You would think it's easy being the smartest boy in your hometown, but from my experience, it really isn't.
At the age of 11, I was tested with an IQ of 200, though the tests couldn't measure anything higher. Who knows if I might have an IQ beyond that? Well, that's nothing for me to worry about. I never chose to make it public anyways — why would I? What would the attention bring me? Money? Fame? Why would anyone need those things?
Money and Fame? They're two sides of the same coin. One buys applause, the other feeds off it. Money turns people into slaves of modern society — working, sacrificing their time, their integrity, even their relationships, just to chase a number that never feels like enough.
And fame? That's even worse. Fame is a mirror held by the world, and the more you stare into it, the more your reflection stops being your own. You become what they want, not who you are. Applause is addicting. Approval is a drug. And both wealth and recognition blur the line between self-worth and public image.
I'd rather be invisible than live as a puppet for the crowd's expectations, dancing for a prize I never asked for.
And to top it off, 100 years after my death, I'll most likely be forgotten.
If God would just hear my prayers — give me a purpose, something I can strive for — where my intellect would actually be of good use, rather than wasting it on worldly, materialistic things.
The boy, lost deep in thought and once again late for class, walked toward the door with slow, steady steps. He had already prepared the excuse he'd use for being late. Just as his hand touched the doorknob, another boy came rushing carelessly down the hallway and accidentally shoved him through the half-open door.
"Ouch! Watch where you're going!"
Bent over from the fall, one palm pressed against the ground to keep himself up, he slowly opened his eyes. His vision was blurry, but even through the haze, the sight before him was unmistakable. Beneath him stretched a flawlessly white floor—polished like glass and impossibly clean. As he lifted his head, the blur began to sharpen, and he realized he was no longer in the school hallway.
Surrounding him was a vast, scattered crowd of people, standing in a seemingly endless white void. And towering at the center of it all stood an ancient marble podium—so massive it rivaled a skyscraper in size.
Atop the massive podium stood a vague, distant figure—small in stature, and from this distance, appearing to be a young girl.
"The final contestant out of a thousand has finally arrived!" the girl announced, her voice echoing through the vast white void. "Welcome! My name is Sylvia, and I'll be your guide… all the way until one of you reaches the very end. You are the top 1,000 most intelligent minds from planet Earth, gathered here in a single place—to compete for one thing, and one thing only!
The right to become...
God.
He blinked. "Did she just sayGod?" he thought to himself
Then, the chatter around him exploded. Some people laughed nervously. Others glanced around, their eyes wide, trying to comprehend the weight of the situation they had found themselves in.
"You're probably wondering how to become God," Sylvia continued, her voice unusually cheerful for the words that followed. "Everyone here will compete against one another across seven layers—The Seven Layers of Sin. Each layer represents one of the deadly sins and contains three games each. To move forward, you must survive them. After every layer, a number of participants will be erased—eliminated. Their souls wiped clean from existence." Sylvia ended the sentence with a soft chuckle, far too calm for the message she had just delivered.
"Hopefully I didn't scare anyone," she added with a tilt of her head. "But let's be honest—fear sieves out the weak. The only way to survive and reach the end is to prove your worth. You must rely on yourself. And only yourself. Nobody here is your friend. Even if by fate, people you know ended up here too… friends will only get you in trouble."
"The first layer will be the Sin of Sloth!" Sylvia announced, her voice cutting through the crowd like a blade. "Why Sloth, you may ask? Because Sloth is the embodiment of laziness, apathy, and inaction. Starting here challenges you to prove you're even willing to move, to act — to participate — knowing your lives are at stake!"
She paused, letting her gaze sweep across the thousand confused, uneasy faces before her.
"Many of you will probably fail." Her lips curled into a mocking smile. "Most of you already look like lazy losers."
The crowd exploded in chatter once again, but this time it was laced with irritation and disbelief.
"Who is she calling losers!?" someone shouted, followed by a wave of muttering and angry murmurs. Others looked around, offended, their pride clearly bruised.
Some clenched their fists. Obviously angry. A few already looked like they were ready to prove themselves.
But he just stood there in silence his eyes dark as they can be, gazing at the girl on the podium
"This surely is going to get interesting. Most of them really do look like lazy losers—barely anyone here looks like they even work out" the boy thought.
Sylvia spoke up, "Well, before I tell you the details of the first game, I want everyone to get to know each other first. It might come in handy for the Sloth game—who knows!" She chuckled, snapping her fingers. In an instant, she vanished from sight, and the entire white void disappeared.
Suddenly, all the players found themselves standing on a vast grassy field beneath a sky adorned with three suns and wisps of blue clouds.
Everyone stood stunned, gazing in awe at the surreal world around them. Their eyes drifted upward, marveling at the three glowing suns suspended in the strange, cloud-brushed sky. Slowly, murmurs began to rise as small groups started to form—people clinging to familiarity in the unknown.
Among the scattered people, a girl approached a boy who stood alone, quietly toying with a piece of grass between his fingers. He hadn't spoken a word, nor had he seemed particularly interested in anyone else.
"Hey! My name's Maia," she said with a bright tone, extending her hand with a friendly smile.
But her expression quickly shifted to unease as the boy turned his head toward her. His eyes—deep and dark as a bottle of ink—met hers with an intensity that made her instinctively freeze. His white hair, streaked with a single strand of violet, fell messily across his face, casting shadows that only deepened the unsettling weight of his gaze.
He glanced at her outstretched hand, then slowly reached for it. A small smile tugged at his lips—uncanny, but unmistakably a smile.
"Hey," he said calmly. "My name is Raphael. Interesting place, isn't it?"