"T-T-Twin sister… What is she… talking about? Wait… is she actually…?"
The words bounced around in my head, too fast, too loud. My chest felt tight, like the air had been sucked out of the room. Every time I tried to swallow, it hurt—like my throat was closing in on itself. I couldn’t think straight. Sweat clung to my skin, cold and sticky, making me shiver even though I felt like I was burning up.
I wanted to scream. To shout. To ask her what the hell she meant. But all that came out was a stuttering, pathetic attempt.
"Are you…?"
My voice cracked, barely audible. The second I met her eyes, the words froze in my throat.
Her eyes weren’t just filled with anger. They weren’t just sad. They were something else entirely—something impossible to describe. It was like Death itself was staring at me, pulling me apart with every second that passed. Her pain, her fury, her grief—it was all there, raw and unfiltered, and it hit me like a tidal wave.
And then I realized: she thought I’d done it. She thought I killed her sister.
My heart started pounding so hard it hurt, the sound echoing in my ears. I wanted to defend myself, to explain, to beg her to listen, but nothing came. I couldn’t find my voice.
And then, the worst thought hit me.
Am I really going to die like this? Accused of killing someone I swore to protect? Is this really it?
She took a step closer. Slow. Deliberate. Each step was a countdown to something I couldn’t stop. My legs felt like lead, my breaths shallow and rapid, my mind spiraling further into chaos.
And then— brrrrrring.
The sound shattered the moment like glass hitting the ground, sharp and jarring. My head snapped toward the table beside the bed, where an old, uncovered phone buzzed noisily.
For a second, neither of us moved. The phone kept ringing, sharp and loud, cutting through the silence. My eyes darted to the table beside the bed, where it buzzed and rattled against the wood.
Krishika looked at it too. She hesitated for a moment, then walked over to it. Her steps were slow, careful, like she was forcing herself to stay calm.
She picked it up, the vibrations stopping as soon as her hand closed around it. Turning it over, she stared at the screen. The faint glow lit up her face, but her expression was hard to read.
“Unknown number,” she said softly, almost like she wasn’t sure if I needed to hear it or if she was just saying it out loud for herself.
Her thumb hovered over the screen. For a second, she just stood there, holding the phone tight, like she wasn’t sure what to do. The speaker on the back hummed faintly, and then I heard it—a man’s voice.
It was deep and rough, like he might be in his 30s. “This boy… isn’t your culprit…”
The words were muffled, but I caught just enough to make my heart pound harder. My breath hitched, and I strained to hear more, but before I could make out anything else, Krishika turned on her heel and headed for the bathroom.
“Sorry,” she muttered under her breath, her voice cold and distant, as if the apology was meant for the air around her, not me.
The door clicked shut, leaving me alone with a head full of questions that only made the room feel smaller.
Who was he? And what did he mean by that?
What was in that letter?
And the most terrifying thought of all—were we being watched? Was someone out there, an unseen force tracking our every move?
What was happening here?
What was really going on?
The silence hung heavy in the room after Krishika locked herself in the bathroom. My mind was still racing, the man’s voice echoing in my head. This boy isn’t your culprit. What did that even mean? And why the hell did she walk off like that after everything?
I stayed frozen, staring at the door, trying to piece it all together, but it was like trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces. A few minutes passed, the muffled sound of water running barely registering in the background.
Then the door opened.
Krishika stepped out, her face calm and collected, but her eyes… They still carried that storm, like everything she felt was right there, bubbling just under the surface. She crossed her arms and gave me a look that could cut steel.
“If you don’t want us to be late for class, hurry up, have your breakfast, and let’s go. Today’s the first day, and I don’t want to look bad because of an idiot scaredy-cat like you.”
She didn’t stop there. Oh no. On and on she went, ranting about punctuality, appearances, and how my existence was apparently ruining her life.
Seriously? You just pointed a knife at me, accused me of murder, and made me think I was seconds away from dying. I was ready to piss my pants, DAMMIT! And all you said was “Sorry”? Now you’re lecturing me about being late to class? What kind of messed-up justice system is this?
Of course, I didn’t say any of that. After staring death in the face, my survival instincts kicked in. I just nodded like the world’s most obedient puppy, muttered something incoherent, and shuffled to the bathroom.
I brushed my teeth, shoved some breakfast into my mouth, and followed her out the door like a fool. First day of class? Great. Let’s add traumatized to the list of things I’m bringing to academy.
"You skipped your bath again, didn’t you?" Krishika asked, her tone dripping with mockery as we walked down the corridor.
“Four in the morning. December. You seriously think I’m jumping into ice water for fun?If I'd bath I'd die”I shot back.
