Chapter 6: It's Not My Fault, But It Sure Does Feel Like It

  [Flashback]

  "Zeke! You did it! You actually defeated their number one!"

  The voice is high-pitched, vibrating with a frantic kind of joy. A boy—someone I used to call a friend—nearly knocks me over with a hug. Around us, the air in the auditorium is thick with the scent of floor wax and over-caffeinated parents.

  "Wasn't that kid supposed to be unbeatable?" a teacher whispers nearby, not quite quiet enough.

  "And he’s only in the sixth grade..."

  "Incredible. Keep it up, Zeke!"

  The compliments were like hollow glass ornaments—pretty to look at, but empty inside. I didn't care about the trophies; I cared about the look on my parents' faces. When I found them in the crowd, they were beaming. It was the kind of pride that felt like armor.

  The memories after that start to blur, the colors bleeding together like a watercolor painting left out in the rain.

  "You did well today, kiddo," my father said as we pulled into the driveway. "You’re starting to outpace the curriculum. It’s impressive."

  "Thanks, Dad!" I chirped, fueled by the intoxicating high of being the 'Successor.' "Just wait. I’m going to be the best in the world."

  My father laughed, a warm, grounded sound. "The world is a big place, Zeke. But you can certainly be better than your mother and me. If you keep this focus... maybe that dream isn't as crazy as it sounds."

  [...]

  "Zeke, you failed us again? We invested everything into this circuit. You were supposed to be the best."

  The warmth was gone. The armor had rusted through.

  "I’m sorry..." I muttered. I wasn't sure if I was apologizing for the mistake or for the fact that I existed at all.

  "Don’t listen to him, Zeke. It was just one bad round. Right, man?"

  That was a friend—I can’t even remember his name now. Just a face in a sea of competitive shadows. I didn't look at him. I couldn't stop staring at the floor, wondering when the wood grain had become so interesting.

  "Yeah," I lied. "It was just... bad luck. I’ll fix it next time."

  But there was no "fixing" it. I had developed a secondary heartbeat: performance anxiety. Every match that followed gave me a taste of dread. Every move was overthought until the logic collapsed under its own weight. My coaches started looking past me, their eyes searching for the next "reliable" prodigy while I became a ghost in my own seat.

  I gave one hundred percent, but my hundred percent was fractured effort. I wanted to show off, to reclaim that golden glow, but the risk of failure had become a physical weight. My confidence didn't just drop; it eroded.

  I realized then that life doesn't care how badly you want a miracle. It only cares about output. I started acting like I still enjoyed the stage, wearing a mask of "The World’s Best" just to keep my parents from looking at me with that crushing disappointment. I lied because I was terrified that if I stopped being the best, I’d stop being theirs.

  It’s a lame backstory, honestly. A cliché "burnt-out genius" trope. But clichés exist because they happen to people like me every day.

  [...]

  Subject: Formal Notice of Status Termination – Aethelgard Academic Excellence Division

  Dear Mr. and Mrs. Beaumont,

  This letter serves as official notification that Zeke Beaumont has been removed from the AIA Senior Academic Circuit, effective immediately.

  Following an intensive review of the previous semester’s performance metrics, it has been determined that Zeke’s current output is no longer compatible with the elite-level competition expected of our students.

  AIA Academics prioritize efficiency and cognitive reliability. While we acknowledge the student's past contributions, Zeke has consistently failed to apply his theoretical abilities to the high-pressure environments of the Circuit. We recommend a transition to a standard curriculum where the competitive stakes are lower.

  We wish Zeke the best in his future, less demanding, endeavors.

  Regards, Director of Academic Personnel, AIA

  "Remi! What are you doing!" Alizée’s voice sliced through the air, sharp and panicked.

  Her voice fished me back into reality. The stage was a mess of unintended honesty. Remi stood center-stage, her posture stiff, looking at Alizée with a chillingly blank expression.

  "I'm just doing what I'm supposed to," Remi said, her voice was the dominant force in the deafening silence. "Is something wrong? We’re showing the clash of ideologies, aren't we? This is the process."

  "No!" Alizée barked, her composure crumbling in real-time. "You’re demonstrating day two and nothing has changed! You’re still acting condescending. At least pretend you two have found common ground!"

  The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush. Alizée had just broken the fourth wall of their own propaganda. She had admitted, in front of the entire student body, that the "Unity" they were selling was a performance. Behind her, the other demonstrating male student council member stood frozen, his eyes darting between the two girls like a spectator at a lethal tennis match.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Is this what the truth looks like?

  Alizée clapped a hand over her mouth, but the words were already processed. I looked at Ophelia. She wasn't shocked. She looked content, almost relieved, as if she’d been waiting for the ship to hit the reef so she could finally stop steering.

  "Well, well," a voice drawled from the crowd.

  Heckler stood up. He was one of the AIA’s top ten—a chess player who viewed social interactions as a series of inevitable checkmates.

  "Huh?! Who said that!" Alizee responds, almost instantaneously.

  "Your shameful display tells me all I need to know," he said, his voice carrying effortless condescension. "Academics and athletes don’t have a 'misunderstanding,' Alizée. We have a rivalry. Two days is trivial. Two weeks is a prison sentence. You put us all under a single archetype without thinking about how people actually function."

  Alizee's usual temper was challenged by Heckler's wit. She couldn't utter a single word to counter the logic without sounding dumb.

  Heckler was a sledgehammer of logic. He was the version of me that actually spoke up, but his execution was all wrong. He was fighting a war of emotions with a ruler and a compass. I watched him dismantle them.

  He was saying exactly what I’d murmured to myself in the hallways, and hearing it out loud made me want to puke. This makes me the epitome of hypocrisy.

