Chapter 41 - The Written Licensure Exams

Today marked the most anticipated—or most dreaded, depending on your level of preparation—Saturday of the week. This wasn’t just any Saturday; it was the day when all support units, from first-year hopefuls to seasoned third-years, who had applied for the licensure exams would face their first hurdle: the written tests.

My room assignment set me apart from my friends, leaving me isolated among thirty unfamiliar faces. The examination room had an air of sterile tension, with desks neatly arranged in rows. My designated seat was at the front, tucked into the rightmost corner beside a pale, scuffed wall that seemed to lean in just slightly, adding to my sense of isolation.

To my left sat another examinee, a fellow support unit—evident because he was male. He was short and scrawny, with a mop of bowl-cut hair that looked like it hadn’t seen scissors in months. Round-framed glasses perched on his nose, magnifying his small, darting eyes. A perpetual smirk clung to his face, as if he were privy to some secret joke no one else could understand.

I set my trusty pencil down on the table, its tip freshly sharpened, the smooth wood glinting faintly under the overhead lights. My neighbor’s eyes flicked toward me, and without a word, he pulled out his own pencil—a sleek, metallic-looking instrument that screamed extravagance.

Not content to stop there, he unzipped his pencil case and proudly laid out an entire arsenal of pencils, each one polished to perfection and arranged by size and color like they were pieces in a collector’s showcase.

Not wanting to be caught unprepared, I reached for my eraser—a small, well-worn rectangle of white rubber marred with old stab wounds from pencils. It was a relic from my high school days, carrying sentimental weight far beyond its shabby appearance.

My neighbor glanced over, his smirk widening. With a theatrical flourish, he produced an eraser the size of his palm, sculpted to resemble a giant robot—no, a Frame Unit, if I remembered correctly. It had to be one of those limited-edition erasers kids scrambled to buy back in the day.

“Ha!” He chuckled, the sound smug and grating. “I’m so prepared for this written test, I’ll rizz my way straight to that license. Good luck keeping up.”

“Y-yeah, good luck to you too,” I replied with a forced smile, nodding politely before shaking my head ever so slightly. The absurdity of the moment made it hard to take him seriously, but at least it broke the monotony of pre-exam nerves.

My nerdy seatmate radiated the quintessential aura of a bookworm. His appearance and mannerisms mirrored the classmates I had back in high school—the type whose towering intellect was only rivaled by their sky-high pride. It wasn’t just his smug demeanor that got under my skin; it was the way his self-assured ego seemed to practically drip off him, pooling around his flared nostrils with every self-satisfied breath.

The tension in the room shifted as the proctor finally entered, carrying the weight of authority. “The test will begin in one minute,” they announced firmly. “You’ll each receive one sheet of scratch paper for your solutions in trigonometry and calculus. Answers must be shaded on the provided answer sheet.”

The proctor moved briskly, distributing the tools of our impending mental battle. Scratch paper, answer sheets, and finally, a sleek tablet—the key to unlocking the questions—were handed out one by one. The tablets remained dark and silent, like dormant sentinels waiting for the command to spring to life.

“The written test starts now,” the proctor declared.

As the words left their mouth, the tablets hummed to life, their screens flaring bright with the first barrage of questions. The quiet rustle of shifting paper and the faint clicking of styluses filled the room, an orchestra of exam tension.

Written examinations had always been my strong suit, a talent honed back in high school thanks to my special curriculum. This knack for academics was the one thing that kept me toe-to-toe with Myrrh, whose practical exam prowess left me in awe.

As my eyes scanned the first question, a familiar rhythm took over. My mind instantly grasped the answer, and my hand moved instinctively, shading the corresponding bubble on the sheet. It was as if my body had entered autopilot, leaving my thoughts free to focus on the next problem, and then the next.

The test questions became increasingly complex, diving into advanced calculus problems that demanded precision and creativity to solve. Mixed in were questions from Protocol 101, a subject we first-years hadn’t even touched yet. Despite the challenges, I wasn’t overly concerned for myself—this was my forte, after all. What worried me more was Myrrh. Could she handle the advanced calculus? Fei and I had spent hours tutoring her, and Myrrh’s quick grasp of concepts always impressed me. Still, this test was no joke.

My thoughts drifted to Neil and Remuel. We’d had three so-called study sessions in Neil’s room leading up to today, but they had devolved into snack binges every single time. Between stuffing our faces and telling jokes, we barely covered the material. I couldn’t help but wonder if they were managing to hold their own in their respective rooms—or if they were cracking under the pressure.

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“Huhuhu… Mommy…”

The soft sound of weeping broke my concentration. Turning to my left, I was met with a surprising sight: my nerdy seatmate, the one who had flaunted his pencil collection and exuded unshakable confidence, was now hunched over his tablet. His round glasses were fogged, tears streaming down his face, and the snot bubbling from his nose was… well, hard to ignore. The proud smirk he’d worn earlier had crumbled into a pitiful mask of despair.

So much for bragging about acing the exams.

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The written examinations dragged on until lunch, leaving a lingering sense of exhaustion in the air. My squad had agreed to regroup at the cafeteria, second floor, at the table facing the left window. As I climbed the stairs, I spotted them already seated. Neil and Remuel looked like they had seen a ghost—pale and worn as if the exams had drained the very life out of them.

