It was just another day—just another Monday morning—until everything spiraled out of control.

There I was, sitting in the back of the classroom, surrounded by the usual chatter and laughter of my classmates. Sunlight streamed in through the open windows, casting a warm glow over the entire room. The air hummed with the carefree energy of youth, boys and girls in our navy and white uniforms grinning, talking, and stealing glances as the minutes ticked down to the next class.

But none of that registered for me.

I was buried in the pages of a notebook, completely lost in its world. My focus was like a fortress, unbroken and impenetrable, as my eyes skimmed each line, soaking in the story's every twist and turn. It was the kind of book that swallowed me whole, the kind where you lose track of time, and everything around you fades into nothingness. Nothing else mattered in that moment—just me and the words on the page.

Nothing else… except maybe Barry's shivering beside me. His hands were trembling, his face pale, and his eyes darted around as if he was seeing shadows that weren't really there. He was silent, but his whole body gave off an energy of dread that was hard to ignore. I glanced at him briefly, Yea, maybe everything was just too hard on him.

Then I felt it—a strange shift in the air, almost like the world itself was holding its breath. And then—CRASH.

The sound of shattering glass jolted me, but my body didn't react. My mind was still locked in that other world, too engrossed to let go, even as gasps and cries echoed through the classroom. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the jagged shards suspended mid-air, glittering like crystals in the sunlight before clattering to the floor.

Then, the faintest whistle caught my ear—the sound of something slicing through the air. This time, my instincts kicked in. I sensed movement on my right, a flash of crimson in my peripheral vision.

And then it hit me.

Not literally, of course. My right hand shot out instinctively, fingers closing around the shaft of a massive, blood-red spear as it rocketed toward me. The impact was fierce, the force almost knocking me back, but I held my ground, gripping it tightly until it stilled in my grasp. For a second, I just stared at the spear, still held aloft, its weight barely registering.

A ripple of shock pulsed through the room, the startled gasps turning into hushed whispers, murmurs of disbelief. The shock in the air was almost tangible, thick with tension, as everyone tried to process what had just happened.

Finally, I looked up, slowly turning to meet the wide-eyed stares of my classmates. They were frozen, a mix of awe and horror painted on their faces. This was it—the moment I'd been waiting for. But I knew, deep down, this was far from the end. This was just the beginning.

Before anyone could say a word, more chaos erupted. One after another, figures clad in glinting, medieval armor smashed through the remaining windows, their swords drawn, war cries echoing through the stunned silence. Their expressions were fierce, their eyes wild with a fury that seemed out of place in our quiet classroom. They lunged toward me, moving as one, a storm of steel and fury, the sunlight catching on their blades as they charged.

It was as though I'd been dropped into the heart of a battle I'd never signed up for.

But I didn't flinch. I tilted my head slightly, a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth as I watched them approach.

What a mess!!!

Alright, maybe I'm getting a bit ahead of myself here. To make sense of all this—swords, spears, men crashing through windows in broad daylight—we need to rewind. You need to know how it all began. How a simple, stupid conversation turned into my life's biggest headache.

So, let's go back to that Monday morning. A perfectly ordinary day… or so I thought.

Monday Morning, [One Week Ago]

The day had started like any other. The air was crisp with the fresh chill of early morning, and the faint smell of coffee drifted from the teachers' lounge down the hall. I took my usual seat in the corner of the classroom, propping my feet on the chair in front of me. Barry was already there, slouched beside me with his usual cocky grin, that look that said he was ready to argue about something. And, as usual, he didn't waste any time.

"So, Ace," Barry drawled, giving me a sideways glance. "Still reading that trash?"

I glanced up, unfazed. I knew what he was talking about. In my hands was Infinite Reincarnation, a fantasy novel I'd been hooked on for weeks. Barry had made it his personal mission to trash-talk every book I read.

"I don't see how it's any of your business," I said, not looking up from the page.

Barry scoffed. "Come on, man. I don't know how you're still hooked on Infinite Reincarnation. It's, like, the worst thing I've ever read. It's garbage."

I rolled my eyes, trying to brush him off, but he leaned in closer, undeterred.

"No, seriously, dude. It's just… a train wreck. Like, where's the plot even going? It's all recycled ideas, just mashed together to sound 'deep.'"

"Oh, really?" I finally snapped the book shut, my patience wearing thin. "And I suppose you're some kind of authority on novels now?"

Barry's grin stretched wider, his eyebrows lifting as if he'd been waiting for this. "Well, funny you should say that. I have written a novel."

I blinked, taken aback. Barry—writing a novel? It was the last thing I'd expected to hear.

"You?" I asked, trying to keep the skepticism out of my voice.

"Yup," he said, full of confidence. "And it's got way more potential than that garbage." He nodded toward the book in my hand with a smirk.

I took a slow, deep breath, letting the words sink in. This guy actually thought he was better than the authors I read?

"Oh, that's it," I said, slamming the book back on my desk, fueled by the thrill of a challenge. "Let's settle this once and for all. Let's both write a novel. Starting today. No cheating, no shortcuts. We'll each grab a notebook, write our own story, and by next Monday, we'll compare. We'll see whose story is actually worth reading."

Barry laughed, that same cocky laugh that made me want to punch him. "And what do we get out of this, huh? Just bragging rights?"

I grinned, already feeling the thrill building up. "Nah, something better. Whoever writes the best story gets to make the loser do whatever they want. Just one command. No extremes."

Barry paused, his eyes narrowing in thought, then nodded. "Alright, Ace. You're on."

We shook hands, sealing the deal, each of us already thinking up ways to make the other regret this challenge.

Little did we know, that decision would lead us down a path neither of us could have predicted. A path that would make fiction more real than we ever thought possible.