"Who are you?" Malik whispered aloud, eyes darting.
But no one was near.
He clenched his fists. "It's you, isn't it?"
No reply. But then—
"Yes, you remembered me," the voice replied smoothly.
"What do you want?"
"Nothing," a long pause, "I can help you."
The words hit him like a wave of ice.
Malik's stomach turned. "Help!" He yelled it. Out loud. Sharp enough that two nearby cadets turned their heads briefly before deciding he wasn't worth the effort.
The voice was gone. Nothing but silence remained. No trace. No signal.
Malik knew better than to try to trace a telepath in a room filled with more than a thousand mutation-active cadets. The air here shimmered with power—literal and metaphorical.
He could scream, and still not be heard.
---
The Cafeteria
The hum of conversation, clatter of trays, and flashing leaderboards did little to lift the weight on his shoulders. Falcon Team sat apart—closer to the back, like a stain the rest of the academy politely pretended didn't exist.
No one spoke to Malik.
Not his teammates.
Not the nearby groups.
He sat two seats down from Peter, across from Frank, and diagonally from Margaret. But he might as well have been invisible.
Rhia, never one to hold back, stabbed her food once and said loudly,
"If we were being ranked individually, I bet I'd still make top 100."
A few heads turned.
Another cadet nearby smirked. "Top 500 for me."
"I'm aiming 200," someone else said, biting into bread like it was war.
Laughter floated around the table like oil on water.
Then someone turned. "What about you, Victor?" a girl asked from the neighboring team.
Before Victor could speak, another voice answered confidently: "Top 20."
Everyone laughed—but no one really disagreed.
Victor didn't even deny it. Just gave a lazy shrug like yeah, probably.
The room started buzzing with speculation.
Ranks. Abilities. Mutation cell counts. Every student here had their numbers broadcast during arrival, and most carried pride or pressure because of them.
Malik kept his head down. He wasn't even hungry. Just poking his food so he wouldn't look up and meet more eyes.
Across the room, he heard Peter quietly say, "Top 100, easy."
Rhia scoffed. "Please. With your legs? Top 80."
Frank didn't comment.
I'd be last, Malik thought bitterly. Maybe below last.
He picked up his cup. Tried to sip. But his hands were trembling.
Then, a voice rang out, loud and clear from three tables over:
"Would Malik continue the first-and-last façade?"
Laughter exploded across the room.
It rippled like thunder.
Mockery echoed through the cafeteria, bouncing from wall to wall.
Even instructors heard—but did nothing. Maybe they were amused too.
Malik's face burned.
He didn't look up.
He didn't have to.
He could feel the stares.
The jokes.
The assumptions.
The anomaly.
That's what they called him in their heads.
Not strong.
Not smart.
Not skilled.
Just… anomaly.
He set the cup down. Slowly. Carefully. So no one would see it shake.
He exhaled through his nose.
A slow breath.
A silent promise.
You all think I'm a mistake.
But one day, you'll look back at this lunch table… and regret ever laughing.
---
The Next Trial
The next trial was announced.
Team vs Team.
Objective: First team to cross the finish line wins. Only one cadet needs to make it.
Prize: Full-point bonus. Others receive zero.
Opponents: Falcon vs. Champ Team (Ranked 15)
The battlefield was a pulsing grid of kinetic walls, shifting platforms, plasma gates, fog traps, and unpredictable weather simulations. A warzone built for chaos.
Only strategy could cut through it.
The Falcon Team stood at the starting zone, tension thick in the air as Margaret pulled up the projected map, her voice calm but edged.
"Xander, lead the offensive line. You'll break the formation."
"Victor group, flank and suppress."
"The rest keep the center froze. Create safe spots."
"Malik…" She turned his way. "…you close. We hold the field so you can finish it."
Everyone nodded.
But Malik? He didn't hear a word.
---
"Do you want help activating your ability?"
The voice. Again. Whispering through his thoughts like silk over bone.
Malik flinched but didn't look around. He was surrounded by his teammates.
He wanted to say no. But… necessity changes pride.
He nodded once. Almost imperceptibly.
"Close your eyes," the voice said, smooth and unhurried.
He obeyed.
"Now… which ability would you like to possess?"
Flying.
The answer came like a reflex—like a memory tied to heartbeat.
Flying with his mother… the way she would lift him gently with her levitation. Her laughter. The sky. The feeling of not being held down.
"Is anyone in your group with that ability?"
Malik's chest sank.
"…No."
"Then you'll have to choose another."
His thoughts flashed. Another memory. The annoying water ability. The moment he went to the hall drenched. What better way to avenge his humiliation?
"Water," he said.
There was a beat of silence.
"Go touch him."
Malik's eyes snapped open. He turned, and was immediately met by a wave of glares.
Hostile. Confused. Judging.
The team had stopped talking. The plan had paused. All eyes were now on him.
"Were you just sleeping?" someone asked in disbelief.
Malik opened his mouth, but the words tripped and died on his tongue.
"I—" he began.
"What the…" Margaret blinked, like she hadn't quite believed what she saw. "Malik?!"
Victor scowled. "Unbelievable."
Xander's arms were crossed. Rhia was already rubbing her temple like she had a migraine.
They'd waited for him to confirm the final formation. To accept the role of last runner, the one they would protect—the one who had to be ready to sprint if everything collapsed.
But instead, he had stood there, still as stone, eyes closed, while his team built a war plan around him.
"You had one job," Rhia muttered.
"Were you asleep standing up?" Peter asked, half incredulous.
"I wasn't—" Malik started, but the words faltered.
How could he explain?
That he'd heard a voice no one else did.
That it asked him what power he wanted, like a vendor offering weapons in the dark.
That he had nodded. Closed his eyes. Imagined flying…
And then chosen water, out of spite.
How could he say that without sounding insane?
The worst part? They weren't wrong.
He'd frozen again. Zoned out. Made them doubt him again.
Margaret let out a long, slow breath, her jaw clenched.
"…Doesn't matter now," she said, turning back to the map. "We're out of time. Assume default positions."
Victor took his place on the perimeter.
Xander cracked his knuckles.
Peter zipped ahead to scout.
Frank shimmered out of sight.
Rhia summoned her twin orbs and spun them into orbit.
Margaret raised her hands and the ground beneath them frosted with her control.
And Malik…
Stood alone at the rear.
Again.
---
"Go touch him."
The voice returned, softer now. Almost amused.
Malik scanned the crowd.
He didn't know who he was.
He didn't know which cadet had the water ability.
And the match was about to begin.
Countdown: 30 seconds.
He took one hesitant step forward.
No one noticed.
Yet.