The grand, unifying atmosphere of the entrance ceremony shattered the moment the students spilled back into the hallways. The single, hopeful body of freshmen instantly fractured, splintering into a thousand individual trajectories dictated by the cold, hard numbers of their exam rankings. The sense of shared purpose evaporated, replaced by the immediate, tangible reality of the academy's hierarchy.
"Alright, this is where we split," Kyle said, his voice a mix of excitement and regret as he checked his wrist-comm. "Class A for this prodigy. Don't be too jealous." He grinned, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. The separation was a necessary evil, but it felt wrong after so many years of facing everything together.
Elster gave Ark a soft, encouraging smile. "You'll be fine. Just… keep your head down and focus. We'll meet up at lunch, okay?" Her emerald eyes held a world of unspoken concern—for his safety, for his state of mind, for the strange new distance she felt growing between them.
"You too," Ark replied, managing a semblance of a smile. "Don't let the big shots in Alpha intimidate you."
With final, determined nods, they turned in opposite directions. Kyle headed towards the central, spiraling towers that housed the advanced facilities, Elster towards the psionic wings. Ark, his comm displaying a simple map with a blinking dot labeled "Class B - Foundational Studies Wing," began his solitary walk towards the eastern sector of the campus.
The corridors here were plainer, the architecture more utilitarian. The buzz of powerful energy signatures was fainter, replaced by the sound of shuffling feet and anxious murmurs. He was navigating this subdued stream of students when a collision sent a jolt through him.
"Oof!"
A boy, all flailing limbs and nervous energy, stumbled into him, his arms full of textbooks that went flying in a chaotic shower of paper and bindings. The topmost book, Geological Principles for Elemental Manipulation, slid across the polished floor.
"I'm so sorry! I wasn't looking where I was going!" the boy blurted out, his face flushing a deep, mortified red. He scrambled to his knees, frantically trying to gather his scattered belongings.
"It's fine, it was my fault too," Ark said automatically, the old, apologetic script coming to him easily. He bent down to help, his movements now more coordinated than they would have been a week ago. As he handed a stack of papers back, he got a proper look at the boy. He was slender, with messy brown hair that fell into anxious eyes, and he carried himself with a palpable air of self-consciousness. He was a mirror, a perfect reflection of the person Ark had been just days ago—the stutter, the slumped shoulders, the fear of taking up space.
A strange, protective feeling stirred within Ark. It wasn't pity, but a sharp, painful recognition.
"Here," Ark said, his voice softer than he intended. "Let me help you up." He offered a hand.
The boy looked at it with surprise, then tentatively took it. His grip was weak. "Th-thank you. I'm… I'm such a klutz."
"Don't worry about it. I'm Ark. Ark Greystone."
The boy hesitated, as if admitting his own name was a risk. "Elijah," he mumbled finally, avoiding eye contact. "Elijah Bryce."
As Ark released his hand, a flicker of data appeared in his vision, a silent report from the ever-watchful System.
[Analyzing Subject: Bryce, Elijah. Power Signature: Terrakinesis (Low-Yield). Threat Level: Negligible. Estimated Rank: F. Disposition: Anxious, Non-confrontational.]
An F-rank. The lowest possible designation. And in the same Foundational Studies Wing. It confirmed everything. Elijah was exactly where the system—both the school's and his own—expected someone of his caliber to be.
"Well, Elijah Bryce, which way are you headed?" Ark asked, trying to sound casual.
"Um… Class B," Elijah whispered, as if admitting to a crime.
"Looks like we're classmates, then," Ark said, gesturing for them to walk together. "Lead the way."
Elijah looked momentarily stunned that someone was willingly associating with him, but he nodded, a flicker of relief in his eyes, and led the way down the increasingly drab hallway.
Class B was not a room; it was a statement. Located in a quieter, almost neglected part of the wing, it was larger than a standard classroom but felt cramped due to the low ceiling and lack of windows. The air was stale, carrying the faint scent of chalk dust and industrial cleaner. The conversations inside were not the excited, strategic buzz of future heroes, but a low, resentful hum.
As they entered, Ark's enhanced Perception took in the scene with brutal clarity. The students had already begun to coalesce into tribal groupings, their formations speaking volumes about the social ecosystem of the bottom tier.
