And she was gone, vanished through the gaping hole in the ceiling.
"So destroying these metal vultures is just a bonus then!" Alex roared over the mechanical shriek of the drones, her voice raw with adrenaline as she hurled another crimson-eyed machine into the concrete wall. It exploded in a shower of sparks and twisted metal.
Mateo's chest tightened as he watched the carnage unfold around him. His fists clenched uselessly at his sides, knuckles white with frustration. This was it—the moment that would define everything. These weren't opponents he could face with brute force. The sleek, predatory drones buzzed through the air like mechanical wasps, their red optical sensors scanning for targets, blade-tipped arms whirring with deadly precision. Each one was a reminder of his inadequacy.
I'm going to fail again.
One of the girls—her face set in fierce concentration—lifted a jagged piece of drone wreckage with her mind, the metal shard hovering in the air before she drove it through another drone's central processor. Sparks cascaded around her as she grabbed the dead machine telekinetically, wielding it like a battering ram to clear a path through the swarm. The metallic screech of drone against drone echoed through the arena.
The guy in the crimson hero costume—already looking like he belonged here—unleashed a torrent of flames that turned the air itself into a weapon. Mateo felt the heat wash over him from twenty feet away as hundreds of drones melted into slag, their metal frames glowing orange before collapsing into molten puddles.
Look at them. They're already heroes.
Ben moved through the chaos, untouchable, as the drones' attacks slid off him harmlessly. The knife-wielding boy from their dorm slashed with surgical precision, his blade finding the weak points in each drone's armor.
And Mateo? Mateo could only run.
His lungs burned as he dove behind a pile of rubble, the displaced air from a drone's blade ruffling his hair. His shirt hung in tatters, dark stains spreading where the metal had found its mark. Each shallow cut stung like a brand of failure.
Sixty seconds. Alex was already halfway to the finish line, her telekinetic abilities clearing a path through the mechanical horde. The A and B teams weren't far behind, their confident movements a stark contrast to his desperate scrambling.
Mateo crouched behind his shelter, gasping for air that tasted of ozone and fear. A drone's red eye appeared around the corner of his hiding spot, its optical sensor locking onto him with a soft beep that sounded like a death sentence. The machine's blade extended with a mechanical whir, gleaming under the arena's harsh lights.
How many more times will I fail? The thought hit him harder than any physical blow. Even if he could activate his quirk—and that was a big if—what good would it do? He didn't even know how to use his useless power.
Think, Mateo! THINK! But his mind was blank, paralyzed by the approaching drone and the weight of his own inadequacy.
The world seemed to slow as the drone's blade carved through the air toward his throat—
Something slammed into his side, knocking him flat as the killer machine whistled overhead, its blade missing him by inches. Mateo hit the ground hard, the impact driving the air from his lungs.
"What the hell—" he gasped, looking up to see his savior.
The boy who'd pushed him to safety was small and wiry, with thick glasses that had somehow stayed on his face despite the chaos. His cotton-black hair looked like it belonged on a sheep rather than a hero-in-training, and his baby face made him look twelve, not seventeen.
He's been hiding back here too. The realization should have been comforting, but it only amplified Mateo's shame. If this kid had made it this far, he had to have some kind of useful quirk.
"You're the Slime boy, right?" The kid's voice was steady despite the mechanical death flying around them. Even before the exercise had properly begun, he was already the class failure. "Good thing you're still here. We could really use each other's help."
The boy extended his hand, and after a moment's hesitation, Mateo took it. They ran together, using destroyed drones as shields while the others grew smaller in the distance.
They must be three-quarters of the way there by now. The thought made Mateo's stomach churn. While he was cowering behind debris, they were proving they belonged here.
"Okay, here's the thing," the boy said, his words coming rapid-fire as they sheltered behind a twisted piece of machinery. "My quirk is utility-based, not combat-oriented. I'm dead meat on my own out here."
"So what can you do?" Mateo asked, surprised by the desperation in his own voice.
"Dimensions," the boy said simply, adjusting his glasses as sweat beaded on his forehead.
That sounds incredible. Could he manipulate space? Alter the dimensions of objects?
"It means I can precisely calculate the dimensions of any physical quantity," he clarified.
Mateo's heart sank. Of course. Even this kid's quirk was more useless than his own in a fight.
"So when you said we could help each other—"
"That's my point exactly." The boy's eyes gleamed behind his glasses. "You don't know how to use your power, and I've already run the calculations on your slime. I know exactly how it could get us to that finish line. Want to hear it?"
Do I have a choice? Time was bleeding away with every second. Eliza had talked about seeing thousands of possibilities for his quirk, but maybe Mateo just lacked the creativity to see them. Maybe he really was just a failure.
"Tell me," he said, hating how small his voice sounded.
"Your slime has a density of 1.3 kg per cubic centimeter," the boy said, his tone shifting into lecture mode. "Viscosity of 12,000 centipoise—that's roughly ten times thicker than honey—and a tensile strength that's nearly perfectly elastic. It stores kinetic energy like a rubber band and releases it with minimal loss."
He's actually figured all this out?
"Here's what we're going to do..."
After absorbing every word of the boy's rapid-fire explanation—cramming physics and strategy while dodging mechanical death—Mateo felt something shift inside him. Not confidence, exactly, but a desperate kind of hope.
Just like with Brett and Alex, but deliberate this time.
He closed his eyes and felt for that familiar pressure building beneath his skin. His pores tingled as they widened, the sensation both uncomfortable and strangely liberating. The green slime emerged not as an uncontrolled eruption, but as a focused tendril—thick as his wrist and twice the length of his arm.
