The Monday after the weekend trip arrived like a silent wave.
The Synergy Squad—Alina, Allen, Jack, Grace, Leo, and Max—had returned from their beach-side adventure, still carrying laughter in their eyes and secrets in their hearts. They had walked through aquariums, stood by the ocean, and watched each other closely under soft starlight. Something unspoken had shifted.
Back in the corridor, the usual sounds returned—the clang of lockers, school bells, the echo of footsteps. But for them, things didn't feel the same.
A quiet bond had formed—raw, fragile, and strangely comforting.
In the classroom, Grace dropped her bag with a dramatic sigh.
"I still can't believe Jack screamed when the dolphin splashed him."
"I didn't scream," Jack said flatly. "I yelled in surprise. Huge difference."
Max laughed. "Yeah? Surprise sounded a lot like fear."
Leo leaned back, stretching his arms. "I vote we replace all Mondays with more ocean air."
As Alina stepped into the room, her eyes instinctively searched for Allen.
He was there—at his usual spot near the window, head slightly turned, eyes gazing outside. A faint wind teased the edge of his collar.
She looked at him for a second longer than necessary. And when he briefly glanced back—just a flash of recognition—her cheeks went warm.
She looked away and walked to her seat beside Grace, quietly settling in.
Just then, Zoe stepped in with a smirk. "You six are glowing like you saw heaven."
"Or maybe dolphins and jellyfish count now," Grace said with a grin.
Chloe and Hannah whispered to each other, watching them curiously. Ben slumped into his seat and groaned. "The torture resumes."
Moments later, the door opened and Mr. Harrison walked in, his steps slow but firm. He placed his attendance register on the desk and scanned the classroom.
"Good morning," he said, voice clear. "I hope you all had enough rest, because today marks the beginning of our final academic push."
The students sat straighter, some sighing, some fidgeting with pens.
The Synergy Squad exchanged small, knowing glances—still carrying the glow of their weekend together.
Mr. Harrison clasped his hands behind his back and began pacing slowly across the front of the class.
"As you all know, the final examinations are not just another formality. These will shape your records, your university applications, and for many of you—your future decisions."
His voice grew more serious.
"I've seen many of you improve. Some are still inconsistent. That won't be tolerated anymore. From today onward, we begin a strict and structured revision plan. Weekly assignments. Timed mock evaluations every Friday. You will be monitored not only for performance, but also for consistency, discipline, and stress management."
Groans echoed across the classroom, but he didn't pause.
"There will be no excuses. If you're tired, learn to manage your time. If you're distracted, learn to focus. If you're struggling—ask for help. There is no shame in effort."
For a moment, the classroom was silent. No one dared interrupt.
Then he paused, adjusted his glasses, and added with emphasis,
"And now… the more unexpected part."
Students leaned forward with puzzled expressions.
Mr. Harrison continued, "After much discussion with Mr. Thomas, the homeroom teacher of the Art division, we've decided to launch a collaborative support program between the Science and Art sections of this school."
The class blinked in confusion.
Grace whispered, "Did he just say Art?"
"You'll be working together," Mr. Harrison went on. "Science students will provide academic mentoring—specifically in mathematics, chemistry, and physics. In return, Art students, who are part of the school's Sports Club, will assist you in physical wellness and fitness sessions."
Whispers broke out at once.
"What?! With them?" Zoe gasped.
"They're allergic to rules!" Ben exclaimed.
"They're chaos," Jack muttered under his breath. "Especially Ethan."
Mr. Harrison raised a hand, commanding silence.
"Enough. I've heard all the objections—before you even said them. But I don't care if you think they're unorganized or too loud. You will work with them. You'll train under their guidance and teach them what they struggle with."
He paused, then added more quietly,
"This is about balance. Your minds are sharp, yes—but your bodies need strength and endurance. They are more physically active, but academically behind. Learn from each other."
Grace leaned toward Alina and whispered, "This is going to be a disaster."
Alina's eyes held curiosity rather than fear. "Maybe… or maybe it's what we need."
Allen, who hadn't spoken a word until now, finally murmured under his breath,
"This is going to be… interesting."
By afternoon, the school's backfield had turned into something straight out of boot camp. Mats were rolled out, cones were scattered like landmines, and Mr. Thomas—whistle-ready—stood like a battlefield general.
"This is Ethan," he said, loud and proud. "Captain of the Sports Club. You follow his lead today."
Ethan stepped up with that same cocky smile that made half the class groan. "Welcome, Science Squad. Don't worry, we'll take it slow... unless you're hopeless."
