The auditorium of Kursk Secondary School No. 17 was a cauldron of teenage chaos, a simmering pot of hormones, cheap cologne, and the faint whiff of contraband vodka sneaked in by someone’s older brother. It was the day of the 9th grade graduation, and the infamously feral 9A class had turned the event into a circus. Balloons bobbed lazily in the air, half-deflated from being used as impromptu weapons, while the stage was a mess of glitter and crumpled certificates. Teachers hovered like anxious zookeepers, their pleas for order drowned out by the cacophony of laughter and shouted memes.
At the heart of the madness stood Kati Gruchkova, a whirlwind of energy in a quirky black dress with oversized white sleeves that flapped like bat wings every time she gestured wildly. Her dark hair was a messy bun atop her head, and her grin was pure mischief as she commandeered the microphone from a flustered homeroom teacher.
“Alright, you lazy bastards!” Gruchkova’s voice boomed through the auditorium, crackling with static. “This is supposed to be a celebration, not a funeral! Get your sorry butts up here for a dance-off, or I’m dragging you myself!”
A chorus of groans and cheers erupted, but Gruchkova wasn’t having any of it. She pointed dramatically at a lanky boy in the front row, his tie askew and his face beet-red. “You, Sasha! Yeah, I see you hiding. Get up here and show us those moves, or I’ll tell everyone about the time you cried over a lost sock!”
The crowd roared with laughter as Sasha, mortified, shuffled to the stage, muttering curses under his breath. Gruchkova clapped him on the back with enough force to nearly topple him, then spun around, scanning the room for her next victim. Her sharp eyes landed on the sidelines, where Kati Klochkova lurked like a shadow, half-hidden behind a pillar.
Klochkova was a stark contrast to Gruchkova’s chaotic energy. Her oversized black ensemble swallowed her frame, making her look like a gothic scarecrow, and her fiery red hair spilled over one shoulder in a messy cascade. She was glued to her phone, thumbs flying over the screen, but her sharp, expressive eyes flicked up occasionally, taking in the madness with a mix of amusement and disdain.
“Hey, Emo Hermit!” Gruchkova called out, striding toward her with the confidence of a general marching into battle. “Are you gonna join the living, or are you just gonna live-tweet your misery to your three followers?”
Klochkova didn’t even look up from her phone, her lips curling into a smirk. “Bold of you to assume I’ve got three. And bolder to think I’d waste my energy on your little circus act, Gruchkova. I’m fine right here, thanks.”
“Oh, come on, Kloch!” Gruchkova planted her hands on her hips, her sleeves flapping dramatically. “You can’t hide behind that screen forever. What are you even doing? Writing angsty poetry about the futility of graduations?”
Klochkova finally lifted her gaze, her green eyes glinting with a dangerous edge. “No, I’m placing bets on how long it takes for you to trip over your own ego and faceplant on stage. Current odds are five minutes.”
Gruchkova threw back her head and laughed, loud and unapologetic. “Touché, you little gremlin. But I’m not letting you off that easy. Get over here and dance, or I’ll carry you myself. And trust me, I’ve got the biceps for it.”
Klochkova arched a brow, unfazed. “Try it, and I’ll post that video of you singing karaoke to ‘My Heart Will Go On’ last month. Full volume, drunk off your ass. Your choice.”
The surrounding classmates who’d overheard the exchange burst into snickers, and Gruchkova clutched her chest in mock horror. “You wound me, Kloch! Fine, I’ll let you sulk for now. But mark my words, I’m getting that phone out of your hands before the day’s over.”
“Good luck with that,” Klochkova shot back, her smirk widening as she returned to her screen. “You’ll need a miracle.”
Meanwhile, miles away in a cluttered bedroom on the outskirts of Kursk, the third Kati—Golub—was blissfully unaware of the day’s significance. Sprawled across her bed in heart-patterned pajamas, her blonde hair a tangled mess, she snored softly, one arm dangling off the mattress. Her phone buzzed incessantly on the nightstand with missed calls and texts from her classmates, but she was deep in dreamland, muttering snarky quips in her sleep.
“Stupid ceremonies… who needs ‘em… bunch of clowns in cheap suits…” Her words slurred into a mumble as she rolled over, hugging a pillow like it owed her money.
Back at the auditorium, the chaos spilled outside onto the school grounds as the class was herded for the obligatory group photo. The June sun beat down on the cracked pavement, and the air was thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and teenage sweat. Gruchkova was still at the forefront, orchestrating the lineup with the precision of a drill sergeant, while Klochkova lingered at the edge of the group, her phone now tucked away but her expression still dripping with sarcasm.
“Alright, losers, smile like you mean it!” Gruchkova barked, striking a dramatic pose with one hand on her hip and the other pointing to the sky. “This is our last hurrah as 9A, so don’t screw it up with your grumpy faces!”
Klochkova rolled her eyes but obliged with a half-smile, muttering under her breath, “If I have to hear one more inspirational speech, I’m burning this place down.”
Gruchkova overheard and grinned wickedly. “Now that’s the spirit, Kloch! Stick with me, and we’ll torch the whole town. Metaphorically, of course. …Maybe.”
The photographer, a harried man in a ill-fitting suit, shouted for everyone to hold still, but the class was a writhing mass of elbows and giggles. Just as the shutter clicked, a strange hum filled the air—a low, vibrating energy that seemed to ripple through the ground beneath their feet. The students froze, exchanging confused glances, as the hum grew louder, almost electric.
“What the hell is that?” Gruchkova muttered, her bravado faltering for a split second as she scanned the horizon.
Klochkova’s eyes narrowed, her voice sharp. “If this is one of your pranks, Gruchkova, I swear—”
Before she could finish, the world tilted. A blinding light engulfed the school grounds, and a surge of power coursed through the air, tingling against their skin. Screams erupted, but they were cut short as an impossible sensation took hold. Bones stretched, muscles expanded, and the ground seemed to shrink beneath them. When the light faded, gasps of disbelief echoed through the now-tiny crowd below.
Gruchkova, Klochkova, and—somehow, inexplicably—Golub, who had been teleported from her bed in her pajamas, stood towering over the school at nearly 100 meters tall. Their clothes had miraculously grown with them, though Golub’s heart-patterned PJs looked comically out of place on her colossal frame. She blinked groggily, rubbing her eyes as if still half-asleep.
“Wha… what the actual hell?” Golub slurred, her voice booming like thunder. “Did I miss the party or something?”
Klochkova crossed her massive arms, glaring down at the tiny specks of their classmates below. “Great. Just what I needed. To be a literal giant freak on graduation day.”
Gruchkova, however, threw her head back and let out a booming laugh that shook the nearby trees. Her eyes sparkled with unhinged delight as she surveyed the tiny town of Kursk sprawled out before them like a child’s playset.
“Oh, ladies,” she roared, her voice carrying for miles, “this is no freak show. This is our ticket to shake up this boring-ass town! Let’s make some noise!”
And with that, the ground trembled beneath their first colossal steps, leaving the tiny crowd below in stunned silence—and setting the stage for the wildest adventure Kursk had ever seen.
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