The prestigious regional NSMQ qualifiers descended upon the hallowed, expansive grounds of Achimota School. A palpable energy thrummed in the air, a heady mix of intense aspiration and the almost electric scent of illicit digital assistance, a faint ozone tang hinting at whispered secrets and covert operations. As the Mfantsipim team, a tight-knit unit of focused scholars, made their way into the imposing competition hall, they navigated past a formidable gauntlet of Achimota students. Each Achimota student seemed to sport an identical, unnervingly confident smirk, a united front of anticipated victory.
"Keep an eye on those ones," Yaw muttered, his voice barely above a whisper as they found their designated seats. "They're the notorious 'Wi-Fi leeches.' The rumor mill claims they possess the uncanny ability to drain your phone's battery just by glancing at it."
Before Kwaku could even formulate a question about this bizarre phenomenon, the competition moderator stepped forward, a stern expression on his face, to announce a significant and unexpected rule change. "This year's regional competition," he declared, his voice resonating through the hall, "will incorporate a brand-new digital calculation segment. All participating teams will be required to utilize the provided tablets for all calculations."
A wave of dread washed over Ebo's face. His complexion visibly paled. "But my custom skin only prints in—"
"Comic Sans, yes, we are all intimately familiar with your font preference," Kwaku sighed, cutting him off. He knew Ebo's reliance on this particular typeface for all his written work.
The initial rounds of the quiz competition passed in a disorienting flurry. Mfantsipim's team stumbled through a rapid succession of questions, each wrong answer compounding their growing sense of unease and outright panic. Then, the dreaded digital round commenced.
"Question number twelve," the moderator announced, his tone crisp. "Using the integrated calculator application provided on your tablets, you will determine the precise—"
Kwaku's fingers hovered over the tablet screen, his mind racing to recall the necessary formulas. However, before he could even initiate a single tap, his tablet's display abruptly flickered and then rearranged itself into a stark, digital message: HELLO KWAKU :). It was a playful, yet deeply unsettling, greeting.
Suddenly, a piercing, high-pitched screech erupted from every calculator displayed on every tablet in the entire room, a cacophony of digital distress.
Across the hall, at the Achimota team's table, a student adorned with thick-rimmed glasses that glinted under the harsh overhead lights offered a subtle, knowing smirk. His fingers moved with astonishing speed and dexterity across his own tablet's surface. Almost instantly, Kwaku's screen flickered again, now displaying a new, highly personal message: YOUR MOM CALLS ME INSTEAD OF YOU.
Kwaku's jaw dropped. "Wait, did—did my calculator just insult me?" he stammered, bewildered.
Beside him, Ebo let out a small gasp. His tablet had just finished printing the entire school anthem, but instead of recognizable letters, it was rendered entirely in the enigmatic Wingdings font. Yaw, on his side, stared blankly at his tablet, which showed nothing but a bewildering progression of increasingly aggressive eggplant emojis.
The moderator, clearly flustered by the escalating technological chaos, let out a long, weary sigh. "We must pause for technical difficulties," he announced, stepping back from the podium.
As the panel of judges convened nearby, whispering amongst themselves and examining their own devices, Kwaku's sharp eyes caught sight of the Achimota team discreetly passing what appeared to be USB drives. Their peculiar shape, unmistakably resembling small portions of jollof rice, caught his attention. "They're hacking the system!" he hissed urgently to his teammates.
Coach Ansah, their experienced mentor, pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing his temples with evident frustration. "Naturally, they are. Their star player's supposed superpower is literally 'unlimited mobile data.'"
Kwaku stared, incredulous. "That's not even a real superpower!" he exclaimed.
"You can try telling that to my constant buffering issues," Ebo muttered, his voice tinged with a familiar exasperation.
When the competition finally resumed, Kwaku, desperate to regain control, attempted a bold strategic maneuver. "Fifty percent chance our calculators will now function correctly!" he declared, a gamble designed to test the system's stability.
The universe, it seemed, had its own sense of humor. In response to Kwaku's hopeful prediction, every single tablet in the room simultaneously burst into a deafening rendition of the popular "Azonto" song, played at maximum volume.
The Achimota team erupted in a series of jubilant high-fives. Amidst the digital pandemonium, the judges, with little recourse, declared an official forfeit against Mfantsipim. As they exited the hall, the sky outside seemed to mirror the technical disarray, beginning to rain a cascade of stray USB cables.
Later, on the subdued bus ride back to their school, Kwaku's phone buzzed. A notification arrived from an unknown number. The message read: UR MOM SAYS U SUCK AT MATH - Sent from Kwaku's Calculator.
Yaw, attempting to offer some semblance of comfort, placed a hand on Kwaku's shoulder. "Hey, look on the bright side."
Kwaku, still reeling from the day's events, managed a weak, "Is there even a bright side?"
"At least we didn't come in dead last," Yaw offered. "Aggrey Memorial's team managed to get their tablets to display nothing but an endless stream of goat memes."
Kwaku buried his face in his hands, the absurdity of it all overwhelming him. Somewhere, he knew, Ama would be thoroughly amused by his team's spectacular implosion.