"Why is everyone so weird today?" Mateo complained inwardly as he headed to Training Bay Alpha.
An hour and a pool of sweat later, the other students returned. Most were healed, only a few sporting bandages where the deeper cuts had been.
Reeves had mentioned earlier that they would "review the tactics used in your rescue operations and how they can be used more efficiently." As the students lined up with military precision, Reeves walked into the wide room, her expression stern.
"Now that you've all been healed," she said, examining them with calculating eyes, "we can continue the session. No time to waste."
"Let's start with the B-3 team—the best performers."
Ben, Seraphine, Marina, and Amara straightened as their team was called out.
"You showed quick thinking, utilizing your powers to save the majority of mannequins," Reeves praised. "Turning water columns into ice to catch the falling dummies, then using water jets to slow the glass ones so Ben could grab them safely—that was smart teamwork."
Their faces went from apprehensive to beaming. They had genuinely worked well together.
"Which is why I'm offering your team a bonus." Reeves smiled slightly. Mateo remembered his conversation with Stratos about bonuses—she was implementing them now? "As a reward for earning first place, you'll have time off from evening training to do whatever you want."
Then she lowered her voice, focusing on them alone. "Though I'd strongly advise sticking to training anyway. We don't have much time before deployment."
The four students gulped and nodded as Reeves addressed the rest of the class.
"This is an incentive to push harder in the coming days," she announced, though Mateo found it contradictory to pressure them into regular training even after winning. "As for the other teams' performances—"
She turned to the B-1 team. "You fared the worst, saving only five mannequins, mostly because you think being a hero only means fighting."
"The B-2 team," she continued, looking at Mateo's group, "performed adequately, but lacked proper teamwork."
Mateo recalled Alex recklessly pulling mannequins toward herself, breaking them and injuring herself in the process. He restrained himself from face-palming at her recklessness.
"But you also showed quick thinking when the original plan failed," Reeves added, her eyes lingering on Mateo longer than the others. "It's a good start, but we need to focus on improving teamwork in future challenges."
Mateo nodded while Alex scoffed under her breath. Henrik shuffled nervously and Akira stood silent.
"Now then," Reeves clapped briskly, drawing everyone's attention. "As you know, in five days we'll be deploying to active warzones to assist pro-heroes. But before that, we're having another challenge—a show of strength between students."
"One-on-one combat duels. I won't tell you who you're fighting, but I want you to prepare and train your hardest. Develop every aspect of your quirks to the maximum. You won't be disqualified if you lose, so don't worry about that."
"Like they'd actually disqualify anyone," Henrik muttered. "Can they really afford to when they're running low on soldiers?"
Mateo heard him but had no response.
"Now that you're all here," Reeves concluded, "it's time for physical training."
The five days blurred together in a haze of exhaustion. Mateo barely had time to think, let alone relax. Every hour was packed with grueling training sessions, and when he wasn't pushing his body and quirk to their limits, he was either eating, bathing, rushing to the next session, or struggling to catch up on sleep. They managed to earn one bonus period, and against his better judgment, he used it for extra rest.
Mateo had imagined the Atlas Academy as the year his life would truly change. Maybe he'd break out of his shell, make real friends, even find a girlfriend. He'd never attended a proper school due to the ongoing crisis, so his expectations were skewed by stories from others and TV shows.
Besides, Mateo had never had real friends before.
Not that his week at Atlas was entirely bleak. With limited free time, all his social interactions came from training sessions. He'd grown closer to some of the guys—Anon, Ben, and Switch—though Inferno remained an impenetrable wall of arrogance that Mateo wasn't interested in cracking.
He wasn't exactly friends with the girls yet. Amara usually just teased him, while Seraphine, Marina, and Maya maintained friendly but indifferent relationships with him.
The real bonds Mateo had formed were within the B-2 team: Alex Velez, Henrik Mercer, Akira Nagasaki, and himself. To say their relationship was rocky would be an understatement.
