<b>Chapter </b><b>102 </b>
“Shawn, what are you staring <b>at?</b><b>” </b>Delh asked, noticing her husband fixated on the cab next to them<b>, </b><b>a </b>curious tinge coloring her voice,
Shawn<b>, </b>of course<b>, </b>wasn’t about to reveal the true wanderings of his mind. He leisurely shifted his gaze away from the cab, his voice revealing nothing out of the ordinary, “Just wondering if having <b>the </b>cab here is messing with the room’s energy flow,”
Delh felt exasperated <b>at </b>his words, her toneced with sarcasm as she retorted, “Seems to me you’re the one blocking the energy flow standing there.<b>” </b>
Shawn was indeed beside <b>the </b>TV stand, and while he had kept <b>a </b><b>decent </b>shape over the years, <b>a </bck of exercise meant he was a bit on the fuller <b>side</b>. Thankfully, his height <b>meant </b>that even <b>a </b>little <b>extra </b>width <b>didn’t </b>make him look too out of shape.
Hearing his wife’s Jab, he <b>feigned </b><b>injury </b>and shuffled <b>aside</b>,menting, “Ah, <b>to </b><b>think </b><b>I </b><i>was </i>quite the looker back in my day.”
He turned to his daughter, Mirabe. “Honey<b>, </b>you got any of those diet <b>shakes</b><b>?</b><b>” </b>
Mirabe’s brow twitched. “Dad<b>, </b><b>you </b>just need <b>to </b>exercise. How about joining me for a morning jog?”
Shawn’s head shook vehemently at <b>the </b>suggestion as if she’d proposed something horrendous. “No, no, no, I still feel pretty spry as it is. <b>No </b><b>need </b><b>for </b>morning jogs.<b>” </b>After decades without exercise, running was practically a death sentence for him. No way, <b>he’d </b>rather stay a little round.
“I think Mira’s suggestion isn’t half bad,” Delh chimed in, nodding earnestly.
“Can’t win with you two<b>. </b>I’m off to my room,” Shawn grumbled, then turned to open the nearby cab. He pulled out a wooden box, cradling it like treasure as he left.
Delh watched her husband’s actions with a puzzled murmur, “What’s Shawn up to now?”
Mirabe just smirked enigmatically. The old man was still pretty adorable.
The next day, at 10 a.m., the BrainSpark Nationals city–level prelim results were published.
As soon as the clock struck ten, Jenna eagerly whipped out her phone, tapping <b>into </b>the website while rapidly asking, “Queen Mira, give me your contestant number. <b>I’ll </b>check your score.”
Mirabe tilted her head, tossing out her contestant number in anguid drawl. Jenna entered it and hit search. Perhaps <i>due </i>to the slow update of the website data and the sheer number of inquiries<b>, </b>the page took a while to load. When the score finally popped up, Jenna’s eyes went wide, and to make sure she wasn’t seeing things, she zoomed in on the disy.
“Holy <i>cow</i><i>, </i>Queen Mira, you’re a genius<b>! </b>Two hundred points!” Jenna waspletely bbergasted.
The written exam was worth 150 points, and the three live questions together were 60 points, making the total possible. score 210. Mirabe had scored a whopping 200!
What kind of genius was her?
With only a written test, the prelims made a perfect score somewhat conceivable, and the questions wereparatively easy. But the city–leve! prelims were a different beast altogether, harder with the addition of live questions. Scoring perfect was nearly impossible.
So, a score of 200 out <b>of </b>210 was even more sensational than Mirabe’s perfect score thest time.
Unaware of Jenna’s mental gymnastics, Mirabe seemed puzzled at the score, <b>“</b>Only <b>two </b>hundred?” She had expected a perfect score, after all.
“Only?” Jenna looked at Mirabe, who seemed dissatisfied <b>with </b>her score, and blinked, <b>“</b>Queen Mira<b>, </b>you’re really a