Chapter 11: The Glitchening

You know that moment when everything seems like it's finally going great—and then the universe pulls the rug out from under you?

That was Monday morning.

The official trial of LearnArena had begun. Our first live classroom test was scheduled for Mr. Kovac's science class—a place that constantly smelled like burnt toast and unwashed beakers. But still, it was the future. Our future.

Javier walked in carrying a box of snacks like we were launching a product at Apple HQ. Kwame had a folder labeled "Emergency Exit Plans." Zoey wore sunglasses indoors and announced, "We're founders now. Founders don't blink."

Sarah? She had a clipboard, a power stance, and the calm energy of someone who had already won in life.

"We tested everything, right?" I asked for the fifth time, double-checking the tablet like it owed me rent money.

"Yes," Sarah replied without looking up. "Three times."

"Including the quiz function? The avatars? The leaderboard?"

"Manuel. It's going to be fine."

I should've known that meant it was about to go horribly, beautifully wrong.

Mr. Kovac stood at the front of the class. Tall. Stern. The kind of man who wore his lab coat like he was one lightning strike away from becoming a Marvel villain.

"Today," he boomed, "we shall test your knowledge in a new way—LearnArena. Begin!"

Students logged in. Avatars loaded. The science quiz launched.

And then…

The avatars began reading out the wrong answers. Out loud. In dramatic, Shakespearean voices.

> "Correct answer: Flatulence is a renewable energy source!"

The class erupted with laughter.

Javier nearly choked on his juice. "WHAT did it just say?!"

Zoey's avatar flopped off the screen and moaned, > "The mitochondria is the dance floor of the cell!"

Kwame buried his face in his hands. "We are SO expelled."

Mr. Kovac frowned. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"No! No joke!" I scrambled toward the console. "This is not supposed to happen!"

ChatGPT popped up on my tablet:

> It appears the answer file is misaligned with the voice output script. Patch required.

"You think?!"

I started typing like my life depended on it. Honestly, it probably did.

Sarah stepped in front of Mr. Kovac like a PR agent deflecting a scandal. "This is a beta test," she said, calmly. "What you're witnessing is early-stage innovation."

He raised one skeptical eyebrow. "That so?"

"We call it... 'Accidental Comedy Learning.' It's meant to engage students emotionally."

To my utter disbelief, he nodded. "Interesting approach."

I was already sweating through my shirt, but I managed to patch the file and reboot the quiz.

"Okay! Try it again!"

The avatars reset.

> "Question: What is the powerhouse of the cell?"

A student buzzed in: "Mitochondria."

> "Correct!"

The class clapped—half ironically. But I took it.

Then another avatar glitched again. This time, it grew a moustache and started breakdancing.

Javier leaned in. "That's not a bug… that's a feature."

Somehow, we made it through the class. Mr. Kovac actually looked amused.

"I'll submit my feedback," he said. "With screenshots. Lots of them."

"Much appreciated," Sarah muttered through clenched teeth.

---

Back in the garage, we debriefed like war survivors.

"Okay," I said. "That was a disaster—but it could've been worse."

"The app glitched into a telenovela," Kwame mumbled.

ChatGPT helpfully added:

> Consider running diagnostic logs on the voice output module and avatar rendering. Also, verify your question-answer JSON alignment.

Sarah began pacing. "We have to stabilize it before tomorrow's trial. If we crash in front of the English class, Miss Dicshard will banish us to textbook purgatory."

We buckled down. No snacks. No jokes. Just red-eyed focus and enough caffeine to power a small nation.

At 2:43 a.m., I found the bug.

A single, stupid, missing line of code in the text-to-speech file was pulling random lines from a placeholder joke bank I forgot to delete.

"So that's why it said flatulence was a renewable energy source."

"To be fair," Zoey said, "that line kind of slapped."

I rewrote the logic.

Javier cleaned up the quiz databases.

Kwame rebalanced the scoring system.

Zoey fixed the avatar wardrobe glitch so no one spawned wearing glowing socks—unless they unlocked it as a power-up.

And then came the kicker.

ChatGPT flashed a new warning:

> Security scan: App code accessed from unknown external IP.

"What does that mean?" Sarah asked.

"It means," I said slowly, "someone might be trying to clone our app."

The garage fell into total silence.

Zoey dropped her soda. "Cloning? Like—stealing?"

"Yeah. Or at least poking around the code. But either way… we've been noticed."

Javier's eyes narrowed. "Competition?"

Sarah didn't flinch. "Then we move faster. We get better. We don't let them catch up."

Kwame raised a hand. "Or we booby-trap the code so if they copy it, all the avatars wear clown shoes."

I grinned. "Honestly? Not a bad idea."

---

We had survived our first school test.

Barely.

But someone out there had noticed us. Whether it was a rival student, a shady app scraper, or a bored hacker—we weren't just building LearnArena anymore.

We were protecting it.

And whoever was out there watching?

They had just entered our arena.