For half a second the hall remained completely silent.

  Then it exploded.

  Shouts erupted from every corner.

  Some students leaped onto chairs. Others slammed their fists on tables. The tension that had choked the room for weeks burst apart all at once.

  “We did it!”

  “He’s gone!”

  “Freedom!”

  Laughter rolled across the hall like thunder.

  A boy jumped onto a table and began dancing wildly, his arms thrown into the air. A girl grabbed two bottles of soft drink and popped them open, spraying foam across the room while people cheered.

  Newton blinked, stunned by the sudden shift.

  Moments ago they had been seconds away from bloodshed.

  Now the place looked like a celebration.

  Samuel slapped Newton on the back so hard his teeth clicked together.

  “Did you see his face?” Samuel laughed, bending over with his hands on his knees. “I swear he looked like someone had stolen his soul.”

  Brandom grabbed two trays of food from a nearby counter and shoved one toward Newton.

  “Eat!” he said. “Today we celebrate.”

  Newton stared at the tray.

  Rice.

  Meat.

  A bottle of soda.

  For a moment he simply looked at it, almost suspicious that someone would snatch it away.

  Then he laughed softly and sat down.

  Around them students bought more food than usual. Coins clinked against the machines as drinks and snacks poured out. Groups gathered around tables, talking loudly, replaying the confrontation over and over again.

  Some imitated Maxwell’s furious expression.

  Others repeated Stella’s speech with exaggerated drama.

  At one corner of the hall, a group of girls danced in a circle, their laughter echoing off the walls.

  Stella herself remained standing for a while, surrounded by students who kept thanking her.

  Newton watched her from across the room.

  She smiled.

  But her eyes were not relaxed.

  They kept drifting toward the door.

  As if expecting Maxwell to burst back in at any moment.

  The celebration continued for hours.

  But Maxwell never returned.

  That day, the whole level one remained strangely quiet.

  No one saw Maxwell.

  No one saw his followers either.

  It was as if they had disappeared into the walls of the academy.

  Even during training hours, their usual presence was absent.

  Some students felt relieved.

  Others felt uneasy.

  Because predators that vanished often returned sharper.

  By evening, the noise of the celebration had faded. Students drifted back toward their rooms, exhausted from the emotional storm of the day.

  Newton lay on his bed staring at the ceiling.

  Samuel and Brandom were arguing about whether Maxwell would dare challenge Stella again.

  “I’m telling you,” Samuel said, waving his hands, “he won’t. Not after that humiliation.”

  Brandom shook his head.

  “You don’t know people like him. That kind of pride doesn’t die quietly.”

  Newton did not join the conversation.

  He was staring at the faint glow of the invisible interface that floated before his eyes.

  Then, a soft chime rang in the room.

  The blue screen appeared.

  SYSTEM NOTIFICATION.

  The three boys sat upright instantly.

  TASK: WALL CLIMBING.

  TIME ALLOWED: ONE HOUR TO GET TO THE ROOF AND RETURN.

  REWARD: TWO CPD POINT.

  YOUR TIME STARTS NOW.

  “CPD Points!” Newton gasped.

  His heart kicked hard against his ribs.

  To him that was not just a reward.

  It was progress.

  He needed at least fifteen CPD points in order to proceed to level two.

  Two points meant everything.

  “Move!” he shouted.

  He jumped from the bed and sprinted out the door.

  Samuel and Brandom raced behind him.

  Footsteps thundered along the corridor as dozens of other students burst from their rooms at the same time.

  Within two minutes Newton and his friends reached the great outer wall of the academy.

  It towered above them.

  Smooth.

  Cold.

  Almost vertical.

  Other students were already gathering there.

  Beside the wall lay several pairs of strange tools.

  Ninja hands.

  Metal grips with sharp edges and suction pads.

  Students rushed forward, grabbing them.

  Newton picked up a pair.

  They were lighter than he expected.

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  He slid his hands inside the grips.

  They fit perfectly.

  As if the tools had been molded for him alone.

  He turned toward the wall.

  The blue screen flickered again in front of his eyes.

  TIME REMAINING: FIFTY TWO MINUTES, FORTY SECONDS.

  Desperation surged into his chest.

  “Shit,” he muttered. “I’m running out of time.”

  He pressed both hands against the wall.

  The moment the metal touched the surface it stuck firmly.

  Newton blinked.

  “That’s…”

  He pulled lightly.

  The grip held.

  Encouraged, he planted his foot against the wall and pulled his body upward.

  Above him dozens of students were already climbing.

  Some moved quickly.

  Some struggled.

  Among them one figure climbed with terrifying confidence.

  Maxwell.

  Newton’s jaw tightened.

  Maxwell moved as if gravity meant nothing. One hand lifted, pressed, then the other. Smooth. Controlled. His body barely swayed.

  Newton tried to follow.

  He lifted his right hand higher and shifted his weight.

  For a few seconds it worked.

  Then his foot slipped.

  His grip faltered.

  His body dropped.

