____________________________________
"Self-confidence is the first requisite to great undertakings."
— Samuel Johnson
____________________________________
THE DAY EVERYTHING BEGINS
_______
The Great Hall was alive.
Six houses—Red, Blue, Yellow, Green, Grey, Purple—Sat immaculately in each of their wings, their colors burning beneath the vaulted ceiling. The noise wasn't just excitement. It was pressure. Anticipation sharpened to a blade.
Then the Director stepped onto the stage.
The room obeyed him instantly.
His smile was slow. Deliberate. The kind that suggested he already knew how this would end.
"Today," he said, voice carrying effortlessly, "we formalize the next phase of Chyroma Ahmad Academy."
A pause.
"The Special Intelligence Team."
The name alone sent a ripple through the hall.
"As we all know that these are not ordinary representatives," the Director continued. "They are students selected to carry the will of this institution—academically, strategically, and publicly."
The screens behind him lit up.
Names appeared.
Cheers exploded.
One by one, the Director called them forward.
Students rose—top scorers, house leaders, known prodigies. Each greeted with thunderous applause. Each name met with approval, envy, calculation.
They lined the stage.
Then the Director raised a hand.
Silence fell again.
"Now," he said, eyes sharp, "allow me to introduce the new addition to the team.
Then his gaze shifted.
"MiMie A.G Jiddah."
The name hit like a spark to gasoline.
MiMie stood.
She walked forward, chin high, back straight. The crowd watched her with a mixture of awe and hostility.
Murmurs surged.
Mimi's thoughts were razor-clear.
Safeeyah. Umaimah, …
I'm here now.
You will feel it.
The Director nodded once. "Take your place."
Then—
"Mushtafar Baba_Ali."
Mustyy jumped up so fast his chair scraped loudly.
A few laughs broke out.
Mustyy beamed.
Same team as MiMie?
Wow… this is real. I am so gonna impress her…
He hurried forward.
The line on stage was nearly complete.
The Director paused.
The room waited.
Then—
"Tahir A. Salman."
The effect was immediate.
Silence.
Not respectful.
Not impressed.
Suspicious.
Whispers crawled across the Teachers and other staff that were aware of his Aptitude test score
"That's him?"
"The fifty-percent student?"
"He slept through half the exams."
Tahir stood slowly.
Hands in his pockets. Expression unreadable.
He walked forward like this was an inconvenience, not an honor.
He stopped in front of the Director.
He said nothing.
No explanation.
No justification.
The screen behind them stayed blank.
Tahir noticed. The hall noticed.
Finally, Tahir spoke.
"Sir," he said evenly, "with all due respect… I reject the nomination."
The hall erupted.
Gasps cracked the air. Chairs shifted. Someone laughed in disbelief.
The Director tilted his head slightly.
"On what grounds?" he asked calmly.
"Hmm… On the Grounds of… I don't want to."
A beat.
"And besides, rule fifty-three allows refusal," Tahir added, tone almost bored.
The Director stepped closer.
"Then allow me to remind you of rule eighty-seven," he murmured, voice low, dangerous.
"Which grants me authority to override rules one through eighty-five."
Tahir's jaw tightened.
"And," the Director continued, leaning in,
"I know who you really are, Salman."
A pause.
"You don't get to hide here. Not in my school"
Tahir exhaled slowly.
"…Fine," he said. "But don't blame me when I slack off."
The Director's smile widened—not with humor, but satisfaction.
"Excellent."
Confusion rippled through the hall.
Tahir stepped back into line.
Mustyy leaned toward him, whispering urgently,
"Bro… are you insane?"
"Just a little bit," Tahir replied quietly.
MiMie glanced at him from the corner of her eye.
So that's how you play, she thought.
Careless on the surface. Calculated underneath. Was this your plan, all along, Tahir ?, to challenge the director openly, but to what end ? Hmm… No… I won't allow you to interfere with my revenge plans.
The Director raised his hand again.
