____________________________________
"Some old wounds never truly heal, and bleed again at the slightest word."
— George R.R. Martin
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The Great Hall
The walk toward the Great Hall felt heavier than it should have.
Not because of distance—but because of everything waiting at the end of it.
The air buzzed, charged with the kind of tension that always came before storms.
Tahir broke the silence.
"Tell me something, MiMie…"
Mimi glanced at him. For once, her confidence wavered.
"What's on your mind?"
He slipped his hands into his pockets, gaze forward, voice low.
"Do you think you made the right choice coming to this school?"
She exhaled—a breath that trembled despite her effort to steady it.
"Honestly? I don't know anymore. I'm… getting cold feet about seeing Safeeyah."
Then she looked at him, searching.
"But what about you? Ready to face Malik?"
Tahir stopped walking.
The sudden halt made MiMie pause too.
He tilted his head back, eyes lifting to the sky as if consulting something unseen. He saw how the clouds are moving, drifting, the birds flying around, freedom he thought.
Then—slowly—a smile curved his lips.
Not warm.
Not kind.
Dangerous.
"Actually," he said, voice calm, almost pleased, "I'm a little excited."
MiMie frowned. "Excited?"
"There's something I wanted to confirm," he continued. "Do you remember what happened that summer three years ago? Before our families dragged us to that horrible place, their vacation houses?"
Her brows knitted.
"Between Malik and Muktar, and with You?" she asked. "Yeah. When they fought at the Fountain, when you tried breaking it up… and Malik ended up with a broken arm."
Tahir nodded, expression unreadable.
Before either of them could say more—
"Guys, let's move."
Saleem appeared beside them, urgency in his stride.
"A.R.C's representatives are waiting."
His eyes flicked sharply.
"Jamal. Where have you been?"
Jamal scoffed.
"Oh, please. You're only dragging me along because my twin brother's among the A.R.C students—and he's their head boy."
MiMie's thoughts collided violently.
Wait.
Jamil?
The A.R.C head boy is Jamal's twin?
The rumors flooded back—divorced parents, separated siblings, the so-called long-lost twin everyone whispered about.
And now somehow—
Me.
Tahir.
Jamal.
All tangled with the A.R.C representatives, Safeeyah, Malik and now Jamil.
There is history between us.
Her eyes narrowed.
This isn't coincidence.
Someone planned this.
Her gaze slid toward Saleem's back.
And that someone is probably you.
But why?
What was the endgame?
⸻
THE PLOTTERS REVEALED
As they continued walking, Isham fell into step beside them.
Saleem leaned closer to her, voice low.
"Your plan is working," he whispered. "They're walking straight into the trap. Your research was flawless."
Isham smirked.
"I know. Every one of them has unfinished history with the others. This meeting is going to explode."
Her eyes gleamed.
"And the outcome? It could shape the entire tournament."
Saleem exhaled uneasily.
"I just hope this doesn't come back to bite us."
She rolled her eyes.
"Relax. No one suspects a thing."
"Actually," a sharp voice cut in, slicing through the air,
"I do."
They froze.
MiMie stood beside them, eyes blazing.
"I knew something was off," she said coldly. "Whispering in corners. Coincidences stacked too neatly. Spare me."
She folded her arms.
"So tell me—what's the real plan? And how exactly did you dig up all this information about us?"
Saleem panicked.
"We—uh—we don't know what you—"
Isham sighed.
"Saleem. Stop."
Then she faced MiMie fully.
"Yes," Isham said calmly. "We arranged this. To ignite rivalry. To push all of you to win."
Her gaze sharpened.
"And I did the research. On everyone. Including you."
MiMie stiffened.
"You said transferring from A.R.C was personal," Isham continued smoothly. "But it wasn't just that, was it?"
She stepped closer.
"It had everything to do with Safeeyah… two other girls… and a certain boy."
A vein pulsed at MiMie's jaw.
Before she could respond, Saleem spoke again—more cautiously now.
"And yes. We need Tahir here. The Director believes he's the key to winning this year, even though I don't believe that one bit. He is just mediocre at best, with no talent whatsoever."
MiMie let out a short, bitter laugh.
If only they knew.
Her thoughts spiraled, sharp and vivid:
Tahir has photographic memory,
Not just that, when it comes to physical activity be it sports, games, even a fight.
He never loses, unless on purpose or to hide his true potential.
He is the most complete human being I ever met.
His IQ was tested at 277 score, when he was eleven— His father brought experts from outside the country, to test him, but after that, his father buried the result.
He masters everything he touches—sports, academics, games, cooking.
