If you've ever tried to host a school wide beta test while pretending you don't have crippling anxiety, let me tell you: don't. It's like trying to fly a plane while the passengers throw popcorn at you and the engine occasionally bursts into flames.
Welcome to my week.
After the hacking fiasco and our booby-trapped leaderboard win, the school granted us permission to roll out LearnArena's beta version to five classes. Five. That's five times the chaos, five times the eyeballs, and five times the chance for something to explode.
We were pumped. Nervous. Terrified. Javier described it best: "It's like launching a rocket. Except the rocket is powered by duct tape, energy drinks, and teen-level overconfidence."
Each of us took a class to monitor. I got Mr. Dwarka's social studies class, which smelled like chalk dust and unresolved colonial tension. Zoey took the art class. Kwame volunteered for PE (he still thinks "observation" means he can skip cardio). Sarah, naturally, got the hardest: Mrs. Mugabi's literature class, a room filled with students who quoted Shakespeare and judged people for fun.
The beta launch started with a bang. And I mean that literally.
In Mr. Dwarka's class, someone managed to trigger the in-game "Firework Celebration" emoji ten times in a row, filling every screen with virtual explosions and a dubstep remix of the school anthem.
Mr. Dwarka looked mildly impressed. "Is this... learning?"
"Uh, yes," I said confidently. "It's, uh... celebratory reinforcement of knowledge."
Meanwhile, over in the art room, Zoey's class had discovered a bug that turned all the avatars into abstract Picasso-style faces. Half the class loved it. The other half screamed and threw their tablets like they were haunted by digital ghosts.
Kwame's PE crew somehow used LearnArena's trivia mode to challenge each other on who knew more about protein shakes and Messi's World Cup stats. It wasn't academic, but they were learning something. Sort of. One student even created a custom quiz titled "Flex or Fraud?" about gym habits.
And Sarah?
She was holding it together—barely. Mugabi's students were ruthless. One kid hacked his avatar to quote Shakespeare insults after every quiz win.
"Thou art as crooked as the questions thou dost answer," the screen read, in pixelated Comic Sans.
I'd never been prouder.
At the end of the day, we gathered in the garage HQ. Everyone looked like they'd been through digital warfare.
"Okay," I said, gulping down my fourth Milo sachet of the day. "We've got data. We've got bugs. We've got Shakespeare shade. But overall?"
Sarah sighed, then smiled. "It worked."
"Mostly," Kwame muttered, tapping at his laptop. "Except for the one kid who managed to trap his avatar in a perpetual breakdance loop."
"That's a feature now," Javier said, without missing a beat. "We call it Motivation Mode."
Zoey giggled. "He did score higher while dancing."
ChatGPT pinged: Data suggests a 38% increase in class participation. Recommend expanding pilot if system stability reaches threshold.
I read the message aloud.
Javier whooped. "We're winning, boys and girls!"
Kwame raised an eyebrow. "Let's not jinx it."
Too late.
Because at 6:43 pm , my phone buzzed with a notification that made my stomach drop.
Unknown User: Nice beta. Too bad it won't stay yours for long. ;)
Attached was a screenshot of a new app. Same colour scheme. Same layout. Same mechanics. Different name: BrainBurst.
And at the top?
Created by: CodeKaiser.
"Who the heck is CodeKaiser?" Zoey asked.
Javier frowned. "Sounds like a villain from an anime. Or a boss in a level we haven't unlocked yet."
Kwame cracked his knuckles. "I vote we hunt him down."
Sarah's voice was sharp. "No. We don't start a war."
"But he copied our code," I said. "He cloned our baby."
ChatGPT: Suggest assessing competitor app for differences before escalation.
Sarah stood, eyes focused. "Manuel, you and I will install it. Quietly. See what we're up against."
"And if it's better than ours?" I asked.
She gave me a look that could kill and cool lava.
"It won't be."
The room was quiet, except for the soft humming of laptops and the faint scent of microwave popcorn from Zoey's backpack.
We had entered a new level—rivalry.
And whether it ended in a pitch battle or a full-blown tech war, one thing was clear:
LearnArena wasn't just a school project anymore.
It was the battlefield.
And we were ready for the next boss fight.