The Hero Academy campus stretched wide under the late morning sun, its spires and training towers glinting like polished steel. The courtyard hummed with the subtle chaos of preparation—students warming up, Idols flickering faintly around their wrists, fingers, or eyes. Even the distant clatter of sparring weapons and training dummies carried a rhythm, a pulse of potential barely restrained by discipline.
Inside the academy, the air was thick with anticipation. Whispers bounced between lecture halls and hallways, barely audible yet charged with curiosity and awe. Names were murmured with reverence, some tinged with disbelief, others with envy: Solarius. Number One Hero. Unbeatable.
"Do you really think he can do all that… by himself?" a small voice asked.
"I swear I read it in the bulletin board. He stopped a city-wide gang invasion singlehandedly. And don't get me started on the villains he's taken down…" another replied, eyes wide, hands fidgeting nervously with the straps of a backpack.
The stories were endless. The magnitude of Solarius' career was almost mythic. Students spoke of his exploits as if they were legends, unaware how much of the truth had been filtered into awe-inspiring tales. Every word carried a weight heavier than any backpack.
---
From the open windows of the First Division classroom, the golden sunlight streamed across polished floors and desks. Akihiro sat upright, notebook open, pen hovering. His golden aura flickered faintly. He didn't speak to anyone, didn't shift his gaze to the gossiping juniors. He didn't need to. Others noticed him, of course, and murmurs fluttered around.
Beside him, the girl who rarely spoke—or laughed—tilted her head slightly, observing him with an almost imperceptible smirk. Her presence was a contrast to his controlled brilliance; her aura subtle, her control precise, yet her expression unreadable. Together, they formed a quiet axis of attention without needing words, a gravitational pull in a room already orbiting the reputation of Solarius.
---
When Solarius entered, silence snapped like a taut wire. Even the stray drafts seemed to pause. He didn't walk; he moved with purpose, each step measured, each footfall echoing authority. His aura was tangible, the golden shimmer of raw, disciplined power radiating off him in waves.
"Sit up straight," he said, voice even but cutting through the room with clarity. "We don't learn heroics by slouching and pretending you understand. You either stand, or you fall."
Some students jumped slightly, startled by the sheer presence. A few murmured under their breath—half in fear, half in excitement. Solarius didn't need to demonstrate his Idol to command respect. Stories of his career did that for him.
Years of singlehanded victories, arrests, and public feats had cemented a legend that eclipsed the ordinary. Rumors had reached even the lowest-tier cadets: the villains who faced him rarely survived to tell tales; those who did carried scars deeper than flesh. The academy had built an almost sacred reverence around him, though the man himself stood humbly above all that history.
---
A hand shot up, trembling slightly. "Sir… what exactly can your Idol do?"
Solarius' gaze swept over the room. It was calm, yet every head felt the weight of scrutiny. "Enough," he said. "Enough to remind you why training is mandatory. Enough to remind every villain that the line between life and death is not negotiable."
The cadets exchanged glances. No one asked again, but the whispers didn't stop. Between exercises, they speculated endlessly. Could he fly? Could he manipulate time? Could he obliterate an entire street with a gesture?
Even amidst tension, moments of levity emerged. A cadet attempting a fireball misjudged the intensity, singeing a corner of the blackboard. Solarius' gaze froze him mid-sentence. "Control," he said flatly. "Not annihilation. I assure you, the city appreciates when buildings remain standing." A stifled snicker ran through the room.
---
After the lecture, the First Division class gathered in a training hall designed for high-level operations. Twenty elite cadets, carefully selected for skill, potential, and aptitude, lined up. Akihiro stood at the front, perfectly composed, notebook tucked to the side, aura flickering faintly golden. Beside him, the mysterious girl—silent, precise—adjusted her stance, ready but relaxed.
The instructors called out names: each cadet's Idol ability, previous performance metrics, and notable achievements were noted. Rivalries formed instantly—not overtly, but in subtle glances, clenched jaws, and measured breathing. Every prodigy knew where they stood, yet no one revealed weakness.
"Today, we pair off," Solarius announced, voice carrying across the hall. "Two-versus-two exercises. Your aim is not to win, but to coordinate. Learn to cover, to anticipate, to compensate. Heroes don't fight alone. You will rely on others, and they will rely on you. Fail to support, and you fail entirely."
Teams were shuffled, calculated to create friction and synergy simultaneously. Akihiro and the girl ended up together, unsurprisingly. Their silent understanding allowed for fluid movement, each step calculated, each attack countered or redirected with perfect timing.
---
Pairs clashed, energy flaring but controlled, sparks and light dances filling the hall. Kinetic pulses collided with flames, ice shards bounced off shields, and elemental currents twisted through the air. Solarius observed from a distance, occasionally intervening to correct a trajectory or redirect an overpowered blast.
Akihiro moved with elegance, golden light pulsing lightly around him, every step and strike deliberate. The girl mirrored him flawlessly, her subtle gestures amplifying his movements, smoothing gaps in defense and offense. Other teams stumbled, misread signals, or faltered under the pressure, yet they learned with every clash.
Laughter occasionally punctuated the tension. One pair accidentally triggered a minor chain reaction—a kinetic shove launched a small drone into a fireball, which sent a puff of smoke skimming the ceiling. Students ducked and scrambled, and even Akihiro allowed a faint grin before refocusing.
---
After rounds of free combat, instructors emphasized strategy. "Heroes are not just fighters," one intoned. "You need to anticipate, plan, and support. Observe your partner. Use your environment. Adapt faster than the villain adapts to you."
Students rotated, forcing them to adapt to new partners and Idols. Akihiro and the girl remained a constant challenge to others—pairs struggled to match their fluidity and silent coordination. Glances were exchanged between students; some frustration, some admiration. The balance of respect and envy was palpable.
Solarius intervened sporadically, correcting minor miscalculations, praising ingenuity, but never fully revealing his own immense capabilities. The cadets hung on every gesture, every word, trying to glean secrets without overstepping.
---
As the session ended, the First Division cadets stood, breathing hard but invigorated. Akihiro and his partner exchanged a brief nod, a silent acknowledgment of the work yet to come. The other prodigies slouched, stretched, or whispered amongst themselves, already analyzing mistakes.
Outside, the city breathed, unaware of the elite training inside. And yet, faint ripples of abnormality—stray shadows, whispers of missing civilians, black-market movements—stirred quietly in the distance. The cadets' world was vibrant, controlled, and almost idyllic. But beyond the walls, tension had not dissipated.
Solarius dismissed the students with a few curt words. "Rest, reflect, and prepare. You have much to learn, and the world will not wait for you to be ready."
Some cadets left with determination, some with awe, and some with fear. Even as they dispersed, the stories of Solarius' exploits lingered, fueling ambition and trepidation in equal measure.