"Understand this," he said, voice hard. "The Special Intelligence Team is not a reward."
The screens behind him shifted—data, past champions, fallen stars.
"It is exposure."
He paced slowly.
"Some of you are here because you shine too brightly to ignore."
His gaze locked on MiMie.
"Some because your talent demands direction."
He turned to Mustyy.
"And some," his eyes settling back on Tahir,
"because you believe you're smarter than the Elite system."
The hall held its breath.
"Those," the Director said softly,
"are the ones I enjoy testing and pushing the most, towards greatness, towards success, towards realizing your potential."
A ripple of uneasy laughter followed.
"Tomorrow," he concluded, "your assignments begin. Points will rise. Points will fall. And the hierarchy will adjust accordingly."
His smile returned.
"This is the real Chyroma Ahmad Academy, the Elite that never gives up."
Applause erupted—loud, fractured, uncertain.
As the hall emptied, Aysha caught Tahir's eye from across the room.
Her expression held curiosity… and warning.
I can't believe you just openly challenged the foundation.
Tahir's lips curved faintly.
That was the intention.
MiMie turned away first.
Whatever Tahir was planning, she told herself she didn't care.
But the truth pressed in anyway—unavoidable:
This was no longer just her war.
And Tahir had stepped onto the board without revealing a single card.
—————————-
A HISTORY THAT WON'T DIE
The Great Hall emptied in waves, noise dissolving into rumor and speculation. Names followed Tahir wherever he walked—some spoken in awe, others in disbelief.
He didn't look back.
Not until MiMie stepped directly into his path.
"Tahir. We need to talk."
He stopped—but didn't turn.
"No," he said flatly. "We had an agreement. We are too Toxic to each other, remember…
The agreement was we should stay far apart until 19th of September, 2031."
Her jaw tightened.
"That was almost 3 years ago."
He finally faced her, eyes sharp.
"And the agreement didn't come with an expiration date, doesn't it ?"
Between them sat too much history to name out loud.
Their families.
The old alliance.
The pinky promise
The future that had been sketched for them before either of them understood what choice meant.
The binding wills.
Mimi crossed her arms, defensive.
"You really think I came here for you?"
Tahir let out a quiet, humorless laugh.
"No. I think you dragged me into your chaos. Again."
" I didn't drag you here, it was you Father who heard from my Dad that I was transferring to this school, then decided that you too should transfer."
"Hmm… I see, so why did you decide to come here then, MiMie ?" Tahir said as he put his hands in pockets adjusting his stand.
"I have my own goals," she said, "It can only be achieved in this school."
"Hmm.. so Revenge then huh?," he added calmly, watching her expression fracture. "Safeeyah told me."
Mimi froze.
"What?"
"Oh, yes." His lips curved faintly. "We had lunch last week. She talks more than she thinks."
Her fingers curled into fists.
"What are they planning?, What is A.R.C planning?" she demanded. "Tahir, tell me—"
He leaned closer, voice low.
"Why would I?"
She grabbed his sleeve before he could pull away.
"Listen to me," MiMie hissed. "If you're not going to help me—fine. But don't you dare help Safeeyah."
His eyes flicked down to her hand. Then back up.
"I wasn't planning on it, besides, I accepted my faith and came to school for a mediocre, boring high school life, the type I always dreamt of, you know." Tahir stared at the ceiling, recalling Junior high years, on that rooftop that he used to hide.
"So thanks to you MiMie, I think I can finally have what u dreamt of." He smirked.
"Ok whatever, But Interfere," she continued, voice barely above a breath, "and I'll consider you an enemy. Stay out of my way, stay out of my vengeance."
Tahir gently removed her grip.
"I don't belong to your war," he said. "Or hers."
MiMie stepped closer anyway—too close. Her voice dropped into a whisper meant only for him.
"This school? This school that You are starting to toy with…" she murmured. "It's going to change next semester."
He didn't react.
"Someone's coming," she added. "Someone you know. Someone who will tear this place apart, Just because You are here. Yeah, you know who I am talking about "
A pause.
