He walked out of the isolated corridor, through the labyrinth that was the Atlas Academy's hallways. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting harsh shadows between the concrete walls. The only paths he had memorized were the dorms, Training Bay Alpha, the exterior training centre and the cafeteria.
He was planning on heading back to Bay Alpha. Since he had no serious wounds from the Glass rain, except for a few nicks on his palms and face due to his slime protection, which he would just bandage up when he got to his dorm that night, there was no need to head to the Medic centre like the other students. Not that he knew where it was anyway.
He headed towards Bay Alpha. He would just use the excuse that he wanted to get some extra reps in before the other students came back from their treatment two hours later. Besides, he really needed it. He might not be competing with Alex, but he still needed to be as strong as possible if he wanted to hunt down the villain that killed his family.
As he walked forward, he heard sounds across the walkways. That was unusual. Apart from the other eleven people and Reeves, he genuinely had not seen anybody else on this floor, and even the other floors. He just assumed every other student had been deployed to the warzones already. The empty corridors stretched endlessly, broken only by the occasional classroom door or bulletin board covered in tactical diagrams.
Were the other trainees coming back? Done with healing already?
As he came around the bend, he saw the source of the conversations. Two students, obvious by the same black and green long-sleeved shirts and pants he wore.
The first guy was tall and broad-shouldered, with straight black hair that was cut short at the neck. He had a well-sculpted face, and even though everyone wore the same clothes so he couldn't judge people based on how expensive or cheap their clothing looked, the guy in front of him carried himself with a sort of air that he couldn't help but speculate that he came from some rich family. If he just wore a cape, he would already be a spitting image of what the noble heroes looked like. Before the wars.
And the guy next to him was someone Mateo was already familiar with.
"Brett." He said, his voice flat.
"What's up, FootMat?" Brett asked, but there was something different in his tone. Still mocking, but the usual edge wasn't quite as sharp. His uniform accentuated the muscles of his bulky frame. The two guys were quite taller than Mateo, so he couldn't say he didn't feel intimidated.
Great. Just what I needed.
But even more than that, he felt incredibly shocked.
"You know him, Brett?" The other guy asked, his voice calm, like a cloud in the sky.
"We've met before." Mateo said, folding his arms. "AA must be really desperate if they're recruiting common alley thugs now."
Brett opened his mouth, then closed it. For a second, his jaw worked like he was chewing on words he couldn't quite spit out. "I could say the same thing about you too, Slime Boy," he finally said, but something told Mateo it wasn't mere contempt underneath his barb. It didn't even really feel like an insult from him anymore. The way he said it—almost hesitant—Mateo could feel something like grudging respect underneath the surface.
What is he playing at?
"Well, any friend of the Iron Knight is a friend of mine." The other guy stretched his hand to Mateo. "I'm called Stratos by the way. You're kind of known as 'The Slime Boy' in the other classes. I'd like to know your actual name."
Mateo took the handshake. Even the way Stratos behaved sounded like he was royalty. "I'm Mateo."
How could a ruffian like Brett be friends with calm and composed Stratos?
Stratos nodded his head thoughtfully and asked. "I haven't seen any of the other students from other classes before, mostly because of our tight schedules. What class are you from? And why aren't you in the training sessions?"
"We just went through a really tough session with glass and lots of injuries." Mateo explained, at ease with Stratos' calm vibe. "The others were told to get treatment, but I didn't get any, so I'll just head back to the training gym. I'm in Class B. You?"
Stratos nodded again like that explained everything. "I see. You're in Amara's class. Reeves must be your Commander. Ours is Oblitus. As for why we're out instead of in our training sessions..."
Stratos paused, giving Brett a firm pat on the back as he shot him a look. "The Iron Knight here just won us a bonus! You should have seen him in our defensive challenge! He made our team last a whole five minutes ahead of the other teams!"
"It was nothing, Strat." Brett said, and there was that strange blush again, slightly flushing his face. But this time, instead of looking off-putting, it looked almost... genuine. Like he wasn't used to praise.
This doesn't make sense. The first time they really met, which was surprisingly just two days ago, they had gotten into a fight, which Brett wholly initiated, and Mateo barely escaped before Brett cleaved his life in two. And now? Now he was apparently already doing well with everyone else?
Mateo's jaw tightened. Brett still looked and felt like the same old Brett to him. His brash attitude, his unruly personality and haircut. When they last saw each other before the entrance battles, Mateo had hoped he would just fail the exam. Maybe he would be scrapped off the hero list and join the mercenary team at bare minimum.
Now he was supposed to be a good, upstanding guy that was helping out his classmates?
Mateo did notice some difference in Brett though, even if microscopic. He seemed a tad bit calmer, less reactive and aggressive, especially to Stratos. But there was something else—the way Brett's eyes would dart away sometimes, like he was wrestling with something internal. The way he'd start to say something, then stop himself.
This guy almost killed me. So what could possibly have happened to him that changed him so much?
