Bam!

The crack of rattan against the table echoed through Block B. Conversations died instantly. From the windows of 2 Ukhuwah and 2 Jujur, a few students peeked out—just enough to confirm what they already knew.

Mr Zack.

Inside 2 Amanah, the room had gone still.

“Why are you always dreaming, Nathan?”

Nathan stared at the board.

 2x^2 + 5x - 3 = 0

He knew this. He really did.

But the numbers refused to move under pressure.

He was selective with teachers—he responded to those who gave him space, not fear. Those were rare.

Across him sat Hasya. Quiet. Composed. Easily one of the strongest in the class—almost at the level of 2 Ikhlas. Yet she remained here, as if the system above had never quite fit her.

She watched for a moment.

Then raised her hand.

“Sir, I want to help.”

Zack’s gaze shifted—sharp, cutting—from Hasya to Nathan.

Then back again.

“Looks like a prince needed saving.”

A few students lowered their heads immediately.

Nathan’s fingers tightened against the edge of his desk, his answer lost before it could even form.

Across him, Hasya had already solved it.

Clean. Effortless.

Just like the way she looked at the board.

___

A girl with an oversized hijab hesitantly raised her hand, then lowered it again as if second-guessing herself. After a pause, she spoke softly, giving the correct answer—but without confidence in her voice. Her name tag read Iffah.

She glanced at Hasya for a moment, then quickly looked away, her fingers tightening around her notes.

“I wish I could be like her.”

Iffah had heard about Hasya before.

She had been offered a place in 2 Ikhlas once, but refused it. Too structured, too rigid, people said.

Instead, she stayed in 2 Amanah.

And yet, within this middle class, she was still recognised as the smartest among them.

Her reason for staying, however, remained unclear.

A quiet mystery no one quite asked out loud.

Back at Bilik Sahsiah, Nazha and Faizal were deep in discussion about Kanshin Inferno. Despite being her supervisor and Head of the English Panel, Faizal spoke with clear enthusiasm, almost like a teacher rediscovering his own craft.

“See these five heroes in Kanfer—Aqua, Celestine, Joka, Loid, and Valen,” he said, sliding the template forward. “Each of them represents a group in the speaking activity.”

Nazha’s eyes scanned the documents.

There were 33 sheets printed—carefully divided.

One-third with guided prompts for weaker students. One-third with moderate vocabulary for average learners. One-third with advanced prompts for higher-level students.

A structured differentiation model.

Clean.

Intentional.

Nazha looked up slightly, taking it in without comment—but clearly processing how the system could scale beyond a single classroom.

__

Faizal slid the stack of speaking sheets toward Nazha like it was nothing special, but his tone softened when he began to explain.

“Basically,” he said, tapping the paper lightly, “not all students speak at the same level. So, I don’t force them to use the same difficulty.”

He pointed to the first set.

“These are for weaker students. I give them sentence starters and keywords. They just complete and speak. Less thinking pressure, more confidence building.”

His finger moved to the second set.

“These are for average students. I remove some help but still guide their structure. They learn how to form ideas properly.”

Then he tapped the last set.

“And this one is for strong students. Almost no help. They build their own ideas and speak freely.”

Faizal leaned back slightly, as if checking whether it made sense.

“Same topic,” he added, “but different entry levels. So, everyone can speak instead of just watching.”

___

“The five heroes were five groups, and they will move around to complete the traveller’s sheet (answer sheet), right?” Nazha asked.

Faizal nodded, clearly pleased that she caught the structure so quickly.

“Yes. Each group takes on a hero role, then rotates through speaking tasks. The traveller’s sheet is basically their record—what they say, how they respond, and whether they can adapt their answers as they move.”

He tapped the papers again.

“So instead of sitting and waiting, they’re constantly speaking, listening, and adjusting. It keeps them active the whole time.”

Nazha looked down at the sheets again, her expression thoughtful—not impressed outwardly, but clearly analysing how the system could stretch across different classrooms.

___

“Interesting,” she said quietly.

Her eyes moved across the three levels of support.

Same task. Different access. Then, almost immediately—

“I want to try this in my next class.” 

“2 Amanah.”

Faizal nodded.

“Then you’ll see how they speak when support and pressure exist at the same time.”

Nazha didn’t reply.

But her gaze sharpened.

2 Amanah would test balance, not structure.

Nazha walked toward 2 Amanah and noticed Megat and Syarah across the block, doing their rounds, likely checking on the classrooms after Mr Zack’s outburst with the rattan that morning. The memory surfaced briefly in her mind—the sudden silence, the tension spreading through the corridors—before she dismissed it and continued forward, focusing on her next class.

“Good morning, teacher.” The class responded in unison.

The class sat down.

Nazha moved to the whiteboard and began pasting the Kanfer hero images as her induction set. A few students leaned forward, whispers immediately spreading across the room, curiosity breaking through the usual stiffness.

“Is the teacher into Kanfer?” someone murmured.

Nathan raised an eyebrow. Something inside him shifted—not confidence, not fear, but recognition. A quiet instinct that this class might not feel like the others.

Hasya remained still, expression controlled, already anticipating Nazha’s next move.

