The door closed behind Jackson. Twenty heads turned to look at each other. What just happened?
"So that's Professor Jackson," said the girl with long brown hair and green eyes, leaning back in her chair. "Exactly like everyone says."
Before anyone could respond, the bell screamed through the classroom. Not rang. Screamed. Like the building was having a panic attack.
Everyone moved at once, grabbing bags, shutting notebooks.
"Physical Combat with Hask," someone muttered. "We're going to die again."
I stood up, slinging my bag over my shoulder. The girl with the purple-pink hair—she still hadn't told me her name—had already vanished from the seat next to me, her spirit cat nowhere in sight.
A boy appeared at my side, grinning wide enough to power a small city. Medium height, dark brown skin, black hair going in seven different directions, and amber eyes that caught the light like they were thinking about keeping it.
"Rafi Iglesias." He stuck out a hand. "I'm the one who aced last week's sim. Just so you know who the real talent is around here."
I shook his hand. His grip was solid, palm slightly warm.
"Max Sterling."
"I know who you are." His grin somehow got wider. "Everyone knows. Son of Kaius Sterling. The Zero. That awakening ceremony video got fifty million views."
Great. The video. I'd managed to avoid watching it myself, but apparently the rest of the world hadn't shown the same restraint.
"So," Rafi continued as we walked out of the classroom, joining the flow of students heading down the corridor, "I figured since you're new, you might want someone to show you around. Tell you how things really work around here. I've basically got this whole Class Z thing figured out already."
"Is that right?"
"Absolutely. Two weeks in and I'm already on track for reclassification. Instructors love me. My Anima's got serious potential, just needs the right environment to really shine."
I looked at him. Took in the enthusiastic eyes, the confident stance, the way he walked like the hallway belonged to him despite wearing the same trim-less blazer as the rest of us.
"I like you. You lie a lot."
He stumbled mid-step. "What?"
"Not judging. It's a skill. But maybe dial it back ten percent so it's believable."
His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. Then he laughed—a real laugh, not the polished thing he probably used when trying to impress people.
"Fair enough. The top score thing was true, though."
"That I believe."
We turned a corner, the hallway opening into a wider passage where students in black and white uniforms flowed like two competing currents. Some blazers had gold trim along the inner lining. Others had silver. Ours had nothing—the visible mark of Class Z.
People looked at me as we passed. Some whispering. Some staring outright. My white hair was a beacon, something impossible to disguise.
"So how's it feel being famous?" Rafi asked.
"It's not fame if they're looking at you because you failed spectacularly."
"Infamy is just fame with better stories, man. You're a legend."
We reached a set of double doors marked TRAINING WING. Rafi pushed them open, and a wave of noise hit us—voices, the thud of impacts, the crack of ability discharges.
The doors swung open and the sheer scale of the place hit me. It was a cathedral built for violence. The air tasted of ozone and old sweat. The high ceiling was lost in shadow, and the reinforced walls were a canvas of scorch marks and intricate frost patterns.
Down below, numbered training zones were chalked onto a floor that had seen too much punishment.
Students were already changing into training uniforms at the lockers along the wall. I didn't have one. Probably waiting in my dorm room, which I hadn't seen yet.
"There he is," someone muttered as we walked in. "The Mad Hero's son."
A tall guy with close-cropped dark hair and the build of a small mountain glanced over at me. Next to him, a shorter girl with platinum-streaked hair was adjusting what looked like a custom-modified training uniform.
"New kid," the mountain said, nodding once. "Welcome to hell."
"Thanks for the warm reception."
The platinum-haired student looked me up and down. "Where's your training gear?"
"Probably at my dorm."
"Which you haven't been to yet because you're two weeks late." They sighed. "You'll have to borrow some. Hask will have your ass if you're not in uniform."
Before I could respond, the ground shook.
Not a small tremor. A seismic event. Like something massive had just stepped into existence and reality was adjusting to accommodate its weight.
Half the students dropped to one knee. The rest staggered. I felt it too—a pressure pushing down, making the air thick, gravity suddenly feeling like it had personal opinions about me.
At the center of the training hall stood a man who could only be Instructor Hask. Built like geology. Salt-and-pepper hair. The kind of face that had seen things try to kill it for forty years and wasn't impressed by any of them.
Next to him stood something that stretched the definition of "creature."
A colossus. Fifteen feet of living stone and tectonic pressure. Shoulders wide enough to block out the sun. Arms that looked like they could reshape continents as a hobby. Its surface was granite, but granite that moved like muscle, that breathed like something alive.
S-rank. Had to be. Nothing else produced this kind of physical presence.
"Good morning, brats," Hask said, his voice a rumble that matched his Anima's presence. "For those who haven't met him yet, this is my partner. Say hello."
The granite titan didn't move. Didn't need to. Its presence was greeting enough.
"Today we're doing survival drills," Hask continued. "Paired combat. No abilities, no cheap tricks. Just you, your Anima's stat transfer, and whatever you've got between your ears."
He walked forward, and the pressure moved with him. The granite titan followed, each step making the floor shudder.
"Gate running isn't about who has the biggest, meanest Anima," Hask said. "It's about who survives when everything goes wrong. When your Anima gets recalled. When your mana runs dry. When you're alone with whatever's left of you."
He stopped in the center of the hall. Looked around at the class.
"Half of you can barely stand right now. That's with fifty percent stat transfer active. Imagine facing an A-rank creature with no transfer at all." His eyes landed on me. "Some of you don't have to imagine."
Great. Singled out in the first five minutes.
"Sterling," Hask said. "The Zero. Son of Kaius."
I stepped forward. "Just Sterling is fine."
"Come here."
I walked toward him. The pressure increased with each step. By the time I reached him, it felt like walking through water.
Up close, Hask was even more intimidating. Scarred hands. Eyes that had seen too many gates. The stance of someone who knew exactly what he could do to you and was waiting for a reason.
"No Anima. No stat transfer. How do you compensate?"
"I train."
"Show me."
He moved before the words finished leaving his mouth. A straight jab, fast, aimed at my sternum.
I sidestepped. Barely. The fist passed close enough that I felt the air move.
"Not bad," Hask said. "Again."
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A/N: Thanks for reading this chapter! Support by adding to your library and giving a power stone or two. Comment for a cookie!