The days that followed the mock SAT results unfolded in a strange calm—a silence that wrapped Sunny Heights High like an invisible fog. The usual chatter in the hallways, the rhythmic pounding of basketballs during PT, and the laughter echoing from the cafeteria—all had vanished. The air itself seemed heavier, filled with the quiet rustle of textbooks and the faint scratch of pens.
The mock exam had shaken the students to their core. Even the most complacent ones now buried themselves in books, eyes sunken with fatigue, fingers stained with ink. Classrooms stayed lit long after sunset, study groups spilled into corridors, and the once-lively courtyard had transformed into an open-air library. The 12th graders, once divided by petty rivalries and social hierarchies, now shared a single goal—to survive the real SATs.
Everyone was studying. Everyone except Steven Blake.
For him, high school academics were child's play. With the Super Growth System enhancing his comprehension and recall, every subject—math, literature, physics—was already perfected. He could solve university-level problems in minutes, and the mere thought of the SAT felt trivial. His mind, however, was preoccupied with far greater questions—the kind that would shape the future.
The exam might define their paths, he mused, staring at his reflection in the library window. But I'm building the road itself.
While others chased grades, Steven chased horizons.
Every evening after school, while his classmates reviewed formulas and memorized essays, Steven sat in his study, poring over the System Store—a boundless archive of futuristic technology. Holographic schematics hovered in the air before him. From telepotation to hyperspace, virtal reality word to nanotech, mechas to spaceships, AGI to cyborgs. It was all there.
"Unreal," he whispered under his breath, swiping through the shimmering projections. "If I can bring even a fraction of this into reality… The entire world will be transformed"
Each item carried a staggering cost. Millions, billions, sometimes trillions of System Points. But even among the impossible, there were stepping stones—things he could reach for now: flying cars, space rovers, medicine, energy-efficient drones, advanced robotics.
And it wasn't just technology. The System offered traditional medicine and various other profound techniques, treasures, combat techniques, ancient martial disciplines, and even skills that belonged to another world entirely.
He leaned back in his chair, watching the holographic display fade into thin air. The future he envisioned wasn't one built by corporations or governments—it was his. But to get there, he needed more than systems or tech. He needed people. Allies. Those who could follow his vision without question yet challenge him when necessary.
Veronica was one such person. Intelligent, disciplined, pragmatic. But he need more, skilled in different talents. Tech Geniuses, Hackers, Researchers, Doctores and more.
That evening, walking home under the pale sunset, Steven glanced at Veronica beside him. Her hair shimmered gold under the fading light, a perfect contrast to the calm, analytical focus in her eyes.
"So," he said casually, "Harvard or Stanford?"
She chuckled softly. "You really jump straight to the big leagues, don't you?"
"You don't belong anywhere small," Steven replied, smiling faintly.
Veronica tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I've thought about it. Stanford's great for startups and tech—it's right in Silicon Valley. But Harvard has unmatched networking for business. Honestly, I'm torn."
"Whichever you choose," Steven said, glancing forward, "don't go because of the name. Go because of the future you plan to build."
Veronica tilted her head, a curious smile playing on her lips. "And what about you, Mr. Prodigy? Any plans?"
"Plenty," he said simply.
The day of the SAT arrived under a sky as clear as polished glass.
Steven drove to the examination venue in his limited-edition Aston Martin Valour, its sleek design glinting under the morning sun. The roar of the engine drew immediate attention—students, parents, and even the media stationed outside turned their heads in unison.
"Hey, young man! Feeling confident?" one reporter called, rushing forward with a mic."Arriving in style, huh? Does the car match your test prep?" another joked. "Arriving in a luxury car—was that to boost your confidence?" "Are you fully prepared, or do you think you should've studied more?" Questions like these were thrown at him like a barrage.
Steven adjusted his watch, said nothing, and walked past the crowd. The flash of cameras followed him like a spotlight.
He had faced harder things then handling a dozen reporters—but something about this scene amused him. They're chasing a headline, not the truth, he thought. Let them.
As he stepped into the hall, a voice drifted from behind.
"Why waste coverage on him?" a student sneered loudly. "He's probably another spoiled rich kid. Bet he doesn't even care about the exam."
The reporters turned, delighted by the bait. The boy, average-looking but loud, puffed his chest proudly. "Guys like him ruin everything. They think money can buy scores. But without hard work, they're nothing. You'll see—people like that always fall." He had arrived in a standard Toyota Corolla, accompanied by his family. And the gaze with which he looked at Steven, it was both disdain and jealousy.
Steven didn't even look back. His silence said more than any rebuttal could. While the boy's words had some merit, they didn't apply universally. Steven had seen examples of wealthy kids like Veronica and Arnold, who came from influential families but maintained stellar academic performance. In fact, many rich families set even higher standards for their children due to the weight of social status and reputation. Regardless, Steven wasn't a typical rich kid or someone who neglected his studies—he was confident in his abilities and knew he could achieve a good score.