Iffah, on the other hand, watched with open interest, almost brightened by the possibility that this lesson might be different.

___

Nazha scanned the class once the Kanfer heroes were fully displayed on the board.

“Let’s start simple,” she said calmly. “Nathan.”

The name landed softly—but the effect was not.

Nathan hesitated. A fraction longer than necessary.

His eyes flicked up, then down again, as if checking whether speaking now would cause a problem he couldn’t see. Across the room, Hasya observed without moving.

Iffah straightened slightly, curious. The earlier weight of Zack’s presence still lingered in the room—unspoken but not forgotten.

Nathan finally stood.

___

Nathan pointed at one of the images on the board.

“Loid,” he said, voice steadier now. “He’s the strategist type. Always planning, adapting in fights.”

A few students shifted slightly, listening more than they intended to.

Then, something in him loosened. He pointed again.

“Aqua… is one of the rarest heroes to get from the game.”

This time, there was a faint spark in his tone—less guarded, more natural.

Hasya watched him quietly, noting the change. Iffah looked impressed without saying anything.

For a moment, the room felt less heavy than before.

___

Nazha’s lips curled slightly.

“Thank you, Nathan. You must be a Kanfer expert.”

A few light reactions softened the room. Then she turned back to the board.

“Now, speaking task. Asking for directions—Kanfer style.”

Nazha moved to the board again and divided the class into five groups.

“Before we start,” she said, “you need the language tools.”

She wrote simple prompts under the Kanfer heroes.

Excuse me, where is…
How do I get to…
Can you show me the way to…
Turn left / Turn right / Go straight.

“This is your base structure for asking directions,” she added calmly. “You will build your speaking skills using these.”

Her hand paused briefly before she continued.

“At the end of your traveller’s sheet, you will also do peer assessment.”

A few students glanced at one another.

“The five heroes represent five guilds,” she said. “Each guild will evaluate another guild’s speaking performance.”

She capped the marker.

The students chose their desired guilds.

Clarity (Aqua), Instruction (Celestine), Flexibility (Joka), Structure (Loid), Fluency (Valen).

Nazha observed the distribution quietly, noting how instinctively they gravitated toward roles that matched their comfort in speaking. Some chose stability, some chose expression, and a few chose challenge without fully realising it.

Without comment, she allowed the groups to settle into their guilds, readying them for the speaking task that would follow.

___

Iffah adjusted her grip on her worksheet when her group’s turn arrived.

She had chosen Celestine Guild—the Instruction group—quietly, almost as if it would help her blend into something more structured than herself.

When her turn came, she stood a little straighter than before.

“Excuse me,” she began softly, eyes flicking between her notes and the board. “How do I get to… the library from here?”

Her voice carried the correct structure, but not the confidence behind it. The sentence was right, yet hesitant, as if she was still asking permission to speak rather than giving directions.

A small pause followed.

Then her group member stepped in to continue the route, filling the silence for her.

Iffah lowered her gaze slightly, relieved—but also quietly aware that she had not held the moment alone.

___

Now moving to Hasya, who was in the Joka Guild.

She observed her teammates in silence, eyes tracking each response with quiet precision. They were slow—too careful, too dependent on the prompt cards, as if afraid to move without permission from structure.

Hasya exhaled softly. Not irritation.

Judgement.

Joka was meant for flexibility, for quick adaptation, for speaking without overthinking. Yet her group kept circling the prompts instead of using them as a launch point. When her turn came, Hasya stepped in smoothly.

“Excuse me,” she said clearly, voice steady, “how do I get to the cafeteria from here?”

No hesitation. No delay.

Just execution.

___

Nathan seemed to enjoy the Valen Guild more than he expected.

The group moved faster now—words flowing with less hesitation, confidence building with each turn. They were close to finishing the round when it came to him again, the final prompt under Aqua Guild.

He stepped forward.

“Excuse me,” Nathan said, voice steadier than before, “where is the science lab from here?”

For a moment, the sentence held cleanly in the air—simple, structured, complete.

And for the first time that lesson, he did not feel like he was being watched while speaking.

Despite the smooth progress from the other groups, Nazha’s attention shifted to the Loid Guild.

They were stuck.

Mastiah, Safia, and Lila sat with half-finished prompts on their sheets, voices absent, participation minimal. The structure was there, but the execution was not moving forward.

Nazha stepped closer.

“Why do you refuse to participate?” she asked calmly.

___

Mastiah glanced down immediately. Safia shifted in her seat. Lila tightened her grip on the worksheet but said nothing.

Silence held for a few seconds too long.

Nazha did not repeat the question.

Instead, she pointed gently at the Loid prompt on the board.

“Structure is already given,” she said. “You are not creating. You are only speaking.”

A pause.

Still no response.

Her gaze moved across them once more—steady, not harsh.

“Loid Guild is not about perfection,” she added. “It is about completion.”

That finally broke the hesitation.

Mastiah cleared her throat first.

“Excuse me… how do I get to the office from here?”

The sentence came out cautious—but it came.

Safia followed a second later, then Lila, each voice slightly stronger than before as the group slowly re-entered the task flow.