<b>Chapter </b><b>25 </b>
The testing room buzzed with tension as I walked in. Multiple cameras had been set <b>up </b><b>around </b>the ssroom, capturing every angle. Several teachers I recognized from the math <b>department </b>stood along the walls, arms crossed, expressions ranging from curiosity to outright skepticism. Student representatives from the academic integritymittee sat in the back row<b>, </b>whispering <b>among </b>themselves.
Mr. Peterson stood at the front, arranging a stack of papers with the smug confidence of someone who believed they’d finally corner their prey. When he saw me enter with Chris Jensen, his expression soured.
“These questions,” Dr. Thompson announced, gesturing to the papers, “have been specially selected to match the difficulty level of the original exam. Mr. Peterson personally chose the most challenging problems to ensure a fair assessment.”
I nodded, maintaining a neutral expression despite the urge to roll my eyes. This whole circus waste of time, but I needed to y their game.
Chris Jensen stepped forward. “I’d like to confirm that the testing environment and grading standards are transparent. My client is prepared to demonstrate her abilities under these conditions.”
“Absolutely,” Felix Huxley said from the doorway. The mayor stood tall in his tailored suit, a camera- ready smile on his face. “I’m confident Cloud City’s educational system can treat every student fairly.”
Dr. Thompson nodded. “Let’s proceed. Ms. Morgan, you may begin when ready.”
I took my seat at the center desk while the others arranged themselves around the room. Mr. Peterson hovered nearby, watching my every move as he distributed the test papers. I could feel his eyes boring into me, desperately hoping to catch some sign <b>of </b>cheating.
“You have two hours,” he said, cing the packet in front of me with a pointed look. “I personally selected the most challenging calculus problems for this assessment.”
I flipped open the packet and scanned the questions. The problems were indeed difficult<b>–</b><b>for </b><b>an </b>average student. For me, they were trivial. I began writing immediately, my hand moving <b>swiftly </b>across the pages. The solutions emerged in my mind with perfect rity, each <b>step </b><b>logically </b><b>flowing </b>into the next.
6:58 Tue, Sep 16
Mr. Peterson paced behind me, his footsteps growing increasingly agitated as I filled page after paze with solutions. I didn’t bother showing extensive work–just enough to make the logical progression clear while maintaining efficiency. The cameras continued to record silently, capturing every
movement.
Twenty minutes in, I set down my pencil and stood up.
“I’m finished.”
Mr. Peterson’s head snapped up, his face flushing. “That’s impossible! Nobody couldplete these problems so quickly!”
“Apparently someone can,” I replied calmly.
Chris Jensen stepped forward. “The focus should be on the uracy of the answers, not the speed ofpletion. Please grade the exam immediately.”
“I agree,” Felix Huxley said, his politician’s smile never wavering. “Results are what matter he
Mr. Peterson snatched up my papers, his fingers crinkling the edges. “This is absurd,” he mutt but the cameras were still rolling, and he knew he had no choice.
Dr. Thompson cleared his throat. “Let’s move to my office for the grading process. Three mathematics faculty members, including Mr. Peterson, will assess the answers together.”
I followed them out, Chris Jensen close behind me. The walk to the principal’s office was silent, tension hanging in the air like a physical presence.
Inside Dr. Thompson’s office, three teachers huddled over my test papers, speaking in hushed tones. I stood by the window, staring out at the school grounds while they worked. Twenty minutes passed before they finally looked up.
“Well?” Dr. Thompson prompted.
One of the teachers, a woman I recognized from the advanced cement program, spoke first. “All answers are correct. The solutions are…” she hesitated, ncing at Mr. Peterson, “remarkably efficient and elegant.”
Mr. Peterson’s face had gone from red to purple. “She must have known the questions beforehand! There’s no other exnation!”
6:58 Tue, Sep 16
“That’s a serious usation,” Chris Jensen said, his voice dangerously soft. “One that could prompt an immediate defamationwsuit. Do you have any evidence to support such a im?”
Mr. Peterson opened his mouth, then closed it again.
80
“The evidence,” Dr. Thompson said heavily, “appears quite clear. Ms. Morgan has demonstrated exceptional mathematical ability under controlled conditions.” He turned to me. “I believe the school owes you an apology, Ms. Morgan. Your original exam grade will be reinstated, and we’ll provide the rmendation letters you requested aspensation for this unfortunate misunderstanding.”
I nodded, epting the victory withoutment. Mr. Peterson stormed out, mming the door
behind him.
Outside in the hallway, I turned to Chris Jensen. “Thank you for your assistance today, Mr. Jensen.”
I reached into my bag and pulled out an envelope. “My payment for your services.”
Jensen raised an eyebrow. “That won’t be necessary. Any friend of Night’s-”
“I prefer to keep business and personal matters separate,” I interrupted, pressing the enve his hand. “I don’t like owing favors.”
He studied me for a moment, then epted the envelope with a slight nod. “You remind me of someone I used to know.”
“Oh?”
“Another friend of Night’s.” His expression darkened slightly. “She passed away.”
I kept my face carefully neutral. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Night took it hard,” Jensen continued, watching me closely. “Talk to him more often, will you? He’s… impulsive when he’s grieving. I’d hate to see him do something reckless.”
A chill ran through me. I knew exactly what Jensen was implying. Night might be nning to go after Shadow Organization for revenge.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.
Jensen nodded, seemingly satisfied. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Morgan. I hope your academic troubles are behind you now.”
<b>6:58 </b><b>Tue</b>, <b>Sep </b>
<b>Sep </b><b>16 </b>
After Jensen walked away, Felix approached from the other end of the hallway. He maintained the same confident, political demeanor he’d disyed earlier.
“Ms. Morgan,” he said, extending his hand. “I hope my presence today was helpful. I’m here at Mr. Haxton’s request to ensure everything went smoothly for you.”
I shook his hand, noticing how Chris Jensen paused momentarily <b>at </b>the mention of “Mr. Haxton, flicker of surprise crossing his features before he continued walking.
“Mr. Haxton?” I repeated, keeping my tone casual while my mind raced through possibilities. Alexander Haxton, most likely. Though I hadn’t expected to hear from him again after <b>receiving </b>the bank transfer.
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