Steven woke before dawn, as he often did now.
The sky outside his wide bedroom windows was still a pale gray, the world quiet enough that even the distant hum of Chestervale felt muted. Mornings like this carried a strange purity—as if the day was holding its breath, waiting for someone to take the first step.
Steven reached for his phone.
His thumb moved through financial tickers, tech news, global shifts—a routine that no longer felt unusual for someone his age. He read about markets tilting, companies making bold leaps, leaders making foolish ones. It was a world he intended to enter fully, soon.
Then a headline cut through the stream like a shard of light:
"SAT Results Out."
Steven froze.
Not in anxiety, but in anticipation.
He tapped the link without hesitation. Page after page loaded. His heartbeat, usually steady as steel, raced ahead.
He trusted his answers. He trusted himself. And he trusted the system.But there is something uniquely electric about seeing the proof with your own eyes.
The results appeared.
Full marks.A perfect score.National Top Scorer: Steven Blake.
For a single breath, he did not move.
Then a laugh—an honest, incredulous one—escaped him.
He leaned back, staring at the screen like it was something faintly unreal.
He went back to the news feed.
Headlines were multiplying like wildfire:
"National Top Score — A hardworking student from Charlestown.""Local Teen Tops the Nation With Perfect Score!""Quiet Boy Works in Silence; Results Speak for Him."
Hardworking. Quiet. Studious.
Steven rubbed his forehead, amusement rising like a tide.
A week ago these exact same outlets were calling him:
#AstonMartinStudent #SATMillionaire #ShowoffKidWhoDoesn'tStudy
He shook his head slowly.
"The internet…" he murmured, smirking, "is a drama."
But he was happy. Genuinely happy.
Academic result and SAT score, didn't matter to him anymore — but it meant something to his parents, his school, even his younger self who once wondered if he would ever amount to anything. And deep inside, a flicker of pride lit up like a match struck in a dark room.
Steven padded downstairs, still barefoot.
His parents sat at the dining table, sipping morning tea. Sunlight finally began to spill across the floor, turning the tiled surface a warm honey-gold.
"Mom, Dad," Steven said casually, holding up his phone. "Results are out."
Both looked at him with mild interest—then the interest snapped into focus as he turned the screen toward them.
His mother blinked.
Then blinked again.
"…Steven…?" Her voice trembled.
"Perfect score," he confirmed lightly.
The disbelief melted.Joy flooded in.
Natalie covered her mouth with her hand, eyes welling. She reached for the phone as if she needed to touch the screen to believe it.
Morris took the phone next, squared his shoulders, tried to look stern, and failed. A quiet, dignified laugh escaped him—one of the rare ones Steven had always treasured.
"You did it, son," he said hoarsely.
Even they checked it again through another website. Then from a relative's forwarded screenshot. Then from a neighbor who ran over after seeing the headlines.
Every confirmation only made their smiles wider.
Steven had accomplished many things recently—business, innovation, leadership—but nothing, absolutely nothing, lit his parents' faces the way this simple academic achievement did.
It was grounding. Humbling. And Warm.
His phone buzzed again. "Veronica" flashed on the screen.
Her voice burst through, vibrant and alight."Steven! Congratulations! You did it—national top scorer! I knew it! And I got a wonderful score too but—you!—this is huge!"
Steven found himself grinning like an idiot.Her happiness made his feel twice as bright.
Then came Mira's call, full of cheerful screaming.Then Leon, already yelling before the speaker connected.Then teachers.Then the principal.Then relatives he hadn't heard from in years.
The house turned lively with ringing phones and congratulations.
His parents couldn't stop smiling.
Steven couldn't stop enjoying it.
Graduation Day
Sunny Heights High School had transformed.
Banners fluttered.Flowers lined the hallways.Parents filled the auditorium in crisp shirts and carefully chosen dresses.Students sparkled with nervous excitement.
When Steven walked in with his parents, he became a wave in the room—smiles, handshakes, congratulations moving toward him like sunlight shifting through a crowd.
"Congratulations!""You made your parents proud!""Outstanding work!""What a future ahead of you!"
His parents received equal admiration.
Mr. Collins—the principal—pulled Morris aside, shaking his hand firmly.
"You raised him well. Very well."
Steven watched his parents glow, and something warm and quiet settled in his chest.
Soon, the ceremony began.
Names were called.Applause rolled like a living pulse through the hall.
Then:
"Steven Blake—the national top scorer. Please come forward for the graduation address."
Steven stepped onto the stage.
Spotlights warmed his face.Hundreds of eyes watched him.But he felt no stiffness, no fear—only a strange clarity.
