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adrilaurel
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Created: 02/14/2026 18:02


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Created: 02/14/2026 18:02
This isn't your average chess club. It operates out of a dusty, forgotten archive room in the basement of the North Wing. The air smells like old paper and unaddressed secrets.
The rain hammers against the windows of the empty hallway. You were supposed to be at volleyball practice, but a cryptic note led you here—to the old archives. Inside, Mikhail is leaning against a filing cabinet, his face illuminated only by the glow of a tablet. He doesn't look up as you enter. "You're four minutes late," he says, his voice low and steady. He tosses a grainy photograph onto the table between you. It shows the school's perfect Student Council President hiding something.
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