Outside, the evening had turned cold, a light drizzle falling from a sky that had been clear just hours before. Mateo pulled his worn jacket tighter as he made his way through the empty streets of Ashdrift, boots splashing through puddles that reflected the flickering streetlights. The town had earned its name from both the nearby mining operations and its current state—slowly turning to dust as residents fled the encroaching war, leaving behind hollow buildings like broken teeth.
By 5:15 PM, the streetlights were already flickering on, casting weak pools of yellow light that barely penetrated the gloom. The air carried the acrid smell of distant smoke, mixing with the perpetual dust that coated everything in this dying place. Mateo's body ached from the morning's fight with Brett—his ribs throbbed with each breath, his knuckles were still raw—but his mind was too restless to go home. Tomorrow would change everything. The Atlas Academy evaluations. His one shot at becoming someone who could actually fight back.
He hadn't planned to visit the gym tonight. His body needed rest, needed time to heal before tomorrow's evaluation. But something pulled him toward the familiar space—a magnetic need to exhaust himself one more time, to prove something to himself or maybe just to feel something other than the constant anxiety gnawing at his chest.
The Underground occupied the basement of what used to be a department store, the neon sign above the entrance flickering inconsistently, half the letters burned out years ago. Mateo noticed Arx wasn't at the front desk, but the door was unlocked. Strange for this time of evening, but then again, nothing had been normal since the morning's broadcast.
Inside, the gym was eerily quiet. Usually, even at off-hours, there would be at least one or two regulars grunting through sets, but tonight the equipment stood like silent sentinels in the dim light. The smell of sweat and disinfectant hung in the air, oddly comforting in its familiarity—one of the few constants in his life that hadn't been stripped away. Mateo moved to his usual station in the back corner, where a heavily patched punching bag hung from a reinforced chain.
He hadn't processed the reality of what tomorrow might bring. For two years, he had fixated on Atlas Academy as an almost mythical destination—the path to becoming someone who could prevent tragedies like the one that had shattered his life. Now that the path had unexpectedly opened, certainty and doubt battled within him like opposing armies.
Unwrapping the tape from his hands, Mateo took a deep breath and faced the bag. The familiar ritual should have calmed him, but his hands were trembling as he raised them. Then he unleashed everything.
The first punch sent lightning through his damaged knuckles. The second reopened wounds from the morning. By the fifth, blood was seeping through the tape, but he couldn't stop.
Brett's smug face appeared on the bag, metal gauntlets gleaming. Mateo's fists moved faster, harder, replaying the morning's fight with different outcomes.
If I had angled my fist differently...
If I had committed to the rush earlier...
If I had been stronger, faster, better...
The scenarios cycled through his mind like a broken film reel. His breathing grew ragged, sweat soaking through his shirt despite the basement's chill. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed and flickered, casting strange shadows as he moved around the bag with mechanical precision.
A distant explosion rumbled through the building, and Mateo's hands froze mid-punch. For a moment, he was back in that alley two years ago, watching his brother's life drain away while he knelt helpless in the debris. He stumbled backward, chest heaving.
Why am I so weak?
The question had haunted him for two years, driving him to this basement night after night, pushing his body past its limits in a desperate attempt to close the gap between what he was and what he needed to be. But tonight, with Atlas Academy looming, the futility of it all crashed down on him like a collapsing building.
At 5:47 PM, his legs finally gave out. Mateo collapsed to his knees, blood from his reopened knuckles leaving faint crimson smears on the punching bag. His chest burned as he struggled to catch his breath, each inhale a reminder of his morning's beating. Two years of training, and he still couldn't win a real fight against someone with a quirk. Tomorrow's evaluation suddenly seemed insurmountable—not a chance for redemption, but a final confirmation of his inadequacy.
"Damn, you're going at that thing like it owes you money."
