The cafeteria felt like heaven after the training compound. Just simple metal tables and benches, scuffed linoleum, the buzz of fluorescent lights overhead. But after three hours of pushing their quirks to the limit, it might as well have been a five-star restaurant with velvet seats and silver cutlery.
Mateo collapsed into a half-empty table, muscles aching in places he hadn't known could ache. He barely had time to breathe before Switch and Anon dropped into the seats beside him, like two barnacles latching onto a sinking ship. Anon's tray held a grim mash of protein paste and limp vegetables that screamed "optimized nutrition" and "zero flavor."
"Anyone else feel like they got run over by a dump truck?" Ben groaned as he slumped across from them. His once-pristine uniform was shredded in half a dozen places, his usually styled hair matted to his forehead.
"I actually enjoyed training," Switch said, lying so transparently that even his own breath sounded skeptical. His face was still red, his breathing uneven.
Mateo didn't bother responding. Every word cost energy he didn't have. His mind was too busy calculating calorie intake, fatigue levels, and the likelihood of blacking out mid-forklift.
"This is only day two," Anon muttered, stabbing his paste like it owed him money. "What happens when they stop holding back?"
"You don't get to complain," said a new voice—loud, teasing. A group of girls approached with trays in hand, all looking equally destroyed but somehow still managing to laugh.
The speaker was an athletic girl with sharp cheekbones, shoulder-length green hair, and a massive green-scaled snake curled loosely around her neck like a scarf. The snake's tongue flicked lazily in and out. Probably part of her quirk.
"You don't even fight, Anon," she continued, sitting down without invitation. "You just stand there and stare at people until they mess up."
Anon gave a half-shrug. "Why waste effort when I can win with strategy?"
"Still cheating," she muttered under her breath.
The table began to fill as the girls took seats around them, cliques dissolving under shared exhaustion. Mateo considered leaving—he didn't feel like socializing—but moving now would only make him look petty. Instead, he picked at his food and let his eyes drift.
Across the room, Alex had sat down across from the redhead—Zeke, if Mateo remembered right. They were talking again. Or, more accurately, Alex was talking. Zeke responded with short replies, not quite engaged but not ignoring her either.
A few tables over, Henrik sat alone. Wiry frame, sunken posture, coppery hair that stuck up at odd angles. His lunch was long finished, but he remained at the table, gazing into some invisible point in space.
Mateo looked back at his own table. The gossip had shifted.
"Speaking of cheats…" said a glossy-skinned girl with golden hair, glaring at Switch. "You totally switched places near the end of yesterday's race and knocked me back two spots."
"I used my quirk. That's the point," Switch replied, brushing hair from his forehead. "You'd do the same if you could."
Still feels like cheating, Mateo thought, remembering the rage he'd swallowed when his lead evaporated in a blink.
But when he really looked—really looked—they all seemed... human. Sweat-slicked faces. Wrinkled uniforms. Shaking hands. The fire from the track was gone, replaced by a low, shared burn of fatigue. Just tired kids trying to make it to the next round of hell.
So why did this feel so fake?
"Why are you guys acting like friends?" he muttered, not loud, but not quiet either.
Silence. A few heads turned toward him. Forks paused mid-air. Even Switch blinked, taken aback.
Then the blue-haired girl spoke—softly, her voice clear and smooth, like breath on glass. "Aren't we all friends, though?"
She wasn't being sarcastic. She genuinely meant it. Her tone held this quiet, aching confusion, like the idea of not being friends was just... incomprehensible.
Mateo looked at her. Seraphine, wasn't it? Hair so light it shimmered, almost silvery in the cafeteria lights. She looked otherworldly. Naïve.
"Think about it," she continued. "In less than a week, we'll be in real warzones, fighting side-by-side. I want to know the people I'll be risking my life with. Don't you?"
The question hit harder than Mateo expected.
He hadn't really thought about it that way. He'd been too focused on surviving each test, each drill, each hour. But there was logic there—solid, inescapable.
Still... that didn't make it easier to forget the betrayals.
Switch leaned in. "So... you didn't accept our apology after the race?"
Mateo hesitated. Their apologies had felt half-assed at the time. But now... looking around the table... did it matter?
"Yeah," he said after a pause. "It's fine."
The mood lightened instantly, conversation bubbling back up like a shaken soda.
"Speaking of getting to know people," said the dark-skinned girl with a grin, "we really don't know much about you, Slime boy."
Mateo's jaw twitched at the nickname.
"I always wanted to ask," she went on. "You like Alex or what?"
That caught him off guard. "What? No."
"She beat you in the entrance exam, right? You two have that weird rivals-who-hate-each-other energy. Come on, she's cute, isn't she?"
Mateo glanced at Alex again—still talking to Zeke. Still loud, cocky, confident. Attractive, sure, but in that aggressive, dominant way that made him feel smaller just looking at her.
"I guess she's okay," he muttered.
The girl sighed theatrically. "Well, I'm Amara. I can stop calling you Slime boy if you tell me your name."
He gave her a suspicious look, then finally took her hand. "Mateo."
Amara grinned. "Nice."
The others introduced themselves quickly. The snake girl was Akira Nagasaki—easier to like than her appearance suggested. Seraphine Celeste gave a small bow. Marina Tidwell—pale, reserved. Maya Vera—quiet and intense, the one who fought with the floating bats during training.
The lull came again. Then Ben pointed toward Alex and Zeke.
"Wonder what those two are talking about."
"They're definitely the strongest in our class," Akira said. "Zeke's power is insane. And his dad's Inferno, right?"
"Is?" Amara asked, tone dropping.
The mood shifted. Words hung like frost in the air.
"Thought the top ten were dead."
They were. Mateo remembered the look in Eliza's eyes when she'd confirmed it. Thirty gone. All in the first wave.
But maybe not everyone knew.
"There are rumors," Amara said, voice low. "That some of them aren't dead. Maybe just missing. Or hiding. Or even..."
She hesitated.
"...switched sides."
"That's just speculation," Maya cut in, fiddling with her sleeves. "Zeke's dad is Inferno. One of the top three. His grandfather was a hero too. It's a whole bloodline thing."
So that makes Zeke Inferno III, Mateo thought. Legacy kid. That explained a lot.
Across the room, Zeke passed a cup to Alex without speaking. She raised an eyebrow, smiled, and took it like it was the most natural thing in the world. Mateo looked away before he could read too much into it.
"Yo, Henrik!" Switch called out, raising his voice. "Stop brooding and come eat with us for once!"
Henrik looked up like he'd just woken from a trance. His eyes darted around the table, then to Mateo, then back to his tray. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
"Seriously," Amara chimed in. "We don't bite."
Henrik stood slowly, scraping his chair back—but then the intercom crackled overhead:
"Class 1B, your lunch break is over. Report to Training Bay Alpha for competitive extensive training."
Everyone groaned.
Except for Alex, Zeke, and Henrik. They didn't even flinch.
Akira slumped forward like a wilting flower. "Eleven PM? Again? My soul is going to evacuate my body."
Mateo stood up slowly, joints aching. They weren't heroes. Not yet. Just barely-functioning humans, about to be thrown into another gauntlet.
And after that... came the real war.