Benny walked into the International Hero Assessment Center wearing sunglasses.
I immediately regretted turning on the television.
There were thousands of people outside the building, hundreds of reporters waiting behind security barriers, and enough cameras pointed at the entrance to document every pore on his face. Benny responded to this unprecedented level of international attention by stopping at the top of the stairs, spreading his arms, and slowly turning toward the crowd.
"Please," he announced. "No autographs until after I become X-rank."
Frank grabbed the back of his jacket and dragged him through the doors.
The broadcast cut to the studio, where one of the commentators struggled not to laugh.
I took another bite of cereal.
"Idiot."
My phone vibrated beside me.
Benny: entrance was fire
I looked from the message to the television.
How had he already sent that?
Kai: Frank carried the entrance.
I froze.
My thumb hovered over the screen.
Damn it.
The reply was already sent.
Three dots appeared immediately.
Benny: HE SPEAKS
I locked the phone and threw it onto the couch.
"That never happened."
The television continued without caring about my mistake.
All nine Flag-Bearers had arrived together, although they looked considerably less unified once they were inside. Frank had already started arguing with Benny. Paul appeared to be asking one of the security officers whether explosions were allowed indoors. Toma walked several steps behind everyone with his hands buried in his pockets, while Kenya had a small spectral fox perched across her shoulders.
Bethany looked like she wanted to be anywhere else.
Montiro looked like he wanted the cameras closer.
Emi was studying the testing arena visible through the corridor windows.
And Threya…
I reached for my bowl.
The spoon slipped slightly in my left hand.
I switched to my right.
Onscreen, Threya tucked a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear while listening to something Kenya said. She looked older than the girl I remembered from Emory, although that should've been obvious. Everyone did.
Three and a half years had happened to them.
For me, those years had mostly been a very long blink.
I lowered my eyes toward the cereal.
"Just watch the tests."
That was why I'd turned it on.
Nothing else.
The broadcast transitioned into the Assessment Center.
Dr. Amara Vey stood on the main platform while the nine Flag-Bearers occupied a waiting section near the arena. Behind her, the new grading system stretched across the enormous display.
E — D — C — B — A — S — SS — SSS — X
"Yesterday," Dr. Vey began, "the recalibration program established new benchmarks among active professional heroes. Today, we begin evaluating the generation expected to inherit the world they protect."
The camera moved across the Flag-Bearers.
"The nine individuals before you survived the Emory School monster incident more than three years ago and subsequently awakened enhanced ability growth. Since then, they have participated in specialized hero education, field operations and international training programs."
An old photograph appeared.
I stopped chewing.
Ten children stood in front of Emory School.
The image had been cropped.
Of course it had.
The television showed only nine.
I wasn't there.
For once, I was grateful.
"Because the Flag-Bearers possess different ability structures," Dr. Vey continued, "their evaluations will not be identical. Current Grade measures repeatable operational effectiveness. Talent Ceiling measures projected developmental potential. Neither score is intended to determine personal worth, future success or the value of one specialization over another."
Benny raised his hand.
Dr. Vey stared at him.
"Yes?"
"Can personal worth be measured separately?"
Frank covered his face.
A few people in the observation gallery laughed.
Dr. Vey didn't.
"No."
"Missed opportunity."
"Mr. Pluzeski, if you interrupt the evaluation again, I will personally add a category measuring your ability to remain silent."
Benny lowered his hand.
Toma leaned toward him.
"You'd get E."
Even Beth smiled.
I nearly choked on my cereal.
"Toma?"
Apparently three and a half years had changed everybody.
The first name appeared.
FRANK CENYA
Frank stood.
His joking expression disappeared almost immediately.
Frank's evaluation began with physical testing.
That made sense.
His ability transformed his body into steel, increasing strength, durability and weight while sacrificing some flexibility and speed. I'd seen the early version when we were fourteen.
It hadn't looked anything like this.
Metal spread from Frank's forearms across his shoulders, neck and face until his skin became dark polished steel. The transformation no longer stopped at the surface. Scanners showed structural changes through his muscles and bones, reinforcing his entire body.