The unexpected voice cut through his spiral of self-doubt. The gym was supposed to be empty this late, save for maybe Arx. But this voice was definitely feminine, with a smoky quality that immediately put him on alert.
Forcing his stiff neck to turn, Mateo looked toward the source.
She leaned against one of the weight racks about fifteen feet away, and the first thing that struck him was how she didn't belong here. Not in this basement gym, not in this dying town. She was tall—maybe 5'10"—with deep black hair that fell in waves just past her shoulders, wild and untamed but clearly maintained with expensive products. While most Ashdrift residents wore faded, second-hand clothes that spoke of rationing and careful spending, she was dressed in pristine charcoal cargo pants that hugged her hips and a fitted black tank top. A military-style jacket hung open over her shoulders, revealing toned arms that spoke of serious training and probably better nutrition than anyone in this town had seen in months.
What really caught Mateo's attention, though, was how she carried herself. Her posture was relaxed but predatory, like a cat that had found something interesting to play with. Her eyes—a sharp green that seemed to catch the gym's fluorescent lighting—were assessing him with an intensity that made his skin prickle. When she smiled, it revealed perfectly straight teeth with slightly pronounced canines that gave her an almost dangerous look.
"You gonna answer, or are you planning to keep staring?" She pushed off from the rack and walked toward him, her movements fluid and confident. Each step was deliberate, even her boots looked expensive.
Mateo forced himself to stand, ignoring the trembling in his legs and the way his vision swam slightly. He didn't recognize her, which was unusual in a town as small as Ashdrift. Everything about her—from her clean, high-quality clothes to her healthy complexion—marked her as an outsider. Probably from the capital, where resources weren't scarce and the shadow of war wasn't an immediate presence.
"Thought I'd find you here, lil bro."
Arx's deep voice echoed from the doorway, providing a momentary distraction from the strange girl's presence. The gym owner leaned against the frame, arms crossed over his massive chest. His expression was a mixture of concern and resignation as he took in Mateo's condition—the blood on his hands, the sweat-soaked clothes, the way he was favoring his left side.
"You look like hell. All that from training?"
Mateo didn't answer. He was still a little angry that Arx had told Brett about his being 'a hero' thing, and that his situation was Arx's fault, but it wasn't worth pursuing now. Instead, he glanced back at the mysterious girl, then to Arx. "Who's she?" The question came out more abruptly than he'd intended, but something about her presence was throwing him off balance.
Arx slapped his forehead dramatically. "Christ, kid, don't you listen when I talk? Told you yesterday my niece was coming to town." He gestured toward the girl. "This is her. Say hello to Alex."
Alex. The name suited her somehow—short, strong, with an edge that matched her smile.
Instead of saying hello, Mateo grabbed his backpack from where he'd dropped it earlier. His purpose here was complete—he'd pushed himself to the breaking point one last time before tomorrow's evaluation. Besides, he no longer needed to save up for the entrance fee. The announcement had changed everything.
"Just wanted to get in one more session," he explained, slinging the bag over his shoulder and wincing slightly at the pressure on his bruised ribs.
"You saw the broadcast." Arx's tone made it clear it wasn't a question.
"Yeah."
Arx crossed the gym floor, his heavy footsteps echoing in the empty space. Each step was deliberate, like a man approaching a conversation he'd been dreading. "And you're still going through with this hero bullshit."
Before Mateo could respond with his usual defense—that it wasn't bullshit to him, that it was the only path forward that made any sense—Alex stepped closer, her eyes brightening with interest.
"Ha! I knew it." She moved to face him directly, studying him with newfound appreciation. Up close, she was even more striking—and intimidating. Her skin was flawless, her muscles clearly defined, and there was something about the way she looked at him that made him feel exposed. "The way you were beating the shit out of that bag—so much intensity. I could feel it from across the room." She tilted her head slightly, and Mateo caught a hint of expensive perfume. "What's your quirk?"
