Jae-Wook's Morning
The alarm clock's shrill cry cut through Jae-Wook's dreams at 5:30 AM. He bolted upright, adrenaline already coursing through his veins. Today was the day he'd been working toward since he was eight years old, since the news reports had shown his parents' final battle against the S-class monster in Osaka.
"Jae-Wook!" His adoptive mother's voice drifted up from the kitchen. "Breakfast!"
He pulled on his training clothes and jogged downstairs, finding Mrs. Park already setting out a spread that could feed a small army. Grilled fish, rice, soup, pickled vegetables, and enough protein to fuel a professional athlete.
"You didn't have to—"
"Nonsense," she said, ruffling his hair. "Your parents would have done the same thing."
The mention of his real parents sent a familiar pang through his chest. Kim Jae-Sung and Park Mi-Ra, the hero duo known as Earthquake and Windstorm. They'd died protecting civilians when a dimensional rift had opened in Japan three years ago, their final coordinated attack sealing the breach at the cost of their lives.
"They'd be proud of you," Mr. Park added, emerging from his study with a steaming cup of coffee. "Taking the academy exam, following in their footsteps."
Jae-Wook nodded, not trusting his voice. His earth manipulation had manifested at age ten, just months after their deaths. The physical enhancement had come later, during middle school training sessions where his grief had pushed his body beyond normal limits.
"I won't let them down," he said finally.
"You couldn't if you tried," Mrs. Park smiled. "Now eat up. Champions need fuel."
Tae-Min's Morning
Three houses down, Tae-Min was already dressed and reviewing his notes when his parents knocked on his door.
"Son?" His father peered in. "You've been up since four. The exam isn't until nine."
"Preparation prevents poor performance," Tae-Min replied without looking up from his tablet, where he'd compiled every piece of publicly available information about Global Heroic Academy's testing procedures. "Did you know that only 3.2% of applicants achieve perfect scores across all three stages?"
His mother sat on the edge of his bed. "And you plan to be part of that 3.2%?"
"I plan to be the 0.1% that exceeds it." Tae-Min finally looked up, his eyes bright with ambition. "I didn't earn the highest theoretical scores in the nation just to be average at the academy. I'm going to leave a mark on history."
His parents exchanged a look—part pride, part concern.
"Just remember," his father said gently, "there's more to being a hero than test scores."
"Of course," Tae-Min agreed. "That's why today matters. Theory is just the foundation. Now I get to prove I can build something extraordinary on top of it."
He stood, straightening his uniform with military precision. "I should head over soon. Jae-Wook will probably want to walk together."
"Give our regards to the Parks," his mother said. "And Tae-Min? We're proud of you no matter what happens today."
"Thank you," he said, though his tone suggested failure wasn't even a consideration.
Hye-Jin's Morning
The Shin family breakfast table was a study in controlled tension. Hye-Jin sat perfectly straight, her natural luminescence dimmed to a soft glow as she picked at her food. Across from her, her parents maintained the kind of composed expressions that had made them successful in Seoul's political circles.
"Remember," her mother said, dabbing her lips with a cloth napkin, "you represent more than just yourself today."
"The Shin family name carries weight in this city," her father added. "Three generations of public service, two city council members, and a district attorney. People will be watching."
Hye-Jin nodded, her light flickering slightly brighter with stress. "I understand."
"Do you?" Her mother's voice carried the sharp edge that had made her famous in courtrooms. "Because if you fail today, it reflects on all of us. Your cousins are already attending prestigious universities. Your brother is clerking for a Supreme Court justice. What will people say if our daughter can't even pass a hero academy exam?"
The light around Hye-Jin pulsed, threatening to flare beyond her control. She took a deep breath, forcing it back to a gentle radiance.
"I won't fail," she said quietly.
"See that you don't," her father replied, returning to his newspaper. "The car will drop you off at eight-thirty. Don't be late."
Hye-Jin finished her breakfast in silence, thinking about So-Young's improved fire control from the day before. At least one of them had been preparing properly. She just hoped it would be enough to avoid bringing shame to the family name.
So-Young's Morning
The sound of her brother's heavy footsteps echoed through the apartment as So-Young tried to eat breakfast. Kang Do-Hyun was home from the academy for the weekend, and he'd spent most of it reminding her exactly why she'd never measure up.
"Little sister!" His voice boomed as he entered the kitchen, still in his academy training uniform. At nineteen, he was everything she wasn't—confident, powerful, destined for A-rank status. "Ready for your big day?"
