Page 12 of The Ruthless Rivalry

“Of course,” she interjects, always eager to assist. “You probably noticed that there are five chairs arranged at the head table. Four professors, and Chancellor Maxwell seated at the end. Each of them has a scorecard with rankings from one to ten, with ten being the highest. Our scores are based on our performance in the trial collecting flags, and any observations made so far this year.”

I listen intently as Aubrey explains, trying to process this new information. The ranking system seems unnecessarily complex, and I can’t help but wonder about its true purpose.

“Once we’re lined up,” she continues, “they’ll call us forward one by one. We’ll stand before the panel, and they’ll reveal our individual scores. Then they’ll announce our overall ranking.”

“So what happens after we’re ranked?” I ask, still confused.

Aubrey’s eyes dart around nervously before she leans in closer. “Well, that’s where things get…interesting. The rankings determine our teams for the real games. The top-ranked students get first pick of their teammates. Everyone else randomly gets assigned teams with no say in who they’re with.”

As we chat, a nearby student overhears and interjects, “I’ve heard that Chancellor Maxwell never gives anything above an eight. Something about striving for improvement rather than perfection.”

I nod, absorbing this information. But before I can ask any more questions, a hush falls over the room. Chancellor Maxwell has stood back up, her gaze sweeping over us.

“Students, the time has come,” she announces, her voice carrying a weight of authority that silences even the whispers. “You will be called in alphabetical order, please line up accordingly. When I call your name, please step forward to receive your ranking.”

Aubrey pulls me back when I try to move somewhere in the line. “You’ll go to the back,” she whispers.

I furrow my brow. “Why?”

She gives me a perplexed expression. “Because you’re a Legacy. They always go last.”

I must have looked confused, because she lets out a sigh and continues to explain.

“When there’s a Legacy—or in this case, multiple Legacies—they conclude the ceremony, because their scores are always themost highly anticipated. Now go!” she explains before shooing me away and finding her spot in line.

I head to the back as she instructed, just as the first name is called. A tall, willowy girl with deep red hair steps forward, her chin held high despite the obvious trembling in her hands. The professors confer briefly, then reveal their scorecards one by one. I watch as relief washes over the girl’s face—she’s received mostly sixes and sevens, with one eight from Atlas.

As the ceremony progresses, I observe patterns emerging. Most students receive scores ranging from five to seven, with the occasional eight causing excited murmurs among the crowd. The faces of those receiving fours or lower are etched with disappointment and shame.

Aubrey’s name is called, and I watch as she steps forward, her posture straight but her hands clasped tightly in front of her. The professors reveal their scores: two sevens, an eight, and a nine. Chancellor Maxwell pauses dramatically before revealing her card—a six. Aubrey’s shoulders relax visibly as she steps back into line, a small smile playing on her lips.

As the line dwindles, I find myself standing next to Camden and Bishop. Bishop’s face is a mask of cool confidence, while Camden fidgets with his hair.

“Whitlock, Camden,” Chancellor Maxwell’s voice rings out.

He mutters something about his last name under his breath, showing his frustration. I realize that they don’t bother announcing our last names in alphabetical order like everyone else, since he should be last among our small remaining group.

Camden steps forward, his posture perfect, chin lifted slightly. The professors reveal their scores: 8, 9, 8, 9. Chancellor Maxwell pauses dramatically before revealing her own card: 8. The room buzzes with impressed murmurs.

“Total score: 42. Rank: 1,” Chancellor Maxwell announces as he finds his seat beside his mother.

Sutton steps up next, and the crowd stays quiet in nervous anticipation. As the numbers are tallied, she gasps in disbelief as her total comes to 42. But her brother Sylvester follows, effortlessly surpassing her with a total of 43. Currently the final rankings stand with Sylvester placed first with Camden behind him and Sutton third, despite her tie with Camden.

Bishop is called next, and he strides forward with an air of casual confidence. The professors reveal their scores: 9, 10, 10, 9. Chancellor Maxwell’s card shows an 8. The room falls silent, waiting for the final tally.

“Total score: 46. Rank: 1,” Chancellor Maxwell declares.

Collective applause ripples through the room. Bishop’s score has surpassed everyone else’s, securing him the top spot. I watch as he returns to his place, a smug smile playing on his lips as his mother kisses him on the cheek. The tension in the air is palpable as all eyes turn to me.

I’m the last one standing, but I hardly care. The room falls silent again as Chancellor Maxwell calls my name, her voice tinged with an expectation that hadn’t been there for the others.

I step forward, acutely aware of every eye in the room upon me as I make my way toward the front. The professors exchange glances, and I immediately recognize Atlas in the first seat and Professor O’Donnelly in the second. The last two faces are unfamiliar until I reach Chancellor Maxwell at the end.

Atlas flashes a reassuring smile at me from across the table, revealing his card: a 10. I hold my breath as Professor O’Donnelly flips over her card, showing a 9, despite the scowl on her face. The other two professors follow suit, each revealing a 9 and then another 10. I stand there, waiting for Chancellor Maxwell’s card to be shown. Could there really be a chance I could tie with Bishop, after everything that happened at the masquerade? After what I’d done?

She holds my gaze for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, with a deliberate motion, she turns her card: a 6.

I blink, trying to process what I’m seeing. A six? Not great, but not as bad as I thought it’d be. The room hums with whispers, but they barely reach me. Second place. Just behind Bishop. A mix of relief, surprise, and something like vindication stirs within me, all competing for attention.

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