In the back corner, holding court like a king of the refuse heap, was Brody Hendricks. He had already claimed the largest desk, his feet propped up, surrounded by his two cronies, who seemed even more sycophantic in this environment. They were the Delinquent Cluster, their postures radiating a lazy, territorial aggression.
Near the center was a flashy, performative group of girls led by Chloe Stiles. She was pretty in a sharp, calculated way, her uniform adjusted to be more fashionable, her hair perfectly styled. She had been Brody's girlfriend since junior high, a pairing based on a shared sense of superficial superiority. Her clique consisted of girls with similarly low-tier but visually appealing powers—a girl who could make her skin glitter, another who could change the color of small objects. They were the Aesthetic Clique, prioritizing appearance over potency.
Ark noticed two quiet sisters, Mira and Lena, sitting together, speaking in hushed tones. One would periodically phase her hand through her desk, while the other would flicker in and out of visibility for split seconds. Useful abilities, but clearly underdeveloped and difficult to control.
But the most striking realization, one that settled over him like a cold blanket, was the common thread linking nearly every student in the room. The System, with its detached analysis, confirmed it. Faint power signatures, unstable energy readings, abilities with severe limitations or crippling side effects. These weren't just low-ranked students; they were the defective, the discarded, the ones with powers that had failed to meet the minimum standard for true heroism. This was the island of misfit toys, and he, the Null, was its newest resident.
Brody's eyes, predatory and bored, scanned the room and immediately locked onto Ark. A slow, ugly smirk spread across his face. This was his pond, and he had just spotted the smallest, most interesting fish.
"Well, well, well," Brody's voice cut through the low chatter, drawing every eye in the room. "Look what the cat dragged in. Or should I say, what the null dragged in." He pushed himself off his desk and swaggered over, his cronies falling in step behind him like obedient hounds. Elijah flinched, instinctively trying to make himself smaller behind Ark.
Brody came to a stop directly in front of Ark, his presence an oppressive physical force. "I have to admit, Greystone, I'm impressed. I didn't think you had the guts to actually show your face here. I figured you'd be hiding in the library with the other science nerds by now."
Ark said nothing. He simply stood, his hands at his sides, his face a carefully constructed mask of neutrality. He could feel Elijah trembling slightly behind him.
"Cat got your tongue again?" Brody sneered, leaning in. "Without your pyro bodyguard and your psychic babysitter, you're nothing. You're less than nothing. You're a zero in a room full of decimals." He reached out, his fingers, already sheathed in a thin layer of metallic dust scavenged from the room, closing around Ark's tie. He gave it a sharp, demeaning tug, pulling Ark's face uncomfortably close to his. "So, let's get one thing perfectly clear, Null. You know your place. And your place is beneath my boot. I'm going to make your life here a living hell. Every day. You understand me?"
The classroom was utterly silent. Chloe and her friends watched with amused, vapid interest. The phasing sisters looked away, uncomfortable. Others glared, their expressions a mix of sympathy for Ark and resentment towards Brody, but no one moved. This was the established order. This was how survival worked in Class B.
Ark's heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat of fear and rising anger. The old terror was there, a conditioned response to this voice, this face. But beneath it, something new was simmering. The memory of the hidden lab, the progress bars, the feeling of his own fist connecting with a drone's core. The System's assessment: [Threat Level: Low.]
He was about to speak, to offer some hollow defiance, when a voice, calm and clear, cut through the tension from the front of the class.
"I would advise you to unhand your classmate and take a seat. All of you."
Every head swiveled. A woman stood by the teacher's podium. No one had seen her arrive. There was no sound, no displacement of air. One moment, the space was empty; the next, she was simply there, as if she had always been part of the room.
She appeared to be in her early twenties, with intelligent, kind eyes the color of rich soil and chestnut hair pulled into a practical but elegant bun. She wore a tailored version of the faculty uniform, a dark grey suit, and she regarded them with a placid, observant expression.
The class, startled into obedience, quickly scrambled into the nearest seats. Brody released Ark's tie with a final, contemptuous shove and slunk back to his desk, his cronies following like chastised dogs. Ark smoothed his tie, his pulse slowly returning to normal, and took a seat next to a visibly relieved Elijah.
