the contest
Marinette’s morning had begun with the urgency of an akuma attack. Tikki’s tiny voice pierced her sleep, and for a moment, she thought she’d need to transform. But the absence of chaos outside her window brought relief. No akuma this time—just the usual rush to get ready for school.
She dressed swiftly —a black turtleneck sweater paired with a red and black checkered mini skirt. Platform heels completed the ensemble, and she dashed to class just as the bell chimed. Alya’s foot extended, a subtle attempt to trip her up, but Marinette sidestepped with practiced agility. No time for games; today was special.
Ms. Bustier’s announcement filled the room. Someone had anonymously submitted their class into the Stark contest, and they had won. Excitement buzzed through the air like static electricity. Marinette’s heart raced. Stark—the name synonymous with genius, innovation, and superheroics. She wondered who had orchestrated this surprise.
And then Lila leaned in, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “It was me,” she claimed. “I wanted to surprise you all.”
Alya, ever the enthusiastic reporter, showered Lila with praise. Marinette’s smile remained polite, but skepticism gnawed at her. Lila’s web of deception stretched far and wide. She’d spun tales of Asgardian connections, Loki’s distant cousinhood, and now this—Tony Stark’s niece. But Marinette knew better. The truth was often simpler.
After the bell, as the classroom emptied, Ms. Bustier beckoned Marinette. The responsibility fell on her shoulders—the class president. Permission slips, outings, and plane tickets—all to be sorted out. Marinette nodded, but a flicker of doubt crossed her mind. Shouldn’t this be a teacher’s job?
Yet excitement bubbled within her. Manhattan awaited—the city of dreams, where skyscrapers touched the sky and Avengers roamed. She’d handle the logistics, even if it meant navigating Lila’s drama.