"I... I thought I saw something," Mark mumbled. His voice was weak. It cracked slightly on the last word.
"Saw what?" Arnold demanded, stepping away from Joshua.
"Up there," Mark said, keeping his gaze glued to the dirt. "Through the trees. I thought I saw a flash of silver. Like the metal signposts the teachers placed near the main trail. But I'm probably wrong. My eyes are just blurry."
It was a complete fabrication. There was no signpost. There was only rock and dirt.
Joshua narrowed his eyes and squinted up at the darkening ridge. The shadows were thick. It was physically impossible to verify the claim from the bottom of the ravine.
Mark waited and watched Joshua's jaw clench.
Take the bait, Mark thought. You want to be the hero. You want to save the girls and erase your mistake. Take it.
"You're blind," Joshua scoffed but he didn't look away from the ridge. "But if the main trail cuts across the top of that hill, we can intercept the teachers. I knew we weren't far off."
Joshua turned back to the group and clapped his hands together loudly.
"Get up!" Joshua ordered while pointing up the steep incline. "We're climbing that ridge. The main path is right over the top. Follow me!"
Merry wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve and picked up her bag. The other students grumbled, complaining about their tired legs, but they fell into line behind Joshua.
The loud, confident leader had given them a direction. They obeyed without questions.
They scrambled up the dirt path. They grabbed exposed roots and loose rocks to pull themselves higher.
Mark stayed at the very back of the line and kept his head down. He let Arnold pull Merry up over a difficult ledge. He offered no help and simply walked in their footprints.
Twenty grueling minutes later, they reached the top.
The ridge was a wide, flat plateau of gray stone. There were no tall trees to block the view. The sky above was a bruised, darkening purple.
And there was no metal signpost.
"Where is it?" Joshua growled. He spun around in a full circle, kicking a patch of dry grass. "There's no trail here! You idiot, you made us climb for nothing!"
Mark shrank back, lowering his head. "I'm sorry. I told you I wasn't sure."
"Useless," Joshua spat. He threw his backpack onto the rock. "Now we're stuck up here."
Mark walked away from the angry group. He moved toward the very edge of the plateau, looking down into the vast, dark valley below. The geography was perfect. They were highly visible.
He unzipped his bag and pulled out a bright, neon-orange rain poncho. His mother had forced him to pack it that morning. It was obnoxious and incredibly reflective.
He didn't put it on. Instead, he casually draped it over the wide branches of a dead bush sitting right on the edge of the cliff.
The rest of the group sat huddled further back on the flat rock. From their position, the steep drop-off completely obstructed the valley floor below.
They had no line of sight to the bottom. Mark patted the plastic down, making it look like he was simply hanging it up to dry. A bright, glaring, neon-orange flag set against the dark gray stone.
Then he walked back and sat down quietly on a stone and completely ignored the complaints of his classmates.
The temperature dropped. The forest went completely black. Merry started crying again. Joshua sat in silence while chewing on his thumbnail.
About fifty minutes later, the neon-orange poncho suddenly flared.
It exploded into a violent, glaring orange in the pitch black.
None of the students saw the actual flashlight ray. From their angle, the steep drop-off completely hid the source.
A high-powered beam from far below had simply hit the lip of the cliff. The intense light bounced off the plastic, casting a harsh white glow against the damp air right above the edge.
Thirty-five minutes later, the heavy sound of breaking branches and boots crushing the underbrush echoed up the steep incline. Twin beams of intense LED light finally crested the lip of the plateau, sweeping blindingly across the gray rock.
"Hey!" a deep, adult voice roared. The sound echoed heavily against the trees. "Is someone up there?"
Joshua lunged forward. He ran toward the blinding lights and waved his arms frantically.
"Here! We're up here! We need help!"
Two male teachers wearing heavy hiking gear broke over the edge of the cliff a moment later. They were panting heavily, their clothes snagged with thorns and dirt. The lost students rushed forward. Merry threw her arms around a teacher's waist and sobbed loudly.