Ironically, that same boy ended up seated next to him inside the hall. The boy shot Steven a smug glance as if daring him to prove otherwise.
When the papers arrived, Steven's pen moved the instant he saw the first question. His mind, sharp and fluid, processed each problem like a computer scanning data. Logic, language, reasoning—it all flowed effortlessly.
Meanwhile, the boy beside him struggled, flipping between pages, sweat forming on his forehead. When he glanced sideways, he nearly gaped—Steven was already halfway done, his face calm, almost bored.
He's just filling random answers, the boy thought bitterly. There's no way anyone's that fast.
But Steven wasn't guessing. He was calculating, solving, cross-verifying—all in seconds. By the halfway mark, he was finished.
He leaned back, exhaled softly, and closed his eyes.
[Meditating… Intelligence +5][New Skill Unlocked: Mental Serenity][Effect: Immune to stress and emotional disturbance. Cognitive stability increased by 200%.]
A faint smile touched his lips. Now that's useful.
While others scribbled frantically, Steven sat motionless, eyes closed, mind clear. When the second module came, he repeated the same pattern—precision, speed, composure.
To the boy beside him, it looked like arrogance. He's sleeping! he thought furiously. He doesn't care!
But inside Steven's mind, a quiet storm brewed—calculation, focus, and control.
When the exam ended, the hall erupted in a mix of groans and sighs. Students shuffled out, clutching their pens like survivors of a battle. Reporters swarmed once again, eager for reactions.
Steven ignored them all, walking straight to his car.
The boy, however, took the opportunity to vent. "I sat next to that guy," he told a camera crew. "He didn't even read the questions properly—just clicked answers and slept. I bet he couldn't even understand the questions. Probably doesn't even care about college. Must be nice having rich parents to bail you out."
Steven heard it as he passed by but didn't slow down. You'll learn one day, he thought. Some of us don't need to prove anything to the world.
He got into his luxury car and drove to a different test center to pick up Veronica. She looked exhausted but smiled when she saw him coming to pick her up.
"You look way too relaxed for someone who just took the SAT," she teased as she got in.
"Let's just say I found inner peace in the middle of multiple-choice chaos," he replied.
She laughed, the sound soft and genuine. "Only you would say something like that."
They drove to Heavenly Dine for lunch, the warm scent of grilled herbs and butter welcoming them inside. Veronica leaned back in her seat, finally letting the tension of the exam fade.
"I think I did well," she said. "But now, I just want to sleep for a week."
"You've earned it," Steven said, smiling faintly. "Now that the exams are over, the real work begins."
The next morning, Steven woke to a storm of notifications.
His face—his car—his name—were everywhere.#AstonMartinStudent, #SATMillionaire, #RichKidExam were trending globally.
"Unbelievable," Steven murmured, scrolling through the headlines:
'Young Millionaire Takes SAT in Style!' 'Genius or Arrogant Show-off?' 'Does Wealth Guarantee Academic Success?'
They had dug up his old records—his past grades, his parents' noodle shop, his quiet years of mediocrity. The internet painted him as a fraud, a spoiled child who thought money equaled brains.
Steven chuckled under his breath. If only they knew.
The irony of it all wasn't lost on him. The same world that mocked him once now worshipped his creations. Two sides of a coin flipped endlessly by public opinion.
While social media raged, Steven's phone buzzed with a message from Alex.
[All three games successfully launched.][Servers stable. Engagement metrics exceeding projections.][Reviews flooding in—overwhelmingly positive.]
Steven's eyes lit up slightly. "Good. Let's see how the world reacts."
By afternoon, the numbers were exploding.BattleBlaze, a tactical battle royale, was already trending on streaming platforms. HorizonCircuit: Drive had racing enthusiasts raving about its fluid motion physics. And CraftWorld, a sandbox adventure, had become the new playground for creative minds.
Esports forums were buzzing. Analysts were stunned. Competitors were panicking.
"Three hits, one day," Steven murmured, swirling a glass of chilled wine. "Let's see them call that luck."
That night, he stepped out onto his villa's balcony. The city stretched below like a constellation of man-made stars. Skyscrapers shimmered, traffic lights pulsed in rhythm, and the distant hum of life blended with the whisper of the wind.
Steven scrolled through his phone, glancing at the torrent of comments—praise, mockery, awe, hate.
Half the world hailed him as a genius.Half the world mocked him as a rich show-off.
He took a sip of wine, savoring its quiet bitterness, eyes fixed on the horizon.
The world saw two sides of him—neither true, neither false.
But the truth, he thought with a calm smile, is something only I get to write.
Above him, the stars glittered cold and bright. Below, the city roared with life.
Between the two stood Steven Blake—calm, composed, and already planning his next move.