They didn't look at me the same way after that.
It was subtle, like the shift in wind before a storm — invisible, but undeniable. A few glances too long. Whispers that didn't scatter when I passed. The class didn't erupt into applause or anything; I wasn't that lucky. But I'd caught the tail-end of one girl nudging another, murmuring something like, "She's in Rhea's circle now, I guess."
"Circle." Funny. Like I got here on merit.
I didn't. I was just… tolerated now. Rhea sat beside me, and that was enough to stop the worst of it. No more chalk in my bag. No more healing gum swapped with paralysis powder. No more "accidental" fireball projects arcing too close. But that didn't mean they respected me. It just meant I'd become an extension of her — of Rhea Amani.
Even now, I couldn't pinpoint when exactly it started. When did she start talking to me? When did I stop flinching when she talked to me? We didn't… click. That's not what this was. But something had aligned — or broken — that made her reach down and me reach up. Maybe pity was a bridge after all.
The hallway was quieter than usual. Most of the top-ranked students were already in their specialized homerooms, analysing the events Chrona had just announced for the Hero Festival like it was war strategy.
Because it was.
"Hey."
I flinched — not visibly, I hope. Rhea stepped up beside me, her arms folded, her sharp eyes sweeping the hallway like she expected it to attack her.
"You always let them talk to you like that?"
Her tone wasn't accusing, just… annoyed. Like I was an insect refusing to evolve.
I forced a laugh, fiddling with the edge of my sleeve. "It's not like I can stop them. I'm not exactly… intimidating."
Rhea narrowed her eyes at me. "You're not weak, Calla. You're just scared."
My stomach twisted. "That's not a contradiction?"
"No. It's an excuse."
Ouch.
"I'm going to train you." She said it like it was law, not a suggestion. "Three days until the festival. You're not entering like this."
My heart punched my ribs.
"I'm… I'm really not good at that stuff," I said quickly, laughing again. "Like, seriously. I trip on flat ground. I barely passed the last combat trial because—"
"Because you're a coward?" she interrupted flatly. "Or because you're hiding something?"
That hit too close.
I shook my head fast. "No. I just—"
"Don't care," she said. "Training starts this afternoon."
"I—what?" I blinked. "No, I can't. I have—"
She turned her back on me like that was the end of the discussion.
"Meet me at the abandoned south courtyard at four. Or stay pathetic. Your choice."
And then she was gone, boots echoing down the corridor with that same terrifying calm.
I slumped back against the wall, heartbeat thundering. Of course I didn't want to train. I wasn't some masochist begging to get beaten up in the name of improvement. But…
But maybe this was the play.
If I trained — publicly, no less — with one of the best students in the Academy, then it gave me an alibi. A reason for whatever progress I showed in the festival. A "sudden awakening" that wouldn't trigger anyone's suspicion.
I could let them think I was blooming late instead of plotting early.
Rhea would think she was sharpening a dull knife.
She'd never realize she was helping me forge a weapon.
Me.
I took a breath.
Fine. I'll survive her training. I'll let them think I'm "catching up."
And then I'll win the only way I know how.
Silently, brilliantly and undetected.
Just like I always do.
* * *
I didn't touch my food.Not because I wasn't hungry — I was starving — but because my hands kept trembling every time I remembered her voice.
Rhea Amani. One of the top students. Strong, brilliant, terrifying.And now… apparently my new personal trainer.
God help me.
Juno and Ari had already sat down across from me at the corner of the courtyard, the lunchbox I barely opened untouched on my lap. Ari squinted suspiciously at my miserable face.
"You're alone today. Is Rhea not with you?" she asked, chewing through a meat skewer like it owed her money.
I stared at my lap and exhaled slowly. "She's the one who said I shouldn't let them treat me like that."
Ari blinked. "She said that? Damn. Did the apocalypse start and no one told me?"
I let out a half-laugh, more of a wheeze really. "She's going to train me. Personally."The words were quieter than I intended, like they might break if I said them too loudly.Or maybe I would.
There was silence. Then Juno leaned forward, eyes wide. "Wait. Seriously?"
I nodded, barely able to lift my chin.
"That's a huge opportunity," she said, her voice calm but excited. "You'll grow a lot from that. If I wasn't already stuck training this brick," she gestured at Ari, "I'd ask to join in myself."
Ari scowled and elbowed her. "Excuse you. I may be a brick, but I'm a durable one."
I sniffled and tried to laugh, but tears burned behind my eyes and one slipped down my cheek. "I'm going to die," I whispered. "She's going to kill me…"
Juno just smiled sympathetically. "That's part of the experience."
Ari rolled her eyes. "This is why the Hero Festival is a joke. The whole system's rigged. People like us — the ones with no powers? We're just decorations unless we bust our asses twice as hard."
"And you are busting your ass," Juno said, pointing her chopsticks at her. "And I'm the one training you, remember? You'll survive."
I nodded quietly. "You really will. You're strong, Ari."
"Yeah, yeah," Ari muttered. "Still sucks."
Juno turned back to me, more serious now. "You're not going to get out of this, Calla. Rhea made a decision. You're on her radar now."
