CHAPTER 4: THE ONE WHO REFUSED

The next morning, the school felt more alive than usual. News had spread that the representatives from the Volkov Group were staying for a few more days to finalize their selection for the scholarship program. Every student was talking about it, excited and hopeful, thinking this could be their big chance.

But inside Classroom 12‑A, Mikaela Marquis was in her own little world. She sat by the window, chin resting on her palm, eyes half‑closed, completely ignoring the noise around her. While her classmates were flipping through notes or whispering about their answers, her mind was miles away — already listing what she would eat for lunch, what snacks to buy on the way home, and whether she should take a long nap or watch her favorite show once she got back. To her, the scholarship was nothing more than a distant dream for other people, not something she needed to worry about.

She had no idea that just outside their classroom door, the same group of men in dark suits were already waiting. And among them, the tall, sharp‑eyed man named Artyom Volkov stood with his hands behind his back, his gaze fixed on the door — as if he had come here specifically to find her.

A few minutes later, their adviser entered the room, followed by the head teacher and the three representatives. The chatter died down instantly; every student sat up straight, trying to look their best.

“Good morning, class,” their adviser said, smiling politely. “As you were told yesterday, the Volkov Group is offering a full scholarship for studies abroad. This covers everything — tuition, accommodation, books, even daily allowance. It is a rare opportunity, so please do your best.”



Artyom stepped forward, his posture commanding. He spoke in English, his voice deep and carrying a strong Russian accent.

“Today, we will give each of you a simple form. There are only three short questions — nothing difficult. Answer them honestly, and we will review every paper. This is just the first step to see if you are ready for this path.”

The teachers began passing out the sheets. One by one, students received their papers, picked up their pens, and started writing immediately — some thinking carefully, others scribbling fast, all eager to make a good impression.

When the sheet finally reached Mikaela, she took it, glanced at the questions, and just placed her pen down. She did not write her name, did not read the questions again, and did not even try to answer. She folded her arms on the desk, rested her head on them, and closed her eyes, her thoughts drifting back to food and rest.

After a while, Artyom walked slowly between the rows, checking the papers. When he reached Mikaela’s desk, he stopped. His eyes landed on the completely blank sheet, untouched and empty.

He tapped his finger lightly on the desk to get her attention.

Mikaela opened one eye, looked up at him, and shrugged lazily, as if asking What is it now?

“Why have you not answered?” Artyom asked, still in English.

Mikaela leaned back, tilted her head slightly, and replied — this time, switching smoothly to perfect, natural Russian, no hesitation, no accent at all.

Mikaela:

«Потому что нет смысла отвечать. Я не интересуюсь этой стипендией, господин.»

Translation: “Because there is no point in answering. I am not interested in this scholarship, sir.” 

Artyom’s eyebrows lifted slightly, and a faint, intrigued look crossed his face. He immediately switched to Russian as well, his voice becoming smoother and deeper, free of the accent he used for English.

Artyom:

«И почему же так? Большинство студентов здесь готовы на всё, чтобы получить такой шанс. Вы первая, кто говорит, что не хочет его.»

Translation: “And why is that? Most students here would do anything to get such a chance. You are the first one I have met who says they do not want it.”

Mikaela shrugged again, completely relaxed, as if they were just chatting in a quiet corner and no one else was in the room.

Mikaela:

«Я знаю, на что я способна… или, точнее, на что не способна. Мне и здесь трудно учиться — математика, естествознание, история, всё это для меня сложно. Если я поеду за границу, я только буду проваливать всё подряд. Это будет пустая трата ваших денег, вашего времени и моих усилий. К тому же, мне и здесь хорошо. Мне не нужно уезжать далеко, чтобы учиться.»

Translation: “I know what I am capable of… or rather, what I am not capable of. I struggle with my studies here — Math, Science, History, all of it is hard for me. If I go abroad, I will only end up failing everything. It would be a waste of your money, your time, and my effort. Besides, I am comfortable here. I do not need to go far away to study.”

Artyom studied her face carefully. He saw no pretense, no arrogance, no attempt to impress — only pure, straightforward honesty.

Artyom:

«Но оценки — не единственное, что мы ценим. Нам важны навыки, способность адаптироваться и умение общаться. Вы говорите на нашем языке совершенно свободно — многие образованные люди даже в нашей стране не могут этого сделать. Неужели вы не считаете, что это ценный навык?»

Translation: “But grades are not the only thing we value. We care about skills, adaptability, and the ability to communicate. You speak our language perfectly — many educated people even in our own country cannot do that. Do you not think that is a valuable skill?”

Mikaela just gave a small, amused smile and shook her head lightly.

Mikaela:

«Я просто выучила это для развлечения. Это не помогает мне решать уравнения или запоминать даты. В учёбе это бесполезно, так какой от этого толк? И даже если это полезно, я всё равно не хочу уезжать от дома, от семьи и от привычной еды. Учёба за границей звучит слишком хлопотно.»

Translation: “I just learned it for fun. It does not help me solve equations or memorize dates. It is useless in class, so what good is it? And even if it is useful, I still do not want to leave my home, my family, and the food I am used to. Studying abroad sounds like too much trouble.”

The whole classroom had gone completely silent. To everyone else, the words they exchanged sounded like a strange, foreign tongue — no one understood a single word. But the flow of their conversation, the ease in their voices, made it obvious they were having a full, proper discussion.

Artyom crossed his arms, his gray eyes glinting with growing interest.

Artyom:

«Вы очень честная, Микаэла. Большинство людей скрывают свои слабости и преувеличивают достоинства, только чтобы их выбрали. А вы открыто говорите, что не можете, и даже не пытаетесь понравиться. Это большая редкость.»

Translation: “You are very honest, Mikaela. Most people hide their weaknesses and exaggerate their strengths just to be chosen. But you openly admit what you cannot do, and do not even try to impress us. That is very rare.”

Mikaela just blinked and waved her hand dismissively.

Mikaela:

«Говорить правду проще, чем притворяться. Это экономит время всем, не так ли?»

Translation: “Being honest is easier than pretending. It saves time for everyone, right?”

Artyom let out a low, quiet chuckle — something no one had ever seen him do before. He picked up her blank sheet, folded it neatly, and looked down at her one last time.

Artyom:

«Посмотрим. Иногда то, что вы считаете бесполезным, может оказаться именно тем, что нам нужно. А пока… не будьте так уверены, что можете просто сказать «нет» и закончить на этом.»

Translation: “We shall see. Sometimes what you think is useless might turn out to be exactly what we need. And for now… do not be so sure that you can just say ‘no’ and end it there.”

He turned and walked back to the front of the room, while Mikaela just sighed, rested her head back on her arms, and immediately returned to thinking about lunch — completely unaware that her refusal and her hidden talent had just made her the most interesting candidate in the entire school.

To be continue...

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