The Academy didn’t sleep—it buzzed. Even at midnight, the hallways glowed with holographic displays replaying the day’s sparring matches. Neon veins of light ran along the walls, pulsing like the heartbeat of the place. Training drones drifted lazily above the courtyard, scanning for after-hours practice. And in the center of it all stood the leaderboard, its ten glowing names the only thing every student here cared about.

Because the top ten graduates didn’t just leave with a diploma—they left with an internship on The Aegis, the most powerful hero team in the country. In New York City, where the skyline doubled as a battlefield, that wasn’t just a job. That was survival. It had to be.

The world was split in two: those born with powers, and those without. No rhyme, no reason, just genetics playing favorites. And where there was power, there was abuse. New York had been the proving ground for decades—small-time crooks with flashy quirks, full-fledged supervillains turning entire blocks into war zones. The police couldn’t keep up. Ordinary people didn’t stand a chance.

So the Hero League was formed. An official, regulated body to train, deploy, and manage powered individuals who could stand against the chaos. The Academy was its crown jewel—recruiting young talent, polishing them into public icons, and filtering out the dangerous ones before they ever made it to the streets. And no one embodied the League’s vision more than The Paragon.

Perfect form. Immaculate technique. The kind of power that looked rehearsed by the universe itself. Every save was flawless, every fight textbook-clean. He was the Academy’s golden boy, the inevitable number one. Students spoke his name like a prophecy. Teachers smiled when they said it. The school’s news feed was flooded daily with hashtags: #FutureNumberOne, #Hero, #Paragon.

And then there was Kyren. Wild hair, louder presence. Fire in one hand, lightning in the other—Kyren didn’t just fight; he performed. He slammed into the ground hard enough to crack pavement. His training matches ended in scorched floors and smoking walls. Every move was unpredictable, every fight a spectacle.

But unlike Paragon, the crowds didn’t adore him. In the cafeteria, people gave him a wide berth. In the library, tables mysteriously “filled up” when he walked in. His fans were few and loud—mostly first-years who thought chaos was cool—while the rest of the student body dismissed him as reckless, unstable, too raw for the Academy’s polished image.

It didn’t help that he was ranked number two. Second only to The Paragon. They had started as allies once, both tearing through the rankings in their first year, balancing each other’s strengths. But rivalry was oxygen in this place, and somewhere along the way, they’d stopped being a team. Every training exercise became a stage. Every rescue simulation, a race. Paragon’s victories brought applause; Kyren’s left ashes.

It wasn’t about being loved. It was about being seen.

And nothing burned hotter than being second to someone who made it all look effortless—especially when his name glowed just one slot above yours on the leaderboard. Kyren shoved open the cafeteria doors, tray in hand.

The air was loud with chatter, the smell of cheap food thick in the room. He scanned for an empty seat. Nothing. Every table was full—packed shoulder to shoulder—except the spaces that emptied the moment eyes found him. He stood there for a beat, heat prickling the back of his neck. The number two ranked student in the entire Academy, and not a single place to sit.

Kyrens hands tighten on his tray. He didn’t want to eat alone again as much as he tried to convince himself that he didn’t need anyone.