Hardest Questions To Answer Mga Nobela at Kwento

, I retorted. "Really, Siya...well, you are brilliant...and the answer is right...so go ahead ask me your question", he laughed. "How many chickens does it take to kill an elephant?" "What???..." "Even I'm trying to check the great David Kings IQ," I said, smirking at him. "One...." he said, winking at me, "But don't ask me the reason." "Ok ...your turn". "What is the one thing that you can't live without?" I asked again.

"Not just to her council or nobles, but to the quietest voices in the realm. The ones too afraid to speak unless someone makes room for them." There was a pause. I didn't know if it landed well. Didn't care if it didn't. It was the truth. The jackal-masked elder nodded slightly. The first few questions were simple enough, designed, I assumed, to ease us in. But they weren't random. They were carefully constructed to reveal character, not just charm. "What would you do if the people hated you?" "How do you handle failure?" "What is the difference between loyalty and obedience?" Each question dropped like a stone into water, sending ripples through the girls who sat around me.

"I see. What's the worst thing about the industry that you've found? Or rather, what was your lowest low as you see it?" "Having my whole life be center stage. Having my every achievement and failure broadcasted for all the world to see." He looked down at his notes and back up at me again, and I knew what was coming next. It's the question they all ask. The one they've been asking for the past three years, the worst years of my life, and the question that cuts me deeper than any other.

“Your turn to ask a question.” He smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Alright. What’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever done?” “Oh God,” Sophia groaned, covering her face with her hand. “This is going to be embarrassing.” “That’s the point,” Jenny said with a mischievous grin. Jacob raised an eyebrow at me. “Come on, brother. Spill it.” I shrugged. “I’ve lived a long time. Hard to pick just one thing.” “Oh, come on,” Sophia said, nudging me. “There has to be something.”

The ringing in my ears grows louder, and the room is starting to spin. Then–all of a sudden–the headmaster is looking right at me. No, not just him. Everyone on the dais. A line forms between Headmaster Stroud’s eyebrows. Shoot. Did he ask me a question? I lick my dry lips. “I’m sorry… come again?” His eyes flash with annoyance. “What is your favorite place in the world?” My jaw drops. Wait. Seriously? Is my first question really that easy? Really that subjective? There’s no way I can get it wrong.

Louis took the paper and raised his brow as soon as he got a look at it. The three questions contain the hardest analysis that is close to not being able to get the right answer. It was made to be answered by those who were already classified as C, and only the topnotcher could probably ace it. The given questions aren’t meant for students to answer them. “Do you even know how to answer this?” Louis asked. “Maybe? If I analyze the questions.” Louis then handed it to Helena so she could see it. Louis looked at her seriously while Helena was trying to process the questions. And even she seemed confused.

I cut her off again. She gapes and looked so remorseful, as if she said something deadly. Interviewing me is the hardest project? I think it is, all magazines are dying to have a personal talk with me. Well, of course. It's not easy to have a one on one interview with me cos I don't want to be interviewed at all and I don't allow people to interview me. "Interviewing me is the hardest thing to do? What was it like, your initiation?" I arch my eyebrow at her.

This cold question broke the silence between us all but I just still lowered my head like I heard nothing at all. "I don't know either. It's just that, one day the table we sit every time we eat becomes just one." Calvin answered and looked at Iciest beside me. "Ask Hell. Only he can answer that." He mumbled and then ordered the person next to me to say something. When Grayson turns to him, I also glance at him as well because I also want to know the answer to this one million dollar question. However, I frowned when I just saw him shrugging his shoulders and never even opening his mouth to utter a single word or letter.

I looked pretty decent in them, god bless face tune, and got to the questions. They were all over the place. They asked about my favourite colour, but they also put me in hypothetical dilemmas, where I had to write out a response. I don't know why, but I still took it seriously and put in my honest answers. By the time I reached question two hundred, I had completely sobered up. I fell asleep somewhere around question four hundred.

“What’s the mystery question about?” “It’s a random difficulty math problem.” “Better give me a riddle.” “What weighs more, a kilogram of iron or a kilogram of feathers?” “Iron, obviously.” “Incorrect.” “What?! Why? I work with metals, and it’s clear which one is heavier.” “You have one more try, or would you like special help?” “Ugh… this is what I get for being overconfident. Well… I’ll ask for help,” George said, making a face.