The first strength platform loaded twenty tons.
Frank lifted it.
Forty.
He lifted that too.
Sixty-five made his arms shake.
At eighty, his knees bent and the platform remained exactly where it was.
He growled and pushed harder.
Nothing.
"Come on," I muttered.
Frank's steel feet sank into the reinforced flooring, but after several seconds he released the platform.
The commentators praised the result.
Frank didn't look satisfied.
The next test measured durability. Heavy projectiles struck him from different angles, followed by explosives and simulated monster impacts. Frank endured almost everything until repeated strikes against the same location began denting the steel around his ribs.
That weakness was immediately recorded.
Repeated concentrated damage.
I leaned closer.
Interesting.
The rescue simulation hurt his score more. Frank could rip collapsed walls apart, carry multiple civilians and physically hold a failing structure in place, but his transformed weight made unstable environments worse. In one scenario, he stepped onto a damaged floor and went straight through it.
Benny laughed so loudly that the arena microphones picked it up.
Frank emerged from the simulation covered in concrete dust.
"I heard you."
Benny immediately looked innocent.
The final assessment appeared.
FRANK CENYA
CURRENT GRADE: B
Frank stared upward.
Then:
TALENT CEILING: S
CONFIDENCE: 79%
The crowd erupted.
Frank's disappointment vanished.
I smiled.
"S isn't bad, big guy."
The profile expanded with notes.
PRIMARY STRENGTHS: Durability, physical power, frontline protection.
DEVELOPMENT PRIORITIES: Mobility, transformation efficiency, environmental awareness.
That last one probably hurt more than the explosions.
Paul went next.
His explosive spheres had changed dramatically.
At fourteen, Paul had mostly thrown glowing balls at things and hoped nobody important was standing nearby. Now he could generate multiple orbs simultaneously, alter their size, control their movement after release and delay detonation until he chose.
The first destructive test was impressive.
The second was ridiculous.
Twenty targets moved through an artificial city while civilian projections ran between them. Paul sent fifteen glowing spheres into the air. Instead of immediately firing toward the targets, the spheres scattered.
Some disappeared behind buildings.
Others hovered above intersections.
Two rolled along the ground.
Then Paul snapped his fingers.
The explosions happened in sequence.
Not one civilian target was touched.
I stopped eating.
"When did he learn that?"
A commentator answered the question accidentally.
"Brunted's control scores have increased nearly two hundred percent over the last eighteen months, particularly in delayed detonation and independent projectile guidance."
Paul completed the simulation grinning.
His endurance was the problem.
The more spheres he maintained simultaneously, the faster his energy collapsed. At thirty-two active orbs, his nose started bleeding. At thirty-seven, three destabilized and detonated prematurely inside the containment field.
His assessment appeared.
PAUL BRUNTED
CURRENT GRADE: B
TALENT CEILING: A
CONFIDENCE: 88%
Paul's smile faded slightly.
A.
Frank had S.
The cameras caught the reaction.
I leaned back.
There it was.
The dangerous part of putting ceilings above people's heads.
Paul forced the smile back before anyone beside him could say anything.
The commentators immediately reminded viewers that Talent Ceiling wasn't destiny, but that wouldn't matter.
People compared numbers.
They always would.
I watched Frank lean toward Paul and say something the microphone couldn't catch.
Paul rolled his eyes.
Then laughed.
Good.
Kenya's evaluation required the arena to be cleared.
Her spectral fox jumped from her shoulders and landed beside her.
Then it grew.
And grew.
By the time it stopped, its head nearly reached the second level of the simulated buildings.
"Okay," I said quietly.
The fox wasn't the only one.
Kenya closed her eyes.
Music began playing.
Not from speakers.
From her.
Soft humming became layered sound, and shapes emerged around her.
A translucent eagle spread its wings overhead.
A bear formed beside the fox.
Then something long moved beneath the artificial ground.
The researchers immediately started talking.
Kenya's ability had always been strange. She used music to manifest spiritual animals, but I'd assumed they were basically constructs.
