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

The clock hadn’t struck the hour, so the grand entrance of the skyscraper remained closed momentarily.

The team’s coach huddled the students together for a final briefing, his expression more grave than ever. This international competition wasn’t just about personal prowess but about national honor on the global stage. As he reiterated the significance of the event, a palpable surge of determination swept through the group.

Mirabella glanced toward the Olympic emblem at the top of the building, her lips curling into a subconscious smile. If one looked closely, they’d see the spark of combativeness igniting in her eyes. She had tackled more cases of puzzling ailments than anyone else, and now it was time to reap the rewards of her hard work.

At 9 a.m. sharp, Eastern Time, over a hundred young scholars from around the globe filed into the examination hall in an orderly fashion. There were ten exam rooms in total and Mirabella was assigned to Room 10 alongside Vincent and three others. Their placement in the same room seemed odd at first.

Settling into her seat, Mirabella twirled her pen thoughtfully. According to the usual protocol, they shouldn’t have all been in the same room. But soon enough, she overheard two international students conversing nearby, and the mystery unraveled. The assignments were based on the previous year’s national rankings. Those who were at the bottom, or didn’t make the cut at all, were lumped together in the last two rooms.

In other words, the countries represented in Rooms 9 and 10 hadn’t made the leaderboard last time. If none had ranked before, then it hardly mattered if students from the same nation were grouped together. After all, they weren’t expected to rank this time either.This content © Nôv/elDr(a)m/a.Org.

Propping her chin on her hand, Mirabella thought, ‘Is this a slight?‘ The flames of competition blazed even fiercer within her.

Before long, a proctor entered with the exam papers, his demeanor icy, as if none of the students were worth his notice.

Mirabella scanned the questions upon receiving her paper. As expected, the international level was at least twice as challenging as the domestic competition. She exhaled and began to write. She thrived on complex problems, much like diagnosing a difficult case – too easy, and it was hardly worth her time.

The exam spanned three grueling hours and was worth a total of two hundred points, with a high cutoff of one hundred sixty for advancement. Last year, nearly three hundred competitors whittled down to fewer than eighty finalists.

As the final bell sounded, the proctor sternly instructed everyone to drop their pens and exit. Not a second more was to be spared.

Exiting the exam room, Mirabella checked the signs and made a quick stop at the restroom

11:04

Ch 19

before descending the stairs.

The team awaited her, and she was the last to arrive. She approached with a measured pace. noting the crestfallen expressions around her. Even Vincent wore a shadow of gloom. She touched her nose, wondering. ‘Did they botch it?‘

“Mirabella,” the coach’s voice was raspy, his spirits clearly dampened. “Do you think… do you feel you stand a chance of making the finals?” He had already inquired about the others‘ performance. Although the results were not yet in, besides perhaps Vincent, the rest seemed to have little hope.

So, he didn’t ask Mirabella for a score prediction but rather if she believed she had a shot at the final round.