Myrrh, on the other hand, was engrossed in flipping through her calculus notes, her lips slightly pursed in concentration. Fei sat beside her, hunched over her history textbook, frantically scanning the pages as if the answers might retroactively materialize.

And then there was Cindy. Unbothered, she leaned back in her chair, sipping a soda with the air of someone who had already resigned herself to whatever fate awaited her.

My mind was still buzzing from the test, every question I’d tackled replaying in my head like an echo I couldn’t shake. I slid into the seat beside Myrrh, feeling half-present but still sharp enough to catch her warm smile.

“Oh, hello, Zaft. How were the exams?” she asked, her tone casual yet curious.

“I don’t know for sure,” I admitted with a shrug. “I just went with my instincts and answered whatever came to mind first.”

“What was your answer to Question 157 in Advanced Calculus?” Myrrh pressed, her curiosity breaking through her calm exterior.

I paused to recall. “Was that the one with the multivariable functions? I think I answered B.”

Myrrh groaned, dropping her pen onto her notebook. “Ugh, I put A. That’s one more point down the drain.”

Fei leaned over, her expression a mix of urgency and hope. “Hey, Zaft, what about Question 24 in Cybermystic History? The one about the codecaster’s origin? What’d you pick?”

“Oh, that one?” I tapped my chin. “D. It happened in Michigan, right?”

Fei let out a dramatic wail, burying her face in her hands. “Nooo, I got it wrong! How about—”

Before she could fire off another question, I held up my hand like a traffic officer stopping a busy street. “Stop. What do you think I am, a walking answer key?”

“Well, kinda,” Myrrh teased with a playful grin. “You’re the smartest in the group. I mean, it makes sense considering your background in the special curriculum.”

Neil perked up at her words, his tired expression giving way to genuine surprise. “Wait… you mean Zaft is from the classroom of the elite?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but he kind of is,” Myrrh said, shooting me a sidelong glance. “You can always count on Zaft for book smarts, even though he looks like a hooligan.”

I furrowed my brow, grumbling, “I’ll ignore that last part and take it as a compliment, Myrrh.”

“Wow! So we were right to make you our tutor for the past three nights!” Remuel exclaimed, his usual enthusiasm bubbling up.

I sighed and leaned back in my chair. “I don’t think tutoring actually made a difference. Let’s be honest—those sessions were more about snacking than studying,” I muttered under my breath, earning a chuckle from Myrrh.

Suddenly, Cindy sat up straighter, her eyes glued to her phone. “Oh! The results are out now!”

“That was fast!” Fei gasped, her face lighting up with nervous excitement.

“I passed the exams! Woohoo!” Cindy practically shouted, pumping her fist in the air. The rest of us scrambled to unlock our smartphones and navigate to the licensure examination results website. The tension in the air thickened as we all began scrolling through the endless list of names.

“Have you seen my name? Have you seen my name?” Neil asked, his voice teetering between panic and hope.

“I found it! You passed!” Remuel announced with a grin.

“How about you, Remuel?” I asked, glancing up from my screen.

“I passed too!” Remuel declared, a triumphant edge to his voice. “Neil and I are in the bottom five, but hey, we still passed! Hooray!” He and Neil exchanged an enthusiastic high-five, their earlier pallor replaced by flushed relief.

My eyes shifted to Fei and Myrrh, who were seated across from me. Both wore matching bright smiles that spoke volumes before either of them said a word. The joy on their faces was contagious, and for a brief moment, all the stress from the exam felt like a distant memory.

"My name is here! I passed the exams!" Fei exclaimed, her voice overflowing with joy as she nearly jumped out of her seat.

“Hmph. It seems that advanced calculus requires only the most basic of skills,” Myrrh declared, flicking her hair with a self-satisfied smirk.

“How about you, Zaft? Did you pass?” Cindy asked, leaning forward with curious eyes.

“I… I don’t know,” I replied, my fingers feverishly scrolling through the list. The names weren’t in alphabetical order, making it an endless task to locate mine. To make matters worse, the search function wasn’t working. Every name that wasn’t mine added to the growing knot in my stomach.

“I don’t see your name, Zaft,” Neil said softly, his earlier excitement now dampened.

“Y-yeah,” Remuel chimed in, his expression filled with sympathy. “I’m sorry, brother.” He placed a hand on my shoulder, his touch heavy with unspoken condolences.

For a moment, time froze. My mind raced, replaying the exam questions I’d answered with such confidence. Had I truly failed? The sure answers I thought I had suddenly felt like a cruel illusion.

“You imbeciles,” Myrrh’s voice cut through the silence like a whip. “Are you all blind? Especially you, Zaft. Did you forget how your name is spelled?” She flicked her hair sassily, her tone dripping with mockery.

I snapped out of my daze and turned to her, irritation mixing with faint hope. “I know how my name is spelled, thank you very much. So, have you seen it?”

“Look at the top of the list,” she said, rolling her eyes as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Especially the topnotchers section.”

Her words hung in the air as we all hastily scrolled to the very top of the list. My heart pounded in my chest like a drum, each second stretching into eternity.

And then I saw it.

Top 1: Michelle Gehabich

Top 2: Aurelio Monsieur

Top 3: Emma Roids

Top 4: Zaft Callahan.

My breath caught as the letters of my name stared back at me, bold and unmistakable.