Chapter 209 Future scholar’s competition

Chapter 209 Future scholar’s competition
LISA

The morning air carried a sharp, cool bite that did little to soothe the frantic fluttering in my chest. I stood just outside the grand, arching gates of the examination venue, staring at the massive stone buildings that felt larger than life. 

The National Future Scholars Competition. The single opportunity that could change the trajectory of my entire existence was sitting right past those gates, and my feet felt as though they were glued to the pavement.

My hand drifted down, my fingers subconsciously brushing against the sleek casing of the expensive fountain pen resting inside my bag—the pen that had come in that sky-blue gift bag alongside the headphones, the tumbler, and the fully completed application file.

Little Witch, I got tired of watching you limit yourself. Whether you win or lose is now up to you. Just promise me one thing. Don't give up before you've even started.

The memory of reading that note sent a cold shiver straight down my spine, making the tiny hairs on my arms stand up. The sheer weight of the stalker's presence hung over me, invisible yet suffocating. Whoever they were, they had uncovered every hidden corner of my life, paying every dime required for this exam, gathering my transcripts, and handing me a dream I had long ago buried in the dirt. I was terrified. 

But as I stared up at the venue, a stubborn spark flared inside my chest. This was a one-time opportunity. The date had finally arrived, and even if I walked in there and completely failed, at least I could say I didn't give up before I started.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, I forced my legs forward, passing through the gates.

As I walked up the long stone pathway toward the main building, my mind couldn't help but drift back to the chaos of the past few days. My world had turned entirely upside down, but not in the way I had ever anticipated.

I thought about the morning the heavy knocking had echoed through our house. I had opened the door to find two stern-faced police officers standing on the porch, demanding my uncle's whereabouts.

"Is this the residence of Arthur Darien?" the lead officer had asked, his voice ringing cold and clinical across the doorway.

"Yes," I had whispered, my heart in my throat. "What's going on?"

"Your uncle was taken into custody two hours ago for grand theft," the officer had stated bluntly, stepping past me into the foyer without waiting for an invitation. "We have a search warrant to inspect the premises for stolen property tied to his employer."

They had turned the house inside out, opening drawers, flipping mattresses, and hauling away boxes. And as if that wasn't enough, the very next day, news broke that the police were actively hunting for Frank. He had gone on the run after being caught in possession of hard drugs with intent to distribute.

Karma was finally catching up to them, tearing down the very men who had made my life a living hell. I had always thought that if this day came, I would feel a wave of profound relief—that I would dance in the freedom of their absence. 

But standing there, watching the wreckage of my home, all I felt was a heavy, hollow sadness mixed with a strange, numb excitement. 

The house was quiet, but the ghost of their cruelty still lingered in the air.

My mind spun further back, landing on a conversation I had shared with Tobias not too long ago about my family.

A fresh wave of tension gripped my throat. Is this what he meant? Did Tobias have a hand in exposing my uncle? Was he the reason the police suddenly showed up for Frank? Or was it all just a massive coincidence? The terrifying part was that I couldn't even ask him.

I reached the administrative office inside the central hall, my pulse hammering against my ribs. A stern-looking woman with thin spectacles sat behind a long wooden desk, typing away at a computer.

"Name?" she asked without looking up.

"Lisa Darien," I said, my voice wavering slightly.
She flipped through a thick binder, stopping at a page and running her finger down a list before sliding a plastic tray toward me across the counter. 

Inside was a heavy plastic lanyard holding my official candidate card, a stamped answer sheet, and a printed slip of paper.
"Candidate number 408," the administrator said in a dry, practiced monotone. "Hall B, second floor, room 204. Your seat is marked with your candidate number. Read the rules on that sheet carefully before you enter the hall."

I picked up the sheet, my eyes scanning the bold, black text printed across the top:

NATIONAL FUTURE SCHOLARS COMPETITION — OFFICIAL EXAMINATION RULES
  No electronic devices, including mobile phones, smartwatches, or programmable calculators, are permitted inside the examination room.
  Candidates must remain seated at their designated desks at all times. Communicating with, looking at, or attempting to pass materials to another candidate will result in immediate disqualification.
  Only approved writing materials provided or permitted by the board may be used.
  Any attempt at impersonation, sheet-swapping, or possession of unauthorized notes will lead to automatic blacklisting from all future national scholarship boards and potential legal action.

The severity of the words made my stomach churn. I clutched the candidate card tightly against my palm, murmured a quick "thank you," and headed up the grand marble staircase to the second floor.

Standing outside Room 204, the hallway was buzzing with anxious students pacing back and forth, clutching study guides and whispering to themselves. 

I backed against the cool plaster wall, feeling utterly small and alone.

I pulled out my phone, my thumb hovering over Tobias’s contact name. I wanted so desperately to text him—to tell him I was terrified, that I was standing outside an exam hall for a national scholarship. But I couldn't. 

Tobias had no idea about this entire competition.