The walk to Class X2014 felt longer than the academy's entire orbit, Brin thought, eyes flicking over the schedule, questions already building in his mind.
Brin's heart pounded. Every hall, every glowing panel, every uniformed upperclassman that brushed past made the freshmen feel like intruders in a temple.
Doors slid open to reveal a tiered lecture hall—polished, imposing, and too quiet. At the center of the room, standing tall in a crimson-tinted uniform and a visor that flickered with combat data, was the instructor.
A legend.
Hero ID: RIFT
Rank: #18
The name alone silenced the room. His very presence crackled with suppressed kinetic energy.
Brin barely had time to find a seat before the floor beneath them pulsed with gravity stabilization—locking them in place.
A voice, low and clipped, filled the chamber.
"Freshmen. Welcome to Hero Vortex Academy. I am Riftblade. If you're here for fun, transfer. If you're here for fame, good luck."
No one moved. Then—
"Stand."
Chairs retracted instantly. A dozen students stumbled to their feet.
Rift visor flared. "Let's see what you're made of. Starting now, this isn't just school. This is ranking. Survival. Legacy."
He turned to the board, drawing five glowing circles in the air. "Let's warm up. Why do you want to be a hero?"
He pointed to the front row.
"Sentinel."
Tson Marrow stepped forward, slow and deliberate. His suit—sleek black trimmed with electric blue—fit like it had been engineered for this exact moment. A glowing blue S emblem pulsed at the center of his chest, ringed in a circular arc of light. The room held its breath.
"I want to be the number one hero," he said. No hesitation. "Not just the best in this class. The best there is."
Silence followed. A few students exchanged glances. Arrogance? Or ambition?
Rift didn't react. "Next. Ghostshade."
Kevin Ashon slouched out of his seat and phased mid-step, glitching back into visibility. The effect drew a few gasps.
He shrugged. "I want to help people," he said. "Stop kids from going through what I did. Save someone who needs saving."
Brin felt his chest tighten. The honesty in Kevin's voice cut through the cold metal of the room.
"Gears."
Renji Alver adjusted his glasses beneath the edge of his suit visor. scanning the room like he was already sketching his escape.
"Well," he mumbled, "my grandma told me to."
Laughter exploded. A few students pointed. Even Ghostshade cracked a grin.
Renji smirked. "She raised me. Said this place would knock the rust off my brain."
"Bold strategy," Riftblade replied dryly. "Hope she's right."
"Psystar."
Every head turned.
In the far corner, untouched by light or sound, Psystar hovered silently just above his seat. His limbs were folded in perfect stillness, and unlike the others—who had donned their masks with nervous pride—his face was bare.
No armor to hide behind. No disguise to retreat into.
After a beat of tension, Rift nodded. "Fair enough."
Then, to the entire class:
"This is your class now. But this isn't the Academy you think it is. Upperclassmen will not help you. Sophomores will test you. Juniors will ignore you. Seniors? They'll remind you what a real hero looks like."
He pointed at the door behind him. "And when initiation starts, you'll wish this was just another lecture."
The door hissed open.
"Tomorrow: Combat trial. Be ready."
The class buzzed with tension. Ghostshade looked thoughtful. Sentinel stood straighter. Gears scribbled blueprints into his wrist console.
And Psystar? Still levitated. Still silent.
Tyra Menen stood quietly in the corner of the hall, her brow furrowed in confusion. Wasn't today the initiation match? Last night's message had been clear—she was supposed to face Sentinel. But now, as she scanned the glowing holographic schedule drifting mid-air, her name sat neatly under standard class rotation. No mention of a match. No Sentinel.
She stared at it a moment longer, trying to make sense of it. Was it a glitch? Or something else entirely?
Tyra's fingers hovered near the projection, tempted to tap it again, as if the data might suddenly correct itself. But it stayed the same. Just a regular class schedule—no trial, no fight, no Sentinel.
But I saw it, she thought. That message wasn't a dream.
She turned just as the doors to Class X2014 slid open again, admitting a second wave of late arrivals. The class was already murmuring about Riftblade's warning, the pressure, the stakes.
Tyra slipped into a seat near the edge, eyes scanning the room—until they landed on Sentinel.
Tson Marrow didn't look concerned. If anything, he sat like someone who had already won the fight before it began—back straight, arms crossed, calm etched into every line of his face. The soft gleam of his suit reflected the overhead lights, its blue circuitry pulsing in slow, steady waves. For just a second, Tyra could've sworn he looked straight at her.
Did he get the same message I did?
Her thoughts scattered as the lights dimmed slightly and Rift stepped forward again.
Meanwhile, in a seat toward the back, a figure sat cloaked in shadow, his presence unnoticed by most—but his eyes were locked on Sentinel. Next to him, another student gleamed under the lights, clad in polished steel, while they were looking at sentinel.
But the shadowed boy wasn't fooled.
He didn't even realize he was staring at someone he once knew.
The person inside that suit?
He had no idea.
Moments later, Rift voice cut through the room again.
"You two—next."
The class turned as the next names were called, and one by one, the remaining students stood to introduce themselves.