The woman waited until everyone was settled before she spoke. "Good morning. I am Felicia North. I will be your homeroom instructor for your duration here, and I will be responsible for both your academic curriculum and your foundational physical training."
Her voice was not loud, but it possessed a resonant quality that commanded attention. She began to pace slowly at the front of the room, her hands clasped behind her back.
"Let us begin with a simple question. What are the qualities of a hero?"
A few hands tentatively went up. Answers were offered: "Power!" "Courage!" "Strength!"
Felicia North listened, her expression unchanging. "Power," she repeated, her gaze sweeping over them. "A common answer. But what is power without control?" Her eyes lingered for a moment on Brody, who shifted uncomfortably. "A wildfire is powerful. A tsunami is powerful. They are forces of indiscriminate destruction. Is that heroism?"
She turned her gaze to Ark, and he felt a strange sensation, as if she were looking not at him, but through him, seeing the secret he carried. "And what is power without will? A weapon is powerful, but it has no morality, no purpose of its own. It is the hand that wields it that defines its nature."
She moved on, her lecture weaving a tapestry of history and grim reality. She spoke of High-Man not as a god, but as a man who made an impossible choice. She told them of the first, ragged team of Awakened who stood with him, not with perfect powers, but with unbreakable resolve. She described the taxonomies of Gate-born horrors—the chittering, acid-blooded Xenthids, the reality-warping Phantoms, the colossal Behemoths that could level city blocks. She spoke of worlds glimpsed through the Gates, planets scoured of life, silent tombstones to civilizations that had failed their own crucible.
It was a sobering, terrifying, and utterly captivating lesson. This was not the glorified heroics of the public vids. This was the ugly, desperate truth of their existence.
Before the period ended, she returned to the podium. "You are here, in this room, for a reason. The world outside these walls may see you as defective. As lesser." Her voice was not unkind, but brutally honest. "I advise you to act smart. To work hard. To prove that assessment wrong. Your power, no matter how small or flawed, is a tool. Your will is the hand that holds it. Do not forget that."
She looked at each of them one last time. "Class dismissed."
And then, as suddenly as she had appeared, she was gone. There was no flash of light, no puff of smoke. She simply dematerialized, vanishing from their sight between one blink and the next. A collective, awed gasp filled the room.
The spell was broken. The break period had begun. Students filed out, the conversation now buzzing with theories about their teacher's incredible power and the grim future she had painted.
Ark moved with the flow, his mind racing. He needed a moment to process it all. But as he turned a corner towards a quieter hallway, the sounds of a familiar, ugly scene reached his enhanced hearing.
"...think you're smart, don't you? Walking in with the Null like you're somebody?"
"P-please,I didn't—"
"Shut up.You have points, right? Everyone got their starter points. Transfer half of them to me. Now."
"B-but…"
"Or I dump you in the trash compactor.Your choice, defect."
Ark peered around the corner. Brody had Elijah pinned against a row of lockers, one metal-sheathed hand gripping the front of his shirt, lifting the smaller boy so his toes barely scraped the floor. Chloe and the two cronies stood by, laughing. Elijah's face was pale with terror, his eyes wide and pleading.
A cold fury began to replace the fear in Ark's veins. This was the same script, just with a different victim. The strong preying on the weak. The established order of this brutal world.
He stood at the crossroads, hidden in the shadow of the corridor. Walk away, a part of him whispered, the old, survivalist part. This isn't your fight. You can't save everyone. Getting involved will only paint a bigger target on your back.
He saw Elijah's face, the sheer, powerless despair. He saw himself in that look. He saw every time he had been the one against the lockers.
And then, the System, cold and decisive, intervened. A new notification, bordered in aggressive crimson, dominated his vision, its text unambiguous and heavy with intent.
[New Quest Received: Establish Dominance.]
Type:[Challenge]
Objective:Publicly challenge Brody Hendricks to a sanctioned duel for a minimum wager of 50 points.
Time Limit:5 minutes.
Rewards:200 EXP, Increased Reputation within Class B, Unlocks [Basic Combat Analysis] skill.
Failure:-2 to All Attributes (Permanent), Designation: [Coward].