Apparently everyone else had assumed the same thing.
The fox looked directly toward one of the monitoring cameras.
For a second, I had the uncomfortable feeling it was looking through it.
At me.
I put my spoon down.
"No."
The fox tilted its head.
The broadcast camera switched angles.
I stared.
Probably coincidence.
Kenya performed extremely well in reconnaissance, rescue and battlefield support. Her spirits could locate civilians through obstacles, carry injured people and coordinate without verbal commands.
Direct combat was less consistent.
Some spirits were powerful.
Others weren't.
Their strength also seemed influenced by Kenya's emotional state and the complexity of the music she used.
When researchers tried measuring the energy source, several instruments produced contradictory results.
That got my attention.
Her assessment took longer than the others.
KENYA MCLANE
CURRENT GRADE: B
TALENT CEILING: S
CONFIDENCE: 52%
Kenya looked more interested in the confidence score than the ceiling.
So was I.
Fifty-two percent meant the system barely understood what it was measuring.
The fox shrank and returned to her shoulders.
Before Kenya left the arena, it looked toward the camera again.
I slowly picked my spoon back up.
"Stop doing that."
Toma entered quietly.
His ice ability immediately made my left arm ache.
I flexed my fingers.
His ice was nothing like the sword's.
That became obvious within minutes.
Toma didn't merely create ice. He manipulated temperature across controlled zones, freezing water, surfaces and moisture in the air. His strongest attack covered nearly an entire artificial city street in frost.
Impressive.
But what interested me was his restraint.
He froze the ground beneath moving targets without freezing the civilians beside them. He created barriers, ramps and defensive structures almost instantly.
During a rescue simulation, he cooled a burning building enough for trapped civilians to escape without creating a thermal shock that would've weakened the structure.
"That's smart."
Toma wasn't the strongest Flag-Bearer.
He might've been one of the most useful.
His main weakness was speed. Large-scale temperature changes required concentration, and rapid repeated techniques drained him badly.
His results appeared.
TOMA UBASHI
CURRENT GRADE: B
TALENT CEILING: S
CONFIDENCE: 82%
Toma looked at the S for several seconds.
Then walked back to his seat.
Benny held up both hands for a high five.
Toma walked past him.
Benny looked devastated.
Three seconds later, Toma returned and slapped both hands.
I laughed.
Then immediately looked around my empty apartment as though someone had caught me.
"This is why we're avoiding them."
Montiro Mendez made avoiding boredom impossible.
His magical guns appeared in both hands as he entered the arena.
Then one became a spear.
The other became a shotgun.
Then the spear became a sword.
Then the shotgun became something resembling a grenade launcher.
"That's obnoxious."
I liked it.
Montiro's ability wasn't simply weapon creation. The weapons carried different magical properties depending on form, and he could switch between them almost instantly.
The evaluators attacked him from multiple directions.
He changed weapons constantly.
Pistol.
Shield.
Rifle.
Sword.
Hammer.
Two pistols.
Bow.
Something I didn't recognize.
The problem became obvious after several minutes.
He knew how to use all of them.
He hadn't mastered any of them.
I found myself leaning toward the screen.
His sword grip was wrong.
Not terrible.
Wrong.
His spear transitions wasted movement. His bow stance collapsed under pressure. His firearms were considerably better, probably because he'd spent more time with them.
Still…
The ability itself was ridiculous.
If Montiro ever learned each weapon properly, he'd become a nightmare.
The assessment apparently agreed.
MONTIRO MENDEZ
CURRENT GRADE: B
TALENT CEILING: SS
The arena erupted.
Montiro's mouth opened.
Benny jumped out of his seat.
Even Emi looked surprised.
CONFIDENCE: 61%
SS.
The first Flag-Bearer projected that high.
Montiro stared at the screen like someone had just informed him he owned the moon.
I wasn't as surprised.
His current technique needed work, but the ability had enormous versatility. Close range, long range, offense, defense, different damage types. If his created weapons continued evolving alongside him, the system probably didn't know where the upper boundary was.
