Ridgewood High looked like your average Midwest high school.
But I saw the patterns immediately—cliques, schedules, social dynamics.
It wasn't a school. It was a chessboard.
I was already in every AP class by first period.
No questions. Just credentials and quiet awe.
Physics. Calculus. Chemistry. History. Literature.
They didn't know I'd already designed satellites by age ten.
In AP Physics, Mr. Gibbons was explaining energy transfer, but he glossed over key variables.
I raised a hand.
"Sir, you left out the entropy loss coefficient. That formula's going to skew your answer by a few percent."
He blinked. "And… you are?"
"Aiden Steele."
I stood, rewrote the equation, and sat back down.
The silence was glorious.
By lunchtime, I had eyes on me.
But not just me.
Joey Rooney—aka The Falcon—was making his debut.
Sunglasses. Leather jacket. Swag he didn't even know he had.
People stared. Some laughed. Most just looked confused… and curious.
Then came Chad Bronson.
Football meathead. Threat level: low.
He shoved Joey's shoulder. "Just 'cause you're dressed like a backup singer doesn't mean you're not still a nerd."
Joey didn't flinch.
"You don't want to mess with The Falcon…"
He paused.
"…or you get the wings."
A few nearby students laughed nervously. Someone dropped a water bottle.
I stood.
Walked over slowly.
Looked Chad dead in the eye… and let my pupils shimmer red—just enough.
Heat vision. Suppressed, but visible.
"You got something else to say?" I asked, voice low.
Chad shook his head and walked away faster than he wanted to.
Joey exhaled. "Dude. That was epic."
I smiled. "You held your ground. That's all that mattered."
After school, I walked into the garage back home.
Parker was waiting—goggles on, blueprints scattered across the workbench.
He didn't go to Ridgewood yet—still middle school age, technically—but Parker Rooney wasn't defined by age.
"I hacked into Ridgewood's infrastructure schematics," he said.
Of course he did.
"There's something under the school. A sealed chamber. No wiring. No ventilation. No explanation."
I narrowed my eyes.
"Someone buried something there," he added. "And I think it's old."
I pulled the schematic closer.
"Tomorrow night," I said. "We investigate."
That night, I sat on the rooftop, looking over Ridgewood.
A school with secrets.
A genius kid with tunnels under half the town.
A friend becoming The Falcon.
And me?
A god playing chess on a suburban board.
This was going to be fun.
TO BE CONTINUED…