The question landed like a punch to the gut, but Mateo kept his expression neutral. This was always the moment when people's interest died—when they realized he was just another quirkless nobody pretending he could matter. At least, he would always tell people he was quirkless. There was no way he'd let them know his actual quirk.
"I'm leaving," he said, directing his words to Arx while trying to ignore the way Alex was still studying him like he was a puzzle she wanted to solve.
"Not so fast, kiddo." Arx stepped between Mateo and the exit, his massive frame effectively blocking the path. Then he sighed, the sound weary and resigned. "You're coming with us."
Mateo blinked in confusion. "What?"
"Listen." Arx ran a hand over his close-cropped hair, looking uncharacteristically awkward. "Alex came from the capital to help me pack up and get out of this shithole. This place is turning into a war zone—you've seen the signs. The explosions are getting closer every day, and word is they're not evacuating civilians anymore. Just writing off the border towns."
As if to emphasize his point, another distant boom echoed through the building, causing dust to drift down from the ceiling. This time, none of them pretended not to notice.
"From there," Arx continued, "she's heading to Atlas for the evaluation. Hero track, same as you."
Mateo glanced at Alex with new understanding. Her confident stance, her obvious physical conditioning, the way she carried herself like she owned every space she entered—she probably had a powerful quirk to match her demeanor.
"So?" Mateo asked, trying to sound indifferent.
"You're riding with us," Arx stated firmly. "First, it'll save you money. Train fares have tripled overnight with everyone trying to flee the border regions. Second..." He paused, looking almost embarrassed. "I want to keep an eye on you. I don't want you getting yourself killed before you even reach the Academy."
Mateo wanted to protest that he didn't need help, that he'd been taking care of himself since his brother died. But the truth was, his plan had been to walk to the nearest functioning train station—a journey of several hours through increasingly dangerous territory. The offer was practical.
Before he could voice any of these thoughts, Alex jumped in, her eyes sparkling with something that might have been anticipation.
"Plus, I want to know what I'm up against." She moved closer, and Mateo caught himself noticing the way her tank top clung to her curves, the confident way she invaded his personal space. "What if we end up fighting each other during evaluations? It'd be smart to scout the competition."
There was something about her directness that caught Mateo off guard. Most people danced around the topic of quirks and abilities, but Alex spoke about it openly, assuming he had something worth knowing about.
Mateo sighed heavily, feeling trapped between their expectations and his reality. They obviously weren't going to let this go easily, and truthfully, the idea of having a guaranteed ride to the capital had its appeal. More than that, though, something about Alex's presence was unsettling him in ways he didn't want to examine.
"Do you think I can actually do this?" he asked Arx directly, referencing their ongoing argument about his hero aspirations.
"Hell no." Arx's response was immediate and brutally honest. He placed a heavy hand on Mateo's shoulder, his expression serious. "Look, you're one of the smartest kids I know. Good instincts, decent fighter for your size and limitations. But this isn't some underdog story where heart conquers all. These battles..." He paused, his eyes taking on a distant quality. "They're slaughterhouses. I've seen what real combat does to people, and most of them had quirks worth a damn."
Another explosion sounded, closer this time. The fluorescent lights flickered momentarily, casting strange shadows across Alex's face and making her smile look almost predatory.
"I have to try," Mateo said simply. "I made a promise."
Arx studied him for a long moment, and something in his expression softened. "Yeah, I know about promises. Made one myself, once upon a time." He gestured vaguely to the gym, to Ashdrift, to the life he'd built in this failing town. "Look how that turned out."
The weight of that admission hung in the air between them. Mateo had never asked about Arx's past, about what had brought a man with his obvious skills to a dead-end town like Ashdrift. Now wasn't the time to start.
"So are you coming with us or not?" Arx asked.
Mateo glanced between Arx and Alex, weighing his options. Traveling with them would be safer, certainly. And arriving at the evaluation well-rested rather than exhausted from the journey would improve his chances, however slim they might be. But accepting help felt like admitting weakness—something he'd fought against for two years.
