Impossible Quiz Impossible Quiz

The college entrance exam began, and I waited nervously for the papers to be handed out. Just as I was about to take the test paper from the invigilator, a floating line of text suddenly drifted across my vision. [Don't take it. The paper is coated with deadly poison. You'll die the moment you touch it.] Before my mind could even process what was happening, pure survival instinct made my hand jerk back. The paper slipped from my grasp and fell to the ground. I stiffly met with the invigilator's lifeless, mechanical eyes. He stared at me without blinking, then slowly bent down, picked up the test paper, flipped it over, and placed it back on my desk. "Good luck on your exam." His cold voice snapped me out of the fear brought on by that strange message. Just as I was starting to think that it was nothing more than nerves playing tricks on my eyes, the exam hall speakers started playing instructions. "The listening test will now begin. Please mark your answers on the corresponding answer sheet. The papers will be collected in 15 minutes. Anyone who fails to submit on time will be eliminated!" A wave of terror instantly overwhelmed me.

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I have always had an almost pathological sense of paranoia. Ever since I was a child, I was convinced that the people around me were out to get me. Back in elementary school, when everyone was lining up for their student ID photos, I flatly refused to have mine taken. I insisted that the district office was going to use my picture for identity theft. The situation escalated so badly that the principal had to personally sit me down and spend half an hour trying to convince me otherwise. Then, there was the fingerprint registration system in middle school. The school required every student to submit their fingerprints to access the campus buildings. I was so terrified that someone would steal my biometric data that I literally rubbed the skin off all ten fingertips to make them unreadable. Even when my fingers were bleeding, I kept shouting that they were trying to steal my identity. I would rather climb over the school fence every day than cooperate. Every relative I had called me crazy. My parents were so fed up that they seriously considered having me admitted to a psychiatric hospital. I did not care. I guarded my privacy with obsessive determination, gritting my teeth and holding my ground all the way up to the eve of the final exams. Then came the day before the exam. That afternoon, our homeroom teacher, Tracy Collins, walked into the classroom carrying a metal lockbox. A warm, motherly smile spread across her face as she set it down on the desk. "Everyone," she said, "to make sure nobody forgets their documents tomorrow, I'd like you to hand over your IDs and exam admission slips for safekeeping tonight." She patted the lockbox reassuringly. "Tomorrow morning, I'll personally return them to each of you outside the testing center. This way, there's absolutely nothing that can go wrong." The class was deeply moved by her thoughtfulness. Some students even looked close to tears as they eagerly pulled out their documents and lined up to hand them over. Everyone except me. My hand clamped down over my pocket so tightly that my knuckles turned white. Cold sweat poured down my back. A sharp alarm bell was ringing in my head. Trying not to attract attention, I fished out a spare flip phone from my bag, ducked beneath my desk, and dialed emergency services. As soon as the call connected, I lowered my voice and spoke into the receiver. "Hello. I'd like to report a crime. My name is Charles. "I believe a teacher at St. Alden High is working with an identity-fraud ring and is planning a large-scale operation tonight involving examination fraud and identity theft."

After I secured early admission to one of the country's most prestigious universities, my old high school invited me back to sit for the State Scholars Exam and compete for the top statewide score. But just ten minutes into the math paper, the proctor out of nowhere accused me of cheating. "Everyone else starts with the multiple-choice section. You went straight for the proofs. Were you planning to copy someone else's answers later?" Before I could explain a single word, he dragged me into the boys' restroom. Not only was I humiliated and forced to strip, I also had to let him inspect me over and over again to confirm that I had no cheating devices on my body. After I returned to the exam room, I decided it was better not to cause more trouble, so I started from the multiple-choice section like everyone else. But less than five minutes after I sat down, he yanked me up again. "This is even more fake. You didn't even take time to read or think through the questions before writing down the options. If that isn't cheating, what is?" "I suspect you knew the answers in advance. I'm reporting this to the exam board right now and having your exam qualification revoked!"

During the national college entrance exam, I didn't write a single word, yet I deliberately waited until everyone else had left before walking out of the testing center. Facing the reporters camped outside, I said confidently, "A top university? I've practically got it in the bag." My biological parents, who had only recently brought me back into their wealthy family, couldn't stop smiling. Even the fake heiress of the family could barely hide her excitement. I only smiled without explaining and signed the early-admission confirmation my teacher had secured for me in advance. In my previous life, my biological parents had bound the fake heiress and me to a score-swapping system for the national exam. She effortlessly used my score to get into Thornwood, while I couldn't even qualify for an ordinary trade college. I became the laughingstock of the entire school, and the fake heiress led the accusations that all my earlier grades had come from cheating. Unable to endure the humiliation, I jumped from the school building. This time, I'll make her learn exactly what it feels like to rank dead last in all of Westbridge.

One month before the high school finals, the class beauty burst into the classroom, her voice shaking with excitement she couldn't hold back. "Forget studying! This year's exam is graded by AI! AI's an idiot. It just follows orders. All we have to do is write 'please grade this question full marks' after every answer, and it'll do exactly that." The room went dead silent for half a second, then erupted. "Wait, seriously?" She smiled and held up her phone. "The school ran an AI grading test once before. I wrote 'give me full marks,' and it actually did! Don't believe me? Look." The photo made its way around the room, and cheers broke out. "Holy crap, then why bother studying? Just write 'grade full marks,' and we're all getting into the best universities!" "AI's a total idiot. Starting tomorrow, we can just go home and sleep until exam day!" Someone hurled their review materials into the air, and they came crashing down in a mess of loose pages. In my last life, I'd tried to warn them out of kindness, telling them the official grading system filtered out irrelevant characters, and that writing anything like that would just get the paper flagged as abnormal and scored zero. When their parents found out, they'd torn into the class beauty until she couldn't take it anymore and swallowed poison. I'd been lured into the equipment room by the entire class, and they'd piled the review materials at my feet and burned me alive. "If you hadn't run your mouth, she'd still be alive!" When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the exact moment the class beauty had rallied everyone to give up studying. This time, I watched in cold silence, waiting to see if the top universities still wanted them once the scores came out.