The rise of the unorthodox

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"Ugh, what the heck happened?" I groaned, my voice dry and cracked as I slowly pushed myself off the cold, tiled floor. A dull ache pulsed at my temples, each throb sending ripples of discomfort through my head.

I blinked, trying to focus, and took in my surroundings. Somehow, I had ended up in a bathroom stall. The realization made me frown. The bathroom? Really?

Staggering to the mirror, I caught my reflection. My hair was a disaster—wild, clumpy, and knotted like a bird's nest. I sighed. Sleeping in the bathroom stall didn't just feel awful—it looked even worse.

As I splashed some water on my face, an excruciating pain suddenly erupted in my forehead. It was sharp and relentless, like a branding iron pressing against my skull. My vision blurred as images began to flood my mind—flashes of last night, like watching a poorly edited movie through someone else's eyes.

Then it was over, just as quickly as it had started. My breath came in short gasps as I reached up, pressing my fingers to my forehead. My horn—it was still there, barely a nub beneath my bangs. Relief washed over me. It hadn't grown.

The pill had worked.

But who was that shadowy figure who'd given it to me? Her cryptic words echoed in my mind: "It's happening faster than I expected." Faster? What did she mean? What was happening?

I shook my head, forcing the thoughts away. Today was important—the first day of the contest. I wasn't about to let anything ruin it.

Straightening up, I left the bathroom and stepped into the room. Delight was sprawled across the bed, snoring softly. I marched over and gave her a violent shake.

"I'm up, I'm up!" she shouted, nearly tumbling out of bed.

After some grumbling and whining, we finally got ready. Armor strapped, supplies packed, nerves barely in check. Just as we were about to head out, Delight stopped in her tracks, her brow furrowing as she stared at me.

"Hey, uh…what's up with your left eye?" she asked, pointing. "It's not brown anymore. It's, like…red."

"What are you talking about?" I frowned at her.

Marching back to the mirror, I leaned in—and froze. She was right. My left eye wasn't normal anymore. The sclera was a deep crimson, like blood pooled at the edges, and my iris—what the hell? It glowed orange, with four sharp points radiating outward, like a star.

My stomach churned. This had to be another side effect of the pill—or whatever process was "speeding up" inside me.

"I don't know what's wrong with it," I muttered. "It'll probably go away. Let's just get going."

Delight's face twisted in concern, but she didn't press me further. As we headed to the event field, my thoughts raced. I needed a solution—fast. The last thing I wanted was to draw attention to myself right before the contest began.

After a moment's hesitation, I sent a quick message to Devin.

When he got my text, he arrived at the meet-up point in record time, his hair slightly damp with sweat. "What's the emergency?" he panted.

I pointed at my left eye. "This. I need to cover it up. And I'm not using an eyepatch."

His brows shot up. "What the hell is that?"

I scowled. "If I knew, I wouldn't be asking for help!"

Devin smirked, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, chill. I've got just the thing. Follow me."

We ended up at his dorm, and I had to fight back a gasp. The place was stunning. Polished wood floors gleamed under soft lighting, and a spacious living area with plush furniture sprawled out before us. His room had its own kitchenette, and I spotted a door leading to what looked like a private bedroom.

"Being rich really must suck, huh?" I muttered sarcastically.

Devin disappeared into his room and returned with a small circular pod. He tossed it to me, and I caught it mid-air.

"Contacts?" I asked, eyeing the pod.

"Yeah, just pop 'em in. They'll match your other eye," he replied, leaning casually against the wall.

The process of putting them in was annoying, but once I managed it, the result was flawless. My reflection looked perfectly normal again.

"Why do you even have these?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

Devin shrugged, smirking. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

The Maze

The field where the event was being held was massive—a colossal stadium at Base 99, surrounded by roaring bleachers packed with students. Second and third years cheered and jeered, placing bets on their favorite squads. Military personnel stood at attention, their sharp eyes scanning the scene.

At the center of it all was a luxurious private booth, where high-ranking staff and officers—including Sergeant Fredin—watched with stoic expressions.

After what felt like hours of waiting, the massive doors before us groaned to life, their hinges screaming in protest. Gasps rippled through the crowd as the ground ahead began to quake.

The earth trembled, lowering into a deep chasm, before slowly rising again. This time, a labyrinth emerged—its towering walls gleaming like molten silver under the sunlight. The exterior shimmered with a strange, almost hypnotic energy, the metallic material warping and bending like liquid.

The maze stretched endlessly, its entrances gaping like hungry mouths. From deep within, eerie mechanical hums and faint whispers echoed, sending chills down my spine.

"Welcome, contestants!" boomed the commentator's voice. "Before you stands The Labyrinth of Wits. Your goal is simple: reach the other side within two hours. Solve the puzzles, avoid the traps, and prove your brilliance. The first three squads to finish will earn the most points, but remember—every second counts!"

The crowd erupted into cheers.

Delight elbowed me, grinning. "Let's show 'em what we've got."

Devin cracked his knuckles. "Let's get this show on the road."

I smirked. "Let's wipe the floor with these guys."

As the horn sounded, squads bolted toward the maze, their shouts echoing against the steel walls. My squad stuck close together, weaving through the chaos toward one of the entrances.

The game had officially begun.