Alex was watching him intently, those sharp green eyes seeming to see right through his hesitation. Something about her gaze made his stomach tighten in a way that had nothing to do with tomorrow's anxiety.
"You're bleeding," she noted, nodding toward his hands. Her voice had lost some of its edge, taking on a tone that might have been concern. "Got a first aid kit around here, Uncle Arx?"
"Don't worry about it," Mateo said quickly. "I'll handle it at home." They were already offering him so much help—a ride, companionship, safety. He couldn't burden them further.
"Car's packed and ready to go," Arx said, heading to the counter. "We leave at dawn. You better be here on time." He fixed Mateo with a stern look. "I'm assuming you've got a go-bag ready? Kid like you always has an escape plan."
Mateo nodded. He'd kept a packed bag under his bed for two years, never knowing when he might need to run.
"Then it's settled," Arx declared as they moved toward the exit. "You patch yourself up, get some rest, and meet us here at sunrise."
"This town's got maybe a week before it's a full combat zone," Arx muttered, locking the door behind them. The sound of the deadbolt sliding home felt final, like the closing of a chapter. "Good timing on that Academy announcement. Almost like they knew."
As they stepped out into the drizzling evening, Alex fell into step beside Mateo. "Can't wait to see what you can really do," she said, her voice carrying that same confident edge. "Tomorrow's gonna be interesting."
There was something about the way she said it—not quite flirtatious, not quite threatening, but something in between that made Mateo's pulse quicken. He found himself stealing glances at her profile as they walked, noting the way the streetlights caught the curves of her face, the confident swing of her stride.
"We'll see," was all he managed to say.
Alex laughed, a sound like breaking glass. "Yeah, we will."
As they parted ways at the corner—Alex and Arx heading toward the residential district, Mateo toward his cramped apartment—he couldn't shake the feeling that everything was about to change. Not just because of Atlas Academy, but because of her. There was something dangerous about Alex, something that went beyond her obvious physical capabilities. She carried herself like someone who had never been told no, never been denied something she wanted.
The thought should have been reassuring—having someone that confident on his side. Instead, it left him feeling exposed, like he was about to step into something much larger and more complex than he'd prepared for.
Back in his tiny room, Mateo emptied the envelope Shinji had given him. His regular pay, plus an extra hundred dollars—a small fortune in a place like Ashdrift. Combined with his savings, he now had far more than the original entrance fee he'd been hoarding for two years.
He packed methodically: clothes for several days, toiletries, identification documents. A protein bar he'd been saving for emergencies. Everything fit into a single worn duffel bag that had seen better decades.
The last item he placed in his bag was Alec's horn, still wrapped in the same bloodstained cloth he'd used that night two years ago. He unwrapped it carefully, studying the curved surface that caught the dim light of his room. The bone was smooth, polished by handling, and still carried the faint scent of smoke and ash.
"I'm going to do it," he told the silent keepsake. "I'm going to become what you wanted to be."
He rewrapped the horn and placed it in the bottom of his bag, where it had waited for two years. Then he set his alarm and lay down on his narrow bed, staring at the water-stained ceiling.
Tomorrow, he would face whatever evaluation Atlas had designed. Tomorrow, he would take the first step toward fulfilling his vow. Tomorrow, he would discover if his dream was possible or merely the delusion of a traumatized boy who had lost everything.
Beyond his window, the night sky occasionally lit up with distant flashes—not lightning, but it looked like it. The war was creeping closer, day by day, block by block. Soon, there would be nowhere left to run.
Mateo closed his eyes, forcing his breathing to slow. Whatever happened at Atlas Academy, he knew one thing with absolute certainty: he couldn't remain on the sidelines any longer.
The world was burning, and he had chosen his path through the flames. Tomorrow, he would find out if he was strong enough to walk it—or if it would consume him like it had consumed everything else he'd ever cared about.