Initially, Alex's behavior created constant tension. She'd argue with Mateo's plans and act recklessly, costing them points. Akira always tried mediating before conflicts escalated, while Henrik mostly observed the drama in silence.
Gradually, though, Alex became more receptive to Mateo's leadership. Not enough for casual conversation, but she followed his strategies more often. She provided the team's raw power, Akira served as their social glue, and while Henrik remained quiet, he and Mateo had grown closer through shared experiences—both were from the outskirts, grew up poor, and had lost family to the crisis.
With Alex's powerhouse quirk, Akira's shape-shifting animal companion, Henrik's object-merging ability that let him store weapons inside his body, and Mateo's increasingly versatile slime quirk fueling creative strategies, Team B-2 quickly became the strongest in Class B.
Now, on the final day, Mateo woke to tension hanging in the air—a calm before the storm. It wasn't just about the upcoming duel, but the reality that after today, they'd be fighting real battles with their lives on the line. The safety of Atlas Academy would be gone forever.
Each student had their reasons for becoming a hero. But did they have the conviction to see it through?
Mateo clenched his fist. Good. He'd be one step closer to getting his revenge. That was what he wanted, right?
The others were already stirring at 0700, despite Reeves not blaring her usual wake-up call through the intercom. Their bodies had adapted to the routine over five days of conditioning.
Speaking of her alarm, Mateo checked the dorm clock. 7:02 AM, and still no wake-up call? Was she taking pity on them for their last day?
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Unlike the casual entrances of their roommates, this person waited patiently for permission.
Mateo exchanged confused looks with the other five boys. Who could it be?
He opened the door to find a student wearing a light-blue, skin-tight hero suit that accentuated his broad chest and muscular calves. His wavy dark hair seemed to move with an invisible breeze, giving him an otherworldly presence.
"Hey, Class B, how are you all doing?"
It was Stratos, carrying a stack of wooden boxes of various sizes. Only Ben, Switch, and Anon greeted him enthusiastically. Henrik remained characteristically quiet, while Inferno probably thought himself too important for pleasantries.
Stratos entered with graceful confidence, dropping the heavy boxes on the floor. "Reeves asked me to deliver your suits and equipment. Crazy how it's barely been a week and we're already becoming real heroes, right?"
"It HAS just been a week," Henrik corrected, rummaging through boxes until he found one labeled 'Mercer.' He pulled out a black cloak that engulfed his entire frame in a menacing aura.
"Looks cool, Mr. Edgelord," Switch commented without malice as he opened his own box. Inside lay a single weapon—a gleaming black blade serrated on both sides, so sharp Mateo was sure it would cut fingers if touched carelessly. Switch tested it with practiced flicks before sheathing it at his hip.
Mateo had always wondered why Switch relied on a knife instead of his quirk. Now he understood—'Switch' only allowed position swapping with opponents, causing temporary disorientation but no direct harm. Without the weapon, he'd be limited to martial arts against most villains.
Inferno retrieved his hero suit next—a masterwork of practical design. The form-fitting black bodysuit featured bold red accents and protective armor plates that wouldn't sacrifice mobility. His utility belt sat heavy with equipment, while his crimson cape was lined with purple that flashed when it moved. The ensemble was undoubtedly impressive, possibly modeled after his father's costume.
Ben and Anon hadn't requested special costumes—Ben's invulnerability made flashy gear unnecessary, and Anon's role as strategist kept him away from direct combat.
That left Mateo's box sitting alone. He lifted it carefully, surprised by its weight, and placed it on his mattress.
Inside lay a dark-green leather suit, almost black in the dim light. Metal plates lined vital points for protection, with utility belts at the waist. As he put it on, the suit felt familiar, fitting perfectly since his measurements had been taken for custom design.
The boots had soles lined with small holes and iron heels that clanged satisfyingly on the floor. The gauntlets were heavier than expected, with five metal cylinders on each wrist and knuckle—the hydraulic system Anon had designed. When Mateo clenched his fists, they produced a satisfying mechanical crunch.