"AyMan." She added
Still—nothing from him.
She searched his face, waiting for shock. For interest. For anything.
Instead, Tahir only shrugged.
"Sounds exhausting," he said. "But he is still in military school. Though"
She narrowed her eyes, realizing—too late—that he already knew.
That he just didn't care.
"Enjoy pretending you're bored," she said quietly. "This your boredom facade won't survive who's coming."
She turned and walked away.
Tahir watched her go, hands slipping back into his pockets.
Elite Championship.
Rivalries.
Revenge.
None of it mattered.
He wasn't here to win trophies or settle old scores.
He was here to test something far more interesting.
An Elite system that claimed it was unbreakable.
And Tahir A. Salman had already decided —
He was going to break it.
—————
THE QUIET SURVEY
Tahir didn't go to class immediately.
He drifted.
Not aimlessly—never that—but slowly, casually, like someone killing time after an assembly. Hands in pockets. Head tilted slightly upward. The posture of boredom.
The eyes of a predator.
He crossed the courtyard, counting without counting.
One camera above the west stairwell.
Two at the dormitory entrance—overlapping angles.
A blind spot near the maintenance block, exactly where Isham had pointed yesterday.
A rotating dome above the library arch—new model, wider sweep.
Old wiring along the science wing. Cheap upgrade. Predictable lag.
Interesting.
He paused near the trophy hall, pretending to read a plaque while watching the red light blink, pause, blink again.
Four-second delay.
Good to know.
Students flowed around him, still buzzing from the Director's announcement. MiMie's name. Mustyy's grin. His refusal—already mythologized.
Tahir smiled faintly.
Not because of attention.
Because systems always revealed themselves when they thought they were being watched.
Satisfied—for now—he turned toward the academic wing.
⸻
BACK TO CLASS
SS1 Alpha was already seated when he arrived.
The door creaked.
Heads turned.
Whispers flared.
He slid into his seat by the window as if nothing extraordinary had happened—because to him, nothing had.
A moment passed.
Then—
"You're unbelievable."
Aysha Amad's voice, low and sharp, from the seat beside him.
He didn't look at her.
"Hello to you too."
She leaned closer, eyes bright with curiosity rather than anger.
"You rejected the Director. In front of everyone. Do you have any idea how insane that was?"
"Hmm." He rested his chin on his palm. "Define insane."
She scoffed. "People would kill for that position. The points. The power. The visibility."
"And yet," he replied calmly, "I'm still alive."
She studied him now—not annoyed, not impressed.
Interested.
"To what end, Tahir?" she asked quietly. "What are you actually trying to do?"
He turned then, finally meeting her eyes.
For a second, she thought he wouldn't answer.
Then he said, softly:
"I want to see how this place really works, I mean it's not too similar to Aliyu Mustapha Academy (A.M.A), the place I was from, however, all the 9 elites has 70% similarity on many aspects, and yet, the 30% difference intrigues me."
Aysha frowned. "You already know how it works. Points. Hierarchy. Surveillance. Student government—"
"No," he cut in gently. "That's how it claims to work."
She felt a chill crawl up her spine.
"And when you find out?" she asked.
A corner of his mouth lifted.
"I'll decide whether it's worth respecting."
Aysha stared at him, heart thudding—not from fear, but from something far more dangerous.
Interest.
"You're not here for the Elite Championship," she said slowly.
"No."
"Not for learning"
"No."
"Not even for power."
He looked out the window again, watching a camera rotate.
"I'm here," he said, almost pleasantly, "because I was bored."
The teacher cleared his throat at the front of the class.
"Settle down."
Aysha leaned back in her chair, exhaling.
Bored?.
She glanced at Tahir once more, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips.
Whatever game he was playing—
The school had just become the board.
Aysha was still processing the word bored when Tahir spoke again.
Casual. Almost careless.
"So," he said, tapping his pen once against the desk, "what do you know about the Nine (9) Elite Shadows?"
