The morning carried a strange tension, as if the world itself held its breath, waiting for an unseen storm to break.
The gray light filtered through the trees, casting long shadows over the assembly. Every student and teacher stood gathered, their faces taut with anticipation. The weight of Mr. Steiner's words pressed down on us like the oppressive humidity before a thunderclap.
"For this week," he began, his voice sharp and deliberate, "you will face a special exam. Something unlike any challenge before."
A ripple of murmurs swept through the crowd. Carson leaned closer to Hans, his voice low. "Special, huh? He makes it sound like we're going to war."
"Maybe we are," Hans replied, his tone grim.
Sylvia, standing nearby, crossed her arms. "Whatever it is, they've been planning this for months. I overheard Mr. White talking about logistics last week."
Mr. Steiner continued, his gaze cutting through the murmurs. "We leave shortly on a yacht. The destination? An island. Once we land, the exam begins. Your task is simple: claim and defend the peaks of that island."
The room grew still, the weight of his words sinking in.
"Each class will be armed with simulation gear—fake guns. Harmless, but effective. Three hits, and your device will turn red. That's it for you. No reinstatement, no second chances."
Plug, the leader of Class C, smirked from the back. "So, it's just capture the flag, then?"
Mr. Steiner's expression didn't change, but his voice grew colder. "If that's how you choose to see it, Plug. But this isn't a game. Rules are strict: no physical violence, no tampering with devices, no stealing supplies. Any violation, and you're out—your entire class, too."
Breezy, the head of Class B, exchanged a glance with Plug. The air between them was charged, their postures radiating the same oppressive energy. Breezy's eyes flicked to the class leaders like predators eyeing their prey.
"You hear that, Plug?" Breezy's voice was low, but the edge to it made the room shift slightly. "Seems like your class might be out faster than you think."
Plug's smirk faded for a moment, the tension between the two thickening. But just as quickly, he threw his hands up. "We'll see, Breezy. We'll see."
Vardia Bangs from Class A raised a hand, her voice steady. "And what about supplies? How will they be distributed?"
"Each class has enough for the week," Mr. Steiner replied. "Ration wisely, because wastefulness will cost you dearly."
Sylvia leaned toward me, her voice barely above a whisper. "They're testing more than just strategy. Endurance, cooperation, discipline... it's all part of this."
I nodded, scanning the faces around us. Every class had their own leaders, their own strengths. Plug and Breezy carried the raw energy of seasoned fighters, while Vardia and Luther from Class A exuded calm authority. Our own class had Hans, Carson, and Sylvia—each steady in their own way, though none appointed formally.
After the briefing, we shuffled toward the buses. Sylvia fell into step beside me.
"What do you make of it, Ivory?"
"It's a game of attrition," I said. "But the real fight won't be on the mountains. It'll be in how we handle each other."
She gave a small nod, her brow furrowed. "We'll need a plan before we land. The others already have one, I'm sure of it."
The bus ride to the docks was uneventful, the tension palpable despite the low hum of quiet conversations. Carson, seated across from us, tapped his fingers against the window.
"Think they'll stick to the rules?" he asked, glancing at Hans.
"Not a chance," Hans replied. "At least not Class B and C. They're looking for loopholes already."
Sylvia sighed. "Then we'll need to watch our backs. And our supplies."
The bus ride seemed to stretch on forever, the weight of what lay ahead sinking in with every mile. I could feel the growing unease among our class, the unsaid words hanging thick in the air. I glanced at Nina, who sat near the window, her eyes wide with worry. She didn't speak much, but her presence was still noticeable. Eric, his arms folded, stared out at the passing landscape with a detached air.
"Do you really think they'll go this far?" Nina finally asked, breaking the silence. "I mean... it's not just about being on the island, right?"
"No," Sylvia said, glancing at me. "It's about testing everything—how we work under pressure, how we lead, how we trust."
"That's exactly it," Carson added, leaning forward. "It's gonna be the ones who can think on their feet who come out on top."
I caught the look between Sylvia and Carson—a silent agreement. But it was clear that no one truly knew how things would unfold.
When the buses finally pulled up to the dock, the sight of the yacht silenced even the most talkative among us. It was enormous, gleaming in the sunlight, the school's crest emblazoned proudly on its side.
Inside, the halls stretched in all directions, polished and labyrinthine. The layout of the ship was designed for efficiency—too efficient for comfort. Our group found our assigned rooms quickly. Mine was small and sparse, the faint smell of salt lingering in the air.
Sylvia knocked lightly on the open door. "Mind if I come in?"
I gestured to the chair by the desk. "Of course."
She sat, her expression thoughtful. "What's our move once we're on the island?"
I leaned back against the wall, folding my arms. "First, we need to assess the terrain and pick a defensible position. If we overextend, we'll get picked off. But if we play too defensively, the other classes will box us in."
Carson appeared in the doorway, his arms crossed. "So, we strike first?"
"Not necessarily," I said. "We strike smart. Let the others make the first mistakes. Then we take advantage."
Hans joined us, leaning against the frame. "And if the others decide we're the weak link?"
Sylvia glanced at him, her expression steely. "Then we prove them wrong."
The quiet hum of the ship's engines underscored our conversation, a constant reminder of the test looming ahead. Each class would have their own plans, their own schemes. The question wasn't if there would be conflict—it was when and how devastating it would be.
The ship felt alive with anticipation. As we walked through the corridors, I could feel the subtle glares from the other students. Class B was everywhere, a clashing presence of overconfidence and aggression. Breezy, as expected, was leading them with an iron fist. I could hear him barking orders to his classmates in the dining hall as we passed. His voice was sharp, commanding.
"You better be ready," he muttered loudly, directing his words at Class A, who were seated at a nearby table. "Because when we're done with this island, you won't be standing."
The tension in the room was palpable. Vardia and Luther from Class A didn't flinch. Their calm demeanor was their shield, but I could see the unease in their eyes.
"Keep talking, Breezy," Luther said, his voice carrying just a hint of amusement. "You'll regret it when the real game starts."
Breezy's lips curled into a smile, but there was no humor in it. "I doubt it."
Sylvia leaned closer to me. "We've got to stay focused. The moment we take our eyes off them, they'll strike."
As the day wore on, I couldn't shake the sense of foreboding. The real test wasn't just the island—it was the people we were up against, and the decisions we'd have to make.
Later that night, I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to shake the feeling that this exam was only the beginning. The real test wasn't about the mountains. It was about us—and what we'd become in the days ahead.