Chapter4

Competition day. The school auditorium was packed to the brim, all five hundred seats occupied.

"The opposition has been desperately clinging to a so-called sociological framework, trying to manufacture excuses for the younger generation’s lack of psychological resilience. Yet, in the face of hard scientific evidence, their argument is incredibly feeble."

The microphone amplified Blair’s polished, elite cadence, broadcasting it to every corner of the massive hall. Standing at the Second Affirmative podium, she struck an elegant pose, shooting a look of condescending pity in my direction.

"Honorable judges, fellow students. When we discuss 'how to handle stress,' we cannot conveniently ignore the fundamental laws of neurophysiology. Some individuals are simply born with an exceptional threshold for pressure. Others possess highly sensitive neurotransmitters; when subjected to high-stress environments, they experience irreversible physiological shutdowns."

Blair extended a hand, her acrylic nails perfectly manicured, executing a flawless, practiced gesture to direct the audience's attention.

"I mean absolutely no offense, but I urge everyone to look at the Third Negative debater—Maya." A smug little smile played on Blair's lips. "Many of you in this room share classes with her. It’s an open secret that even in a completely stress-free baseline environment, like a routine morning roll call, Maya suffers from terrifying, seconds-long bouts of aphasia. In psychology, this is a textbook 'stress-induced breakdown.'"

A restless ripple washed through the dark sea of the audience. A few students clutching notebooks began whispering to each other. In the front row, a guy wearing a baseball cap shot me a weird, clinical look—the kind reserved for a medical anomaly.

"Honestly, I find the opposition’s strategy today profoundly cruel." Blair leaned her weight on both hands against the podium and offered a theatrical, soft sigh. "Just to prove your laughable sociological thesis, you forcefully dragged a student who suffers panic attacks from basic social interaction into this arena, under the glaring eyes of five hundred people. You tried to stuff her into a respectable blazer, disguising her as a debater capable of controlling the room. But let’s be real. The fragility born of genetics and biology cannot be disguised."

Blair stared dead into the judges' panel, dropping her final, damning conclusion:

"We cannot force a fragile specimen, barely surviving in a greenhouse, to validate the fury of a hurricane. To ruthlessly exploit the agony of a naturally weaker individual just to score points—to shove a body on the verge of physiological collapse onto this stage—is the ultimate insult to the very spirit of debate!"

"Objection!" Chloe slammed her hands on the table, leaning so far forward she was practically halfway across it. Her eyes were red with fury. "The affirmative is hiding behind academic jargon to launch a vicious, targeted personal attack!"

"Objection overruled. While the affirmative's example was pointed, it falls within the logical framework of arguing 'individual tolerance differences' and hasn't severely violated protocol." The head judge tapped his microphone, his tone dismissive. "Affirmative, please mind your boundaries. Negative, prepare your closing statement."

Blair took a profoundly satisfied step back. An incredibly arrogant smirk etched across her face as her eyes stayed dead-set on me like ice picks.

Suddenly, my heart started drumming against my ribs. Thump. Thump. Thump. The rhythm was completely shot. What was happening? I swallowed repeatedly, desperate to push down that familiar, suffocating lump in my throat. But it was useless. Cold sweat began oozing frantically from my palms. The drug was wearing off.

I snapped my head down to check my watch. Almost four hours had passed since I swallowed that pill in the hallway. Chloe had warned me—it was an unreleased drug. Nobody knew its metabolic half-life!

The edges of my vision started to blur. Across the stage, Blair’s triumphant face warped and stretched in my sight. Biting the inside of my lip, I kept my left hand pressed tight against my thigh, stealthily slipping it into the pocket of my blazer. I felt the cold glass of the vial. With a single push of my thumb, I silently flicked open the plastic cap. I cupped my palm and dug in frantically with my fingertips. Just one pill left.

"Maya," Chloe turned her head, keeping her voice in a harsh whisper. "Don't listen to her bullshit. Get your hands above the table. You're up. Just read your script."

I couldn't even make out what Chloe was saying. I quickly yanked my hand out, dipping my head as if coughing into my fist. With that motion, I dry-swallowed the pill, throwing its chalky, bitter dust straight to the back of my throat.

Kick in. Kick in right now. I prayed frantically in my head, but my hands wouldn't stop shaking. The stage kept rocking wildly under the suffocating glare of the spotlights.

Right then, my peripheral vision unavoidably swept over the panel directly in front of us. To the left, a third of the way down. The hardcover notebook sitting on the corner of the desk.

Sebastian.

He was sitting in the third judge’s chair. His deep blue, utterly temperatureless eyes were locked onto my face with terrifying precision.

My breath hitched sharply. He saw. Did he just catch me dipping my head to swallow that pill?

"The final three minutes of the open debate." The moderator’s voice clipped through the sound system. "Third Negative, Maya. You have the floor."

Five hundred pairs of eyes, along with the unblinking lenses of five different cameras, pressed down on me like a physical weight. You could hear a pin drop in the auditorium.

Everyone, including the guy in the front row whose cruel half-smile was still plastered there, was staring at me. They were all waiting. Waiting for my lips to quiver, waiting for me to be utterly incapable of uttering a single syllable—just like the countless days and nights before.

The drug wasn't kicking in. I ran out of time to wait for it.

I stared right back at the corners of Blair's mouth, twitching as she prepared to burst into triumphant laughter. I took a deep breath. I reached out with my violently trembling right hand, gripping the edge of my chair.

And shoved it violently back.