Here's my new story, hope you all enjoy I'll plug my Discord and let you all get to enjoying for now
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"A hero, huh? What does that really mean? I've done good in this world, but I've done bad too. So what decides it? Is it just a numbers game—lives saved versus lives risked—or is there something more?
I suppose it doesn't really matter. Not anymore, at least. Whatever the answer, I'll keep moving forward, doing what I must, no matter where it leads. Whether that makes me a hero or something else entirely… in the end, that's just a matter of perspective." ~Andrei Steele
It hadn't been long—and it didn't feel long. Just a few weeks ago, I was fighting for my life. Now I stood at the entrance of one of the most prestigious hero academies in the world. Once I crossed these gates, there would be no going back. I'd be locked in—not with chains, but with surveillance, and obligations.
Strangely, it didn't sound that bad.
I glanced down at my hand. The phone Luca and Frank had given me rested there, still cool against my palm. It had been my tether—my contact point with Midas' reach—used more than once already. But today, standing here, I wasn't second-guessing anymore.
Without hesitation, I stepped past the threshold into the school grounds, falling into stride with the tide of other incoming students. Sentinel's campus was immense. Unlike New York's vertical towers clawing for sky, Sentinel sprawled wide, claiming land and height. Glass, steel, and stone—all modern efficiency cloaked in classical ambition.
"Today's new admissions group—those here for tests and interviews—gather up here!" a voice barked across the courtyard.
I moved toward it. Dozens of students, most around my age, had already formed a loose cluster. I worked my way to the front.
The one who'd called us stood there, watching. I didn't know who he was yet, but that answer would come soon enough.
[Plenty of stray eyes in this direction.]
I shifted, scanning the edges of the gathering. The observation was correct: senior students, teachers, and even some of the applicants were all sneaking glances—not at the one gathering students, but at a particular figure within our group.
A pale, slender girl with black hair and grey eyes.
I tapped the shoulder of the boy beside me. "Hey. Why's everyone staring at her?"
He blinked at me as though I'd asked why the sky was blue, and it wasn't just him; the other students near us also gave me a quick glance after hearing my question. "Huh? You don't know?"
I shook my head once.
"You must be living under a rock. That's Liora Steele." He said it with reverence, like the name itself was enough. And it was.
Steele. The name carried weight. Andrei Steele—one of the strongest heroes alive, now 'retired'. If she was his daughter, the attention made perfect sense.
The hero at the front—our guide—spoke again. "Well, let's get going. Everyone aiming to be admitted should've been here by now. If they aren't, that's their own fault." His voice carried authority without patience. He turned sharply and began to walk. We followed.
We arrived soon in a large, sterile room.
"Seat yourselves."
The command was simple. Everyone obeyed. I dropped into a seat near the front row, giving little thought to positioning. This was just an exam. Or so it was dressed.
The man introduced himself. "My name is Titus Ramirez. I worked as a negotiator for the government for almost two decades."
I studied him carefully.
[His build screams military. Broad, compact muscle. Buzz cut. His manner of speaking matches—direct, stripped of pretense, carried with force. Harsh, but precise. He has presence.]
Titus pulled out a stack of papers and began distributing them facedown. "As you all know, to be accepted into Sentinel, students must complete three exams. I'll be handing you all three at once. The only rule for this exam—" his eyes scanned the room, flat and unreadable "—is that there are no rules. Any questions before we begin?"
No rules? The phrase hit harder than it seemed.
Titus finished handing out the last paper and strode back to the front. Dropping into his chair, he reclined without ceremony, cracked open a book, and started reading. No oversight, no pacing the rows, no staged intimidation. Just… complete disinterest.
"You guys can all start. Or whatever."
Confusion rippled through the room. Students glanced at each other, unsure. But I didn't wait. I ignored his strange affect, ignored the others' hesitation, took my pencil, placed it comfortably in my left hand, and flipped my exam over.
Math.
Most of it was simple—intentionally simple. The first section played like a warm-up: elementary problems, arithmetic drills. Then algebra. Geometry. Trigonometry. Statistics. Finally, calculus. A progression laid out like a staircase.
A well-studied high schooler wouldn't ace it, but they could climb most of those steps without stumbling—until the end. The final section was the wall.
[It doesn't seem to be about testing knowledge—it's about watching how students handle limits. Do they freeze at the first unsolvable problem? Do they guess wildly? Do they cheat? The answers will matter more than the solutions.]
Throughout the exam, Titus made no move to proctor. No pacing between aisles, no hawk-eyed glares. Not even a token gesture of authority. He sat in his reclined chair at the front, book in hand, then eventually set it down and closed his eyes, arms crossed.
No cameras I could spot. No mirrored glass. Nothing.
In next to me, one student was bold enough to angle a makeup mirror behind themselves, given that our electronic devices were taken away before the examination, students had to get creative. I didn't turn to check how rampant the cheating was, but I didn't need to. If one dared in my row, many others surely had behind me.