Mateo obviously didn't bring that subject up, especially in front of Stratos. Instead, he chose to direct the conversation to something he didn't understand.
"What do you mean, bonus?" Mateo asked as he tilted his head.
"Reeves hasn't started doing them with you yet?" Stratos asked, scratching the full stub on his chin. "They're just incentives the Commanders use to make us work even harder in the tiered challenges. Brett won us a bonus, the rest of the day off."
So that was why they were walking through the hallways. The other members of their team must have gone their own ways. And the things Mateo was thinking were weird were becoming more evident. The reason he didn't see any other people during the breaks or in moments like these was because the other classes were deep in their own hours-long training sessions, which made the whole place seem desolate.
"So what are you guys going to do with your bonuses?" Mateo asked.
"We're going to hit the gym." Brett said, as if it was the most obvious thing to do when given time-off. "We're heading to our own training bay."
"Speaking of which, I think it's time we get going." Stratos said, a thin grin forming on his lips as he clapped his hands. "It's been nice talking to you, Mateo. Can I have your number?"
Mateo stared at him blankly. "I don't have a number."
The subtle social nuances were also starting to make a little more sense, like how Stratos seemingly knew Amara, even though they would not have had any time to interact due to the heavy training sessions, and the fact that they were in different classes. They must have some sort of group chat where all of them kept in touch.
"Ahh." Stratos said thoughtfully, as if just realizing the differences in their backgrounds. "Well, we won't have much time to interact due to the heavy training, but I do hope to have another talk with you, Mateo."
"Same." Mateo offered half-heartedly as the two guys walked past him and he kept pace forward.
Just when he thought they were completely gone, he heard the stop in footsteps and a voice telling Stratos to 'Give him a minute.'
In a few seconds, Brett appeared in front of him, but there wasn't that familiar aggressive gleam in his eyes. Instead, there was something else—something that made Mateo's stomach twist with unease.
Did Brett want another fight?
Mateo instantly guarded himself, getting into fighting position while Brett simply stared at him.
"Relax man, I'm not here to fight you." Brett's voice was quieter now, almost... tired.
"Oh." He said, feeling dumb as he returned back to his normal position. "Then, why did you come back? Alone?"
Brett didn't answer immediately. He just had a faraway look on his face, like he was staring at something Mateo couldn't see. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant hum of ventilation systems echoing through the empty halls. The fluorescent lights above buzzed, casting everything in harsh, sterile light.
After a beat of silence, Brett spoke, but not to his question.
"You beat me that last time." He said, staring at Mateo with something that looked like... respect. But there was something else underneath it.
'Beating' is far too much of an exaggeration. Mateo thought. He had used his raw combat ability against Brett's metal manipulation, and when all else failed, he had to rely on his quirk and that was the only way he 'won'.
He remembered the slime gushing out uncontrollably from his arm, how he almost killed Brett, if he didn't restrain himself at the last second.
"You were probably holding back this whole time, weren't you?" Brett asked, but his voice had none of that familiar arrogance. Instead, he sounded... curious. Almost vulnerable.
"I-" Mateo started before Brett held a hand up.
"It's okay." Brett said, then stopped. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say more, then closed it again. His hands fidgeted at his sides. "You don't have to explain yourself."
Mateo watched as Brett struggled with his words, his usual bravado nowhere to be found. It was unsettling—like seeing a wild animal suddenly go docile.
"I just wanted to say something to you before I left." Brett continued, his voice barely above a whisper.
"What's that?" Mateo asked, totally lost and confused by Brett's seemingly new personality.
Brett was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke again, his words came out slow and careful, like he was walking through a minefield. "I've been thinking about... stuff. About what happened." He paused, ran a hand through his unruly hair. "I don't know how to... I mean, I'm not good with words, but..."
Another silence. Brett's jaw worked soundlessly.
"I'm not who I was, alright? I'm... I'm trying." The words came out in a rush, like he'd been holding them in for days. "I don't know what you keep fighting for, but whatever it is..." He trailed off, then tried again. "Just... don't lose it. Like I did."
Mateo stared at him, completely thrown. What is he talking about? What did he lose?
"I don't understand," Mateo said, but Brett was already stepping back.
"Yeah, well." Brett's voice was so quiet Mateo had to strain to hear it. "Neither do I, most of the time."
And without waiting for an answer—which Mateo had none to give either way—Brett walked away, his footsteps echoing down the empty hallway until they faded into nothing.
Mateo stood there for a long time after Brett disappeared, staring at the spot where he'd been standing. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. Somewhere in the distance, a door slammed shut.
What the hell was that about?
He replayed the conversation in his head, trying to make sense of Brett's words, his tone, the way he'd looked almost... broken. But nothing clicked. It was like trying to solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing.
Mateo shook his head and continued toward Training Bay Alpha, but Brett's words followed him down the hallway like ghosts.
Don't lose it. Like I did.