Last night, in a conference room somewhere between a Model UN debate and an emotional breakdown, five of the world’s most feared high school curricula met to determine, once and for all, which system reigns supreme. The result? One bruised Gaokao, two crying AP students, and an ongoing debate over whether Extended Essays qualify as actual trauma.

The gathering, originally organized by the “Global Committee of Suffering Students” (GCSS), began cordially, with participants seated around a table labeled “Comparative Educational Sadness.” But things quickly spiraled when Suneung accused A-Level of being “just three subjects and a tea break.” A-Level, in return, scoffed and asked if Suneung even had Shakespeare in the syllabus. Chaos ensued. IB, wearing a neatly ironed blazer and lugging a 200-page HL Economics IA draft, tried to mediate by proposing a TOK discussion on “the nature of academic suffering.” Unfortunately, they were promptly ignored. “Nobody cares about your epistemology, Karen!” shouted AP, furiously scribbling notes for the 17 practice exams they voluntarily took before breakfast. “I don’t even need sleep,” muttered AP, jittering slightly, “I just consume caffeine and Khan Academy until my brain uploads itself to College Board.”

A-Level, sipping tea and sharpening a fountain pen like a Victorian villain, responded, “We study deeply. We’ve read entire anthologies of poetry while you were all writing haikus on procrastination.”

Meanwhile, Gaokao hadn’t spoken a word—just stared ominously, surrounded by thousands of pages of past papers and a stack of Red Bull cans taller than the average student. “They’ve trained for this since kindergarten,” whispered IB to AP, who was now quietly hyperventilating. “I heard Gaokao students can calculate the velocity of their own tears mid-exam.”

Then, Suneung entered. The room dropped 20 degrees. Dressed in full black, eyes devoid of mercy, Suneung calmly sat down and said, “You had time to revise?” Suneung, Korea’s final academic boss fight, reportedly makes students memorize entire encyclopedias while blindfolded. One survivor described the test as “a spiritual experience, except instead of enlightenment, you get emotional damage.”

In a moment of vulnerability, IB pulled out their CAS reflections and tried to prove they had developed as a human being. “We focus on being well-rounded,” they sniffled. “Look! I organized a beach clean-up while researching Kantian ethics and writing an IA on statistical anomalies in frog populations.” “You wrote about frogs?” AP sneered. “Try taking AP Chem and AP USH and AP Calculus in one semester. I don't even remember what a weekend feels like.”

A-Level looked up from annotating a soliloquy and said, “That’s cute. We do actual academics here. None of that internal assessment nonsense.” Suddenly, Gaokao snapped a pencil. “You all talk. I calculate. I have done 37 math problems in the time you wasted arguing.” “I’ve done 38,” whispered Suneung. A hush fell over the room. IB began softly humming the TOK presentation theme tune to cope. AP started crying in AP French. A-Level asked for more tea.

Gaokao and Suneung stared at each other like two anime villains about to destroy Tokyo with their GPAs. By the end of the night, the table had been flipped, four emergency therapists were called, and Suneung had to be escorted out after attempting to waterboard A-Level with instant noodles. Final Verdict? No one wins. All of them are awful. Students lose. Every. Time. But if they were in a Hunger Games-style battle royale, our money’s on Gaokao. That level of stress builds superpowers.