The second exam: English.
Just as simple. Incredibly easy, even insultingly so.
I breezed through it. Too easy. Too staged.
Then came the third exam. Stranger.
Titled in stark print at the top: Heroic Integrity.
My eyes lingered on the words. The page was nothing but a list of yes-or-no questions. Binary choices. No room for nuance.
The first question: Do you believe some lives are worth more than others?
The second: Have you ever taken a life?
The third: Have you lied to gain an advantage?
The fourth: Do you believe yourself superior to others?
The fifth: If forced to choose, would you save your life over many others?
I stopped there.
The pen in my hand stilled. I let it rest on the desk, cutting my own rapid momentum. The pause drew the attention of the student beside me—he glanced sideways—but I ignored him.
I leaned back slightly, scanning the questions again, not for their content, but for their structure.
[Notice they're all absolutes. Yes or no. No room for context, no room for justification.]
I tapped the pen against the desk once, deliberately. Then let silence swallow the decision.
The questions weren't the real challenge.
I finished my exam before anyone else, but eventually, time ran out and the exam period ended.
As soon as the exam period ended, Titus rose from his chair. His presence shifted instantly from passive observer to executioner.
"Elias Kade. Maribel Livingston. Tobias Crane. Selene Rourke. Corvin Hale. Juniper Stroud." His voice was steady, measured, but it carried the weight of finality. "All of you are barred from furthering in the admission process. Exit the campus—and do us all a favor. Don't return."
Shock rippled through the room.
"What?! Why?" A male student—Tobias—shot to his feet, voice cracking with outrage.
"You know why," Titus said, unflinching. "The six of you know why. You were caught cheating. Sentinel doesn't need the likes of you."
"That isn't fair!" one of the girls snapped back, indignant. "You said there were no rules during this exam, so—"
"There aren't any rules," Titus cut her off. His voice was sharp now, but not raised—more like a scalpel than a hammer. "Rules are nothing but constructs agreed upon by society. They exist only in the mind. But even so, everyone understands simple concepts—like the idea that cheating is wrong."
He stepped forward, the weight of his gaze pinning them where they stood. "And cheating wasn't your greatest offense. No. Your greatest offense was doing it badly. You lacked the moral integrity to take the test honestly. You lacked the skill to cheat competently. And you lacked the intellect to foresee this outcome." His words struck one by one, deliberate. "You lack everything Sentinel demands: integrity, capability, intellect. Even one of these three would have been enough to squeeze you through this portion of the process."
[He's not condemning the act—he's condemning the execution. Sentinel isn't looking for morality. It's looking for competence. Weakness, not dishonesty, is the unforgivable sin here.]
Titus' tone hardened further. "All of you, remember this: Sentinel rarely suffers problems. But when it does, those problems are not solved through punishment. Judgment is nothing more than the natural consequence of your own emptiness. Now leave—before I make sure you're barred from every hero academy in the country."
The six grimaced. None dared to argue further. They gathered their things in silence and filed out.
Titus turned back to the rest of us, his eyes sweeping the room like a general reviewing surviving soldiers.
"Now. To the rest of you—" his voice softened, but only slightly—"those of you who cheated, you did so at a level that proves you belong at Sentinel. Those who took your exams honestly—you've demonstrated integrity. And those who completed them with confidence, you've proven foresight, either through preparation or insight."
He gestured toward the far door. "All of you may follow me to the next room."
The thirty of us who remained exchanged glances. Thirty now, where once there had been thirty-six.
I rose without hesitation, falling in step with the others.
No one questioned Titus as he led us down the hall. His silence carried enough weight to keep the group subdued, even after the purge.
He opened the heavy airtight door to a nearly empty room—fifteen heavy chairs arranged in a circle at the center, even the walls stripped bare, once again not a camera in sight, no surveillance. Seeing a second room like this, I couldn't help but to look at Titus.
"In this next part," Titus said, his voice clipped, "it's up to each of you to value yourselves. You may do so by whatever means you want—whether by the usefulness of your powers, a lottery, or even violence—within reasonable limits, of course." His expression didn't change, but there was something almost mocking in his tone. "Have fun. I'll be back once all seats are taken."
He left without hesitation, the door shutting with a solid, echoing click; it seemed to be locked.
Instantly, the room came alive. Voices rose, overlapping, the fragile calm fracturing into argument.
"No—we should obviously decide this through the strength of our powers!" a boy shouted. Darien, or at least that is what someone called him earlier, seemed like another person I should know by how some looked at him. Tall, wiry, bristling with energy. "In what world would a lottery be fair, when we have people here who've been preparing their whole lives for this day?"
"I agree."
Just two words—but they cut through the clamor like a blade.
Because of who spoke them.
Liora Steele, but she didn't need to raise her voice. Her name did most of the work for her.
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Let me know your thoughts on this chapter from this point on i think the story gets more entertaining in a way.