Mateo left the interview room with a bitter taste in his mouth. The white-haired man's deception rankled like a splinter under his skin, but he'd gotten in. That was what mattered. That was all that mattered.
The hallway outside stretched before him like something from a fever dream—a gleaming tunnel of polished white alloy and blue accent lighting that made everything feel sterile, artificial. Dozens of other applicants lined the walls, some slumped on benches with their heads in their hands, others pacing in tight circles like caged animals. A few wore expressions of hollow defeat, their interviews clearly having gone worse than his.
The air hummed with nervous energy and whispered conversations. Mateo caught fragments as he walked: "—said they're lowering standards—" "—even letting delinquents in now—" "—didn't think I'd make it past—"
So he wasn't the only one who'd felt unprepared. The thought should have been comforting, but instead it made his stomach clench tighter. If they were really getting desperate for recruits, what did that say about the war they were all walking into?
"Hey there."
Mateo turned to see a broad-shouldered young man with a brown buzzcut standing in front of him. The stranger had an earnest expression that seemed almost aggressive in its friendliness—the kind of forced optimism that made Mateo's skin crawl.
"You just finished your interview?" the stranger asked, approaching with an outstretched hand and a smile that was just a fraction too wide. His fingers drummed against his thigh in a nervous rhythm. "I'm Ben. Ben Clark."
Mateo reluctantly shook his hand, noting the slight tremor in Ben's grip. "Mateo."
"How'd it go in there? Mine was weird—guy with the silver hair kept asking strange questions. Didn't even care about my quirk until the end." Ben's laugh had a brittle edge to it, like glass about to shatter. "But hey, we're here, right? We made it through. That's got to count for something."
Before Mateo could respond—not that he'd planned to—a sharp voice cut through the hallway chatter like a blade.
"Attention, applicants!"
The conversations died instantly. A tall woman in a crisp navy uniform stood at the end of the corridor, her presence commanding immediate silence. Her dark hair was pulled back in a severe bun that looked sharp enough to cut, and a holographic badge on her chest identified her as "Commander Reeves." Everything about her screamed military precision—from her perfectly pressed uniform to the way she held herself like a loaded weapon.
"Due to the escalating conflict at our nation's borders, this year's entrance process has been modified," she announced, her voice carrying effortlessly through the space with the kind of authority that brooked no argument. "The traditional three-phase examination has been deemed... inefficient for our current needs."
A cold chill ran down Mateo's spine. Inefficient. Like they were processing meat instead of evaluating future heroes.
"Instead, you will undergo a single combat assessment," Commander Reeves continued, her tone as clinical as a doctor discussing surgery. "You will be paired with another applicant and sent into our simulation arena. The environment replicates actual conflict zones you may encounter as heroes—urban warfare, structural collapse, civilian evacuation scenarios."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd like a disturbed pond.
"Your performance will be evaluated on combat effectiveness, quirk application, tactical adaptability, and strategic decision-making under pressure. Make no mistake—these simulations are designed to push you to your absolute limits. Some of you will not meet Academy standards."
The way she said it made it sound like a threat rather than an evaluation.
She tapped her wrist, and a holographic display materialized above her head, showing a rotating list of name pairs. Mateo scanned desperately, his heart hammering against his ribs.
"Mendoza versus Velez," he read aloud, the words feeling like lead in his mouth.
"You got paired with Alex?" Ben's perpetual smile faltered for the first time. "Tough break, man. My—uh, I heard her quirk is no joke."
Velez. Alex. Of course.
"We've met," Mateo said flatly, remembering her casual confidence, the way she'd moved through the Academy like she owned it. He still had no idea what her power was, and now he was going to find out the hard way.
"Better you than me," Ben said, his forced cheer returning like a reflex. "I got paired with some guy named Henrik. No clue what his quirk is, but hey—" He shrugged with manufactured casualness. "That's half the fun, right? Going in blind? Really tests your adaptability."
"Ben." A feminine voice called from behind them, carrying a note of gentle exasperation. "What did I tell you about trying to make friends with everyone you meet?"
Mateo turned to see a girl shorter than him approach Ben's side. She had a black ponytail with severe bangs framing Asian features and wore an oversized green cardigan that looked like it had seen better days. What made Mateo's breath catch, though, was the snake coiled around her shoulder—sleek, dark, and definitely not a fashion accessory.
The girl gave Ben a gentle but exasperated tap on his elbow, and the snake's head turned to regard Mateo with eyes like black glass. He fought the urge to step back.
"This is getting ridiculous," she continued, though her tone was more fond than truly annoyed. "You're going to get your heart broken when half these people try to eliminate you."
Ben shrugged and laughed, but the sound was hollow. "Come on, we're all in this together. We're going to be heroes, right?"
The girl's expression softened slightly, like she was looking at something fragile. "If you say so."
"So who are you to Ben?" Mateo asked, partly out of curiosity and partly because he needed to know if the snake was going to be a problem.