"Well, I took a bath, and look—I’m alive, you moron," she said with a smirk, flipping her hair for dramatic effect.
"Yeah, well, witches don’t die," I muttered under my breath.
Her steps faltered ever so slightly, the smirk fading from her face. For a moment, I thought I’d scored a point, but then I noticed her expression. It wasn’t anger—it was something heavier, something that made my stomach twist.
"Sorry, I didn’t mean—" I started, my voice faltering as I realized my joke might’ve hit a nerve.
"So, how did you know my sister?" she asked, her tone quiet but sharp, like the question carried more weight than it seemed.
I hesitated. The lightheartedness of our banter evaporated in an instant. Finally, I answered, "Long story short? She was my best friend’s best friend. That’s how we became best friends, actually." My voice cracked, and I blinked back tears that threatened to spill over.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Krishika’s expression softened, but her eyes carried a different kind of pain now. "He told me everything. The man who called…"
My steps faltered. I froze mid-stride, the words sending a jolt through me. "What did he tell you?" I asked, though a part of me already dreaded the answer.
"How my sister died… what it had to do with you… and about that boy, Ayan," she said, her voice trembling. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she continued, "He told me how brutally they died right in front of your eyes. It must’ve been hard."
Her words hit me like a sledgehammer. Each one dug deeper, the weight of them pulling me under. My chest tightened, and my thoughts spiraled into a dark, endless void. Who was this man? How did he know all of this?
My jaw hung open, but no words came. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. It was like I’d been turned to stone.
Krishika, lost in her own thoughts, kept walking. It wasn’t until she noticed I wasn’t with her that she turned around and called my name.
Her voice cut through the fog in my mind, sharp and grounding. I blinked, startled, her call pulling me back like a jolt of cold water to the face.
I glanced at her, expecting another sharp remark, but she simply turned and kept walking. My feet followed on autopilot, the echoes of her voice still rattling around my head.
When we reached the classroom, the stark simplicity of it almost felt jarring—a sharp contrast to the tension that had gripped me moments ago. The room was nothing special, just the basics: a blackboard at the front, a teacher’s desk, and a worn wooden cupboard tucked in the corner. Rows of paired desks stretched across the room, sturdy but uninviting.
Small placards etched with names dictated where we’d sit. My spot was near the window—fourth from the front and third from the back. The room was divided into strict rows: boys on the left, girls on the right. The setup felt both calculated and strangely old-fashioned, like two minds with vastly different priorities had created the rules.
Krishika had been assigned a seat at the very back corner. She didn’t seem to mind, already flipping through one of the academy-provided textbooks with the same focus she’d had earlier. Meanwhile, I sank into my chair, my mind still juggling the tension from our earlier conversation.
The classroom buzzed with energy as students trickled in, the hum of murmured introductions filling the space. My seatmate was a boy named Shura, his bright orange hair immediately catching my attention. It wasn’t just the color—he carried himself with a certain swagger that seemed too effortless to be rehearsed.
“Yo, Vyom. You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Shura said with a lazy grin, leaning back like he owned the place.
“Hi,” I replied, glancing at the manga clutched in his hands.
As more students filed in, the chatter built to a low rumble. Shura alternated between flipping through his manga and cracking jokes with the boys in the row ahead, his charisma already drawing attention. I could see why some might find him charming, but to me, he seemed more like the class clown gearing up for his big debut.
By 4:30 a.m., the room went still as a tall woman stepped inside. Dressed in sharp black and grey, her hair pulled into a neat ponytail, she exuded authority. Without so much as a greeting, she strode to the desk, set down a stack of books, and opened a thick register.
“I’m Matsumoto Yuki, your instructor,” she said, her voice cutting through the quiet. “Let’s begin. Roll call first.”
She called out names with brisk efficiency, marking attendance as the classroom fell into a disciplined hush. When she finished, she set the register aside and addressed us directly.
“You’ll introduce yourselves. State your name, key skills, and motivation for joining this academy.”
The first few introductions were forgettable—generic names and vague ambitions that barely made an impression. But as the line moved forward, a few stood out.
John: Offensive Security. Sabotaged a nuclear facility with a virus rivaling Stuxnet.
Nick: Malware Development. Creator of MalHouse, one of the most infamous malware networks.
Shura: Social Engineering. Spent two months impersonating a high-ranking official to manipulate a police department.
Krishika: OSINT. Tracked down over 100 kidnapped children, succeeding where law enforcement had failed.
Their achievements weren’t just impressive—they were intimidating. The stark contrast between them and the rest of the class was enough to send a ripple of unease through the room.
