Olympus High was a maze.
Not in its layout—its halls were perfectly engineered with biometric doors, floating directories, and AI concierges—but in its structure of power. Power here wasn't loud. It was layered. Woven into casual conversations, club memberships, and unspoken alliances.
Lucas Grant stood at the edge of the Tier 1 Networking Lounge, not to bask in the privileges of his provisional rank, but to observe.
His status hadn't changed much since Startup Pitch Week. Yes, he'd made a splash. Microvest was now a known term in a few Tier 1 circles, especially among the curious and the opportunistic. But Olympus didn't bend for new names. Not unless they bled, bought, or outplayed the old ones.
And Lucas wasn't bleeding or buying.
He was planning.
With a flick of his wrist console, a holographic page opened before his eyes—his personal mind map of the school, titled
"Olympus Social Topography v0.1"
It wasn't a map of rooms or buildings. It was a strategic breakdown of power—who controlled what, how influence flowed, and what doors remained shut.
He had started observing more after every class, every lunch break, and every council announcement. The school wasn't just a school. It was a simulation of the real world—compressed into a high-stakes environment where your moves echoed through networks, gossip chains, and data logs.
He tapped a node.
Tier 6 & Tier 5—Council & Elites:Untouchable. Born with it. Most had family conglomerates or government influence. Some were future CEOs, heirs of nation-level holdings. Lucas had no business breathing their air—yet. Their power wasn't showy. It was quiet, institutional. Their parties weren't even publicized—access was via invitation encoded in DNA-level ID.
Tier 4—Influencers & Sponsors:The social engineers. Trendsetters, school media moguls, and fashion-tech creators. They decided what went viral in Olympus. They didn't command armies; they controlled perception. Lucas noticed how even professors deferred to a Tier 4 student if they ran Olympus Channel or the AI-PR circles.
Tier 3 – Operators:Doers. These were the organizers of everything from black-market tournaments to legitimate inter-school competitions. Event heads, software infrastructure runners, and AI protocol testers. Their skills were respected because they made Olympus run. Lucas aimed to befriend or study them deeply.
Tier 2—Specialists:The bridge. Coders, analysts, product designers, and investors-in-training. Often undervalued but essential. Most Tier 4s and 5s borrowed Tier 2 talent to run their empires. These people weren't flashy, but they held quiet power—if you had the right eye.
Tier 1—Wanderers & Seekers:His tier. The jungle. New blood, transfer kids, and wildcard rich kids who hadn't proven themselves. Lucas's position was worse—Provisional Tier 1. A label that might as well read temporary pass.
He highlighted his own data field.
Lucas Grant—Provisional Tier 1Cred: 30,000Tier Boost Points: 40Status: Under Evaluation
This was his war map. And he was the sole general.
While others chased easy battles—competitions, party invites, collabs—Lucas focused on long-term positioning.
He was building what he called "The Second Network."
The First Network—the public Olympus social scene—was shiny, broadcasted, and artificial. But there was a second layer beneath it. The real movers. The unknown coders maintaining influencer apps. The kids who managed blackout zones during War Games. The ones who created the rules... or found the loopholes.
Lucas wanted them.
His first breakthrough came through a girl named Vessa Yuan.
Tier 2. Specializing in predictive market models. She rarely spoke, but Lucas noticed she was behind five Tier 3 pitch winners last semester—helping with data, forecasts, and market fit. She stayed out of the spotlight.
He found her eating alone in the AI Cafeteria.
"Microvest," he said, sliding into the seat beside her. "Want to help us design its behavior scoring algorithm?"
She didn't look up from her soup. "I don't work for free."
Lucas smiled. "What if I let you plug your market model into every user profile we generate? All anonymized, of course. You get test data at scale."
That got her attention.
Two days later, she was sketching gamified financial health indicators for Microvest's first 100-user prototype.
Another piece of the map filled in.
Lucas realized something else, too.
At Olympus, reputation wasn't just earned. It was borrowed.
You might not be respected—but if you stood next to someone who was, people paused before disrespecting you. If you collaborated with someone smart, they assumed you had potential too. It was all networked credit.
So Lucas started showing up.
Not at elite events—he wouldn't even get past the biometrics.
But at the shadow layer: minor hackathons, niche club meetings, underground pitch simulators. He didn't always compete. Sometimes he just watched. Memorized who clapped for whom. Who rolled their eyes? Who showed up late but never apologized?
It wasn't glamorous. But it was accurate.
His map grew.
He began tagging patterns:
Student Council rarely intervened unless a Tier 4 or above was directly affected.
Tier 3 club heads preferred to mentor newcomers who didn't ask too many questions.
The arena—the massive combat sim complex—served as a grooming ground for enforcers. Henchmen. Brawlers with sponsors. Lucas had already fought one. He knew they weren't the top dogs, but they guarded the gates.
His biggest discovery, though, came from a mistake.
He attempted to join a Tier 3 workshop on Social Engineering & Strategic Conflict—only to be rejected at the biometric entrance.
"Tier 1s not allowed," the AI interface said coldly.
But Lucas noticed something as he turned away. The sponsor's logo on the flyer—Icarus Dynamics—also funded one of the Tier 2 psychology clubs. That club allowed guests.
Loophole.
If he couldn't access workshops directly, he could infiltrate through affiliated clubs. He joined that psychology club the next day.
By the end of the week, he had listened to four Icarus insiders talk about manipulation strategies disguised as leadership.
And his map updated again.
By Sunday night, Lucas sat in his room with his map nearly triple the size it had started. Every note, rumor, and connection fed into an evolving simulation.
This wasn't paranoia. It was survival.
Olympus High was never just about academics.
It was a game.
A deep, brutal, brilliant game of moves and masks. Of calculated silence. Of knowing where to stand… and when to strike.
Lucas wasn't the strongest.
Not the richest.
Not even truly respected.
But he was watching.
And soon, he would know every rule the game refused to teach.