  "You were probably forced into this by the school," Heckler finished, his tone dripping with arrogant pity. "Next time, try a plan that isn't so pathetic."

  He turned and walked out. A few students followed, then a dozen, then a flood. I didn't know an assembly could be 'voted out' like that. It was an unrealistic, brutal rejection.

  I didn't care anymore. The damage was structural, the kind of catastrophe where buying a new plan would be cheaper than attempting a repair. On stage, Alizée and Remi remained frozen in the spotlight, they looked like they were about to verbally clash. Behind them, Ophelia retreated into the shadows of the wings, her silence louder than any of the shouting had been.

  Alizee and Remi stayed put on stage. Ophelia walked backstage, silently.

  In the wreckage of it all, I found one small, pathetic consolation: at least we hadn't reached the part about the ten-percent grade penalty. That would have turned a riot into a massacre.

  The auditorium lights felt suddenly sharp, piercing. A wave of vertigo hit me, tilting the horizon until the stage looked like it was sliding into the sea. Around me, other Council members looked distraught—even the ones who had whispered that the plan would fail. There is a specific, hollow horror in being proven right about a disaster.

  I watched Remi’s stiff posture. Had she turned us into a scapegoat? Had she intentionally set fire to the Council’s reputation just to ensure the plan never saw the light of Day Two? It was a high-stakes play, a self-sacrifice that left everyone else bleeding.

  The Vice-Principal marched on stage, bypassing the wreckage of the council to find Ophelia. I didn't wait to hear the lecture. I reached for my headphones and dialed the volume up until the music became a physical wall between me and the world.

  The world began to recede, turning into a silent, low-resolution movie.

  I knew I was being selfish. I had prioritized my own self-preservation, watching Ophelia’s vision burn from the safety of the sidelines. To everyone else, I was just a distant teenager, a background character who didn't care. Only I knew the truth: I was a witness who refused to testify.

  Maybe if I’d spoken up this morning—if I’d suggested even a minor tweak—I’d feel a sense of shared responsibility. Instead, I felt like a ghost. Alizée had broken, admitting the plan was shallow. Remi had proven it. And Ophelia... I didn't even know where she had gone.

  I turned my back on the stage and headed for the library. It was the only place in Aethelgard that didn't feel like it was waiting for me to fail. It just waited for me to exist.

  Screw "growth." I’d spent the last few days learning absolutely nothing. I’d watched Ophelia, Alizée, and Remi fight battles I could see—yet I fought the battles that no one could confront me about.

  I’d chosen the safety of my own head. Even now, I was self-loathing about a failure I hadn't even participated in.

  Do those battles even matter? If everyone sees me as a plain teenager with no outlook on life, then I guess it doesn't. I didn't spend time trying to reassure Ophelia, Alizee, or Remi. It seemed to me I'd rather spend time self-loathing about something I'm not even sure would've worked.

  Yeah, that seems like a valid conclusion. I don't have to feel guilty if I knew my own feelings of the plan were wrong in the first place.

  I entered the library, the atmosphere, it was almost like I tried to force peace into my body.

  I'll just rest here until dinner, actually, I'll just stay in here until lights out. No real reason to connect with the world.

  Dinner Time— the intercom chimed.

  I stayed put. I didn't want Aaxya to see me. I didn't want anyone to see this version of me. This version of me was just a teenager who beat himself up over the smallest things because he's insensitive.

  It was more "efficient" to be a bystander. Am I depressed? Maybe. I’ve spent my teenage years denying it, but the void in my chest was starting to feel like a permanent resident.

  Maybe it was better, I spend less energy living in my head than living outside of it. If the whole world burned, it could burn without me. I never even wanted to be here in the first place, so I should just act like I wasn't here at all.

  I guess that wouldn't really work, I'm already here. Might as well face the consequences I never wanted to be at fault for.

  Thirty minutes bled away. I’m the type of person who hits the snooze button on reality until the alarm starts to smoke. Finally, I stood up and stretched, the movement feeling heavy and unearned. As I walked out, it felt like the library was engulfing me in its darkness, a shadow trying to keep its own.

  I headed outside into the crisp night. The nature was all there—the rhythmic pulse of the ocean waves, the trees standing like silent sentinels. Everything was in its place. I’d always treated this peace like medicine, an antidote to the noise. But tonight, the medicine felt expired. The quiet wasn't a comfort; it was a vacuum where my thoughts only screamed louder.

  Yesterday, I had walked Aaxya to the dorms. Tonight, I was a ghost haunting the same path. It was better this way; she shouldn't see me like this. My goal was simple: get to bed, avoid eye contact, and let the day dissolve into nothing.

  Was I running from my problems? Or had I just manufactured so many internal crises that I couldn't tell the difference anymore? I was supposed to feel guilty, but after hours of overthinking, the guilt was just a lost needle in a haystack of apathy. I looked at the bay and the horizon, the same view as yesterday, and felt nothing but a sharp, biting shame. I was mad at myself for not even knowing how to feel anymore. My own self-deprecating lies had finally brainwashed the negativity.

  The walk to the dorms felt like filler—unnecessary frames in a movie that should have ended an hour ago. When I made it to my room, I checked my phone. The Student Council group chat was a graveyard. No one was freaking out, which was somehow worse than a screaming match. Everyone just wanted to forget the wreckage.

  Why did I care? I was the guy who prioritized energy conservation above all else. Caring was an expensive expenditure I couldn't afford.

  Then, I remembered the potato chips. I’d bought them at lunch, a small reward for a day that had turned into a debt. I dug into my bag and pulled out the crinkled foil. It was the snack I’d craved, the one thing that was supposed to make the "couch lover" in me feel human again.

  I stared at the bag for a long moment. Then, I tossed it into the trash.