His crew—Mira, Kai, Ryan and James—shared a look that could only mean trouble. A smirk here. A giggle there. Something was brewing.
"Let the torture begin," Max mumbled.
The warm-up started smoothly. But then…
"Three extra rounds for the back row!" Mira shouted suddenly, eyes on Jack and Ben.
"I saw Leo skip a stretch," Ryan added, grinning. "Do it again."
"What?! I didn't even—" Leo began.
"Do it again!" Ethan barked like a drill sergeant.
Jack clenched his jaw. "This isn't training. This is bullying."
Ben hissed, "They're playing us."
Grace tried her best but stumbled mid-lap.
"You okay?" Alina asked, worried.
"No. I'm going to sue Ethan in my next life," Grace groaned.
Meanwhile, Allen, focused and quiet, continued every drill with crisp form. He helped Max adjust his stance. Gave Leo water without being asked. He didn't rise to their mockery. But he saw it.
Ethan walked by, just loud enough for Allen to hear, "Must be exhausting carrying the entire Science class on your shoulders."
Allen didn't flinch. "Better than dragging yours behind."
Ethan stopped, amused. "You've got jokes now?"
"Only when I see clowns," Allen replied coldly.
"Oh, is that so?" Ethan stepped closer. "Why don't you try leading instead of babysitting?"
"I lead by example," Allen shot back. "Something you might want to Google sometime."
Alina stepped between them, her voice firm. "Stop it. Both of you."
Grace grabbed Jack's sleeve. "We need to finish this without murder."
Though tension buzzed in the air, the session dragged on. Allen refused to engage again. Ethan threw challenges. The squad followed orders. But every lap felt like a silent war.
By the end, Grace collapsed on the grass. "He made me run laps for breathing too loud!"
Max wiped sweat from his forehead. "I'm not even sweating anymore. I'm just crying internally."
Ben muttered darkly, "They're gonna pay. Study session's ours."
Jack nodded, eyes glinting. "Time for revenge."
Alina glanced at Allen, who stood still, arms crossed, watching Ethan walk away with a victorious grin.
"Let's just say," Allen murmured, "payback will be... structured."
Desks were grouped. Notes stacked like shields. Calculators ready. Science class terrain.
Ben, Jack, Max, and Leo had already whispered their battle plan behind the library shelf. Grace and Alina helped prep challenging worksheets. Allen even brought out old test papers.
It was time.
Mira sat, looking lost before the first question was even asked.
"Okay," Max said, grinning, "Here's a Physics sheet. And don't worry—half the school failed this one."
Ryan blinked. "Wait, what is this... calculus?"
"No, it's sad," Jack replied.
Leo handed Kai a twisted algebra problem. "You liked cone drills, right? This is kind of like that. Just without answers."
Kai started. "Why are the letters multiplying?!"
Ethan raised a brow. "You all studied like your lives depended on it."
Allen stepped forward, placing a chemistry equation sheet in front of him. "They did. Now it's your turn."
Ethan scoffed, flipping the sheet over. "Looks like Greek."
"Not quite," Allen said smoothly. "Greek has more vowels."
Grace helped Mira with the periodic table, sweet but firm. "No, Na is not 'Nah'. It's Sodium."
Ben laughed out loud, earning a glare from Mr. Harrison, who was seated nearby, monitoring.
Alina sat beside Ethan, watching as he fumbled through a math problem.
"Want a hint?" she asked.
He sighed, leaning back. "No. I want a miracle."
She nudged the paper back to him. "Then work for it."
He chuckled. "You're intense when you switch to teacher mode."
"I learned from the best," she replied, glancing briefly at Allen.
Across the table, Allen, calm and unreadable, was now helping Kai again. His voice was gentle, focused. No sarcasm. Just structure.
"We're not here to destroy you," Allen told Kai. "We're here to pull you up. Whether you like it or not."
For a moment, the room settled.
Art class, though exhausted and frustrated, began trying. Not perfectly. Not joyfully. But trying.
And the Science Squad—burned out from sprints and side-eyes—found strange relief in guiding someone else.
At the end of the session, Mira muttered, "I still don't understand the question."
Ben smiled. "That's okay. You're not supposed to. Not yet."
As they packed up, Alina watched the room—the mess, the madness, the quiet conversations.
The classroom buzzed with quiet mutters and occasional groans as the Art class tried to wrap their heads around the assignments.
Mira leaned back in her chair, blowing her bangs away from her forehead.
"Why are there alphabets in math again?" she asked dramatically.
Max snorted. "That's just algebra. Welcome to pain."
Kai rolled his eyes, staring at the textbook like it was written in an alien language.