He loses interest only because nothing challenges him anymore.
Her chest tightened.
The only people who ever witnessed his full potential was Me, and one other boy.
…That was Malik.
Tahir use to get us out of trouble, save us, protect us, he was the core, of our trio.
But… after the incident 3 years ago.
Tahir changed… I guess we all have…
However, I think… Tahir changed long before that…
I think he changed when he work up from that coma.
And that realization ignited something dangerous inside her.
If Malik or I can bring back that former Tahir, she thought, eyes narrowing,
C.A.A won't just win.
They'll dominate the entire Elite schools.
MiMie snapped out of her thoughts and realized that they are standing in front of the great hall.
She can feel her heart racing and a little spark in her chest, any moment she can see Safeeyah.
A flash of memory from 7 weeks ago.
The fake love notes somebody wrote perfectly in her handwriting
The Love SMS somebody planted on Imran's phone.
Safeeyah giving her a dirty slap because of that boy.
The recall, made her fuming with anger, as she entered the hall, and her eyes met with Safeeyah.
____________
Inside The Great Hall.
SAFEYEAH — POV
The Trap Tightens
The moment Safeeyah stepped onto Chyroma Ahmad Academy's campus, she felt it.
The air was wrong.
Too still. Too watchful. Like the school itself had been holding its breath—waiting for her.
She adjusted her blazer, fingers tightening at the seams. A.R.C's crest sat proudly on her chest, but instead of confidence, it felt like a target.
This is just a meeting, she told herself.
Formalities. Mediators. Nothing more.
That was the lie she needed to keep walking.
Students stared as A.R.C's representatives crossed the grounds. Not openly—not boldly. The kind of glances that pretended to be casual but lingered a second too long.
Whispers followed.
"A.R.C reps…"
"That's them."
"That's Jamil, Jamal's twin"
"Isn't that Safeeyah"
"Isn't she the one who—"
Safeeyah kept her chin high.
She had learned early: if you looked unbothered long enough, people believed you were untouchable.
Still… something crawled beneath her skin.
She hadn't expected this.
Not the silence.
Not the way C.A.A students parted just slightly as they passed—like witnesses clearing space for a collision.
Her phone vibrated.
A message from Malik.
You okay?
She typed back fast.
Yeah. Don't overthink it. This is routine.
Another lie.
The Great Hall doors loomed ahead—tall, white, unforgiving. Polished so clean they reflected her own image back at her.
For a brief moment, she didn't recognize herself.
When did I start looking like someone who needs armor?
She inhaled, steadying herself.
Focus.
Then—
She sat down, with Malik and Jamil next to her.
Not long afterwards.
A laugh echoed from outside the hall.
Her stomach dropped.
She knew that laugh.
Not because it was loud.
Not because it demanded attention.
Because it never needed to.
Her breath slowed without her permission.
No.
Her pulse spiked.
He can't also be here, with her.
But the school had a cruel sense of timing.
As the doors opened wider, her eyes swept the room—Saleem, Isham, students forming loose clusters, the heavy weight of expectation pressing down from every wall—
And then—
She saw both of them.
MiMie A. Jiddah.
Tahir A. Salman.
Tahir… why are you here?
Her gaze flicked away—straight into another pair of eyes.
MiMie.
The impact was worse.
Sharper.
MiMie stood across the hall like a blade finally unsheathed. Not smiling. Not angry.
Focused.
Safeeyah's chest constricted.
She came.
Of course she did.
The girl Safeeyah had betrayed.
The girl who used to call her sister.
The girl whose absence had followed her like a ghost.
Their eyes locked.
The air thickened.
This isn't a meeting, Safeeyah realized.
This is a reckoning.
Her fingers curled into fists.
Who arranged this?
Her gaze snapped to Saleem.
To Isham.
Their calm made her blood run cold.
This was planned.
Her phone buzzed again.
Malik: You look tense. Relax. We've got this.
She didn't reply.
Because in that moment, she understood something terrifying:
This room didn't care about A.R.C or C.A.A.
It cared about unfinished business.
And everyone inside it—
Including her—
Was already caught in the trap.
Safeeyah took one final breath and then adjusted her posture.
Whatever this is, she thought,
I'm not backing down.
But deep down—
She knew.
Some battles begin long before anyone realizes they're already losing.
____________
MALIK — POV
The Ghost That Walks
The first thing Malik felt was irritation.
Chyroma Ahmad Academy was too clean. Too quiet. Too proud of itself. A.R.C's grounds had weight—history soaked into cracked tiles and sun-burnt walls. C.A.A felt like a lie polished until it shone.