Montiro finally turned toward the others.
Benny immediately bowed.
Montiro bowed back.
Idiots.
Emi entered next.
I sat straighter.
Unlike Montiro, she carried one weapon.
Her lance.
That was enough.
The first combat simulation lasted eleven seconds.
Emi drove the lance through the first target, rotated around the shaft, kicked the second target backward, withdrew the weapon and struck a third without looking.
Every contact delivered poison.
Not always the same poison.
That was new.
The researchers explained that Emi could regulate dosage and composition through the lance, producing paralytic, necrotic and disorienting effects depending on intent.
Her precision was excellent.
Her footwork was better.
I caught myself analyzing everything.
Her left heel rose too early during aggressive thrusts.
Her recovery after a missed lunge exposed her right side.
Her hands shifted approximately half an inch before changing attack direction.
Still…
She was good.
Really good.
Then they gave her a pure weapon test without powers.
She destroyed it.
Not Bladeon.
Not remotely.
But among people our age?
I understood why she'd looked at my swordsmanship the way she had.
Emi cared about this.
Probably more than anything else.
Her assessment appeared.
EMI KOTO
CURRENT GRADE: B
TALENT CEILING: S
CONFIDENCE: 90%
Emi looked satisfied with the B.
Then she saw S.
For a moment, something crossed her face.
Not disappointment exactly.
Montiro had received SS.
She hadn't.
There was the comparison again.
She looked down at her lance.
Then tightened her grip.
I knew that expression.
Good.
She'd use it.
Bethany's test almost didn't look like a test.
She sat in a chair.
That was it.
The real activity happened behind reinforced glass, where volunteers, trained mental defenders and artificial cognitive systems were arranged in separate rooms.
Beth closed her eyes.
The first volunteer raised a hand.
Then another.
Then six simultaneously.
She identified hidden objects through surface thoughts, transmitted simple images between subjects and disrupted simulated attackers by overwhelming their concentration.
Then the resistance tests began.
Her face tightened.
One trained defender pushed her out almost immediately.
Beth tried again.
Blood appeared beneath her nose.
She stopped.
Good.
I remembered what forcing her ability could do.
Migraines.
Bleeding.
Memory distortion.
She knew her limits.
The final scenario was different.
Twenty simulated attackers entered a building containing civilians.
Beth wasn't asked to defeat them.
She was asked to coordinate everyone else.
The result was frightening.
She tracked intentions, relayed information, identified ambushes before they happened and directed a response team through the building almost like she could see every room simultaneously.
The simulation ended with no civilian casualties.
Her assessment appeared.
BETHANY COLEMAN
CURRENT GRADE: B
TALENT CEILING: S
CONFIDENCE: 64%
Lower confidence.
Mental abilities were difficult to measure.
Beth read the profile without expression.
Then her eyes moved toward one of the cameras.
For half a second, I felt like she was looking at me too.
I frowned.
"Everybody stop doing that."
Benny's name appeared.
I immediately considered turning off the television.
I didn't.
He walked into the arena still wearing the sunglasses.
Dr. Vey stared at him.
"Remove them."
"They improve performance."
"They are not ability equipment."
"Morale equipment."
"Remove them."
Benny sighed dramatically and handed them to an assistant.
Then the test began.
Metal erupted from the ground.
I forgot about the jokes.
Benny had gotten strong.
Not Ygros strong.
Not even professional S-rank strong.
But compared with the boy I remembered?
Different person.
He pulled steel beams from collapsed structures without touching them, reshaped metal barriers in seconds and launched dozens of fragments simultaneously.
During combat testing, he created armor around himself.
That was new.
Not complete armor.
Plates.
Chest.
Forearms.
Legs.
Enough to absorb impacts while leaving joints mobile.
Then he ripped the armor apart and turned it into projectiles.
"Since when can you do that?"
The rescue tests were even better.
Benny could reinforce collapsing buildings.
Create bridges.
Pull wreckage away without sending people underneath tumbling.
Seal damaged vehicles.