Next came a five-kilogram iron block, intended as a flail by attaching slime tendrils. He tested his quirk, watching slime flow through the suit's specially designed porous fabric without hindrance.
Finally, he lifted a helmet that combined mask and protective headgear. Green eye-holes provided clear vision while microscopic fiber-mesh protected against trauma. The adjustable jaw featured a respirator that clicked into place when closed.
"So, how do I look?" he asked awkwardly.
"You look like a demon," Switch said bluntly.
"For once I agree with Switch," Henrik added. "Do you really need all that equipment? Won't it weigh you down?"
Mateo examined his gear. Every piece served a purpose—metal plates for protection, the iron block as a weapon, hydraulic gauntlets for devastating punches, the porous suit for quirk mobility, and the respirator to filter smoke. He'd requested it all not just for utility, but as a memorial to his brother, who might have survived the explosion if he'd had protection from the toxic smoke.
"No, I think it looks really cool, and the equipment will serve its purpose," Anon spoke up, his partner in maximizing slime efficiency. Thanks to him, Mateo had developed slime catapults for mobility, hydraulic gauntlets for power, and countless other creative applications.
"The only thing I don't get is why you have horns on your helmet," Anon continued, tilting his head. "How does that help?"
Mateo's hand went to the black metal horns crafted at his temples—twenty centimeters long, glossy and dark, curving slightly backward like an oryx's horns. Anon was right; they served no practical combat purpose.
So why had Mateo added them?
As the others looked at him questioningly, he sighed and went to his backpack. This was the first time he'd considered telling anyone about his past, but he'd grown unexpectedly close to these guys during their week of training.
He needed to tell someone, to reinforce his resolve that he was doing this for his brother.
From his backpack's depths, he pulled out his 'totem'—a cylindrical object wrapped in white cloth that tapered to a sharp point.
He unwrapped it, revealing a white horn weathered smooth by anxious handling.
"It was my brother's horn," he said simply. "That was his quirk. Nothing flashy. Just two horns."
A pause settled over the room.
"He wanted to be a hero, but villains killed him in the outskirts. That's why I became a hero—to save people who can't save themselves."
That was the half-truth he'd told Oblitus during his interview, the story he told his friends and sometimes even himself. But he knew the real truth. All he wanted was revenge—to kill whoever had taken everything from him. He'd never seen them face to face, but somehow he knew that when he found them, he'd recognize them instantly.
Henrik's expression grew somber as Mateo spoke. Maybe he'd lost someone too. Maybe that's why he'd come to Atlas.
The others remained quiet, the room's atmosphere growing heavy. Mateo carefully rewrapped the horn and returned it to his backpack, feeling the weight of shared silence.
Time moved differently after that moment of revelation. The weight of Mateo's confession hung in the air as they finished suiting up, each lost in their own thoughts about what drove them to this path. The morning light streaming through their dorm windows felt different somehow—more urgent, more final.
Breakfast was a subdued affair, conversations muted by the knowledge that their training phase was ending. The comfortable routine they'd built over five days was about to shatter, replaced by something far more dangerous and uncertain.
As they made their way to the assembly hall, Mateo caught glimpses of other students adjusting their own hero gear, some excited, others visibly nervous. The reality of their situation was sinking in for everyone—they were no longer just students playing at being heroes.
The 'duel' Reeves had mentioned was about to begin. As they stood in the tense waiting room, the first names were called.
"Mateo vs Zeke. You're up first."
Mateo's heart sank. He was facing Inferno—of course his rotten luck would pit him against the strongest fighter in class, son of a top-three pro hero.
The tall, muscular redhead gave no comment as he walked toward the arena, apparently located in one of the fake model cities designed to simulate residential warzones.
They climbed a crumbling apartment building until they reached the rooftop where their fight would begin. There were no pleasantries between them, no gracious "may the best man win."
Mateo and Inferno III weren't the type for false courtesy.
The real battle was about to begin.