So-Young kept her eyes on her rice bowl. "Yes."
"You know," he continued, grabbing an apple from the counter, "I heard they're being stricter with admissions this year. Can't have weaklings diluting the program."
Their parents had already left for work, leaving her alone with his casual cruelty.
"I've been training," she said softly.
Do-Hyun laughed, the sound sharp and mocking. "Training? You mean those little candle flames you make? So-Young, I've seen academy freshmen with more fire power than you showed at graduation."
Something flickered in her chest—not fear, but anger. The same anger that had driven her to train every night since graduation, pushing her flames hotter and brighter than ever before.
"Maybe you'll be surprised," she said, still not looking at him.
"Maybe," he agreed, his tone suggesting he found the idea amusing. "Or maybe you'll embarrass yourself and realize you should have stayed home."
After he left, So-Young sat in the empty kitchen, her hands clenched into fists. Small flames danced between her fingers—not the wild, uncontrolled fire of her childhood, but precise, focused heat that responded to her will.
She was done being afraid. Done being small.
Today, she would show everyone—her brother, herself—exactly what she was capable of.
Stage One: Mana Affinity Testing
The first testing chamber was filled with crystalline orbs identical to childhood affinity tests, but larger and more sophisticated. Hundreds of students lined up at various stations, their nervous energy crackling in the air.
The four friends had found each other near the main gates, clustering together for moral support.
"This is it," Jae-Wook had said, practically bouncing with excitement. "Can you believe we're actually here?"
Hye-Jin had glowed brighter than usual, her golden radiance betraying her nerves. "I barely slept last night. What if I mess up the power control test?"
"You won't," Tae-Min had said confidently. "Your light manipulation is already C-rank level."
And So-Young had shown them her improved flames—precise, controlled fire that shifted colors and temperatures with perfect discipline.
But now, as they waited for their individual tests, Min-Jun was approaching his station.
"Lee Min-Jun," the examiner called. "Station seven."
Jae-Wook caught his friend's eye and gave him an encouraging thumbs up, grinning widely. "You've got this!"
Min-Jun nodded back with his usual stoic expression before approaching the crystalline orb.
"Place your hands on the orb," the examiner instructed. "Channel your mana steadily."
Min-Jun pressed his palms against the cool crystal surface.
The orb exploded.
Crystal fragments shot across the room like shrapnel, students diving for cover as alarms blared. So-Young watched in shock as her quiet friend stood calmly in the center of the destruction, completely unharmed.
"Equipment malfunction!" someone shouted.
They brought a second orb, reinforced with stabilization runes. Min-Jun approached it with the same calm expression.
Same result—complete destruction.
"I'm sorry," the head examiner said. "This appears to be a rare equipment incompatibility. We'll have to mark this as a testing failure."
"I understand," Min-Jun replied quietly.
As he turned to leave, So-Young broke away from her station despite the examiner's protests.
"Min-Jun!" she called, hurrying after him. "Wait!"
But he didn't stop. Didn't even acknowledge her voice. He just kept walking toward the exit with that same calm, measured pace, hands in his pockets.
"Min-Jun, please!" So-Young called again, her voice cracking slightly. "Don't just leave!"
He walked through the exit doors without looking back.
So-Young stood there for a moment, staring at the empty doorway, feeling a mixture of confusion and hurt. Why had he ignored her? They were supposed to be friends, weren't they?
"Miss Lee!" An examiner called. "Please return to your station!"
She turned back toward the testing chamber, small flames flickering around her fingers with her emotional distress. Around the room, her remaining friends were making their orbs glow with various colors, advancing to stage two.
When they regrouped, the absence felt like a wound.
"Has anyone seen Min-Jun?" Jae-Wook asked, looking around.
"He left," So-Young said quietly, her voice carrying a note of hurt. "Right after the equipment failure. I... I tried to stop him, but he just walked away. Didn't even look back."
"That's not like him," Jae-Wook said, pulling out his phone. "Min-Jun never just ignores us."
But there was no time to dwell on their missing friend. The examiners were already calling for Stage Two participants.
Stage Two: Power Assessment
The second testing chamber was a marvel of engineering and magic combined. Massive crystalline structures lined the walls, designed to measure and contain energy outputs that could level buildings. Each testing station was equipped with a Mana Resonance Amplifier—a device that looked like a cross between a punching bag and a technological altar.
