Chapter 8: Hustle Is a Love Language

You'd think beating your crush in front of the whole school would make you feel like a king.

It didn't.

It made me feel like someone who just got away with robbing a bank… while wearing glitter.

The next morning, I walked into school like I had bodyguards behind me.

Phones turned.

Heads nodded.

Kwame dapped me up like I just dropped a platinum album.

"Bro," he said, eyes wide, "you're him now."

"Who's him?" I asked.

He grinned. "Him him."

Even Mr. Youthros—our grumpiest teacher—squinted at me and asked, "Is it true you defeated a girl with a frying pan?"

"Uh… it was a glitter staff."

He nodded solemnly. "Respect."

I didn't know how to feel.

Half of me wanted to hide under a desk.

The other half?

Kinda wanted to see how far this hustle could go.

The Proposal

I found Sarah under her usual tree at break.

She had her AirPods in, nodding to music like she was editing a movie in her head.

I stood there longer than necessary before speaking.

"Hey," I said finally.

She looked up and smiled. "Still recovering from our match?"

"You wish. I was just pretending to lose at first."

"Mm-hmm. Sure."

Then she said the last thing I expected.

"You ever thought about expanding your app?"

I blinked. "Expanding it?"

"Yeah," she said, pulling out one AirPod. "You've basically created a digital fight ring with in-app betting. But what if it wasn't just fighting?"

I tilted my head. "What else would it be? Thumb wars?"

She leaned in, eyes gleaming. "What if you added mini games? Trivia. Races. Dares. Players pick a challenge, stake their coins, and battle it out. You'd have something bigger than Fight Club 2.0. You'd have a platform."

I stared.

Sarah was… business-minded?

Beautiful and terrifying?

I was in love.

Respectfully.

And also fearfully.

The Accidental Business Meeting

That afternoon, I called in the crew—Kwame, Javier, Zoey (who invited herself), and Sarah.

"What if," I said, "we turned Fight Club into Challenge Club?"

Kwame's eyes lit up. "Like a tournament of chaos?"

Javier added, "We could do quiz wars. Pun battles. Drawing contests. Bro—paintball but, like… with emojis!"

Zoey folded her arms. "As long as there's a leaderboard and a frying pan upgrade, I'm in."

Sarah smirked. "We can even organize real-time matches during break. Low stakes, high fun. You get traffic. Traffic means ads. Ads mean money."

Javier looked impressed. "She's scary smart."

"She's going to replace me," I muttered.

The Beta Test of Doom

Two days later, Challenge Club Beta launched.

The first match?

Kwame vs. Javier in Trivia Showdown: Meme Edition.

Ten students circled the table. Then twenty. Then—

"Is this educational?" Mr. Youthros asked, arms crossed.

"Absolutely," Sarah said, lying like a seasoned pro.

Kwame lost. Javier did a Fortnite dance.

No one asked why.

Then came the real chaos—Truth or Dare: App Mode.

Zoey had coded it overnight using some plugin I didn't even know existed.

And it was… unhinged.

Dares like:

"Call your crush and confess in Pig Latin."

"Eat five dry biscuits and whistle 'Baby Shark.'"

"Walk backward through the hallway yelling, 'I am the chosen one!'"

I stared at the screen.

"Who approved this?"

Zoey grinned. "You left your laptop unattended. That's on you."

And the worst part?

It worked.

The school was hooked.

When Chaos Becomes Culture

Challenge Club wasn't just a game anymore.

It was culture.

Even the teachers were sneak-playing during breaks.

By Friday, we had:

300 users

A leaderboard

A secret Google Form called "Dare Me If You Can"

Rumors that the school prefect was secretly ranked #7

My phone buzzed every five minutes.

New battles.

New coins.

New commissions.

I was making more money than I knew what to do with.

I should've been celebrating.

But then I got the message.

Unknown Number:

You're the one behind Challenge Club, right?

Me:

Depends who's asking.

Unknown:

Principal wants to see you Monday.

I stared at the screen.

Then slowly turned off the light and lay down, arms folded like I was preparing for a funeral.

"ChatGPT," I whispered, staring into the darkness.

"Tell me you've got a lawyer mode."