Clutching the trophy in her arms. Mirabe listened silently to Mr. Hammond’s words, not uttering a sound.


    “Internationalpetitions are brimming with talent. Today’s questions would just be a warm–uppared to the ones on the world stage. Our students who’ve gone abroad may <b>have </b>been national champions here but had not even made the top ten there.”


    Mr. Hammond shook his head with a wry smile, then nced sideways at Mirabe and added. “Mirabe, among all thepetitors over the years, you’ve consistently scored perfectly. I believe you have a shot at breaking into the top ten.


    Before, he had thought that any international ranking would do, even if it were the twentieth or thirtieth. However, after today’s nationalpetition results, he felt that Mirabe’s abilities far surpassed his expectations.


    He didn’t dare dream of the number one spot internationally, but the top ten… that seemed within the realm of possibility. What if miracles happened?


    Standing at the curb, with the traffic light still red, Mirabe tilted her head towards Mr. Hammond and said quite seriously, “I think you could set a more precise goal”


    Mr. Hammond blinked in confusion, not quite understanding her.


    As the light turned green, Mirabe stepped onto the crosswalk and floated out the words. “Like, first ce.”


    Mr. Hammond’s eyes widened, stunned by her seemingly preposterous assertion for a good five seconds before he caught up with her stride.


    First ce was such a daunting goal. Watching Mirabe’s slender figure walk ahead, her back straight and exuding an innate air of arrogant confidence, a bubbling excitement ignited within


    him.


    Perhaps… it was worth anticipating.


    After returning to the hotel, Mirabe rested briefly before packing her bags for the seven. o’clock flight back to Ashford. It was already approaching five. They would soon gather to head to the airport.


    While waiting for the flight, Mirabe found time to buy some gifts. The gifts were for her two lovable parents and two funny brothers, whom she loved dearly.


    With gifts purchased and time to spare, Mirabe ced her items at her feet, then pulled out her earphones,unched the music app, and cued up Neon Paradox in her favorites to y on a loop.


    That was when a text message popped up. It was from an anonymous, hidden number.


    (Causing such amotion at the Riverdale Antiquities Exhibition wasn’t your handiwork, was


    it?]


    Mirabe touched her nose and quickly replied: [I was studying. Who’s got the time?]


    Anonymous: [……]


    Anonymous: [I guessed not. It’s not your style.]


    Mirabe pursed her lips, no longer interested in engaging with the stranger, and stopped replying. She pocketed her phone, pulled her hoodie over her head, and closed her eyes to rest.


    At half–past nine, the nended on time at Ashford airport. Mirabe, pulling her luggage, walked out while powering up her phone.


    Several missed calls and a bunch of messages on Messenger awaited her.