The battle between the 10-C&D alliance and the desperate defenders of 9-B, 9-C, and 9-D had reached its peak.
The corridor was a battlefield of flailing limbs, flying kicks, and echoing war cries.
Some students used bags as shields. Others wielded geometry boxes like nunchucks.
Every boy with a smartphone was watching the live feed, munching on samosas like it was IPL finals.
And then—
"I, Ujjwal Sharma of Class 11-C, declare war against all sections of Class 9!"
The music club's livestream cut off with static.
Gasps echoed through classrooms. In the Yoga-Judo bunker, even the ludo dice froze in mid-air.
Everyone understood what this meant.
The upperclassmen had pulled a political power move before the first war even began.
The deal was clear:
Class 11-C wanted access to the basement via the lift—they needed 9-B's territory.
Class 10 needed control of the stairways—so they demanded 9-D.
In simple terms, 9th grade had been sold out before the war even began.
Even though Ujjwal had declared war, the man himself was nowhere to be seen. Classic general—throws the nuke, watches from a bunker.
The results were swift.
The already chaotic battle turned one-sided.
The alliance of Class 9 crumbled under the weight of betrayal, exhaustion, and unfair matchups.
The Music Club made it official:
"Class 9 has been defeated."
A live map of the boys' block was sent to every phone via WhatsApp.
Current Territory Ranks:
Class 10 Alliance – controlling most of the second-floor stairways and mid-corridors.
Yoga-Judo Alliance – basement northwest completely secured.
Class 11 Alliance – basement lift zone and access corridors under lockdown.
Back in the Yoga-Judo war room (formerly the Yoga Club + Judo Club room), strategies were being drawn faster than exam cheats during finals.
Senior 1: "We need the north-east side of the basement. That'll give us control of both entry and water supply."
Senior 2: "We should strike now while they're regrouping."
A junior, pumped with adrenaline and little understanding of political war, shouted, "Why are we afraid of 11th class?! We're number two!"
Abhay, sitting in a corner sipping a juice box he'd swiped from the cafeteria earlier, replied calmly, "We're not number two. They are number one."
Everyone turned.
"Because," Abhay continued, "if you attack the 11th, the 10th will step in. If they're allies, we're outnumbered. Check the map."
Silence followed.
The Yoga Club senior stood up. "Then it's decided. Operation Split & Conquer begins."
The Plan:
Abhay would head to the Computer Lab, then the Innovation Lab, to secure tech support and surveillance.
The Judo Club would head to unite the North-East Basement, forming a complete arc with their current control.
The Yoga Club would remain in their fortress—defending like monks with abs.
The basement staircase? Well...
Abhay raised an eyebrow. "You didn't mention who's guarding the staircase to the basement. That place is still unprotected."
The Yoga and Judo seniors exchanged a mischievous smile.
"Don't worry about it," one said. "That area's already locked down."
Meanwhile, at the basement stairs…
The Drawing Club had barricaded the staircase using an ungodly amount of thermocol, paint buckets, easels, and suspiciously sharp protractors. The words "THIS WAY IS CLOSED. ART IS PEACE" were scrawled across a canvas hung like a flag.
Any attempts to break through had been met with a rain of glitter bombs and paper shurikens.
It was beautiful. And mildly terrifying.
Back at the war room, Abhay tightened his black school shoes, straightened his slightly crumpled uniform shirt, and nodded.
"Time to move."
And with that, the next wave of action began.
Abhay headed for the Computer Lab, phone in hand and map pulled up.
The Judo Club marched east like it was Sparta.
And the Yoga Club resumed their strange combination of breathing exercises and hammer drills.
The war for the boys' block was just getting started.
And this time, Abhay wasn't just a player—he was part of the strategy.