The rest of the ceremony passed quicker than I expected, though that was probably because my attention had stopped being on the stage altogether. Students continued walking up one after another, placing their hands against the Awakening Stone before either returning with relieved smiles or quietly making their way back to their seats after the crystal failed to respond. Every so often someone awakened a Stigma impressive enough to earn louder applause than usual, but even those moments barely managed to pull my attention away from my own thoughts.
Quick Thinking.
That was apparently my Stigma.
The more I thought about it, the less I understood it. It didn't sound flashy or particularly powerful. Nobody was going to hear Quick Thinking and imagine some unstoppable hero crashing through buildings or throwing cars around. It sounded... ordinary. Useful maybe, but ordinary. At least until I actually paid attention to what had changed.
My thoughts no longer felt cluttered. Normally, trying to focus on one thing meant everything else blurred into the background without me noticing. Now it felt as though my mind had quietly organized itself while I wasn't looking. Conversations from nearby students didn't blend together into meaningless noise anymore. I could follow one without losing track of another, then return to the principal's speech without feeling like I'd missed anything important. Even the questions popping into my own head seemed to answer themselves faster than before, each thought connecting naturally to the next before I had time to lose the thread.
It wasn't dramatic enough for anyone else to notice, but I noticed.
The principal eventually returned to the microphone once the final student had stepped away from the Awakening Stone. The applause gradually settled as academy staff wheeled the crystal off the stage, leaving only the podium beneath the bright auditorium lights.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, smiling at the rows of students sitting before him, "congratulations to the graduating class of Westbrook Academy."
Another round of applause echoed through the hall.
"This year, forty-two percent of our graduating class successfully awakened a Manifestation, slightly above the national average."
A few teachers exchanged pleased smiles while several parents applauded a little louder. Guess that statistic meant something to them.
"As many of you already know, awakening a Manifestation is only the first step. Those whose abilities qualify as Stigma will undergo official evaluation over the coming weeks to determine their registration and classification. Some of you may eventually receive invitations from licensed hero agencies, while others will find opportunities in medicine, engineering, construction, research, or countless other professions where Manifestations have become an important part of everyday life."
A large display behind him lit up with six letters arranged vertically.
S
A
B
C
D
E
"Your classification does not determine your worth," the principal continued. "It simply measures the potential of your Stigma under current evaluation standards. An experienced awakener with a lower classification can often outperform someone blessed with greater natural talent who never bothers to improve."
That made a lot more sense than the stories television liked to tell. Heroes always made it look as though power alone solved every problem. Reality, unsurprisingly, sounded a little less exciting.
The speech continued for another ten minutes, though I only caught pieces of it. My attention kept wandering back toward my own awakening, testing it in small ways without really meaning to. The principal would begin a sentence, and before he'd finished speaking, I'd already guessed where he was going with it. A student somewhere behind me whispered to his friend about hero agencies recruiting this year's graduates, and halfway through the conversation I'd already pieced together what the other boy was about to say before he actually said it. None of it felt supernatural. It simply felt... efficient, as though my brain had quietly removed all the unnecessary pauses between thoughts.
Maybe that was all Quick Thinking really was.
Not intelligence.
Not knowledge.
Just... speed.
The thought lingered with me until the principal finally thanked the parents, congratulated the graduating class one last time, and officially declared the ceremony over. The moment he stepped away from the microphone, the orderly atmosphere inside the auditorium disappeared almost instantly. Parents hurried down the aisles looking for their children while students gathered into excited little groups, comparing Manifestations and making increasingly ridiculous claims about what they would be capable of doing within a few years.
The excitement was contagious enough that I almost forgot everything else for a moment.
Almost.
The blue shimmer still hovered quietly at the edge of my vision, unchanged since morning. Whatever the Vigilante System wanted from me, it seemed content to remain silent a little longer. I wasn't sure whether I found that reassuring or unsettling.
Probably both.
I stood from my seat, brushed a few imaginary wrinkles from my blazer, and joined the slow-moving crowd heading toward the auditorium exit. A few familiar classmates congratulated me as we shuffled along with everyone else. Most of them had no idea what a Cognitive-type Manifestation actually did, but that didn't stop them from pretending it sounded impressive. I thanked them anyway. It seemed easier than admitting I was just as confused as they were.
The crowd gradually spilled into the courtyard, where parents reunited with their children beneath the academy banners. Laughter drifted through the warm afternoon air while cameras flashed every few seconds as families stopped to take graduation photos. Teachers who usually spent their days handing out detentions somehow found enough patience to smile for every picture they were dragged into.
I slipped past most of it.
Crowds had never really been my thing.
I had barely made it halfway across the courtyard when I heard my name.
"Adrian."
I stopped and turned.
Maria stood several metres behind me, one hand gripping the strap of her bag while she caught up. The same calm expression she'd worn throughout the ceremony was still there, but there was something else beneath it now. Hesitation, maybe.
She slowed to a stop in front of me, brushing a loose strand of chestnut hair behind her ear before meeting my eyes.
"Do you..." She paused for a second, as though reconsidering her words. "Do you have a minute?"
For the first time in weeks, she hadn't looked away first.
Whatever she wanted to say...
It was probably important.