Three days had passed since the Maze Ruins incident.
Abhay stood in the middle of a field strewn with goblin corpses, blood soaked into the cracked dirt. Will sat nearby, tongue out, panting happily like they hadn't just gone on a murderous rampage.
Abhay wiped sweat from his forehead and squinted at the system screen hovering in front of him.
[Abhay — Level 30]
[Will — Level 15]
"No level up. Nothing. Zero." Abhay kicked at the system window. "We just wiped out an entire goblin family reunion and didn't get a single level. What gives?"
The system was silent.
Completely.
"…Did it crash?" Abhay frowned. "System, you there? Yoo-hoo? I swear, if you're pretending to be offline again—"
Still nothing.
"I *knew* it. This thing's got a level cap logic they didn't bother to mention, and now it's just ghosting me."
He gave the floating window another kick. It flickered slightly but refused to answer.
Will sniffed a goblin corpse and then trotted over, nudging Abhay's leg.
"We should head home," Will said. "It's probably nighttime. And you've got your tent-making competition tomorrow."
Abhay groaned. "Right. That nonsense…"
---
The Next Day – School Grounds
Excitement buzzed through the air like a virus. Students ran around with poles, fabric, glitter, ropes—and in one suspicious case, a disco ball.
"Did you hear?" one student whispered. "The last year winners are joining this year too. We're doomed!"
Three teachers stood in the corner, watching the chaos unfold.
"Is that… the Yoga Club teaming up with the Judo and Computer Clubs?" one asked.
The principal frowned. "That's a weird combo."
"They're calling themselves 'The Code-Flex Slammers,'" another teacher said.
"God help us."
Then the guest judges arrived. They were elegant, stern, and wearing enough perfume to create a localized weather system.
They started with the girls' tents. Glittery, aesthetic, symmetrical—one even had a small fountain.
Then came the boys' section.
Colorful. Loud. Creative.
Then they reached the final tent.
A single, sagging canopy leaned like it was one breeze away from collapse. Five boys were sprawled around it—some inside, others under a tree. No decorations. No props. Just naps.
The judges stared.
The principal squinted. "Who the hell are these idiots?"
A teacher paled. "Sir… they're last year's winners."
"…Oh."
---
3 Hours Earlier
Lucky held a metal rod like it was Excalibur. "We need to dig a hole for this to stand straight."
"Water, anyone?" Abhay called.
Some poor soul brought a bucket, and they poured it all onto the spot.
The ground turned into a swamp.
Lucky stepped forward with the shovel—right as Aryan chucked a rock into the mud. *SPLAT!* Mud flew up, coating Lucky's white shirt in perfect brown camouflage.
"YOU—!"
Lucky grabbed the nearest bucket of chalk powder and dumped it over Aryan like it was Holi.
Chaos broke out.
Laughter. Screaming. Two seniors joined in, hurling leftover decorations like grenades. Someone brought out a badminton racket for no reason.
In fifteen minutes, their tent turned into an archaeological site.
By the time peace was restored, all the rods were bent, the cloth was torn, and nobody cared anymore.
So, someone tied the remaining fabric between two trees.
The Yoga Club senior, in a burst of laziness, brought every mat and cushion from their club room and made it into a giant floor bed.
They all laid down.
And slept.
---
Later that Afternoon…
"…You're disqualified," the judge said flatly.
Lucky rolled over. "We accept this fate."
Aryan yawned. "See you next year."
Abhay, lying face-up and staring at the sky, whispered, "We peaked in the planning phase."
From behind them, the principal sighed loud enough to echo across the field.