He worked until 3 a.m., sweating over the code. When the tablet detected certain keywords from the exam paper’s scanned QR code (which his father had left on the corner of the desk), it would project, via a weak infrared beam, a simplified hologram into the margin of the paper. Not the answer—just a small animation: a gear turning to show direction, a triangle bracing a beam, or a smiling electron running the correct way along a wire.
“Don’t even think about it,” his father said without looking up, tightening a bolt on a model bridge. “These stay in my briefcase until Monday.” technology grade 8 exam papers
Lebogang wasn’t tempted to cheat. He was tempted to fix . He worked until 3 a
Lebogang stared at the stack of Grade 8 Technology exam papers on his father’s desk. The crisp, white pages smelled of fresh ink and anxiety. His father, Mr. Nkosi, was the head of the technology department, and these papers were his masterpiece—six hours of his life, poured into questions about levers, gears, structural integrity, and simple circuits. “Don’t even think about it,” his father said