He could even extract metal fragments from wounds, although medical evaluators immediately warned that doing so incorrectly could kill someone.
His weakness appeared when the arena changed.
No metal.
Stone.
Wood.
Synthetic materials.
Benny's options collapsed.
He carried several metal pieces on his body, but his effective range and power dropped dramatically without enough material nearby.
Then came endurance.
He tried controlling too much.
His hands started shaking.
Metal structures around him collapsed.
Benny fell to one knee.
I leaned forward.
He tried standing.
"Don't."
He couldn't hear me.
Obviously.
He stood anyway.
Stubborn idiot.
The test ended before he could hurt himself.
His result appeared.
BENNY PLUZESKI
CURRENT GRADE: B
He smiled.
Then:
TALENT CEILING: SS
I stopped moving.
The audience erupted.
Benny stared upward.
His mouth actually stayed closed for almost five seconds.
CONFIDENCE: 58%
SS.
I looked at him.
Really looked.
Not the green-haired idiot sending me messages.
Not my best friend from when I was fourteen.
A hero.
A real one.
Someone who had continued training while I was frozen.
Someone who had spent three and a half years becoming stronger.
Benny finally looked toward the cameras.
Then raised both arms.
"I KNEW IT!"
There he was.
I laughed so hard my ribs hurt.
"Ow."
Worth it.
Threya was next.
I almost turned the television off.
Again, I didn't.
She entered the arena without making a show of it.
No costume.
No dramatic pose.
She simply stepped onto the testing ground and waited.
Her ability classification appeared.
GEOKINETIC MANIPULATION
Earth.
Simple word.
Not a simple ability.
The first test asked her to move ten tons of stone.
She did.
Twenty.
Done.
Fifty.
Her breathing changed.
One hundred.
The ground trembled.
A massive section of stone rose from the arena floor.
I stared.
She held it there.
Not comfortably.
But she held it.
Then the test changed.
Precision.
That was where she became frightening.
Dozens of stone pillars rose without touching the civilian markers between them. Walls formed around simulated explosions. The ground opened beneath hostile targets while remaining stable beneath rescue teams.
Then she created something I hadn't expected.
Armor.
Stone climbed her legs and wrapped around her torso and arms without completely restricting movement.
Frank's steel body was tougher.
Threya's could be replaced every time it broke.
A projectile shattered her shoulder armor.
Stone immediately climbed from the ground and repaired it.
"That's new."
The combat simulation began.
Threya controlled the battlefield.
That was the only way to describe it.
Enemies weren't simply fighting her.
They were fighting the ground.
Walls appeared where they tried to move.
Stone grabbed their legs.
Platforms changed height.
Cover vanished.
New cover appeared.
She didn't need to hit someone if she could decide where they were allowed to stand.
Then the arena switched.
Metal platform.
No exposed earth.
Her performance dropped.
Not completely.
There was still mineral material within concrete and surrounding structures, but control became harder and slower.
Another weakness.
Range was another.
The farther she manipulated earth from her body, the less precise she became.
By the end, sweat covered her face and her hands were trembling.
She still completed the final rescue scenario.
Her profile appeared.
THREYA ATOSHI
CURRENT GRADE: B
No surprise.
Then:
TALENT CEILING: SS
I stared.
CONFIDENCE: 73%
The crowd exploded again.
Threya looked upward.
Her expression barely changed.
Then Kenya ran onto the edge of the testing area and hugged her.
Threya laughed.
Something tightened in my chest.
I looked away.
Not because of her ranking.
Not because of the cameras.
Because I remembered that laugh.
I reached for the remote.
My hand stopped.
There was one person left.
I stayed.
The final Flag-Bearer was the one everyone seemed to forget until he spoke.
Toma had already gone.
Frank.
Paul.
Kenya.
Toma.
Montiro.
Emi.
Beth.
Benny.
Threya.
Nine.
I frowned.
Why had I thought someone was missing?
The broadcast replayed the lineup.
All nine.
Maybe I was tired.
Then the screen shifted to the complete results.