"I swear this page is gaslighting me."
At the back, Ryan sighed, tapping his pen.
"If I wanted this kind of torture, I'd have stayed home."
Meanwhile, Grace stood near the whiteboard, explaining a history concept with wild gestures and a candy wrapper as her "timeline."
"And then the treaty was signed — boom! Just like that."
Chloe giggled from the side. "This is the only time I'll remember a war ending with a candy wrapper."
Leo sat with a small group, coaching them through formulas in his own quirky way.
"Think of this like a pizza. The area is just how much cheese you're allowed to eat."
Ben scribbled furiously, correcting someone's graph.
"No, no, this curve is like my sleep schedule — falling fast."
At the center of the room, Alina was focused on helping James.
Despite his loud mouth earlier, he was now genuinely trying.
"Wait… so 'x' just moves across the equal sign?" he asked.
"Yes," Alina smiled patiently. "But remember, it changes sign when it moves."
James blinked. "Oh. That's… actually not terrible."
From the other table, Ethan leaned over, watching them.
He didn't say anything — just observed. Quietly.
Allen, seated a row behind, noticed that too.
But instead of speaking, he looked back down at the paper he was correcting.
"Alina," he said, without looking up. "Can you check their answer for the last question?"
She turned quickly. "Of course."
Their eyes met for just a second. Just a blink.
Ethan saw that, too.
By Tuesday, it was clear that the so-called "collaboration" between the Science and Art classes wasn't going to be peaceful.
Every day began with quiet tension — not because of pressure from the teachers, but because both sides had silently declared war in their own ways.
In the morning academic sessions, the Science students took their roles far too seriously.
Max loved assigning the longest math equations to Kai, pretending they were "just basic."
Leo created fake quizzes with trick questions that even Been found entertaining.
"Let's see if they can tell the difference between mass and mess," he'd whisper.
Jack became a silent commander, handing out science diagrams like battle plans, barely hiding his smirk when Ryan or Mira groaned in despair.
"Can't believe I have to understand mitochondria to pass gym," Ryan complained on Wednesday.
But the afternoons on the playground? That belonged to the Art class.
Ethan made them run laps — lots of them.
"Just five rounds today," he'd say, and then casually add, "each."
James and Kai made obstacle races harder on purpose, moving cones or tilting water bottles to spill just enough to cause slips.
Grace tripped twice before she finally yelled, "You people are doing this on purpose!"
"Call it tactical cardio," Mira laughed.
Even Alina, who tried to stay neutral, was not spared.
Ethan always called her out for demonstrations — balancing, stretching, jumping.
"You're the best at this," he said one day with a grin.
"But I'm tired," she replied.
"That's why we practice," he winked, already tossing her the skipping rope.
Allen, silent but sharp, matched every drill with precision.
He didn't speak unless it was necessary, but he always helped when things got too chaotic.
One afternoon, he caught a ball midair just before it hit Alina's back.
"You should pay more attention," he said, handing it back.
Alina blinked. "Thanks…"
Ethan rolled his eyes from across the field.
By the end of the week, the chaos had quieted—but not completely.
Something had shifted. Not everything. But enough.
Art and Science class students weren't best friends. But they weren't full enemies anymore either. There was a thin bridge forming between them—built not from forced cooperation, but from small moments. Shared laughs. Accidental teamwork. Quiet understanding.
Still, some things hadn't changed.
Jack and Ethan?
They still argued every time they crossed paths.
Whether it was a ball passed too hard on the field or a sarcastic comment in the middle of a math question, their rivalry had its own energy. Loud. Predictable. And constant.
"Next time you throw a pass like that," Jack muttered during drills, "try aiming away from my face."
"Next time you answer a question like a robot," Ethan replied, "try adding some personality."
Alina rolled her eyes. "You two are exhausting."
Allen, meanwhile, had stayed calm throughout the week. He completed every physical task with quiet strength, never showing off, never backing down.
Even when Ethan watched him with narrowed eyes.
"He acts like he's the school prefect of the world," Ethan whispered to Mira on Thursday.
But Allen had helped him anyway.
He explained formulas when Ethan got stuck. Corrected mistakes with a level voice. Never once mocking. Never once making it personal.
Ethan didn't thank him. But he didn't snap either.
That was something.
Friday afternoon arrived with the warmth of early summer light. The final group activity had just ended, and the students—exhausted from the entire week—collapsed around the schoolyard like the last soldiers of a gentle war.
Grace and Mira were arguing over who cheated in the group relay.
Max and Ryan were trying to balance juice boxes on their heads.