"Attention applicants," the head examiner announced. "Stage Two will measure your power output, control, and efficiency. You will have three attempts to demonstrate your maximum capability. The MRA will record your mana signature, power level, and control rating. Begin when your name is called."
Jae-Wook's Test
"Kim Jae-Wook, Station Four."
Jae-Wook approached the MRA, rolling his shoulders to loosen up. The device hummed with contained energy, its crystalline surface reflecting his determined expression.
Mom, Dad, he thought, this is for you.
He placed his hands on the device and let his power flow. Earth manipulation first—the ground beneath the testing chamber trembled as he channeled his energy through the stone foundation. The MRA's readings climbed steadily as it measured his geological control.
His physical enhancement kicked in next, muscles flooding with supernatural strength. The combination created a synergy that made the device's crystal surface glow with amber light.
"E-rank earth manipulation with E-rank physical enhancement," an examiner noted. "Good synergy between powers, solid foundation for growth."
Jae-Wook stepped back, breathing hard but satisfied. He wasn't the strongest here, but he had potential. His parents had started somewhere too.
As he finished his test, he pulled out his phone and quickly typed: Passed stage two! Where did you go?
Tae-Min's Test
"Park Tae-Min, Station Seven."
Tae-Min approached his MRA with clinical precision, having already calculated the optimal power distribution for maximum efficiency. His electricity manipulation crackled to life around his hands—not wild lightning, but controlled arcs that danced between his fingers with mathematical precision.
He began with simple demonstrations. Steady electrical currents that powered the MRA's secondary systems. Then complexity—intricate patterns of lightning that required simultaneous control of voltage, amperage, and frequency.
The MRA recorded not just power, but the incredible efficiency of his mana usage. Where other students might exhaust themselves with flashy displays, Tae-Min achieved maximum results with minimum energy expenditure.
"E-rank power output, but look at that control rating," an examiner noted. "And his efficiency is off the charts. This student understands his abilities on a fundamental level."
But as Tae-Min looked around the chamber, seeing other students producing raw displays of power that seemed to dwarf his careful precision, doubt crept in. His test scores had always made him feel superior, but here, surrounded by students whose abilities blazed with raw intensity, he realized that intelligence alone might not be enough.
I need to push harder, he thought, watching a student at Station Three create a pillar of ice. Smarter isn't enough. I need to be stronger too.
Hye-Jin's Test
"Shin Hye-Jin, Station Two."
Hye-Jin's approach to the MRA was graceful, controlled—everything her parents expected her to be. But inside, pressure mounted like steam in a kettle.
She began with basic light manipulation, creating orbs of golden radiance that danced around the testing chamber. Beautiful, controlled, safe.
"More intensity, please," the examiner called.
Hye-Jin's light flared brighter, but she held back, terrified of losing control in front of so many witnesses. What if she blinded someone? What if she failed spectacularly and brought shame to her family?
"Miss Shin, we need to see your maximum output."
The family name, she reminded herself. Don't disgrace the family name.
She let her power surge, and the chamber filled with brilliant golden light that made everyone shield their eyes. The MRA's readings climbed steadily—far higher than the previous students.
"C-rank power output with excellent control," the examiner noted, clearly impressed. "Very strong foundation, Miss Shin."
She nodded politely, but inside, she wondered if being "strong" would be enough when the real challenges began.
So-Young's Test
"Lee So-Young, Station Nine."
So-Young approached her MRA with quiet determination, her anger at Min-Jun's abandonment still simmering beneath the surface. Her brother's mocking laughter echoed in her memory, mixed now with the hurt of being ignored by someone she'd trusted.
She placed her hands on the device and thought about every night she'd spent training in secret. Every time Do-Hyun had called her weak. Every moment she'd felt small and powerless. And now, the fresh sting of Min-Jun walking away when she'd called his name.
The anger she'd been suppressing all morning finally found its outlet.
Fire erupted from her hands—not the gentle flames she'd shown her friends, but a roaring inferno that made the air itself shimmer with heat. The MRA's crystal surface blazed white-hot as it struggled to contain and measure the sheer intensity of her output.
But this wasn't wild, uncontrolled fire. Every flame moved with precision, shifting colors and temperatures according to her will. Blue fire that could melt steel. White-hot plasma that could cut through stone. Gentle orange flames that wouldn't burn paper.
The entire chamber fell silent.
"Incredible," an examiner whispered. "Near B-rank power output with A-rank control. How did we miss this in her preliminary assessments?"