"His friend," she said simply. The snake shifted on her shoulder, tongue flicking out to taste the air. "Someone has to keep him from adopting every stray he meets."
Was the snake her quirk? Some kind of companion ability? Or was she just the type of person who casually walked around with a reptile? In this place, either seemed equally possible.
"Well, well. Look who made it through the interview."
Mateo's muscles went rigid before he even turned around. He knew that voice—had heard it snarling threats in an alley not twenty-four hours ago.
Brett.
He turned slowly to see him standing a few feet away, arms folded over his chest. Brett looked... different. Cleaner than Mateo had ever seen him, his usual ratty clothes replaced with something that almost passed for respectable. Mateo could still remember the bruises from their fight. They were fading but still visible along his jawline, purple-green reminders of their last encounter.
"Surprised to see me?" Brett asked, but there was something off about his usual sneer. His posture was defensive rather than aggressive.
"I'm surprised to see you're still breathing," Mateo said evenly, studying Brett's face for any sign of his intentions.
Ben looked between them, his eyebrows raised. "You guys know each other?"
"We had a disagreement," Mateo said before Brett could speak. His hand unconsciously clenched into a fist, remembering the feel of slime erupting from his skin, the way Brett had screamed as it engulfed him. "What are you even doing here?"
Brett's jaw tightened, and for a moment Mateo thought he might start something. Instead, he took a half-step back. "Same as everyone else. World needs heroes, right?" The words came out flat, lacking his usual venom. "And the pay's supposed to be decent."
It was such a transparent lie that Mateo almost felt embarrassed for him. Brett wasn't here for money or heroic ideals. So why was he?
"Right," Mateo said, not bothering to hide his skepticism.
An uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Brett's eyes darted away first, focusing somewhere over Mateo's shoulder. "Well. Good luck, I guess." He turned to leave, then paused. "Try not to lose control again."
Brett walked away before Mateo could respond, disappearing into another cluster of applicants. The casual cruelty of the parting shot was so perfectly Brett that Mateo almost felt relieved—at least some things hadn't changed.
"What was that about?" Ben asked, his voice carefully neutral.
"Nothing important," Mateo lied.
"Applicants will be called in pairs," Commander Reeves announced, her voice cutting through the renewed chatter. "You'll have five minutes to familiarize yourself with the arena environment before combat begins. During this time, you may strategize, examine the terrain, or prepare mentally. Use it wisely."
She gestured toward a massive set of double doors that Mateo hadn't noticed before. "First pairing: Clark and Mercer."
"That's me," Ben said, rising from his bench with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. His fingers were drumming against his leg again, faster now. "Wish me luck, guys."
"What's your quirk anyway?" Mateo found himself asking.
Ben's smile became genuine for the first time since they'd met. "Let's just say I'm really reliable when people need me most."
With that cryptic answer, he walked toward Commander Reeves, joining a shorter boy with pale skin and a pronounced hunch—presumably Henrik, his opponent. The two of them followed the Commander through the double doors, and Mateo heard the mechanical hum of machinery engaging.
A massive LCD screen descended from the ceiling, flickering to life as the competitors entered the arena from opposite sides. The image was crystal clear, and Mateo felt his stomach drop at what he saw.
The arena was enormous—at least the size of three football fields. But it wasn't empty space. Instead, it was a meticulously crafted hellscape of ruined buildings, twisted metal, and environmental hazards that looked capable of causing real damage. Smoke drifted through the wreckage, and Mateo could see what looked like active electrical hazards sparking in the rubble.
This wasn't a test. It was a war zone.
Ben and Henrik appeared on opposite sides of the arena, small figures against the backdrop of simulated destruction. Ben was still smiling, waving at the cameras like he was at a sporting event. Henrik, meanwhile, had gone even paler, if that was possible.
The girl with the snake—Akira, he'd heard Ben call her—settled beside Mateo to watch. The snake's head swiveled toward the screen, as if it too was interested in the outcome.
"Five minutes of preparation time begins... now," Commander Reeves's voice echoed through speakers in the arena.
Ben immediately began jogging through the ruins, testing footing and examining potential cover. Smart. Henrik, on the other hand, seemed frozen in place, overwhelmed by the scope of what he was facing.
"Ben's got good instincts," Akira said quietly. Her voice carried a note of genuine concern beneath the casual observation. "But instincts only get you so far."
Mateo nodded, his own anxiety mounting as he watched Ben navigate the treacherous terrain. In a few minutes, it would be his turn down there. Against Alex, who he still knew nothing about beyond her confidence and competitive streak.
The preparation time felt both eternal and instantaneous. Then Commander Reeves's voice rang out again: "Preparation time concluded. Combat assessment begins in three... two... one..."
Mateo leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of his seat. He needed to understand how these fights worked, what the rules were, what strategies might give him an edge against Alex.
A horn blared through the arena, and both fighters tensed.
This was going to be a fight to the finish.