Leo and Kai had formed a dramatic Shakespearean "math debate," holding up answer sheets like royal scrolls.
Zoe was chasing Ben because he had accidentally eaten her extra sandwich.
And then…
Out of nowhere…
Jack tripped over a football and fell face-first into the flower bed near the courtyard stage.
The entire crowd went silent.
For one second.
And then—
The courtyard exploded in laughter.
Even Ethan, trying to hold a straight face, finally burst out laughing.
Jack, covered in petals, stood up like a warrior who had been defeated by daisies. "This is sabotage," he declared.
Alina was laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes.
Allen, still calm, handed Jack a tissue. "You missed a leaf."
Even Jack smiled a little as he brushed dirt from his shirt.
"Okay," he grumbled. "Maybe this week wasn't entirely a disaster."
That moment—silly, loud, messy—became the symbol of the week.
The final memory of a collaboration that began with tension and ended with tolerance.
Mr. Harrison and Mr. Thomas stood near the canteen steps, watching the scene unfold—the laughter, the flower-bed fall, the shared benches and mixed group studies.
"It worked," Mr. Thomas said, arms crossed, a satisfied look on his face.
Mr. Harrison nodded slowly. "More than we hoped."
Just then, the school's Principal approached them, holding a paper cup of tea and looking curiously over the courtyard.
"I was coming to check if I needed to separate a fight," the Principal said. "But I see I've walked into a miracle."
Mr. Thomas chuckled. "Not a miracle, sir. Just a lot of sweat, drama… and surprisingly, teamwork."
Mr. Harrison added, "They still argue. Jack and Ethan might never stop. But look at them."
The Principal scanned the grounds. Art class and Science class students were sitting side by side on the grass. Some were eating together. Others quizzed each other. Some just quietly watched the clouds.
"I've been in this school for over twenty years," the Principal said, voice softer now. "And I've never seen them like this. You both might've pulled off something unforgettable."
Mr. Harrison smiled. "They needed it. This is their last year. After exams, they'll all scatter—to different colleges, cities, even countries."
Mr. Thomas nodded. "They may never see each other again. But this? This week? It'll stay with them."
The Principal took a sip of his tea, then looked out again.
"Make sure someone writes this down," he said. "Stories like this… they deserve to be remembered."
Later at night At Harrison Household light in Mr. Harrison's study was still on. He sat alone at his desk, his hand resting over the corner of the J-Prize mock test results. Jack's name was printed in the third column. His performance—below average.
He didn't sigh. He didn't get angry. But his brows were furrowed, and there was a heaviness in the way he held himself. The kind of weight only a father could carry in silence.
He had always been a man of discipline—strict, structured, focused. But tonight, the disappointment wasn't from a teacher's lens. It was deeper. Quieter. He wasn't upset that Jack had performed poorly. He was upset that Jack didn't seem to understand how much it mattered.
A knock on the door broke the silence. His wife, Linda, stepped in with two mugs of warm tea.
"You're still working?" she asked gently.
He didn't respond. She set the cup down and sat across from him.
"I saw the results," she said softly.
He looked up, finally, his voice low. "Jack's not improving. His grades are dropping. And he's wasting his time playing games when he should be building his future."
Linda stirred her tea. "You're worried."
"Of course I'm worried. He has potential. But he doesn't care enough. Not about his studies, not about what comes after. I keep trying to talk to him, but it's like he shuts me out."
"He's not shutting you out," she said. "He's scared. He just doesn't know how to show it. And you being hard on him... it doesn't help."
Mr. Harrison looked away.
"You're his father," she continued. "And yes, you're his teacher too. But sometimes, he just needs to know that you're proud of him. Not because of a report card. But because he's your son."
His fingers tightened slightly around the cup, the warmth seeping into his hands.
"I do care," he said, quietly.
"I know you do," she replied. "But maybe it's time he knows it too."
The dorm room was unusually quiet.
Grace had switched off her desk lamp, leaving only the golden string lights glowing faintly across the wall. Alina sat on the edge of her bed, her phone still in her hand. The call with her mother had ended ten minutes ago, but the sting of her words lingered like the cold air outside the window.
Grace looked over from her pillow. "Was that your mom?"
Alina gave a small nod, setting her phone down on the blanket. "She saw my mock results."
Grace didn't ask what her mother had said. She could already see it in Alina's expression — the hurt, the guilt, the silent frustration building behind her eyes.
"She thinks I'm wasting my time," Alina said softly. "That writing articles, chasing journalism… it's not going to lead anywhere. She wants me to apply for finance. She wants me to go abroad. Follow a path she understands."