"Thank you," he began.
The hall softened, listening.
"Thank you to my parents—for the nights of cheap noodles when I stayed up, and for believing in me even when I didn't believe in myself."
His mother immediately wiped her tears.
"Thank you to my teachers—who kept checking on me even when I pretended not to hear them."
A chuckle rippled through the teachers' section.
"And thank you to my classmates. We went through this together. Whether you studied at midnight or forced yourself awake at 5 AM—trust me, I know how painful that is."
Laughter again.
Then he became serious.
"Tests measure what you know. They don't measure who you are.They don't measure courage.They don't measure ambition.And they don't measure the dreams that will take you far beyond this building."
Silence now. Deep and attentive.
"The plans you have tonight—the small ones, the silly ones, the brave ones—follow them. Give your best. That's the only thing that matters."
He stepped back.
And the applause rose like a storm—loud and long and full of emotion.
His parents looked as if the world had handed them the sun.
At some distance Arnold sat among the crowd with his dad Regulus White, clapping mechanically.
But in his mind replayed the harsh words from earlier:
"I thought you would be on that stage. Fifth. Even Leon Black outperformed you. Do you know how humiliating that is for our family? Veron Black must be laughing right now. His son is performing better than the Heir of White."
Arnold's stomach twisted.
Regulus White leaned closer, voice low and cold: "Arnold," he whispered, low and furious, "I've gone through hell to pull that spot at AIISA for you. Don't blow this chance. AIISA is a different world — heirs and titans meet there. You humiliated us enough already. One more mistake there and you won't just be embarrassed; you'll disappear from every circle I can open. Understand me — this is your last chance."
Arnold's jaw had tightened. He'd sat through the applause like a man wearing someone else's clothes; the warning was a cold tether he now carried into the coming weeks.
By dusk, the atmosphere had shifted from formality to celebration.
The Rosewood ballroom shimmered—warm lights, soft music, tables bursting with food, chilled drinks clinking gently.
Students clustered together, laughing, taking pictures, reminiscing.
Steven became the center of multiple circles of conversation:
"Congrats, man!""Thank you for arranging this!""We're going to remember this night forever!"
Plans spilled out like confetti:
"I'm thinking Stanford.""I got into MIT!""I want to study abroad in Japan.""I'm joining my dad's company next year.""I want to start a small business."
It was youthful, hopeful, and alive.
Steven sat with Veronica, Mira, and Leon—his closest circle now.
Veronica nudged him."So? What's your plan?"
Steven leaned back."I got invitations from Harvard, Stanford, MIT…"
Everyone nodded—they'd expected that.
"But the one I'm interested in is from the AURELIUS INSTITUTE OF INTEGRATED SCIENCES & ARTS."
Silence.Then—
"You WHAT?!" Mira nearly choked.
"AIISA? You! Who arranged your spot?" Leon sputtered.
Even nearby tables went quiet.
Steven blinked. "No one arranged anything for me. It was an invitation. Why is everyone reacting like that?"
Mira leaned forward, whispering harshly:
"Steven… AIISA is practically recommendation-only. They don't take regular geniuses. They take… heirs. Prodigies. People with colossal backing."
"I got in only because my mother is a faculty member there."
Veronica nodded."My grandfather recommended me. That's the only reason I'm going."
Leon raised his brows."When Mira said she was going, I begged my dad. It wasn't easy."
Steven processed this quietly.
He knew AIISA was prestigious. But he didn't know it was that exclusive.
For the first time all day, he felt genuinely surprised.
But it also made his determination firmer.
If he had been invited… Then the world was opening a rare door for him.
And he would not waste it.
Students came over to congratulate him, impressed and excited.
The celebration rolled on, glowing with joy.
As the night wound down, Steven turned to his friends casually.
"I'm leaving for Bali tomorrow morning. A short break before everything begins. You three—come with me."
Three pairs of eyes widened.
Then—
"Yes.""Absolutely.""We're in."
Their laughter blended into the final hours of the night.
Steven drove Veronica home, kissed her goodnight, and reminded her to pack her belongings.
Later, at his villa, Steven stood on the balcony.
The city stretched below him—lights simmering like fallen stars, streets unfolding in shining threads.
He lifted his glass of red wine, letting the breeze cool the warmth on his face.
A perfect score. Parents proud.A prestigious invitation to the world's top institute.
He exhaled softly.
This was only a beginning.
He had won a small victory today.But the long road—the real road—toward building an empire that reshaped the world…
That journey was just beginning.
For the first time in years, the future didn't feel like a dream.
It felt real.Like a map unfolding beneath his hands.
And he would be the one to draw every line.