Chapter 7 – Part 1: The Quiz Begins
The classroom was unusually silent, the kind of silence that presses against the ears and makes every movement feel loud. Desks were arranged neatly in pairs, each facing the front where the projector flickered softly with the quiz rules. Care stepped in, chest tight, but composed. She noticed the usual crowd—the group—sitting together. Cole, Ben, Daisy, Kevin, Joong, Alex, Ash, and Nova. Their eyes were sharp, scanning the room, sizing up the newcomers and the known faces.
The tension was palpable. Other students whispered among themselves, craning their necks to glance at Care. A few students, bold enough, muttered words loud enough to reach her ears: "She's so quiet… what's she even capable of?" "Arrogant much? Sitting in the corner like she owns the place." "I heard she's top in every exam in her last school… can we even compete?"
Care ignored them. She had heard enough judgment in her life, enough assumptions about who she was, what she could do, and why she even existed. Her eyes stayed fixed ahead, her hand brushing the strap of her bag as she walked to her assigned desk.
Professor Patel's voice finally cut through the murmurs. "Attention, everyone. Today's quiz is unique. It will test your analytical skills, memory, speed, and comprehension. Each question is harder than the last. You will face a combination of logic problems, critical reasoning, and applied mathematics. The quiz is timed. Accuracy matters. Your answers will determine your ranking, and yes… this includes some one-on-one challenges. Understand?"
"Yes, sir," a chorus of voices replied.
Care's eyes flicked briefly toward the group. Cole's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than necessary, a mixture of challenge and curiosity flickering across his face. Daisy and Ben exchanged slight glances, subtle but sharp, clearly weighing her potential. Nova, meanwhile, avoided staring at her too long, sitting quietly, expression unreadable but observant.
The first question appeared on the screen:
"A train leaves Station A at 60 km/h and another leaves Station B, 180 km away, at 90 km/h. At what distance from Station A do they meet?"
The room tensed. Students scribbled, some frowning, some shaking their heads. Care's pen moved steadily, almost without hesitation. Her mind calculated quickly, dividing the distance by relative speed, solving each step as if she had practiced this exact problem a hundred times.
Around her, whispers rose. "She's done it already… look at her hands." "How is she so fast?" "Does she even breathe?"
Cole leaned back in his chair, smirking faintly. "Looks like she really prepared," he muttered to Daisy.
"Prepared?" Daisy's eyes narrowed. "She's overconfident. She thinks she's better than everyone."
Ben, usually calm, frowned, scanning Care's method. "Overconfident… maybe. But she's fast. Very fast. Not just speed, but accuracy. That's worrying."
Kevin chuckled nervously, glancing at Joong and Alex. "I don't know about you, but this feels… unfair. She's a machine."
Care felt the eyes, the whispers, the judgment. For a moment, she considered saying something, anything, to calm the undercurrent of disbelief. But she didn't. She never had. She let her work speak. Her pen scratched, her thoughts flowed, and soon she had solved the problem with precise clarity.
The second question appeared, far more complex:
"Using probability theory, determine the likelihood of drawing two red balls consecutively from a bag containing 7 red and 5 blue balls without replacement."
Hands went up, hesitation spread across the room. Students whispered formulas to themselves, checking notes, muttering, second-guessing. Care calculated silently, her mind moving like clockwork, every probability and fraction accounted for.
Around her, the reactions varied.
Lyra bit her lip, slightly impressed, but tried to hide it. She knew Care's skill was beyond what most students expected, yet she felt an odd pull of respect.
Ash watched with an intensity that was hard to ignore. Care's confidence, quiet and absolute, stirred something deep inside. Ash had been fiercely competitive all her life, but she couldn't deny the precision, the self-possession, the subtle dominance Care exuded.
Daisy frowned, lips pressed tight. "This… isn't normal. No one is this good," she whispered to Ben.
Ben simply nodded, fingers drumming lightly on his desk. "She's either trained harder than anyone I've ever seen, or… she's hiding something."
Cole's eyes, however, were locked on Care. "Impressive," he muttered under his breath, voice low but laced with challenge. "Too impressive."
The tension in the room was palpable as the quiz moved forward. Critical reasoning questions followed—literature analysis, logic puzzles, mathematical sequences that twisted like mazes. Every student's pen scratched furiously, some hesitating, some erasing, some panicking. Care's movements were fluid, confident, each answer precise, deliberate, and correct.
The murmurs escalated as it became clear: Care was dominating the quiz. She wasn't just participating; she was controlling the rhythm, setting the pace, showing a mastery that intimidated even the best students.
"Does she ever make mistakes?" someone whispered.
Cole's eyes narrowed, jaw tightening. He had been anticipating a challenge, expecting a minor rival. But Care wasn't minor. She was a storm, precise, relentless, and completely unreadable.
Kevin leaned toward Joong. "I don't know about you, but I've never seen someone so calm under pressure."
Joong's eyebrows knit. "It's… almost irritating. How can she just… do that?"
The professor finally announced the final round of the general quiz, open for all students. Care glanced at the board, calculated the possible outcomes, then looked around. The whispers hadn't stopped. Some students were starting to eye her differently—fear, admiration, envy, and disbelief mixing in a heady cocktail of classroom energy.
"She's… unstoppable," Daisy muttered again, almost in disbelief.
Ben's gaze softened slightly, not with pity, but with cautious admiration. "Don't underestimate her. That's all I'm saying."
Cole didn't speak, but his hand tightened around his pen. There was a storm brewing inside him—jealousy, challenge, and that unspoken acknowledgment that Care wasn't someone to dismiss lightly.
Meanwhile, Care felt the heat of their judgment, the weight of their disbelief. She had been underestimated, misjudged, whispered about, and criticized her entire life. This was nothing new. She didn't need validation, didn't crave recognition. She simply needed to prove one thing—to herself. That she could rise above, stand firm, and excel, regardless of who watched or who doubted her.
As the bell rang, signaling the end of the general portion of the quiz, murmurs surged. Care stood, gathering her things. Some students tried to approach, some whispered, some stayed silent. Cole's gaze remained fixed on her. No one dared comment aloud yet, but everyone had seen her power, her skill, her resolve.
The one-on-one match would come next. And everyone in the room—students, professor, and group alike—felt the tension spike.
Care walked toward the center of the room, head high, mind clear. Whatever came next, she was ready. They could judge, whisper, and doubt all they wanted. In that room, under the gaze of everyone, Care knew one thing with absolute certainty: she would not falter.
And as she approached the designated space for the one-on-one challenge, the murmurs didn't stop, but she didn't care. Let them watch. Let them whisper. Let them underestimate. They would soon learn, in the quiet, precise way she had mastered all her life, that she wasn't just good—she was unstoppable.