The alarm went off at 6:00 AM.

  Roy didn't groan. He didn't roll over. His eyes simply snapped open. His hand moved in a blur, hitting the silence button before the second beep could sound.

  He sat up, the room bright with the early morning sun. He swung his legs out of bed and set his feet on the floor.

  Silence. No sound of impact.

  Thump.

  He lifted his foot and brought it down again, harder this time.

  Roy sighed. Even though he tried to force his body to forget, the training was always there. He had to consciously remind his own limbs to be heavy. He had to act like he had weight.

  He dragged himself to the bathroom. The mirror reflected a boy who looked thoroughly average: messy dark hair, a slightly crumpled T-shirt, and dark circles under his eyes that didn't need any faking.

  He reached for the toothpaste. His hand moved a fraction too fast, clipping the tube. The small plastic cap went flying, tumbling toward the edge of the sink.

  In a heartbeat, Roy's hand twitched.

  His eyes tracked the trajectory. He calculated the spin. He knew, with absolute certainty, that he could snatch it out of the air before it dropped an inch.

  'Don't,' he ordered.

  He froze his hand in mid-air.

  Clatter.

  The cap hit the porcelain and bounced into the drain.

  Roy let out a long breath, staring at his own hand. It was shaking slightly.

  'It's always worst when I first wake up,' he thought, clenching his fist.

  The urge to be efficient itched under his skin like a rash. Every instinct screamed at him to be fast and precise. Being clumsy took more effort than being perfect.

  He fished the cap out of the drain, rinsed it off, and jammed it back onto the tube.

  School that day was a blur of noise. The voices of the other students buzzed in his ears, giving him a low-grade headache. Roy, Omar, and Marie sat together at lunch, the tension of the upcoming exam hanging over the table like a storm cloud.

  Finally, the last bell of the day rang.

  Their teacher stood at the front of the room, looking at the rows of students with a soft, sad expression.

  "Tomorrow, the exams for the hero academies will begin. I know that some of you, if not most, will be taking them. So, I just want to tell you one thing."

  he paused, looking at the students.

  "If you fail the exam for your dream academy, it isn't the end. You might get into a different one. Or you can come back here and finish your normal education."

  Roy's eye twitched

  "You can get into a university. You can continue living. So don't get sad. Remember, you don't need to be a hero to be a good person, or a successful one."

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  he smiled.

  "Have a nice weekend."

  The bell rang. Class was dismissed. Their life as regular high school students was effectively over.

  The trio split up at the gate, deciding it was best to take the rest of the day to rest mentally.

  6:00 AM.

  Across the city, three alarms went off at the exact same second.

  Roy, Marie, and Omar woke up.

  Omar stood in front of his mirror, zipping up a high-end athletic jacket. It was bright blue with neon orange stripes: loud, expensive, and brand new. It was exactly the kind of thing someone wore when they wanted to look confident but felt terrified.

  He checked his reflection, slapping his cheeks twice.

  "Let's go, Omar. Let's go."

  Marie stood in front of her mirror with calm precision. She wore dark tactical pants and a fitted long-sleeve shirt that allowed for a full range of motion. She tied her hair back tight, securing it so not a single strand would block her vision.

  She checked her reflection for flaws. She looked like a soldier preparing for a mission.

  Roy pulled on a pair of loose black cargo pants and a dark gray hoodie that was one size too big.

  It was deliberate. The baggy clothes hid the definition of his muscles. They softened his silhouette. He looked like a slouch. He looked average.

  He grabbed his ID card—Candidate #4092—and shoved it into his pocket.

  Thirty minutes later, the three of them stood on the platform of the Metro Station.

  The station was packed. It wasn't just the usual morning rush; it was a sea of teenagers. Hundreds of them filled the platform, all wearing combat gear, clutching water bottles and weapon cases, vibrating with nervous energy.

  "I think I forgot my registration form," Omar said suddenly, patting his pockets frantically.

  "I forgot it. I'm going to go back."

  "It's in your left pocket, Omar," Marie said, not looking up from her phone.

  Omar checked. He slumped in relief.

  "Right. Left pocket. I knew that."

  "Breathe," Roy said, leaning against a pillar with his hands in his hoodie pockets.

  "You're going to pass out before we even get to the gate."

  "Easy for you to say," Omar shot back, his leg bouncing nervously.

  "You look like you're about to take a nap. How are you not freaking out? We are going to the threshold. If we don't clear this, we don't even get to set foot in the Academy."

  "Comfort is key," Roy deadpanned.

  The metro arrived. The doors slid open. Roy and Omar squeezed into the main car, while Marie headed for the women-only carriage.

  The air inside was hot, smelling of sweat, and teenage anxiety.

  Twenty minutes later, the metro burst out of the underground tunnel and into the blinding sunlight of the threshold.

  The doors opened, and the students spilled out like a bomb going off.

  The trio regrouped in front of the main gate, staring up in amazement. The scale of the place was staggering.

  The district was built around a massive open plaza, the size of two football fields side by side. Surrounding this open ground was a U-shaped formation of architecture.

  On the left and right flanks stood rows of polished, professional buildings. These were the local branches for various academies: places where diplomats and staff worked year-round to secure contracts. But today, the suits were gone.

  Today, the gates were thrown open.

  "I've seen this place on the news," Marie said, her voice quiet.

  "I can't believe I'm finally here," Marie and Omar said at the same time.

  "I can't believe I'm here," Roy echoed, with no smile on his face.

  They looked toward the far end of the square.

  Dominating the view, blocking out the horizon, sat the Big Three.

  They were wide, four-story fortresses that sat heavy on the ground, designed to look unshakeable.

  To the left was Ironhold. It was a brutalist structure of red brick and reinforced steel, looking more like a military bunker than a school.

  To the right was Stormwatch. It was elegant, made of smooth, dark glass that reflected the crowd, silent and secretive.

  And in the center, a building that looked like it was made from pure silver. The largest of them all: Silvergate.