"Are you all unhurt?" the lead teacher asked. He swept his light over their pale faces. "We've been searching for an hour and a half."
"We're fine," Joshua breathed heavily. A massive, relieved grin broke across his face.
The teacher noticed the orange poncho hanging on the bush. He walked over and pulled it off the branches.
"Smart move," the teacher praised while looking directly at Joshua. "Hanging a bright marker on an exposed ridge. We caught the reflection all the way from the valley floor. If you hadn't moved to high ground and set up a signal, we would have walked right past this hill in the dark. Good leadership, Joshua."
Joshua puffed his chest out and ran a hand through his sweat-drenched hair. "Yeah. I figured staying down there was a bad idea. I had to get them up here where you guys could spot us."
Mark sat on his cold stone in the background.
He watched Joshua gladly steal all the credit for the rescue. He didn't interrupt, nor did he raise his hand to claim the poncho belonged to him. He remained completely silent.
A quiet, profound thrill settled deep into his chest.
The strategy worked flawlessly. He manipulated the terrain and controlled the loudest pawn to move the group. He set the board and engineered the entire survival scenario while hiding behind the scene.
Joshua became the hero. Mark became the shadow.
This is it, Mark thought while looking down at his dirty hands. This is exactly how Reine does it. No flashy heroics. No loud arguments. Just cold, invisible control.
He stood up and slinged his backpack over his shoulder. He fell into line behind the other students as the teachers led them back down the safe, marked trail toward the main camp. He didn't speak to anyone for the rest of the night.
That single, terrifying hour on the mountain changed his entire psychological framework. It proved that the fictional methods printed on his favorite book actually functioned in the real world.
---
During his college days, there is one notable event which Mark could never forget.
It was the first month of his freshman year. The lecture hall smelled of stale air conditioning and damp clothes from the morning rain. Mark sat near the back window. He ignored the low hum of student chatter around him. A brand new paperback rested flat on his desk.
It was the latest English translation of "Welcome to the High School of Meritocracy."
He stared at the glossy cover. He should have been happy because waited months for the publisher to release this translation. He saved up his daily allowance just to buy it on release day. But a sour feeling chewed at the back of his mind.
In Japan, the original series was already three entire volumes ahead of this one.
He ran his thumb over the edge of the pages. The Japanese fans already knew what happened next. They already knew how Reine Asakura dismantled the current threat.
The raw volumes were sitting right there in the foreign language section of the downtown bookstore. He walked past them just yesterday. He saw the beautiful covers sitting on the shelves, entirely locked away from him because he didn't understand a single character of the Japanese language.
"Oh man," he muttered to himself, leaning his chin on his hand. "I bought this latest volume of the English version, but the Japanese version is three volumes ahead. It is available right now at the bookstore, but I don't know the Japanese language at all. I wish I knew how to speak Nihongo. I'm so jealous of the people in Japan who can read the latest volume the second it drops."
The heavy wooden door at the front of the hall swung open.
The P.E. professor walked in. He didn't carry his usual stack of syllabus papers. He carried a single manila folder. He walked up to the podium and slapped the folder down. The sharp sound cut through the room.
"Attention," the professor said. His voice was loud, echoing off the high ceiling.
The murmurs died down. Forty freshmen turned their heads toward the front.
"I have an announcement from the university administration," he continued, opening the folder. "In three months, the school will host a campus-wide dance competition. Participation is completely mandatory for all students. This is not an extracurricular activity. It will be heavily graded."
A few groans immediately drifted up from the middle rows. College students hated mandatory events.
The professor held up a hand to stop the complaints. "Before you start complaining, listen to the incentives. The winning groups will receive a substantial cash prize. Furthermore, you will receive automatic perfect grade credits for your Physical Education requirements. If you win, you don't need to attend P.E. classes anymore for the rest of the year."
That got their attention. A few students sat up straighter.
"And on top of that," the professor added, his tone dropping into a serious register. "The students in the top three ranking groups will receive a full, comprehensive scholarship covering their entire tuition for the next three years."
The classroom erupted.