Just as the introductions began to lull, Matsumoto Yuki spoke again, her words cutting through the tension like a blade.
“Congratulations,” she said, her tone calm but weighty. “By the end of this course, most of you will rise to unprecedented heights—or leave here in ruins.”
Her statement hung in the air, heavy and unrelenting. It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.
For a moment, the room felt suffocating, the quiet amplifying the weight of her words. This academy wasn’t just a place to learn. It was a proving ground, and the stakes couldn’t have been higher.
Then came the announcement.
“There are 30 students present in the class, correct?” Matsumoto Yuki’s voice rang out, sharp and deliberate. “You will be divided into six teams of four. Your task: to destroy the other teams. This exercise will begin today, Monday, and continue until next Monday. By the end of the week, only two teams will remain standing. Only the eight students from those teams will be allowed to continue taking classes at this academy.”
The room erupted into gasps and murmurs. A collective shock swept through the students like a wave. No one had been expecting something so intense, let alone on the first day.
But me? I could barely contain my excitement. My heart raced—not from fear, but from exhilaration. A grin spread across my face before I could stop it, and to my surprise, I noticed my seatmate, Shura, wearing a similar expression. Maybe this guy and I weren’t so different after all.
“I have a doubt, Miss,” a student said, breaking the tension. He raised his hand hesitantly.
“Yes?” Miss Yuki replied, her tone even and patient.
“If there are 30 of us, and we’re divided into teams of four, that leaves six students unaccounted for. What happens to them?”
Miss Yuki’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. “Sharp question. Those six are Double Agents. They’re not tied to any team. Think spies—they can jump between teams, mess things up, steal info, or play both sides. By the end of the week, their survival depends on whose side they’re really on.”
“Any more doubts?” Miss Yuki asked, her sharp gaze scanning the room.
No one said a word. The weight of her announcement still hung heavy in the air.
“Good,” she said, her voice clipped and efficient. “Let us proceed with dividing the teams.”
She opened the register in her hands, flipping through the pages until she found the names she wanted.
“Team 1,” she began, listing off the names with precision.
The room buzzed softly as students exchanged glances and sized each other up, but I stayed quiet, waiting for my name to be called. I didn’t care much about who was on the other teams. All that mattered was mine.
“Team 4,” Miss Yuki continued. “Vyom, Krishika, Shura, and Bianca Ferrari.”
I instinctively glanced around, curious about the last name. It didn’t take long to spot her—a petite girl with short blond hair sitting near the back of the room. She looked like she wanted to disappear into her chair. Her wide blue eyes darted nervously around the room, avoiding direct eye contact with anyone.
When she realized everyone was looking at her, her face flushed bright red. She shrank a little further into herself, clutching the edges of her desk as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded.
“Bianca, huh?” Shura whispered to me, a bemused expression on his face. “She looks like she’d faint if you said boo.”
I shot him a warning glance. “Don’t.”
“Uh… hi,” Bianca mumbled, her voice barely audible. She gave a small, shaky wave before looking away, her face turning beet red under Krishika’s glare.
This was our team? I glanced at Krishika, who looked unimpressed as always, and at Shura, who was now grinning like he’d just found his new favorite target. This was going to be… interesting.
As the teams settled into their assigned groups, a thought crossed my mind. Glancing around, it became clear—most of the students here didn’t have family names. It wasn’t just me. Even in my own team, Bianca was the only one who carried one. The thought gnawed at me. Why was that? Was it a coincidence—or something more deliberate?
Before I could dwell on it further, Miss Yuki’s voice pulled me back to the present.
“So, if everyone is assigned to a team and those chosen as double agents are clear on their roles, let’s move on,” she said, her tone sharp and commanding. “We need to discuss how this exercise will work, how you’ll fight, and the rules you’ll follow.”
The room went silent, every pair of eyes fixed on her as she laid out the details.
“As stated, this will be a seven-day exercise, running from 4 a.m. to 10 p.m. daily. No activity is permitted outside these hours. Each team will be assigned a computer lab equipped with five computer systems and one quantum computer system. That quantum computer will be central to your task—it will be named after the leader your team selects. Its name will remain hidden from the other teams.”
Her gaze swept over the room, her words growing heavier.
“Your objective is simple: breach into another team’s quantum computer, retrieve the key(encrypted value) stored within it, and submit it to the portal running on the fifth computer system in your lab. The first two teams to successfully complete this task will move forward. However, there’s one condition.”
She paused, letting the weight of her next words sink in.
“Your team will only be registered if you name your quantum computer after your chosen leader. This must be done by today, 10 p.m. sharp. Failure to do so will result in your immediate elimination from the academy.”