"I could dodge it," I said, only half-joking. "Maybe fake an injury. Maybe flee the country."
"If you even think about it," Juno said, "I'll drag you to her myself."
Ari's face twisted into comedic horror. "You'd betray one of your own?"
"She needs this," Juno said.
Ari and I stared at her… then turned to each other, nodded, and clutched one another like doomed soldiers in a war trench.
"Dead. We're dead," Ari groaned.
"Pray for me," I said flatly.
"I am the prayer," Ari replied.
But deep beneath the panic and the dramatic sobbing and the shaking, something else bloomed in my chest.
It wasn't fear. Not exactly.It was something older. Hungrier.
Because truth be told…I'd endured worse.I'd done worse.
There wasn't a single person in the Top Ten I couldn't kill right now if I wanted to. But I didn't want that. Not yet. What I wanted… was knowledge. Growth. Insight. And Rhea Amani, the queen of gravity, had just opened the gate.
A perfect excuse to learn everything about her. Her strength. Her limits. Her pride.Her flaws.
Yes. This would help me grow.In many, many ways.
So let the world keep seeing me as the weak, trembling Calla with wide eyes and soft hands.
Let them underestimate me.
Because now…Rhea had pulled me into her little world.
And I couldn't wait to see how she'd try to tame the monster she'd just invited to dinner.
I wiped my eyes. The tremble in my fingers was real this time—but not from fear. From anticipation.
This will be fun.
—
Calla.Quiet, awkward, messy little Calla.
That was the version most people saw. The one that stumbled through hero class like she was lost in a maze no one else could see. That was the version Juno scoffed at and Ari ignored. But I wasn't most people.
I'd been watching her for a month now.
And there was something off about her — something subtle, something clever. Like a magician slipping a card behind your ear while showing you an empty hand. Every test, every spar, every pop quiz had a pattern. Calla always failed just enough to stay forgettable. But never more.
And the second anyone looked away… she vanished. Blended into the background so naturally it was like she wanted to be invisible.
Either she was a genius with nerves of glass… or a coward with incredible luck.I hated both options.
So I decided to break the mystery open.
The South Courtyard was a corpse of a training ground. Cracked tile, rusted archways, statues of forgotten champions eroded to faceless ruins. Perfect place for a little unsupervised conditioning.
4:00 PM sharp. No messages. No reminders. If she showed up — I'd know she was serious.
If she didn't — then I'd know the truth.
And yet… there she was.
Calla stood at the entrance, shivering in a hoodie three sizes too big, arms tucked into the sleeves like a child in trouble. The sun lit her from behind, making her hair look like soft static.
She looked fragile. Breakable. Not the kind of person you trained.The kind of person you protected.
But I wasn't here to protect her.
I crossed my arms, letting the silence stretch.
"You came," I said.
"I said I would," she replied, voice low. "Sort of regretting it."
I narrowed my eyes. "You'll thank me later. We've got three days until the Hero Festival. You're going to survive it without making a joke of yourself."
Calla flinched. Good. That meant she cared.
I didn't waste time with warmups. My training style wasn't exactly regulation-approved.
"Lesson one: gravity control isn't about force. It's about pressure."
I snapped my fingers — and she dropped to her knees.
Her eyes went wide as her body hit the ground like a sandbag. Not enough to crush her, just enough to make her feel like she was suddenly carrying double her weight.
She didn't scream. That was interesting.
"Get up," I said.
She tried — and failed.
"Again."
This time she gritted her teeth and pushed herself upright. Sloppy form. Shaky legs. But still upright.
"Better," I said. "Lesson two: heroes move under pressure. No matter how heavy it gets."
I let the weight double. She collapsed again, face first. She gasped and fought to breathe.
That's when I saw it.
Not fear. Not pain. Calculation.
Calla's eyes darted around the field, tracking angles, checking reflections in the windows, noting cracks in the tiles. She wasn't panicking. She was mapping.
She thought she was being subtle.But I saw it.
I reduced the gravity a little. Just enough for her to crawl.
"Run."
She didn't move.
I grabbed a broken broom handle from the bench, tossed it to her feet.
"You get that stick to the statue over there before your legs give out — you pass."
She stared at me like I was a sadist. I was. But this wasn't punishment. It was proof.
Calla reached for the stick. Slowly. Like her arms weighed a hundred pounds. But when she moved, she didn't fumble — she pivoted. Every motion used momentum. She rolled her shoulder under the pressure. Adjusted her center of balance without even realizing it.
That's not cowardice.That's instinct.
I started to smile.
She made it halfway before collapsing again. I walked over, crouched beside her.
"Why do you pretend?" I asked, honest curiosity in my voice. "You're not weak."
Calla looked up at me, cheeks red with effort, voice barely a whisper.
"Because they leave the weak ones alone."
There it was.
The mask cracked — just a little. Enough to see the machinery behind it. Cold. Careful. Strategic.
I stood.
"This training continues every day until the festival."
Calla groaned. "You're insane."
"No," I said. "I'm right. And soon, you'll see that."
As I walked away, I glanced back at her.
She was still on the ground.
But she was smiling to herself.