The campus buzzed louder than usual.
Banners flapped between towers, digital screens pulsed with countdowns, and every student walked a little taller, a little faster — like today mattered more than the rest of the year combined.
Because it did.
The Hero Games weren't just tradition. They were blood sport dressed up as PR — a school-wide combat showcase where students fought for ranking, recognition, and the attention of actual heroes in the audience. Every match was broadcast live. Every move analyzed. Every failure immortalized.
It was a feast, and the world would be watching.
Rook Vale stood in the waiting chamber behind Arena Two, watching the wall screen blink his name into place.
ROUND 1: ROOK VALE vs. LANCE KRILL
A file popped up beside it. Lance's photo. Power profile. Combat rank. Prior performance.
Ascension: Type-2 AerokineticClass Rank: C+Record: 5-2Temper: Competitive. Prone to overconfidence.
Rook studied it in silence. Not because he needed to. Just to kill time.
A door slid open to his left. Nico appeared, holding two energy gels and grinning like he'd already won.
"Rook freaking Vale," he said, tossing one over. "Betting boards have you top five already. You should smile more. You'd look terrifying."
Rook caught the gel mid-air, didn't open it.
"I'm not here to entertain."
Nico flopped onto the bench beside him. "No, but you're about to."
The Arena was packed.
Students lined the outer ring in their uniforms. Drones zipped overhead, capturing every angle. Teachers sat high above in the box seats, flanked by real heroes — towering figures in radiant suits, helmets, capes, mechanical limbs.
Among them, one seat sat empty. Its crest — a lion sun etched in gold.
Leo's seat.
Rook stepped into the light, calm and expressionless. The crowd murmured, but he didn't scan them. Didn't wave. Just walked to the center ring and waited.
Lance Krill had already summoned his winds.
His coat whipped around his body, eyes glowing faint blue as pressure built in the air around him. He floated a few inches off the ground, grinning wide.
"Hope you're fast, Vale," he called across the ring. "Because I don't go easy for prettyboys."
Rook just stared at him.
The signal buzzed.
Begin.
Lance surged forward, trailing vortex spirals behind him. His fists snapped with compressed air. The crowd roared.
Rook ducked the first punch, sidestepped the second, and moved forward without speaking. No hesitation. No flinch.
He struck Lance in the ribs once — flat-palmed. Controlled.Lance grunted and flew back, skidding on the reinforced floor.
A stunned pause.
Then Rook stepped into him again. Fast. Clean. Surgical.
Two strikes to the chest. One to the shoulder. A sweep.Lance went down hard, coughing.
The match ended in thirty-six seconds.
Back in the waiting area, Aya Sparks leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
"Not bad," she said as Rook walked past. "For someone who looked half-asleep."
He didn't stop. "You watched?"
"I study threats."
He gave her a small look over his shoulder. "Then you're already losing."
She blinked — once — and pushed off the wall with a click of her tongue.
Tessa watched from the upper balcony, fingers tightening on the railing.
It wasn't jealousy. Not exactly. But something about the way Rook moved made her uneasy.Too precise. Too calculated.
He never fought like someone testing limits.He fought like someone who already knew.
In the VIP box above the arena, a tall man finally stepped into the empty seat.
Leo — Captain Virex.Hero of the Concord. Leader of the Zodiac 13.
He wore his armor like it was forged for him alone. Sharp, radiant, gold-trimmed. His eyes scanned the ring below — and paused.
"Who's that one?" he asked.
The aide beside him checked the feed. "Rook Vale. New intake. Top ranker."
Leo's eyes narrowed.
Then, after a moment, he smiled.