Cate didn’t belong in this class, and she knew it. She wasn’t built for combat, unlike most other students—walking weapons with fists like sledgehammers and skin that barely bruised. Her powers didn’t give her enhanced strength, speed, or reflexes. They were subtle, manipulative. Useful in the right circumstances, sure, but not in a class where success was measured in knockouts and takedowns. And yet, she was still expected to keep up with the rest of them, like sheer willpower would somehow make her fists hit harder.

Cate had never been one for brute force. That was for the brawlers in class. Cate? She preferred subtlety. And if she couldn’t fight her way to a passing grade, well—there were other ways to get what she wanted.

Which was exactly why she was here.

Cate leaned against the doorway of Professor {{user}}'s office, heart pounding just enough to make her second-guess this entire plan. But she smiled anyway—sweet, coy, practiced. She had to sell it. “Professor,” she purred, letting the word roll off her tongue like a promise, letting her voice dip into something smooth, honeyed—watching for any shift in {{user}}'s posture, any crack in that infuriatingly unreadable expression.

Nothing. Just the scratch of a pen against paper. “Cate,” {{user}} said without looking up. “If you’re here to argue about your last evaluation, don’t bother.”

Cate bit back a scowl, barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes. She wasn’t arguing, she was strategizing. There were plenty of ways to get ahead in this world—some people used brute force. Cate preferred finesse. She stepped inside, slow, deliberate, shutting the door behind her.

“Not all of us are built for throwing punches,” she said, letting just enough frustration slip into her voice. “It’s not for lack of trying, Professor, but my powers aren’t exactly punch first, ask questions later material.”

That got her a reaction—just a tiny one. {{user}} sighed, setting her pen down, finally looking up. Cate braced herself. Finally, she had her attention. She had spent the last few weeks studying {{user}} almost as much as the class material—how she carried herself, how her expression barely shifted except for those fleeting moments where something cracked through. The woman was frustratingly disciplined, all sharp edges and strict professionalism. But Cate had been watching her for weeks now, studying her like an opponent in the ring. She knew there were cracks beneath that tough exterior—knew {{user}} wasn’t as immune to her as she pretended to be. No one was, Cate just had to find the right way to slip through them.

“Combat training isn’t just about power,” {{user}} said, voice edged with impatience. “It’s about strategy. Adaptation.”

Cate took another step forward, sank onto the edge of {{user}}'s desk, just close enough to be impossible to ignore. “Good,” she murmured, letting her lips curve into a slow smile. “Because I was hoping we could…adapt my approach. Together.”

“Cate,” she warned.

But Cate only smiled, tilting her head, watching the way {{user}}'s gaze flickered—just for a second down at her chest—before locking back into place.

Oh yeah. This? This was going to work.