After the chaos of combat class, walking back to the homeroom feels… almost normal. Almost.
Taiyashè nudges me. "You're alive. Not dead. I'd say that's a win."
I smile weakly. "Barely. I'll be sore tomorrow."
We push open the heavy black doors. The Shadow Field pulses faintly as we step inside. Crowe sits at his desk, eyes scanning the class. No one moves until he gestures with the faintest tilt of his head.
"Sit," he says.
We slide into our seats. The classroom is quieter than usual. The hum of latent quirk energy is dampened, as always.
Crowe doesn't speak for a moment. Just observes. He's patient, but the weight of his gaze presses down.
Then he places a stack of papers on each desk.
"Survey," he says simply. "Fill it out. No lies. No exaggerations. Every response will be noted."
We all look down. The paper is standard at first glance — boxes for:
Name
Age
Quirk
Rank your confidence in your quirk
Preferred combat style
But then there are odd prompts tucked at the bottom:
How do you make decisions under stress?
How do you react when others fail?
Have you ever unintentionally caused harm with your quirk?
My stomach tightens.
Crowe watches us silently as pens scrape against paper.
Taiyashè scribbles quickly. "Name, Taiyashè. Age… seventeen. Quirk… Wind Dash. Combat style: speed."
I glance at mine. Ren Calder. Seventeen. Fire. Combat style: close-range attacks.
I hesitate over the question about unintentional harm. Do I write anything? The fire is harmless enough. But the other thing… the latent body control, mind influence… no one can know.
I write the bare minimum. "Sometimes I misjudge the strength of my attacks."
Crowe's eyes catch mine. Just a flicker, but I feel it. An observation, a probe. I freeze slightly. My hand itches, almost burning with something that shouldn't be there.
Taiyashè glances at me. "You okay, Ren?"
I nod quickly. "Yeah. Just… thinking."
The pen moves across the paper. I keep my answers clean. Normal. Safe. Controlled.
Crowe clears his throat. "Surveys will be collected. These responses are not public. They are to assess personality, quirk understanding, and potential."
He pauses. His eyes sweep over the class again. "…Do not underestimate the importance of honesty. Or discretion."
I swallow. Something about that sentence feels… pointed. Not just a warning. An observation.
After a few more minutes, papers are collected. I slide mine onto Crowe's desk carefully, trying not to tremble.
He glances at it, then looks at me. Nothing is said. Nothing is needed.
But I feel it. That faint pull of awareness — the subtle weight of being watched. My other thing hums quietly beneath the surface, but I clamp it down.
Crowe leans back slightly. "You are all young. Excitable. Some of you will fail. Some will excel. This is the first step in understanding yourselves. And each other."
The bell rings.
Taiyashè slings his bag over his shoulder. "Well… that was weirdly intense for a survey."
I nod, tucking my own bag under my arm. "Yeah… intense and quiet. Too quiet."
As we leave the classroom, I can't shake the feeling that Crowe already knows more about me than anyone should.
And somewhere deep inside, I know… the other thing, the power I barely understand, is waiting. Watching. Learning.