The Double ( or More ?) Life of The Fake Heiress

Vincent didn’t write anymore. He gathered the papers from his desk with a sigh, finally admitting defeat with a voice tinged with resignation. “You’re really good, you know.”

He had once thought he could beat her, only to find she was playing in an entirely different league. A wry smile flickered across Vincent’s lips. No wonder she never seemed to take his challenges seriously.

That was the difference.

Mirabella cleared her throat. “You know, you’re actually quite amazing.”

Hearing her. Vincent just glanced at her and said. “You’re mistaken if you think I’m looking for comfort. I’m just stating the facts.”

Mirabella took a sip of her soup. Her voice was muffled. “Yes, I am better than you. Does that sound less like comfort to you?” She had pegged him as a typical straight–shooter from the

start.

Vincent pursed his lips, saying nothing, observing Mirabella quietly for a while before he finally spoke up. “Even though I admit you’re better, I’m not giving up on the idea of surpassing you.”

Mirabella nodded, offering encouragement, “Keep at it!”

After finishing her soup, Mirabella wiped her mouth with a napkin and glanced at the papers on the table, asking. “Still haven’t cracked it?”

Vincent didn’t respond.

Mirabella nodded knowingly, picked up the paper, and immediately spotted the error in the equations at a glance. Taking up the pen, she said, “Your approach using the Navier–Stokes equations isn’t wrong, but it unnecessarily complicates things. This step here is superfluous…”

Five minutes later, Mirabella put down her pen and slid her corrected equations across the table to Vincent. The errors she had pinpointed echoed in Vincent’s ears, and as his eyes settled on the paper, the equations seemed to come to life, suddenly clarifying in his mind. A problem that had seemed insurmountable was now simple, thanks to her insight.

By the time Vincent looked up. Mirabella had already left her seat. He picked up the paper with the equations, his previous frustration from a fruitless night of study washed away. Sometimes, all it takes is one piece of the puzzle to see the whole picture.

Mirabella was more than just strong.

Nine o’clock sharp.

The twenty–three students who had advanced to the national finals from across the country

were already seated in the examination hall. All the advancing students were gathered in the same room, and this time Mirabella was seated in the front row. Her position was a testament to her top score from the day before. Her solitary figure in the front row seemed to already be ensconced on the champion’s throne, eliciting awe from all her peers. Nôvel(D)rama.Org's content.

This was a real–life demonstration of overwhelming strength.

Soon, the proctor walked in with the examinations, distributed them, and signaled the start.

Three hours on the clock.

The finals were bound to be a step up in difficulty from the prelims, mirroring the challenges of the previous year’s international competitions. Even Mirabella looked serious when she received her paper, indicating the difficulty of the challenge ahead.

During those three hours, the only sound in the examination hall was the rustling of papers as pencils flew across them.

Unlike the day before, Mirabella didn’t turn in her paper early.