Pentagon Festival [1]

Lizy, with a smile that could light up an entire city, stood in front of the class, radiating the kind of pride only teachers understand. "Well done, everyone," she said, her voice sounding like music to tired ears.

Well done, huh? I thought to myself. There I was, spectacularly disqualified because my partner decided I made a better target than the enemies. Ironic, isn't it? But maybe, the applause is for the other poor souls who didn't have a Chloe to stab them in the back.

There we were, In the virtual reality lounge, a cozy corner full of beige beanbags that looked like floating clouds. Comfortably seated next to Chloe, I watched Lizy. She looked like a movie diva in her black dress, perfectly contrasting her hair and eyes of the same color, a true visual spectacle.

"I want to congratulate Sam for becoming the winner," Lizy continued, turning to look at Sam, who sported his usual serene expression. Sam, the unsung hero, probably saving kittens in his spare time.

"In addition to Sam, who clearly stood out, some of you also shone in this test," Lizy continued, with that smile that could either light up a room or herald a hurricane. I could already feel trouble brewing. After all, our dear teacher only sports that kind of smile when a crazy idea lights up in her mind, the kind that entertains her and tortures us, poor students.

Lizy cast that 'I know what I'm doing' look at some of us, including me. "Oh no," I murmured to myself, "don't look this way, Lizy. Don't drag me into your cauldron of insane ideas." But, of course, the universe seems to love ignoring my silent pleas.

"Over the years, participation in the Pentagon Festival has always been optional," she said, with a tone that mixed excitement and a hint of mischief. "But this year, oh, this year is special. After discussing with our esteemed director, he agreed it would be a great idea to make participation mandatory for some stars of this class." Her smile widened, and I knew that meant trouble. The kind of trouble that screams 'you-won't-be-able-to-escape-this', to be more precise.

Lizy, exuding enthusiasm, raised her arms as if about to announce something monumental. "Behold, I, the best teacher you'll have the privilege of knowing in this lifetime, will make the most crucial choice of your academic careers. I will personally select who will represent our beloved freshman class." She pointed at us with a finger that seemed more like a magic wand, dictating our future. "You will be the representatives of the new generation, the emerging stars who will show the veterans that even newcomers can be a headache!"

The room fell silent, a palpable tension in the air. Some, like me, were clearly apprehensive, hoping not to be chosen by our enthusiastic witch of pedagogy.

Regaining her usual composure, but with a smile still playing on her lips, Lizy informed us: "The chosen ones to represent our class will be announced tomorrow, during the grand meeting with the director and the entire school. Prepare yourselves, my dears, for it will be an event for all classes, including ours, the glorious A-1." With a light step and a laugh that sounded almost malevolent, she left, leaving us with a mix of anticipation and apprehension. "See you tomorrow, dear students!" And with those words, we were dismissed, each lost in their own thoughts about what tomorrow would bring.

After being released from that surprising revelation, everyone went their separate ways. I, on the other hand, had more relaxing plans in mind. While the other students rushed to train or study, I headed to a much more pleasant destination: the ice cream parlor. Yes, I know, judge me for being an ice cream enthusiast, but honestly, who isn't? I have a thing for all flavors, except chocolate. But, hey, if that's all there is, I'm not one to refuse. After all, one of life's fundamental rules is never to waste ice cream, right?

As I walked across the campus, I pondered the recent events. Chloe had disappeared as quickly as a ghost, and the rest of the gang - Sam, Ellie, Diana, and even Blake - had gone off to train. Ah, and about Blake, he didn't encounter Ellie in that virtual reality. He didn't even face Sam. That was a pretty interesting script change, considering what I had originally planned. Am I losing control of the narrative? No, certainly not. These were just some insignificant changes for the future.

I sighed, "Really, I don't think Professor Lizy will pick me for the festival. After all, on paper, I'm a Class G, kind of an extra in this show of powers. Sure, in practice, I'm a Class E – but that's my little secret." I looked up at the sky, which had turned gray, the dark clouds threatening to burst at any moment. "Looks like it's going to rain. And here I am, on my way to get ice cream... Who would've thought, huh?"

There was a hint of nostalgia in all this. Writing to the sound of rain always had a romantic feel to me. That comforting sensation of being at home, in my bat-cave, surrounded by my inseparable trio: the computer, the mug of coffee, and, of course, the bed, my faithful ally.

"Who knows, maybe all this is just a crazy dream? Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow morning, find out I've been in a coma, and that this whole adventure was just an escape of my creative mind. It would be the perfect plot twist for my story. But, until that happens, let's enjoy a break for ice cream, even under the threat of rain."

---

In the office filled with memories of a long career, where Alfred Hitchcock, the revered director of the Pentagon Academy, worked, an interesting scene was unfolding. On one side was Lizy, with her cunning smile, and on the other, a venerable-looking professor with hair and beard as black as the night, both seeming to be in a debate with the director. "The Pentagon Festival is not just a showcase of talents; it's a gateway to a new world. It brings together the big names – world-rank heroes, leaders of the largest guilds in the world, the media... A stage where a single moment can change everything. Now, based on all that, what do you have to say to me?" Hitchcock inquired, with the seriousness of someone who knows the weight of each word.

Lizy, with the confidence of someone who already had her cards up her sleeve, began: "Sam Solomons, Blake Nightshade..."

Without missing a beat, the black-bearded professor continued: "Yuki Sakamoto, Ellie Stormhold."

"Diana, Chloe Sunshine, and lastly, Dean Carleone." Lizy concluded. "These are the seven freshmen whom I, Lizy Joy, choose."