  He hit the ground hard.

  The impact shot pain through his bones.

  “Aaaahhhhhhaaaa!”

  His scream echoed across the courtyard.

  For a moment he lay there gasping.

  Then the blue screen flickered again.

  TIME REMAINING: FORTY EIGHT MINUTES.

  Newton forced himself up immediately.

  Pain screamed through his ribs and shoulders.

  There was no time to check.

  No time to massage the aching bones.

  He grabbed the wall again.

  His hands stuck.

  He began climbing.

  Above him Maxwell was already close to the top.

  Newton stared at him carefully.

  Watching.

  Studying.

  Maxwell moved one hand at a time.

  Slow.

  Precise.

  Never rushing.

  Newton copied him.

  One hand.

  Pause.

  Then the other.

  It felt painfully slow.

  But the wall no longer felt impossible.

  Around him chaos unfolded.

  A girl to his left lost her grip and fell with a cry.

  A boy above him slipped and crashed onto the ground below.

  Some stood up again and began climbing.

  Others lay on the ground clutching broken limbs.

  Newton forced himself not to look.

  His focus narrowed to two things.

  The wall.

  And his hands.

  Right hand.

  Pause.

  Left hand.

  Pause.

  He kept climbing.

  Minutes passed.

  His arms burned.

  His fingers trembled inside the grips.

  But slowly the top of the wall grew closer.

  Wind brushed his face.

  He could almost see the roof.

  A grin stretched across his face.

  “And here comes the end,” he whispered.

  He reached upward with his left hand.

  Just one more movement.

  Then, his grip slipped.

  His body jerked backward.

  The wall vanished beneath him.

  He was falling.

  Air rushed past his ears.

  Instinct exploded inside him.

  His right hand shot out blindly.

  The metal grip scraped against the wall, sparks bursting as it slid downward.

  Then, it caught the wall once again. Newton slammed against the wall, hanging there.

  His chest heaved violently.

  Below him the ground looked terrifyingly far away.

  “Thank God,” he whispered hoarsely.

  If he had fallen…

  He did not finish the thought.

  Slowly he pulled himself upward again.

  One hand.

  Then the other.

  Two minutes later he finally dragged himself onto the roof.

  Newton collapsed onto the surface, breathing like a man who had run through fire.

  Then curiosity pulled him toward the edge.

  He looked down.

  The height made his stomach twist.

  Far below students were still climbing.

  Some had reached the top and were already descending.

  But many lost their grip halfway down and plummeted.

  Newton frowned.

  “That’s strange…”

  He leaned closer.

  Then he noticed something.

  Maxwell.

  He was already climbing down.

  But he wasn’t facing downward.

  His body faced the wall.

  His head tilted upward.

  His hands lowered carefully one after another while his feet searched for support beneath him.

  Newton nodded slowly.

  “That’s the way down.”

  He moved to the edge and began descending.

  One hand.

  Then the other.

  Slowly.

  His muscles screamed in protest.

  But he kept going.

  Step after step.

  Movement after movement.

  The ground slowly rose toward him.

  And soon his feet touched the floor again.

  Newton released the grips and staggered backward, breathing heavily.

  He glanced at the blue screen.

  TIME REMAINING: ONE MINUTE, FORTY TWO SECONDS.

  Newton stood still for a moment, breathing hard.

  His arms were still trembling from the climb. Sweat rolled down the side of his face and dropped onto the stone floor. Around him the courtyard had turned into a scene of chaos.

  Students screamed.

  Some lay on the ground clutching broken limbs. Others rolled on the floor groaning in pain. A boy nearby tried to stand but collapsed again immediately, his leg twisted at an unnatural angle.

  Newton swallowed.

  The sound of metal footsteps approached.

  Robots moved in and out of the courtyard with cold efficiency. Their silver bodies reflected the evening light as they lifted injured students onto stretchers.

  One robot passed directly in front of Newton.

  On the stretcher lay Andy.

  Newton’s eyes widened.

  Andy’s face was pale. His body shook violently as he screamed, his voice cracking with pain.

  “My leg! My leg!”

  One of the robots held his broken limb steady while the other pushed the stretcher toward the clinic doors.

  Newton felt a knot tighten in his chest.

  “My friends,” he thought.

  His eyes began searching the courtyard frantically.

  He scanned the floor first.

  Then the walls.

  Students were still climbing down, some carefully, others desperately trying to reach the ground before the timer ended.

  Newton spotted Stella first.

  She was halfway down the wall.

  Her movements were careful, almost mechanical. One hand lowered slowly, gripping the surface. Then the other followed.

  Her face was tight with concentration.

  A few meters away Samuel was descending as well, though less gracefully. His elbow scraped against the wall as he moved.

  Newton stepped closer to the wall.

  “Come on,” he whispered under his breath.

  Stella dropped the final few feet and landed on the ground with a soft thud.

  Almost at the same moment Samuel fell the last distance beside her, stumbling slightly as his feet touched the floor.

