Radio static cleared, replaced by a warm, deep voice.
"Good morning, my people, rise and shine! This is DJ K bringing you your daily dose of sunshine before the clouds even think of showing up. Don't let yesterday's mess trip you up , today's a clean slate, a brand-new page. They say time waits for no one, but I say time's more like a wristwatch: always ticking, always daring you to keep up. So today, don't just chase the hours — face them. Now, stretch that smile, grab that breakfast, and let's make this day matter."
The radio laughter faded into the rhythm of the streets. Vendors wheeled carts across stone pavement; buses hissed as they unloaded teenagers in rumpled blazers and simple clothes; voices and footsteps overlapped like gears inside a living clock. The city's pulse swelled then narrowed. Through tall glass doors, the sound folded into a single place: the reception hall of the newly built Time Zone Academy.
It was admission day. The crowd swelled beneath banners that smelled of fresh ink: Welcome to the Time Zone Academy. The words were bold, almost too new. The polished floor reflected the restless shuffle of shoes. Anticipation buzzed in the air .
"Ne Tempori Cedas," a boy's voice carried across the rows. Liam turned. A student with neat glasses pointed at the emblem pinned to a staff member's badge. "It means 'Yield Not to Time.'"
His father frowned. "You sure about that?"
"Of course. It's Latin. It's right there. That's their motto."
The father chuckled uneasily. "Strange motto for a school."
Liam looked back at his mother, unsettled, but she was already scanning the hall like a hawk.
"I know it's not the school you hoped for, but at least it's something," she murmured. "I know how much you wanted to study with James. Don't see this as an obstacle to your friendship."
"Mom, you don't have to worry," Liam replied. "I understand what you've been going through. I promise I'll make you proud."
She smiled faintly, though her eyes never stopped roaming. "I'm not worried about pride. It's this academy. Something feels… suspicious."
"I don't follow. I thought this would help ease the bills once I'm enrolled."
"You don't get it, do you? You're not yet enrolled. This feels like the kind of place that squeezes money out of families. Or worse , there's some catch."
"Wow, Mom, you're overreacting. Why would there be a catch? It's not like this is a job interview." Liam tried to laugh, though it came out thin.
"Always be ready for the surprises life will throw at you," she said firmly.
Nearby, a nervous voice broke through the chatter: "Dad… what if I fail?"
The boy's father straightened his shoulders. "Then you'll learn from it. But you won't fail, not if you remember what I told you."
Liam swallowed hard, the words sticking to him more than he wanted.
Around them, parents gossiped in low tones:
"Did you hear they built this school in less than a year? No school rises that fast unless someone's pulling strings."
"I heard the principal never shows his face. Some say he doesn't even exist."
"Please, you're both paranoid. My neighbor's niece came here last year. She said it was the best thing that ever happened to her."
The three-way argument rattled in Liam's ears like background static.
Then came the shift. Footsteps echoed down the hallway, sharp and deliberate. The sound silenced the room before the man even entered. Conversations cut off mid-sentence, laughter died in throats, even the banners overhead seemed to still. When Mr. Evans appeared, his presence pressed down like a weight.
He was tall, his coat pressed crisp, eyes scanning the hall with cold patience. He didn't need to raise his voice when he spoke.
"I am Mr. Evans," he said, "an inquisitor of this academy. I know you have come with high hopes of enrollment, but our numbers are excessive. Not all of you will be admitted. We will not choose at random, for we are not biased. Instead, you will be tested. Consider it an interview."
The words struck hard. A few parents shifted uncomfortably, students stiffened in their seats.
"You will be placed in groups of twenty," Evans continued. "Cheat, and you fail. Pass, and you advance. Fail, and you leave immediately with your guardian. There will be no bribes, no bargains, no excuses. The challenge is simple: think beyond the obvious, think outside the box. To those unwilling, the doors are open — you may leave now."
For a moment, no one moved. Then, at the back, a mother whispered to her husband. Their son's face fell, and after a tense pause, they rose and slipped out of the hall. The heavy doors closed behind them with a sound that felt final.
When Evans finally turned and left with a thin smile, the murmurs rose again. Parents whispered fears, students traded uneasy glances. Liam kept his eyes forward, unwilling to meet his mother's gaze.
She leaned close, her voice steady but low. "Just promise me you'll do your best."
Liam clenched his jaw and whispered under his breath, "Why can't the universe let me win, just this once?"