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Hello All, Controversy on this story's origin. 🤔 Anyway, Just checked in to drop this tag label: <Main: Human 🤝 Tool: AI> <Pipeline: Human: Writes --> AI: Refines & Expands --> Human: Rewrites & Refines> <Pipeline Failure! -> Human Rewrite: Failure! Too Inexperienced --> Human Deduction: Story is Wayyy too fast-paced! It's at breakneck speed! Be a small snail! --> Character development: Redundant! Generic! Puppets! Bland!> <Suggestion: Slow Burn Forge! : Construct the Bones! --> Build the Flesh! --> Infuse the Human Soul!> New Order: This story will used as Outline for the Human Rewrite! Thanks and Good luck All. 🙂 ... Prologue: The Mysterious Announcement... Or not The whole place smelled like stale air and regret. I was stuck in a boiling hot school auditorium, wedged between a hundred equally miserable students. Above us, the ceiling fans whirred uselessly, doing little more than rearranging the muggy air. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the dim glow like tiny, bored ghosts. All this for a glorified sales pitch. A week ago, "Eternal Child Week" didn't exist. Now, it was a mandatory assembly. The government had dropped it on us like some bizarre, last-ditch effort to make people feel excited, peppering news reports with vague phrases like "limitless potential" and "the dawn of a new era." It sounded less like a holiday and more like a distraction, one of those fake "historic moments" that ends up meaning nothing. --- Liana, my best friend, was sprawled out in the creaking wooden chair beside me like a cat who had given up on life. She’d mastered the art of maximum limb sprawl, her legs stretched so far they were a public hazard. "If this turns into one of those ‘Embrace the Future' speeches,” she muttered, "I'm out." I didn't take my eyes off the stage. "Out how? You gonna just... walk out?” "Damn right.” She flicked her dark curls over her shoulder with a flourish. "Might even throw in a slow motion exit. Make it iconic." I sighed, rubbing my temples. “Just try not to get expelled before lunch.” She grinned. "No promises.” Before I could warn her to at least pretend to be a functioning student, the auditorium lights dimmed. The low chatter died down as the massive projector screen flickered to life. Static, then the Global News Network logo, followed by the impossibly polished face of a news anchor with a voice as smooth as a ridiculously expensive commercial. "Citizens of the world," she began, "Today marks the beginning of a historic change. In preparation for the first-ever Eternal Child Week, the government has issued the following statement." The screen cut to a sterile press room. At the podium stood a government official, he looked like the human embodiment of serious business. His suit was crisp, his hair perfectly combed, his face unreadable. He looked like he was auditioning for the role of 'Emotionless Guy' in a corporate drama. "As we stand at the dawn of a new era, we must embrace both progress and reflection," he declared, his voice as dry as a PowerPoint presentation. "This week-long observance is not merely a celebration, but a recognition of limitless potential. Further details will be released in the coming days." And just like that — the screen went black. Dead silence. Then, a wave of groans swept through the auditorium. Phones lit up like fireflies as students rushed to update their social feeds. Liana threw her head back so dramatically I thought she might fall out of her chair. "Ugh! That told us NOTHING!" I leaned forward, resting my chin on my hand. “Exactly. They don't want us to know anything." At the front, our principal — Such a man, he did look like he regretted every life choice that led him to this moment — cleared his throat into the mic. “Now, I know some of you have questions,” he said, trying way too hard to sound reassuring. “But I encourage you all to keep an open mind." “Alright. You may return to class," he finished, waving a defeated hand. --- We pushed through the crowded hallway, dodging slow walkers and last-minute locker stops. But even as I went through the motions, something nagged at me. It wasn't just the lack of answers; it was the lack of questions. Sure, there were jokes and conspiracy theories, but no one seemed genuinely concerned. That was what unsettled me. I leaned closer to Liana, keeping my voice low. "There's no merch." Liana paused from trying to trip a slow-walker. "What?" "If this was some fun new holiday, there'd be sponsorships," I pressed on. "Maybe T-shirts, Limited-edition soda cans! Or better still..." I made air quotes. "'Celebrate Eternal Child Week with Pepsi!' or some garbage like that. The government never rolls something out without a reason, and the number one reason is always money." She blinked, tapping her chin. "Okay, yeah. That is kinda weird. Maybe they're just bad at marketing?" "The government? No way." Liana leaned against her locker, a smirk playing on her lips. "You are so obsessed with this." "You once delivered a twenty-minute speech on why the cafeteria needs better snack options." "And I stand by that," she shot back. "But this is different. You freak out when things don't make sense. It's your default setting." She paused, her eyes widening in mock revelation. "Oh my God," she whispered dramatically. "You're totally one of those noir detectives who narrate everything to themselves." I stood still. For a beat, the hallway noise faded away. Liana's face paled as she realized what had just come out of her mouth. "Uhh..." she stammered, taking a slight step back. My expression didn't change. Except for one thing. I smiled. Not my usual, tired, deadpan smirk. This was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that sent Liana's fight-or-flight instincts into a full-blown panic. "Liana, girl~" I said sweetly. Too sweetly. “Would you like to repeat that?" My smile didn't waver, but my eye twitched. Just a little. Her hands immediately shot up in surrender. “Okay, let's not do anything hasty—" she giggled nervously “Am I too kind to you~?” My eye twitched again. Liana, for once in her life, shut up. I let the silence stretch, then turned back to my locker with a sigh. My smile vanished. Liana slumped against the metal, exhaling like she’d just barely escaped with her life. "Good lord," she muttered, rubbing her arms. “That was terrifying." I smirked. “Then stop being annoying." "Impossible." The bell rang. "C'mon, let's go," I said, already walking toward class. Liana fell into step beside me. But the normalcy of it all made my stomach twist. It wasn't just the announcement — it was the reaction. The lack of real concern. People weren't brushing it off because they didn't care. It was something else. A strange, collective acceptance, as if they'd been told to expect it. As if, on some level, they already knew. A chill crept up my spine. I was positive I had never heard of Eternal Child Week before today. But if that was true, then why did it feel like I was the only one in the dark? The shrill sound of the final warning bell yanked me out of my thoughts. "Whoops, we're gonna be late,” Liana said, speeding up. I shook off the creeping unease and followed. Maybe I was just looking for a mystery where there wasn't one. ...But something told me that whatever was coming? It wasn't just another holiday. And deep down, I had a feeling we weren't ready for it.