Ken stepped into the classroom, a deep frown carved into his face like it had settled there permanently. The chaos of teenage emotion buzzed around him—laughter, rage, fear, sadness, joy—all tumbling over each other like waves in a storm. But Ken tuned it out. He always did.
He stared at his desk, fingers trailing over the worn oak surface. It grounded him. Amid the noise, the desk was still. Familiar. Real.
"What's crack-a-lackin' in that thick noggin of yours?" chirped Misty, her usual brightness cutting through the noise like a beam of sunlight. She leaned toward him, grinning, hopeful.
Ken didn't answer. Just kept his eyes on the desk, his silence louder than any response.
He studied the marks on the wood—the dents, the faded scribbles, the way time had chipped away at its once-polished surface. There was beauty in that decay, in the way something could endure without anyone noticing.
Ms. Dani burst in like a flame—bleach-blonde hair streaked with red, a lopsided smile already on her face. She scanned the room, cross-checking faces with the glowing list on her Chromebook. Her energy was playful, almost silly—but her eyes were calculating.
To the world, she was just another quirky teacher. But Ken knew better. Everyone did, even if they wouldn't admit it. There were whispers about her—how she didn't belong, how she was watching them as much as she was teaching.
"I'll be announcing class level changes now!" she sang, the melody in her voice barely hiding the weight behind her words. "I'll miss you guys so, so much!"
Ken blinked, pulled from his thoughts. Class reassignments. He'd forgotten.
Beside him, Misty tried again. "Hey, how'd you do on the last test?" she asked. Ken gave a slight nod.
She reached out and brushed his hair. Big mistake.
His hand snapped up, catching hers midair.
"Oh—sorry!" she stammered. "It's just... your hair's really soft."
Ken's hand fell away. He gave another nod. That was enough.
Then Ms. Dani called his name.
"Ken Voss! Moving up to B-2!"
Gasps echoed. Misty squealed—her name had been called too.
But Ken didn't hear much after that. His stomach turned. B-2 wasn't just higher—it was elite. Students who advanced that far were watched. Used. Or worse.
When the final bell rang, Ken was out the door fast. But he wasn't running from anything.
He was running toward something.
Because when he looked into the eyes of his classmates, he didn't see joy. He saw desperation. Hunger. The kind that made people dangerous.
Bright High Academy wasn't just a school.
It was a game.
And Ken had just been moved to the next level.