He rolled his shoulders, loosening tension.
Just a meeting, he told himself.
Say what needs to be said. Set the venues. Leave.
Then—
He saw him.
Time didn't stop.
It collapsed.
Tahir A. Salman.
Standing near the center of the Great Hall like he hadn't aged a day—same lazy posture, same unreadable calm, same eyes that always seemed to know things before anyone else did.
Malik's breath caught.
No.
His mind rejected it first.
It's someone else.
Same build. Same face. Coincidence.
But his body knew better.
His left arm—his bad arm—throbbed.
Three years ago.
Summer heat.
Blood on concrete.
That fountain fight.
A scream that never quite left his ears.
Tahir.
The boy who stepped in too late—or maybe too early.
The boy I blamed for years.
The boy Malik hated for 3 years.
His fingers flexed unconsciously.
He has the nerve to be here?
Rage stirred—hot, familiar, dangerous.
Malik remembered being carried to hospital.
The cast.
The whispers.
The way everyone avoided his eyes like the truth was radioactive.
And Tahir—
Pretended to be worried, all the while, he knows how I felt about Ayrah.
You let me pick a fight with Muktar, knowing well that I won't win, Malik remembered, jaw tightening.
You let me believe that you had no idea that Ayrah liked you instead of me,
You let me made a fool of myself,
All that while. You knew, You knew why she was nice to me, why she agreed to be my girlfriend, even with her popularity,
She did all that to get close to you.
His gaze burned into Tahir's back.
And now you're here. Smiling. Breathing. Existing like nothing happened.
A laugh bubbled in Malik's chest—bitter.
This school year is a joke.
Tahir and MiMie reunited huh…!
Safeeyah shifted beside him.
He felt it before he saw it—the subtle stiffening in her posture, the way her breath shortened.
She saw him too.
Good.
Let her feel it.
Malik leaned closer to her, voice low.
"Do you see them?"
Safeeyah didn't answer immediately.
Then, quietly:
"Yes."
Malik's grip tightened on his folder.
So it's real.
The past had followed them.
Or worse—
Someone had dragged it here on purpose.
MiMie.
My first crush.
The sight of her hit him differently.
She wasn't angry.
She was ready.
Malik swallowed.
This isn't about the tournament.
This was about something older.
Something unfinished.
His gaze snapped back to Tahir.
Their eyes met.
Just for a second.
No smile.
No apology.
No explanation.
Just recognition.
And something else.
Challenge.
Malik's heart slammed against his ribs.
You think this is a game?
He straightened his shoulders, pain flaring in his arm like a warning.
Fine.
If Tahir wanted to resurface—
If he wanted to pretend the past didn't exist—
Then Malik would do what he always wanted to do.
Face him head-on.
Because this time—
He wasn't the boy on the ground anymore.
And whatever secret Tahir had buried three years ago…
Malik was going to dig it up.
In front of everyone.
___________
THE MEETING BEGINS
The Great Hall swallowed them whole.
The round table sat at its center like an execution ground—too polished, too deliberate. Everyone took their seats, alliances already drawn in invisible ink.
Mimi's gaze snapped instantly to Safeeyah.
Safeeyah didn't look away.
She smirked.
Then—deliberately—winked.
Mimi's fingers curled into fists beneath the table, nails biting skin.
The mediator burst in with forced enthusiasm, clapping once.
"HELLO, ELITES! Let's begin the shake-off. As hosts, C.A.A and A.R.C will divide the championship events between the two School grounds—"
"Let's follow last year's format," Jamil interrupted smoothly, already in control.
He turned to Saleem. "Agreed?"
Saleem nodded once. "Fair."
The mediator beamed, relieved.
"Excellent! I'll leave you to… talk, I will report to central elite committee then."
Which, of course, meant: threaten each other politely.
The door shut.
The air sharpened.
___________________
THE TWINS COLLIDE
Jamil leaned back in his chair and finally looked at Jamal.
"Been a while, brother."
Jamal crossed his arms, jaw tight.
"Yeah. Too bad it wasn't longer."
Jamil's smile thinned.
"How's Mom?"
The question landed like acid.
Jamal scoffed.
"Why don't you call her and find out?"
Jamil chuckled softly.
"Oh right. Forgot. I'm not much of a mama's boy."
Chairs scraped.
Saleem stepped in fast.
"Enough. Save it for the field."
Neither twin looked away.
Not yet.
"Jamil, I will destroy this your alpha male bullshit, soon enough"
"Let's see you try, brother"
______________
THE GIRLS GO TO WAR
Safeeyah leaned toward MiMie, voice dripping sugar.