"And I, Doctor Fran, support and nominate." The man added.

"They are our choice to represent the first year." They said in unison, their voices merging into a joint determination.

---

The next day...

"Bip-bip-bip"

The morning's tranquility was shattered by the shrill sound of the alarm clock. "Ah, not you again," I grumbled, staring at the device as if it were my arch-enemy. With agility worthy of an Olympic athlete, I hurled the alarm clock out the window. "And another point for me!"

It was seven in the morning. Time for the meeting with the director, and, of course, an absolutely horrible time for announcements - especially when everyone seemed to have participated in an insomnia marathon.

In the grand hall, the meeting was already forming. Students yawned and stretched, dragging themselves to their seats. The air was heavy with the weight of collective sleepiness, a chorus of sighs and murmurs filling the room as we prepared to hear what the director had to say.

Seated in my usual spot at the back of the room, I had a strategic view of everyone. "Let's see what the human zoo has to offer today," I thought as I scanned for the main characters of the day. "Has Ellie stopped chasing Blake? Or have they finally decided to talk like civilized people? In this place, even the impossible becomes routine."

My gaze swept across the hall, eventually landing on Sam, Ellie, and Diana, a trio that stood out like an elephant in a china shop. They were the center of attention, thanks to the notorious dungeon event.

Blake, as usual, looked like an ice statue - unreachable and distant. Chloe, on the other hand, had disappeared, following her usual pattern. "All 'normal,' if one can call it that," I thought with a hint of sarcasm.

Looking forward, I noticed the teachers arriving. Among them, Lizy ascended the stage, and an inexplicable fear began to form in my stomach. "What's happening to me?" I reflected, surprised by my own reaction. "Am I really afraid of being chosen?"

It was ironic, but there I was, genuinely apprehensive about the possibility of being named as the freshman representative. After the dungeon incident, our class had become world-famous. Sam, Ellie, and Diana had been catapulted to the status of school celebrities - the center of attention, whether they liked it or not.

Now, the freshman representatives, thanks to this event, would be seen as the "best" or most "talented." This prospect brought unwanted attention from the entire world.

Imagine, then, me - a guy who tried to go unnoticed, to live as a mere extra - having my discreet life plan ruined by having to represent my class in a school festival. And to make matters worse, I would probably be the target of harsh criticism. After all, to them, I was just a Class G student, a nobody.

Suddenly, my stream of thoughts was interrupted by the grand door of the hall opening abruptly. All eyes turned to the imposing figure of the director entering the room.

The murmuring of the students dissipated almost instantly, replaced by a respectful and expectant silence. For a few moments, only the firm and decisive sound of his steps echoed through the hall.

"This guy definitely knows how to make an entrance..." I muttered to myself, impressed despite my reluctance.

The director, with a posture exuding authority, ascended the stage. He greeted the teachers with a brief nod, then turned to us, the students, with a serious expression.

"Good morning, students of the prestigious Pentagon Academy. Before we begin this conference, I would like to express my sincere condolences for the tragic events that occurred in the dungeon. The families of the deceased will receive all necessary support from our institution," the director began, his voice resonating with solemn weight.

He paused briefly, allowing his words to permeate the atmosphere, before continuing. "Now, I would like to inform you that our traditional festival will be moved up to this Saturday."

The director's last words were met with predictable excitement from the crowd of students. "Ah, the festival, of course," I thought. "The big chance to shine for aspiring heroes. But, of course, me? Participate? No way."

Let's put things into perspective. I'm a servant of the high court, which might sound like a minor role, but believe me, it's a plate full of complications and dangers. Think of a game of chess, but with real swords and fatal moves.

Now, the fun part: it's quite likely I'm here because of a mission. A mission that the high court is, undoubtedly, eagerly awaiting news on. The problem? Well, technically, the one in control of this body right now is me, not exactly Dean Carleone.

Confused? So am I. I guess we can call this 'technical difficulties'.

So, let's imagine the scenario: you, a noble of the court, send your loyal servant on a mission of utmost importance. Two months pass, and suddenly, you turn on the TV and there he is, having fun at a school festival, while your mission... well, that hasn't seen the light of day. "Great for the reputation," I'd say, with an ironic smile.

Suddenly, the director's voice cut through the air, interrupting my daydreams with his usual grandeur:

"The Pentagon Festival is more than an event; it's an opportunity. You all came to this institution with a dream, the dream of becoming grand heroes. This year, however, we decided to spice things up. As you are probably aware, we will have representatives from each year."

Blah, blah, blah... He was repeating what we all already knew, like a scratched record. "Maybe it's a good time for a strategic nap," I thought, fighting the urge to yawn scandalously.

The director, with his usual air of importance, interrupted my thoughts again: "Now, based on your achievements, we have chosen the following students to represent the first year..." There I was, reclining in my chair, with a smug smile on my face. "Zero chance it's me. I bet my Friday snack on it."

The hall was silent, but I was already halfway planning my next nap. The director began pulling names out like a magician with a hat: "Diana, Ellie Stormhold, Blake Nightshade, Yuki Sakamoto, Chloe Sunshine..." Each name was met with a nod from me, like a judge approving the contestants.

"Sam Solomons, and lastly..." I was almost rising from my chair, ready to make my triumphant exit. "Not me, of course. I'm practically a ghost in this place."

"Dean Carleone." My expression shifted from confident to a 'What?' look. I looked around, expecting to see another Dean stand up. "No, no, there must be some mistake. I'm the guy even mirrors struggle to see." All the students in the hall turned to me, and I shrugged, with a forced smile. "Well, this is going to be problematic."