FLAG-BEARER RECALIBRATION
Frank Cenya — B / Ceiling S
Paul Brunted — B / Ceiling A
Kenya McLane — B / Ceiling S
Toma Ubashi — B / Ceiling S
Montiro Mendez — B / Ceiling SS
Emi Koto — B / Ceiling S
Bethany Coleman — B / Ceiling S
Benny Pluzeski — B / Ceiling SS
Threya Atoshi — B / Ceiling SS
Every single one of them was B.
That surprised the commentators.
It didn't surprise Dr. Vey.
She stood before the nine while the audience continued reacting.
"Current Grade represents consistent operational performance. All nine Flag-Bearers have demonstrated the ability to operate reliably within B-grade threat environments."
She looked toward Paul.
"The differences in Talent Ceiling do not determine which of you will become strongest."
Paul listened carefully.
"A ceiling is a projection based on information we possess today. You will change. Your abilities will change. The information will change."
She looked across all nine.
"Someone standing beneath an A ceiling may one day become S. Someone beneath SS may never leave B."
Montiro's grin faded slightly.
"Your responsibility is not to fulfill a letter."
The results disappeared.
"Your responsibility is to become better than you were yesterday."
For once, Benny didn't make a joke.
I liked Dr. Vey.
The broadcast cut to commentators discussing what the results meant for the future of hero education.
I barely listened.
B.
All nine.
I remembered Emory.
Frank bleeding on the floor.
Benny screaming.
Threya trying to help.
The giant beetle towering above us.
Back then, we had been children with powers we barely understood.
Except me.
I'd had nothing.
E-grade, according to the new system.
Now they were B-rank heroes.
Every one of them.
Three carried projected SS ceilings.
I should've felt left behind.
Maybe part of me did.
Mostly, though…
I was proud of them.
That was dangerous.
My phone vibrated.
I knew who it was.
Benny: B
Another message.
Benny: THEY GAVE ME B
Then:
Benny: i demand a recount
I smiled.
Benny: frank also B which proves system is broken
Another.
Benny: threya B too
Another.
Benny: everybody B
Then finally:
Benny: your turn tomorrow apocalypse boy
My smile disappeared.
Right.
Tomorrow.
I looked toward the television.
The broadcast had changed to a promotional graphic for the next priority evaluation.
My face appeared.
I hated the picture.
TOMORROW
KAI SKYLINE
Beneath it, commentators were already placing predictions.
S.
One guessed SS.
Another argued that surviving Ygros didn't necessarily represent repeatable combat capability and predicted A.
Nobody said B.
Nobody said C.
I looked at my left hand and slowly opened it.
The index finger still lagged slightly.
My ribs weren't completely healed.
My shoulder hurt.
Without a sword, most of my physical abilities weren't extraordinary. Even with one, knowing how to perform a technique didn't mean my body could survive performing it.
The Flag-Bearers were B-rank.
That meant, according to the system, every single one of them currently possessed greater reliable operational capability than I did three years ago by an absurd margin.
Maybe greater than I had now.
The thought didn't bother me as much as it probably should have.
I picked up my phone.
For a moment, I considered replying to Benny.
Congratulations.
Two seconds.
One message.
That wouldn't hurt anything.
My thumb hovered above the keyboard before I locked the phone again.
No.
Distance.
I could be happy for them without stepping back into their lives.
That was the line.
I just had to stop crossing it.
Across the city, Bethany Coleman was looking at her phone.
Benny leaned over her shoulder.
"Are you stalking him?"
"No."
"That looked like stalking."
"I'm reading."
"That's what stalkers call it."
Beth turned the screen away from him.
The nine Flag-Bearers occupied a private recovery room inside the Assessment Center. Frank was eating enough food for several people. Paul had already begun arguing that an A ceiling was secretly better because it gave him "underdog advantage." Montiro had taken a picture of his SS projection and made it his phone background.
Threya sat near Kenya.
Emi was watching footage of her own weapon test.
Beth continued scrolling.
Kai Skyline.
Almost nothing.
Articles.
Battle footage.
Government statements.
Speculation.