"Well, well… MiMie. If there was an award for Backstabbing Bitch of the Year—"
"Funny," Mimi cut in lightly.
"I'd nominate you seven times."
Safeeyah laughed once, sharp.
"People who betrays their family are scums."
Mimi's eyes hardened.
"And people who stabs family over petty jealousy are worse than scums."
Safeeyah leaned forward, teeth clenched.
"If the person is a self-made bitch, then maybe she deserves it."
MiMie didn't blink.
"And if the accuser is a self-absorbed and self-made hypocrite, then she deserves being abandoned."
Safeeyah slammed her palm on the table.
"Let's go before I throw her across the room."
"Funny," MiMie replied calmly.
"I thought somebody have the guts… turns out, she is still a crybaby."
"Hmm.. we will see about that soon enough"
The silence that followed burned.
___________
THE BOYS' TURN
Malik stood.
The chair scraped loudly as he walked toward Tahir.
"Yo. Sahirr."
The old nickname.
Tahir looked up slowly.
"Hey. Long time."
For a split second, Malik smiled—real, unguarded.
"Last I heard, you were still at Aliyu Mustapha Academy (A.M.A). Didn't expect you here."
"Things change."
"Yeah," Malik said quietly. "They do."
He paused, studying Tahir's face.
"Still good to see you. I was hoping we'd play together again. Like old times."
Then his tone hardened.
"And whatever happened 3 years ago—I think I've let it go. It's in the past."
Tahir didn't react.
Malik's jaw tightened.
"But you?" Malik continued.
"You haven't changed. Still detached. Still hiding from challenges as I can see."
He leaned closer.
"I wanted to beat you at full strength. Fair and square."
Tahir finally raised an eyebrow.
"So this is what it's all about huh…?"
Malik nodded.
"We're going to crush your school. Break their spirit. And you'll watch, because I know, you won't help them."
Tahir exhaled slowly.
"Hmm… well good for you."
He stood.
"I'm leaving. This is boring."
Inside, his thoughts curled dark and sharp:
You want the real me huh?
You think provoking me will work?
Careful now, Malik.
He glanced at the clock.
Oh crap. Auditions.
Without another word, Tahir turned.
"Saleem," he said casually, already walking away,
"I've got somewhere to be."
The room fell dead silent.
And Tahir walked out—
leaving behind fury, unfinished history, and a war that had already begun.
______________
IMMEDIATE FALLOUT
For three seconds after Tahir left, no one breathed.
The door hadn't even finished closing before Malik laughed—short, sharp, humorless.
"He hasn't changed," Malik said. "Still running and avoiding."
Jamal scoffed. "You call that running? That was disrespect."
Safeeyah leaned back in her chair, lips curling.
"He thinks he's untouchable. Boys like that always do."
MiMie didn't speak.
Her gaze stayed on the door Tahir had just walked through, her jaw tight enough to ache.
You're lying, she thought.
He's not running. He never runs.
Saleem cleared his throat, trying to salvage control.
"Alright. Let's refocus. The purpose of this meeting—"
"You brought him here on purpose," Malik cut in, eyes narrowing at Saleem.
"Don't insult us by pretending otherwise."
Saleem hesitated.
That pause was all the confirmation Malik needed.
Jamil folded his arms, expression cool.
"So this is it huh.the kind of lousy candidates on C.A.A's Special intelligence Team huh"
Saleem stiffened.
"Well it is… complicated."
Malik smiled without warmth.
"Good. Complicated things break easier."
MiMie finally looked away from the door.
Her voice was calm, too calm.
"Don't underestimate C.A.A."
Safeeyah laughed softly.
"Please. We beat this same team Last semester and we will do it again."
MiMie turned to her slowly.
"Well this semester is different, Course I am with them."
Safeeyah's eyes flashed.
"All the more reason why we will crush all of you."
The statement hit deeper than it should have.
Before MiMie could respond, Jamal shoved his chair back.
"So what now?" he snapped.
Saleem straightened.
"Now we proceed. Events are split. Preparations begin today."
Jamil stood.
"Good. Because tomorrow, A.R.C starts reminding C.A.A why we lead the board."
Malik lingered a second longer, eyes still on the door Tahir exited through.
His jaw clenched.
Running or not…
You're here now, Sahirr.
And that means we finish this.
Across the room, Isham watched quietly.
Very quietly.
This was worse than she expected.
This was better than she hoped.
The pieces were moving.
And This juniors—
whether they liked it or not—
They are already at the center of the board.