Prestige schools believe in internal proof.

  It does not matter what you scored outside.

  Until you bleed inside their system, you start at the back of the line.

  Just like Primary Year 5, I was not placed into the top class upon transfer.

  Despite my grades.

  Despite my record.

  No cutting queue.

  No shortcuts.

  I was assigned to 2G.

  When I saw the letter on the notice board, I stared at it for a while.

  G.

  At least it was not T like years ago.

  G is closer to A.

  Small comforts matter when ego is involved.

  I walked into 2G already calculating.

  I would climb quickly.

  Dominate academically.

  Move upward within a year.

  That was the script.

  The script was wrong.

  The class was not weak.

  It was uneven.

  Most students were average.

  A few were clearly drifting.

  But two stood out immediately.

  One boy.

  One girl.

  The girl was Snow.

  Quiet posture.

  Sharp eyes.

  The type who finishes writing before the teacher completes the sentence.

  The boy was Alex.

  Rounder face than mine.

  Perpetually calm.

  Casual in class but strangely precise during exams.

  The first mathematics test returned with a surprise.

  I did well.

  But Snow ranked first.

  Alex followed closely.

  I was third.

  Third in 2G.

  That did not sit comfortably.

  I told myself it was temporary.

  Adjustment period.

  New environment.

  New syllabus.

  Temporary.

  In my previous life, temporary became decline.

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  Secondary Year 2 was when online games swallowed me whole.

  The game was everywhere.

  Forums buzzing.

  Guild chats alive past midnight.

  Boss respawn timers dictating sleep schedules.

  I woke up at five in the morning just to grind monsters before school.

  Not because I had to.

  Because someone else might level up faster.

  Sleep became optional.

  Homework became negotiable.

  Grinding was mandatory.

  I would arrive in class with heavy eyelids and a head filled with loot tables instead of formulas.

  Eventually, fatigue turned into reputation.

  I slept in class.

  Frequently.

  Head on desk.

  Arms folded as pillow.

  At first teachers tapped my shoulder.

  Later they ignored it.

  My classmates started calling me the Sleeping Prince.

  Not as praise.

  Not as insult.

  Just observation.

  The decline deepened.

  One exam day, I stooped lower than exhaustion.

  I asked for answers.

  The girl seated in front of me was average academically.

  Not weak.

  Not exceptional.

  But she had a calm presence.

  The kind that makes you feel answers exist.

  During the paper, I tapped her chair lightly.

  She shifted her hand slightly to the right.

  A subtle gesture.

  I interpreted it as option C.

  Later, a slight movement of fingers.

  Option B.

  We communicated in fragments of motion.

  Ridiculous.

  Risky.

  But strangely synchronized.

  I did not even fully trust her answers.

  I simply wanted confirmation.

  Even if it was false confirmation.

  That day, the teacher paused near our row longer than usual.

  Her eyes moved between us.

  I felt the air tighten.

  After the exam, she called both of us aside.

  “I am not blind,” she said gently.

  We remained silent.

  “This is your warning.”

  No report.

  No disciplinary action.

  Just a quiet mercy.

  Shame lingers longer when punishment does not follow.

  Meanwhile, Alex remained consistent.

  He was strange in ways unrelated to academics.

  After school, he sometimes wandered near the soccer field.

  If he found a dead frog or small snake, he would examine it with unsettling curiosity.

  Once, I saw him carefully peeling the skin off a small snake using a twig.

  The smell drifted unpleasantly in the humid air.

  “Put that away,” I said, covering my nose.

  “It’s interesting,” he replied calmly. “You can learn structure.”

  “Learn structure from textbooks.”

  He shrugged.

  He was never dramatic.

  Just peculiar.

  He had a long standing crush on Celia.

  Celia fit my annual ritual criteria perfectly.

  The prettiest girl in class.

  Soft features.

  Effortless confidence.

  Naturally popular.

  Every year, I mentally noted who occupied that position.

  It was tradition.

  But I was not interested in pursuing her.

  Alex was.

  Everyone assumed he would eventually confess.

  He never did.

  He lingered near her desk.

  Carried extra books for her once.

  Then retreated whenever conversation turned personal.

  In the end, she dated a boy from another class.

  Alex accepted it quietly.

  Like he accepted most outcomes.

  Snow was different.

  One afternoon after class, she approached me without hesitation.

  “I think you’re better than your current grades,” she said directly.

  I blinked.

  “That’s generous.”

  “It’s observation,” she replied. “You solve problems quickly when you try.”

  “I am trying.”

  “Not fully.”

  Her tone was not accusing.

  Just certain.

  She lowered her voice slightly.

  “Whatever is distracting you, it’s temporary. You will fix it.”

  The way she said it unsettled me.

  As if she had already seen the future version of me.

  “Why tell me this?” I asked.

  “Because I prefer strong competition.”

  Then she walked away.

  Resonance and fear arrived together.

  She saw through the Sleeping Prince.

  Eventually, in that life, she outgrew everyone.

  Promoted to Class A permanently.

  Untouchable.

  Alex stayed near my level until graduation.

  Class A remained out of reach for me.

  Class B was my ceiling.

  And even that came late.

  In Year 3, I landed in Class C.

  I disliked it immediately.

  There were certain students there whose presence unsettled me for reasons I never fully articulated.

  By Year 4, I begged the teachers for reassignment.

  “I can perform better,” I argued.

  They hesitated.

  Eventually, I was placed in Class B.

  But the path was messy.

  In this timeline, I still play the game.

  The servers are alive.

  Guild chat still pulses past midnight.

  Bosses still drop rare items.

  But I no longer wake at five in the morning for monsters.

  I sleep.

  I revise.

  I schedule.

  Addiction moderated is enjoyment.

  Addiction unchecked is erosion.

  Snow still ranks first.

  Alex still follows closely.

  But this time, I am not drifting downward.

  I am climbing steadily.

  When Year 2 results approach, my goal is clear.

  Not Class A.

  That remains structurally distant.

  But 3B is achievable.

  3C is not an option.

  There are things in 3C I do not intend to relive.

  Certain dynamics.

  Certain individuals.

  Certain discomforts that belong to another version of me.

  This time, I calculate differently.

  Not how to beat everyone instantly.

  Not how to humiliate rivals.

  Not how to escape consequences.

  Just one rank higher than before.

  One controlled adjustment at a time.

  If I perform well enough this year, I skip 3C.

  Straight to 3B.

  No begging.

  No desperation.

  Just qualification.

  Snow once said my decline was temporary.

  In this life, I intend to prove she was right.

  Not by outpacing everyone.

  But by refusing to sabotage myself.

  The game will die out in a few years.

  Servers will close.

  Players will move on.

  But class rankings will remain printed on report cards.

  This time, I choose the permanent progression.