The pen slipped from Aysha's fingers.
It hit the floor with a sharp clack that echoed far louder than it should have.
She froze.
For half a second, she didn't breathe.
Then she bent down, retrieved it with shaking hands, and sat back up far too stiffly.
"…Don't say that name," she whispered.
Tahir tilted his head, studying her reaction with quiet interest.
"That bad?"
Aysha swallowed. Her eyes darted toward the door. Then the windows. Then—instinctively—the corners of the room.
"Some people say they're not real," she said carefully. "Just a myth seniors tell to scare juniors into behaving."
"But," Tahir prompted.
"But," she continued, voice dropping, "everyone knows what happens when they move."
Tahir leaned back, folding his arms. "Go on."
She hesitated.
Then, reluctantly:
"Rumor has it that there are… shadow students. One in each of the Nine Elite Schools. No one knows their names. No one knows their faces. They don't compete. They don't lead. They don't show up on any lists."
Her fingers curled into her skirt.
"But they watch."
Tahir's eyes flickered—sharp, alert.
"They spread rumors," Aysha said. "Not childish ones. Not gossip. They dig. They uncover secrets people buried so deep even their closest friends don't know them."
Her voice trembled now.
"And when they expose someone… it's never quiet. Screenshots. Evidence. Timelines. Public humiliation. The kind that forces the administration's hand."
"Expulsion," Tahir murmured.
Aysha nodded.
"Immediate. No appeals. No mercy."
She took a shaky breath.
"And the rule across all the 9 elites schools is absolute. If you're expelled from one elite school, you are blacklisted from the rest."
Tahir's gaze darkened.
"So that's it," he said softly. "Your future just… ends."
"Pretty much," Aysha replied bitterly. "You get dumped into a public school, or the wanna_be elite, private schools which has no prestige at all. No elite recommendations. No scholarships. No competitions. No networks."
She looked at him, fear naked in her eyes.
"Dreams don't survive that fall."
The classroom felt colder.
A student laughed somewhere behind them, oblivious.
Tahir tapped his pen again, thoughtful.
"And no one's ever seen them?" he asked.
Aysha shook her head. "Never. That's why some people think they're not real."
She paused.
"But the damage they leave behind is."
Tahir stared ahead, a slow, unreadable smile forming—not cruel, not amused.
Intrigued.
"Interesting," he said.
Aysha's breath hitched.
"That's all you have to say?" she asked. "Tahir, people disappear because of them."
He glanced at her, eyes steady.
"Then they're not a myth," he said calmly. "They're a system, a Shadow Government."
Her stomach dropped.
"You shouldn't talk about this," she whispered urgently. "If they're real and they hear you—"
He cut her off gently.
"Then I suppose," he said, almost pleasantly, "we'll finally get to meet."
Aysha stared at him, heart pounding.
For the first time since she'd met him, she wasn't just curious.
She was afraid.
Because Tahir A. Salman didn't sound like someone scared of the 9 Elite Shadows.
He sounded like someone already thinking about how to find them.
______
Few days later
Monday arrived without ceremony.
No warning.
No easing in.
Just weight.
⸻
MONDAY MORNING — THE DAY IT BEGINS
Across Yola, something old stirred.
Today wasn't about classes.
Or grades.
Or uniforms pressed sharp enough to cut.
Today was about ARC vs C.A.A.
The two most decorated elite schools.
14 titles versus 11.
History stacked against history.
By noon, ARC's representatives would arrive at C.A.A.
Mediators from neutral elite schools would sit in.
Venues would be decided.
Schedules locked.
Once that happened, there was no backing out.
Because Elite Preparation Day began today.
And Action Day was tomorrow.
Everyone knew it.
Even those pretending not to.
⸻
SS1 ALPHA — FIRST PERIOD
Tahir walked in late.
Not rushed.
Not apologetic.
Like someone attending a meeting he hadn't agreed to.