A crimson drone screamed toward them, its blade spinning with mechanical hunger.
"Now!" the boy shouted.
Mateo lashed out with his slime whip, the viscous fluid wrapping around the drone like a living thing. He could feel the machine's struggle through the connection, its motors whining as it fought against the elastic grip. When he brought his arm down, the drone smashed into the concrete with a satisfying crunch of metal and circuits.
It worked. It actually worked.
More drones converged on their position, a metallic swarm with murder in their red eyes. But something had changed in Mateo. The fear was still there, but underneath it was a growing understanding.
I can do this.
He forced more slime through his arm, the thick fluid pouring out like a green river as his tendril swelled to the size of a tree branch. When he swung left, ten drones disappeared into the gooey mass. The satisfying crunch as he brought them down sent debris flying in every direction.
"Now shoot your slime toward that boulder!" the boy—Glasses—yelled, pointing to a chunk of concrete the size of a car.
Mateo hurled his tendril forward, feeling it stretch and grip the rough surface. The slime held firm, creating a taut line between them and the elevated position.
"What now?" Mateo called, his heart hammering as fresh drones began to circle.
"Now we literally catapult ourselves to victory," Glasses said, grinning like a maniac despite the mechanical death surrounding them.
This is insane. But insane was better than failure.
They ran—not toward the finish line, but backward, away from their goal. Every step felt wrong, like running from salvation itself. But Mateo could feel the physics working, the slime stretching taut as a bowstring.
The others have to be almost finished by now. The thought made his legs pump harder, pushing against the increasing resistance of his elastic tether.
"This is it!" Glasses shouted, wrapping his arms around Mateo's waist. "Brace yourself!"
Should I shake him off? The thought flashed through Mateo's mind. He could go alone, faster, without the extra weight. But Glasses had given him the knowledge to make this possible. And besides...
I might need his brain later.
Mateo stopped resisting the pull. His feet left the ground, and the world exploded into motion.
Faster than before. Faster than with Alex. The arena blurred beneath them as they rocketed forward, the sensation of flight both terrifying and exhilarating. Blood rushed from his head as they gained altitude, the world taking on a dreamlike quality.
But something was wrong. They weren't flying straight toward the finish line—they were heading for the side of the boulder where he'd anchored the slime.
We're going to die.
The rocky surface rushed toward them with lethal speed. At this velocity, they'd be reduced to paste against the stone.
Glasses screamed behind him, but Mateo was already moving on instinct. Slime erupted from his shoulder—not controlled this time, but raw and desperate. The green mass formed a cushion between them and the boulder, absorbing the impact with a wet squelch that he felt in his bones.
They bounced off the slime barrier, their trajectory redirected skyward. The ceiling rushed toward them—artificial lights simulating a sun that had set hours ago. If they hit that metal surface at full speed...
At least we slowed down.
They reached the apex of their flight, and for a moment, everything was perfect. Mateo could see the entire arena spread out below them like a tactical map. The mountains of rubble looked like pebbles. The other contestants moved like insects far below.
I'm flying. The realization hit him like a physical blow. I'm actually flying with my quirk.
"Maximum height: forty-five feet!" Glasses yelled, his voice filled with scientific glee. "Prepare for descent!"
Mateo released his connection to the slime anchor and felt gravity reclaim them. The ground rushed up with frightening speed, but for the first time in his life, he felt in control of his power.
I can do this.
They were falling toward the front of the pack, several feet ahead of even the fastest contestants. The red finish line was painted on the dark concrete like a promise of redemption.
The drones swarmed around them, but they were too high and too fast to be caught. Mateo could see Alex and the others far below, their faces turned up in surprise.
Time for the landing. He'd have to create the slime cushion at the last possible moment to absorb their impact. The physics made sense now—his quirk wasn't about random goo, it was about stored energy and controlled release.
As he prepared to summon the landing cushion, two things happened simultaneously.
First, Glasses twisted behind him, somehow repositioning himself to be in front during their fall.
Second, the world shifted. One moment Mateo was falling toward victory, the next he was running with the other contestants far below. His perspective had changed completely—instead of seeing the ground rushing toward him, he was looking up at Glasses falling with another figure.
The blond guy from the dorm.
He switched positions somehow. That had to be the blond guy's quirk. Somehow, he'd switched places with Mateo mid-fall.
Mateo took a step toward the finish line, but an invisible force yanked him backward. He didn't need to look to know what it was—he'd felt Alex's pull too many times before.
Not this time.
He spun around to see Alex thirty feet away, her fist clenched in concentration. The pull was stronger than he'd ever felt it, trying to drag him away from the finish line he'd worked so hard to reach.
I won't fail again.
A slime tendril shot from his arm to the ground, anchoring him against her power. The elastic connection stretched taut as she pulled harder, but he held firm.
Come on, Alex. Come closer.
She took the bait, moving within range to increase her power's effectiveness. The moment she was close enough, Mateo struck—not with his quirk, but with his foot, catching her in the stomach and breaking her concentration.
The telekinetic pull vanished, and his stretched slime snapped back like a rubber band. He flew forward, skidding across the concrete on his back, scraping skin from his elbows and shoulders.
But I made it.
The red line passed beneath him as he slid to a stop. Around him, the other contestants were still fighting their way forward, but he was already across.
I did it. I actually did it.
For the first time since arriving at the academy, Mateo allowed himself to smile.