
The Test Begins
Mr. Brooks entered wearing his usual semi-wrinkled charcoal blazer and holding a sealed envelope in one hand and a coffee thermos in the other.
"Today's test is solo," he announced, placing the sealed stack on the podium. "No partners, no collaborations, no lifelines. If you so much as breathe in someone else's direction during this exam, I will throw you out and let the janitor grade your dignity."
Tyler raised his hand.
"No, you can't use your water bottle to transmit Morse code," Brooks deadpanned.
Laughter scattered softly across the room, but it didn't reach Jay. His attention was already narrowing.
Mr. Brooks handed out the exam sheets, face-down. "You have exactly two hours. All answers go on the sheet. Show work only if asked. Begin when the bell rings."
Tick.
Tick.
Ding.
Jay flipped the paper.
He scanned the first page once.
Cell structures. Easy.
The second—Genetic sequences, probability of trait expression.
Jay didn't even pause.
His pencil moved in smooth, confident lines, barely making noise as he filled in answer after answer.
There was no rush. No need for hesitation. Where others had to reason through complex questions, Jay simply recalled it.
This? This was repetition. Elegance. Control.
By the Forty -minute mark, he was already halfway through the long-answer section.
Tyler groaned from ahead. "Brooks, is there supposed to be math in this? It's science."
Brooks didn't even look up. "Tyler, if I have to explain what a Punnett square is again, I'll enroll you in middle school myself."
Luna was scribbling quietly beside him, occasionally glancing up at the periodic table taped to her water bottle.
Miles tapped his pen against his temple, stuck on a diagram question about enzyme chains.
Emma had her usual focus—calm, exact, brows furrowed in pure concentration. She flipped the page every few minutes like she was reading a novel she'd already summarized in her head.
Amaya chewed on the tip of her pen, flipping back to reread the instructions—twice.
And in the front, Noah had his test upside down for ten solid seconds before realizing it.
Sofia sighed loud enough to be heard from the hallway. "Why are there so many organs? Can't we just have one large important organ that handles everything?"
Emma muttered, deadpan, "That would be the brain. Which you're clearly not using."
Sofia blew a dramatic kiss at her without turning around.
Jay reached the final question.
A hypothetical case study—applying genetics to predict risk of inherited disease across three generations of a fictional family. It was the kind of complex, logic-laden scenario designed to test not just knowledge, but deduction and data extraction under pressure.
He read the prompt once.
Twice.
Then, methodically, wrote the entire solution in clean, structured steps, annotating his logic along the margin.
He finished with five minutes to spare.
Let his pencil rest.
And sat back.
He didn't look around.
Didn't smirk. Didn't stretch.
He just folded his hands.
Let the silence wash over him.
Post-Bell Tension
"Time's up," Brooks called. "If your hand is still writing after this moment, I'll personally return it to your desk tomorrow in a Ziplock bag."
He started collecting papers.
Sofia slumped dramatically over her desk. "We're not built for this much brain usage before lunch."
Tyler nodded. "I can feel my brain melting through my ears."
"Sounds like an overreaction," Jay said, standing up and sliding his test to the front.
Sofia stared at him. "You finished?"
"Fifteen minutes ago."
"I hate you."
"You'll live."
She grumbled something unintelligible, then followed him toward the hallway.
As they stepped into the corridor, students dispersed toward their next class or the vending machines like a herd of survivors after battle.
Amaya caught up to Jay just outside the classroom. "You looked really calm today."
Jay nodded. "It wasn't a hard test."
She hesitated, then added, "Still… you looked different."
He raised an eyebrow. "Different how?"
"Like you weren't trying to be perfect. Just… being yourself."
Jay blinked. "Is that a compliment or a critique?"
"Neither," she said. "Just an observation."
Then she smiled softly and walked off toward the stairwell.
Yuki passed him a moment later, giving a brief nod.
"Efficient," she said. "Predictable. But… clean."
Jay tilted his head. "And you?"
She didn't answer.
Just walked away.
Back in class before lunch, Jay sat at his desk by the window again.
The clouds had broken just a little, letting sunlight scatter through the glass.
Emma sat two rows ahead, quietly reviewing her notes.
Tyler threw a paper ball across the room at Noah.
Sofia had her head on her desk, muttering curses at mitochondria again.
And Jay?
Jay looked outside.
The test was over.
The next one was already lined up.
But in this moment, in this fleeting silence—he let himself breathe.
Not as a Markov.
Not as a strategist.
Just as a student.
A boy in a classroom, watching light hit glass like it wasn't complicated.
Like he could win this game quietly.
And still walk out smiling.