His uniform was neat enough to avoid attention, careless enough to suggest he didn't try. His bag hung loose on one shoulder. His expression said school was an inconvenience, not a priority.
The room noticed.
Of course it did.
He dropped into the seat beside Aysha Amad like it belonged to him.
As usual.
Aysha glanced at him.
Then looked away.
Then looked back again.
"You look like you slept through the weekend," she muttered.
"Mostly," Tahir replied, stretching his legs. "Very productive."
She snorted softly despite herself.
The teacher hadn't arrived yet. The room buzzed low—whispers about ARC, about venues, about which sports would decide everything.
Tahir leaned closer, lowering his voice.
"Quick question."
Aysha stiffened. "I don't like how that starts."
He ignored that.
"Who's Sadeeqah Adam?"
Her head snapped toward him.
"…Why?"
" From SS1 Beta," Tahir added calmly. "Sits by the window. Always leaves class two minutes early. Perfect attendance. Cute smile. Confident."
Aysha's eyes narrowed.
"You've been watching people again."
"I watch systems that interest me," he corrected. "People are just components."
She hesitated.
Then sighed.
"Sadeeqah Adam," Aysha said quietly, "is… complicated."
Tahir waited.
"She's top three in her class," Aysha continued. "Brilliant. Untouchable academically. Teachers love her."
"Let me guess," Tahir said. "That's not the whole story."
She didn't look at him.
Didn't acknowledge his presence.
Her eyes stayed on her notebook, pen moving too fast, handwriting uneven.
Her heartbeat, however, betrayed her—sharp, insistent, loud in her ears.
Tahir leaned back, chair creaking softly. One arm draped over the backrest. Relaxed. Reckless.
The word landed like a slap
Aysha blinked. Once. Twice.
"…You like her?"
"Kind of."
That single word—careless, unguarded—lit something dangerous in her chest.
She leaned in, voice dropping, sharp and urgent.
"Do you know her boyfriend?"
Tahir glanced at her, bored curiosity in his eyes.
"Nope."
Aysha exhaled slowly. Her lips curved—not in humor, but warning.
"He's King Jamal, his friends call him Jay-Jay"
She let the name hang.
"Most popular guy in both C.A.A and ARC."
Her eyes locked onto his.
"You don't stand a chance."
For a moment, Tahir said nothing.
Then he smiled.
Not wide.
Not warm.
A slow, infuriating curve of his lips—like someone who'd just been handed a challenge instead of a threat.
"Then I'll write a new story," he said quietly. "After class, I'm talking to her."
Aysha stared at him.
This boy is unhinged.
Please fail. Please crash. I want to watch it happen.
Instead, she smiled.
"What ?" Tahir asked, "Jealous? "
"Not even close, besides" Aysha got closer and whispered "I got a boyfriend."
"I know, and I know that you are hiding him from your elder brothers." Tahir said while still smiling.
"Hmm. Damn you, shush, keep your voice down" Aysha snapped.
"Anyways, give up on Sadeeqah, Jamal rules this school, he will gut you, and getaway with it, 'cuz even Saleem, Isham and the SUG president, don't have such influence as him"
"Oh really, then in that case, I think I want Sadeeqah even more." Tahir smirked
"Your funeral." Aysha Said while rolling her eyes.
"You think I can't get her attention because of her silly boyfriend ?"
"I don't think, I definitely know you can't"
"But what if I can"
"Fine, If you get and keep her attention for even a day," she said softly, "I'll copy your notes, 1 subject, Your choice. The entire weeks you missed"
"And if I fail..?" Tahir asked
"What will you give me ?"
" let's see, I will give you 50% of my current points"
"Ha haha… even though I have no use for your points, it will be interesting to drain your pockets and see you struggle for scraps in the future"
Tahir straightened
So do we have a deal
"Deal"
And as their eyes parted, Aysha felt it settle in her bones—
She hadn't just made a bet.
She had invited disaster.
But part of her got intrigued, looking forward to that disaster to happen.
And she wants to be a witness to such epic fail.