No childhood competitions.
No junior ability evaluations.
No academy records that weren't sealed.
No interviews before Ygros.
No publicly documented family.
Nothing explaining where a seventeen-year-old had learned to use a sword well enough to interest Bladeon.
She'd noticed it at the hospital.
Now it bothered her.
Benny leaned over again.
"You are stalking him."
Beth locked the screen.
"Why are you interested in him?"
Benny shrugged.
"He's funny."
"That's your reason?"
"Do I need another one?"
Beth studied him.
Apparently not.
Across the room, Emi paused her footage.
"What are you talking about?"
"Kai," Benny said.
Emi looked over immediately.
That was interesting.
Beth noticed.
"Do you know who trained him?" Emi asked.
Benny shrugged.
"Nope."
"What school?"
"No idea."
"What sword style?"
Benny looked toward Beth.
"Does being stabbed by Ygros count as a style?"
Emi ignored him.
Beth unlocked her phone again.
Kai's government profile appeared.
Most of it was classified.
She stared at the creation date on the public record.
Recent.
Very recent.
Threya glanced over from across the room.
"What are you guys doing?"
"Beth's stalking Kai," Benny said.
"I'm not stalking Kai."
"Researching him romantically?"
Beth stared at him.
Benny raised both hands.
"Regular stalking. Understood."
Threya shook her head.
"Why are you researching him?"
Beth considered the question.
Then looked back at the empty history on her screen.
"I don't know yet."
That was the truth.
There wasn't a theory.
There wasn't a suspicion.
Not really.
Just an absence where a life should've been.
Beth locked the phone.
"He's strange."
Benny grinned.
"That's why I like him."
Emi returned to her footage.
Threya didn't say anything else.
The conversation moved on.
For now.
The following afternoon, I stood inside the International Hero Assessment Center wearing gray training clothes and wondering whether running away would damage my score.
Probably.
Dr. Vey stood several meters ahead with a tablet.
Researchers watched from behind the glass.
The observation gallery was full.
Again.
Bladeon sat near the front.
Of course he did.
President Cross sat several sections above him.
Maximus was there too.
Wonderful.
Apparently humiliation required witnesses.
Dr. Vey looked at me.
"Kai Skyline."
"That's what they tell me."
"Are you prepared to begin your recalibration?"
"No."
She waited.
I sighed.
"Yes."
"Your evaluation will differ slightly from yesterday's candidates."
"Because I'm injured?"
"Partially."
That didn't sound good.
She turned toward the main display.
My name appeared.
KAI SKYLINE
Underneath:
CURRENT GRADE: UNASSIGNED
TALENT CEILING: UNASSESSED
The audience became quiet.
Dr. Vey continued.
"Because your documented combat history is limited, the Commission has insufficient baseline information to estimate your capabilities using standard progression models."
"So we're guessing."
"We're testing."
"Sounds like educated guessing."
"Mr. Skyline."
"Testing. Got it."
A few people laughed.
Dr. Vey didn't.
She was becoming one of my favorite people.
"Your evaluation will begin without weapons."
My smile disappeared.
"Oh."
"Is there a problem?"
I looked toward the arena.
Strength equipment rose from the floor.
Speed gates activated.
Reaction systems came online.
No sword.
Nothing in my hands.
Just me.
Three years ago, that would've terrified me.
Today it mostly felt uncomfortable.
Dr. Vey stepped aside.
"Take your position."
I walked toward the starting mark.
Above me stretched the new scale.
E.
D.
C.
B.
A.
S.
SS.
SSS.
X.
Yesterday, the nine people I'd grown up with had all reached B.
The world thought I belonged somewhere above them because it had watched me stand against Ygros.
I knew better.
Ygros knew better.
Tomorrow, everyone else would too.
I rolled my injured shoulder once, flexed my left hand and stepped onto the testing platform.
The strength machine activated.
Dr. Vey's voice came through the speakers.
"Begin."
And for the first time since becoming Kai Skyline, the world wasn't going to measure me by the monster I'd survived.
It was going to measure me.