  They both immediately looked at their blue screens.

  Stella’s eyes widened.

  TIME REMAINING: FIVE SECONDS.

  For half a second she stared at the number.

  Then she jumped.

  Her hands shot into the air.

  “Yes!”

  Her shout rang across the courtyard.

  Newton ran toward her without thinking.

  He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her into a quick hug.

  “We did it,” he said, breathless.

  Stella laughed, still panting from the climb.

  “Yeah.”

  Samuel limped over toward them, rubbing his elbow.

  The skin around it had turned red and swollen, but he was grinning widely.

  “At some point,” Samuel said, pointing at Newton, “I had to copy you.”

  Newton blinked.

  Samuel shook his head in amazement.

  “You are a genius man.”

  Newton opened his mouth to respond but Stella spoke first.

  “Same here,” she said.

  She brushed some dust off her hands and looked at Newton with sharp curiosity.

  “I knew you were going to solve it,” she continued. “So I just looked up to you and copied your move.”

  Newton smiled.

  But he said nothing.

  He did not tell them the truth.

  He did not tell them he had copied the technique from Maxwell.

  The self-acclaimed king.

  The irony made his smile twitch slightly.

  Before anyone could say more, the blue screen flashed again.

  SYSTEM NOTIFICATION.

  All three of them looked up immediately.

  TASK COMPLETED.

  YOU HAVE RECEIVED TWO CPD POINT.

  TOTAL CPD: THREE.

  Newton exhaled slowly.

  Three.

  The number glowed faintly in front of him.

  He knew exactly what it meant.

  He needed fifteen CPD points to proceed to level two.

  Three down.

  Thirteen more to go.

  The realization settled into his mind like a quiet fire.

  “I’ll get there,” he murmured under his breath.

  Around them the courtyard continued buzzing with activity. Robots carried more injured students away. Some survivors sat on the ground catching their breath, staring at their screens with exhausted relief.

  Night gradually spread across the academy.

  Eventually Newton, Stella, and Samuel began walking back toward the dormitory.

  Their steps were slower now.

  The adrenaline had faded.

  Fatigue settled into their bones.

  By the time they reached the hallway leading to their rooms, the academy had grown strangely quiet.

  Most students were already inside.

  Newton opened the door to his room.

  Samuel and Brandom followed him in.

  They barely spoke.

  The day had drained them.

  Meanwhile, in another room down the corridor, Brian sat on the edge of his bed.

  His elbows rested on his knees.

  Theo stood near the window staring out into the darkness.

  Neither of them had spoken for several minutes.

  Both had failed the wall climb.

  Neither had reached the roof.

  Neither had earned the CPD points.

  Yet that failure was not what weighed on their minds.

  Brian finally broke the silence.

  “Are you still going to remain loyal to him?”

  Theo turned slowly.

  He didn’t need to ask who Brian meant.

  “Maxwell,” Theo said quietly.

  Brian rubbed his chin, thinking.

  “If he regains control,” Brian replied slowly, “why not?”

  He leaned back against the wall.

  “But if he doesn’t…” he continued.

  Brian shrugged.

  “Why should I remain loyal to him?”

  Theo’s eyebrows furrowed.

  His gaze sharpened.

  “Why can’t we support Stella and the rest of the students we came with?”

  Brian lifted his head and sat up straighter.

  His expression hardened.

  “Use your head,” he said calmly. “Not your heart.”

  Theo remained silent.

  Brian leaned forward slightly.

  “Stella wants freedom for all.”

  His fingers tapped lightly against his knee.

  “And freedom means equality.”

  Theo frowned.

  “And when there is equality,” Brian continued slowly, “there is no king.”

  He paused.

  “No king means no hierarchy.”

  His eyes locked onto Theo’s.

  “And no hierarchy means no respect.”

  The words hung heavily in the room.

  Brian held his gaze.

  “And you know something else.”

  He leaned even closer.

  “You and I are not built for that kind of world.”

  Theo stared at him for several seconds.

  Then he nodded slowly.

  The logic was uncomfortable.

  But he understood it.

  Outside their room the academy slowly drifted into sleep.

  Lights dimmed across the corridors.

  Doors closed one after another.

  Exhausted students collapsed onto their beds.

  But not everyone slept.

  Inside his room Maxwell sat alone.

  His back rested against the wall.

  His eyes remained open.

  The faint blue glow of the system screen reflected in them.

  Hours passed.

  He never moved.

  His mind replayed the scene from the restaurant again and again.

  Stella standing before him.

  Students leaving his side.

  The shock on their faces.

  The humiliation.

  His jaw tightened.

  His fingers curled slowly into fists.

  “That girl…” he muttered quietly.

  “She is a pain in my ass.”

  The words came out cold.

  He leaned forward slightly.

  The darkness around him seemed to thicken.

  “I need to kill her.”

  His eyes hardened.

  “That way,” he whispered, almost to himself, “others will fear.”

  A slow smile crept across his face.

  “And bend their knees.”