Grace sat up slowly, wrapping her blanket around her shoulders like a shield. "That sounds familiar."
Alina turned toward her.
"My dad said the same about fashion," Grace continued. "He told me after seeing my scores that I should stop 'dreaming with colors' and start thinking practically. That designing isn't a 'career.' Just a phase."
Alina sighed. "I don't get it. We're not hurting anyone. We're not skipping school or running wild. We're just… dreaming. That's not a crime."
"No," Grace said, her voice calm but strong. "It's not."
They sat together for a while, saying nothing, just letting the air between them settle.
Then Grace spoke again, a little softer this time. "Sometimes I look at Allen and wonder how he does it. He's so focused. So calm. It's like nothing shakes him."
Alina let out a quiet laugh. "He is like that, isn't he?"
"He probably doesn't even need to worry about university. Or what he wants to be. He just… knows."
"Yeah," Alina agreed. "He works hard. And somehow, he still finds time to be kind."
Grace smiled. "He's… kind of perfect."
Alina didn't say anything, but a small, thoughtful smile curved her lips.
Later that night, long after Grace had fallen asleep, Alina lay awake under her blanket. The silence felt too loud, her thoughts too heavy. Her chest felt tight — too full to lie still any longer.
She slipped out of bed quietly, picked up her phone, and wrapped her shawl over her arms. The hallway outside the dorm was dim and quiet. She stepped out onto the gallery, where a soft night breeze brushed against her skin.
She needed air.
She needed… someone who wouldn't make her feel small.
Her phone buzzed.
Allen: Still awake?
She stared at the screen for a second before dialing.
"Hey," she whispered when he picked up.
"Hi," he replied, just as softly. "I didn't think you'd call."
"I needed to."
A pause.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
Alina leaned against the wall, looking up at the starless sky. "I'm not sure. My mom was... harsh tonight. She said I should drop this journalism dream and apply for finance instead. That it's time to stop pretending."
Allen was quiet for a few seconds. Then he said, "I'm sorry. I know how much this means to you."
"It's the only thing that makes sense to me," she admitted. "Writing… it's not just a goal. It's part of who I am. But sometimes I wonder… What if she's right? What if it never works out?"
"She's not right," Allen said, firmly. "She doesn't see what I see. You're not just good at writing. You feel things. You care about truth, about people. That's rare. That matters."
There was a pause, one Alina didn't fill right away. She tilted her head slightly, her voice more curious now.
"You've been a little quiet lately," she said gently. "Even during the sessions. Is everything okay?"
"I'm fine," Allen replied too quickly.
"No, you're not," she said. "I can hear it in your voice."
There was a long silence.
Then Allen let out a slow breath. "My dad looked at my results today. He didn't say anything for a long time. Just asked if I'd heard about Nathaniel's scholarship."
Alina blinked. "Nathaniel?"
"My cousin," Allen answered. "The genius of the family. He's always been the one to win. Top scores, full scholarships, perfect grades. I work hard, but somehow, I'm always the one falling short. At least to my father."
Alina pressed the phone closer to her ear, her voice soft. "I never thought… I didn't know your dad could be like that."
"He doesn't yell or insult," Allen said, more quietly now. "He just compares. Like I'm not disappointing him — I'm just… not Nathaniel."
Alina's heart ached.
"Allen," she said gently, "you don't have to be him. You're not meant to be him."
She hesitated, then added, "You are Allen. You care. You help. You lead quietly. You listen without judgment. That's not something you can put on a report card."
There was a pause on his end, and then he said, "Thanks, Alina. I needed that."
She gave a small smile. "I meant it. You're perfect… just being you."
Allen didn't speak for a moment. When he did, his voice was softer than she'd ever heard it.
"I think that's the nicest thing anyone's said to me."
They didn't need to say much more after that. Words had already done their work. They stayed on the line a little longer, breathing the same night air, connected in silence.
Even far apart, they were with each other.
When Alina returned to her bed, Grace was still asleep, her face soft and calm.
Alina lay down, but her eyes remained open for a while. The ceiling fan hummed gently above, and the lights from outside flickered through the curtain.
She thought of everything — her mother's voice, Grace's dreams, Jack's struggle, Max's jokes, Leo's easy laughter, and Allen's quiet strength.
She thought of how far they had come.
How far she still had to go.
The final exams were approaching like a wave in the dark — powerful, inevitable, and looming. And beyond that, an even greater unknown: her future.
But for now… she wasn't afraid.
Her dreams weren't wrong.
Her path wasn't broken.
She was simply walking the unwritten.
And she was ready to keep walking.
To be Continued...…