The air in Class 1-A was so thick with tension, I swear we could've bottled it and sold it as anxiety-scented perfume.
Mr. Brooks stood at the front, holding the sealed voting envelope like it was a cursed artifact he'd found in a tomb. He tapped it against the desk a few times, not in a rush—probably enjoying watching all of us slowly combust.
"I've counted the votes," he said slowly, "and written down the name of your new class representative."
A beat of silence. Then—
"WELL, WHO IS IT?" Noah shouted from the third row.
Brooks didn't flinch. "I'm building suspense."
"BUILD FASTER," Sofia yelled. She was already holding her phone sideways, recording everyone's reactions.
Next to her, Emma sat perfectly straight. Hands folded. Face calm. Eyes—blazing. She was trying to look composed, but the tension in her jaw said war was imminent.
Miles? The guy had leaned so far forward in his seat he was practically standing. He adjusted his tie like this was a business interview.
Noah, meanwhile, had dramatically clasped both hands together like he was waiting to be knighted.
And me?
I just smiled and said nothing.
Inside, I was screaming.
Amaya whispered from beside me,
"Your leg's shaking."
"It's just cold in here."
"It's 28°C."
"Internal cold."
She gave me a look.
Tyler, the human chaos machine, leaned back with a smirk. "Whatever happens, I already know the result."
"Oh yeah?" I asked.
"Yeah. You win, obviously."
I blinked. "Why are you so sure?"
He grinned. "Have you met yourself?"
Mr. Brooks raised the slip of paper.
No music. No drums. Just one sigh and a monotone announcement:
"Class Representative for 1-A is… Jay Markov."
Silence.
For a solid three seconds, the classroom didn't react. It was like time paused.
Then—
"WHAT—" Emma half-stood. Her voice wasn't angry—just... betrayed by logic.
"HE DIDN'T EVEN WANT TO RUN," Miles barked, gesturing wildly.
"YESSS!" Noah cheered, leaping to his feet. "CHARM WINS AGAIN!"
"IT WAS THE HAIR!" Sofia shouted. "I KNEW IT!"
Amaya blinked. "...That's actually kind of impressive."
Tyler stood up, pointed at me, and yelled, "ALL HAIL OUR GLORIOUS LEADER!"
Mr. Brooks sipped his coffee with the slowest blink in history. "And now I regret everything."
I sat frozen.
This wasn't happening.
But also?
It totally was.
People were already clapping, hooting, even throwing folded notes like confetti. Someone shouted, "WE LOVE YOU JAY!" and someone else yelled, "DOES THIS MEAN WE GET FREE SNACKS?!"
I looked over at Emma.
She stared back, not saying a word.
And then—gracefully, calmly, terrifyingly—she smiled.
Oh no.
"I'll assist him as vice rep," she said.
Mr. Brooks sighed. "...Sure. That saves me paperwork."
Miles groaned audibly. Noah clapped again, louder.
Emma looked at me once more. "Congratulations," she said. "Don't mess it up."
Translation: You just declared war.
Aftermath – The First Throne
By the end of the school day, I had a new seat (literally), a list of class duties, and enough people whispering "Jay-senpai" around me to make me seriously reconsider life.
Tyler walked me home doing a mock press interview.
"So, Mr. Markov, what's your first policy as class rep?"
"Getting a noise-cancelling helmet. For you."
He laughed. "Nah, you love the chaos."
I didn't respond.
But he was right.
I did kind of love it.
This wasn't what I planned. I didn't want to stand out. Didn't want to lead. Didn't want to shine.
But here I was.