So-Young stepped back, her quiet demeanor unchanged despite the incredible display. But inside, she felt something she'd never experienced before: pride mixed with bitter satisfaction.
Let them all underestimate me, she thought. I don't need anyone else to be strong.
Stage Three: Team Combat Assessment
The final testing chamber was an arena, pure and simple. Reinforced walls, protective barriers for observers, and enough space for real combat. Multiple fighting rings allowed several team battles to proceed simultaneously.
"Stage Three," the head examiner announced, "will test your combat readiness, tactical thinking, and ability to work under pressure. You will be randomly assigned to teams of five and face academy instructors in simulated combat scenarios. This is not about winning—it's about demonstrating your potential as future heroes and your ability to work with others."
The friends found themselves separated, assigned to different teams with students they'd never met.
Jae-Wook's Team - Ring A
Jae-Wook found himself grouped with four strangers: a nervous boy with ice manipulation, a confident girl with telekinesis, a quiet student who could phase through solid objects, and an energetic kid whose power seemed to involve creating small explosions.
Their opponent was Instructor Kang, a mountain of a man with arms like tree trunks and a reputation for testing students' resolve. His power was kinetic absorption and redirection.
"Alright, team," Jae-Wook said, falling naturally into a leadership role. "He absorbs kinetic energy, so direct attacks won't work. We need to be smart about this."
The telekinetic girl, who introduced herself as Min-Seo, nodded. "I can move objects without kinetic impact if I'm careful. What about creating distractions?"
"I can get behind him," the phasing student, Hyun-Woo, added quietly.
"And I can create explosions that aren't direct impacts," the energetic kid, Dong-Su, grinned.
The ice manipulator, Jin-Ho, just nodded nervously.
When the battle began, Jae-Wook coordinated their assault. He used his earth manipulation to reshape the terrain, creating cover and vantage points. Min-Seo moved debris to block Kang's vision while Hyun-Woo phased through the floor to attack from unexpected angles.
"Good teamwork!" Kang called, deflecting Dong-Su's explosive attacks. "But you're still thinking too small!"
That's when Jae-Wook realized the real test wasn't about defeating the instructor—it was about leadership under pressure. He began calling out tactical adjustments, coordinating his team's abilities in ways that maximized their effectiveness.
This is what Mom and Dad would have done, he thought, remembering stories of their perfect coordination in battle.
By the end of the match, they hadn't won, but they'd worked together like a real hero team.
"Pass, all of you," Kang announced. "Jae-Wook, good leadership instincts. The rest of you, excellent adaptation to team dynamics."
Tae-Min's Team - Ring B
Tae-Min's team included a girl with plant manipulation, a boy who could create force fields, a student with enhanced senses, and another with minor gravity control.
Their instructor was Lee Sun-Mi, a speedster who specialized in testing students' ability to think under pressure.
"Speed isn't just about moving fast," she announced. "It's about thinking fast. Let's see how you adapt."
Tae-Min's analytical mind went into overdrive. The plant manipulator, Ye-Jin, could create obstacles. The force field user, Seung-Ho, could provide protection. The enhanced senses student, Mi-Young, could track the instructor's movements. The gravity manipulator, Woo-Jin, could slow her down.
"Ye-Jin, create a maze," Tae-Min called out, electricity crackling around his hands. "Seung-Ho, mobile barriers. Mi-Young, call out her position. Woo-Jin, gravity wells at the choke points."
His electricity wasn't powerful enough to stop the instructor directly, but he could use it to power the arena's systems, creating additional obstacles and advantages for his team.
"Impressive coordination," Instructor Lee noted as she navigated their increasingly complex battlefield. "You're using everyone's abilities to maximum effect."
Tae-Min felt a surge of confidence. This was what he was good at—not raw power, but tactical thinking and coordination. Maybe his test scores did matter after all, just not in the way he'd expected.
"Pass," Instructor Lee announced. "Tae-Min, excellent strategic thinking. Team, good execution under pressure."
Hye-Jin's Team - Ring C
Hye-Jin's team was a mix of personalities: a brash boy with super strength, a shy girl with healing abilities, a student who could manipulate sound waves, and another with minor time dilation powers.
Their instructor was Park Ji-Hoon, who specialized in psychological pressure and illusion-based attacks.
"Heroes don't just fight monsters," he announced as the match began. "They fight fear, doubt, and despair. Let's see how you handle that."
The arena filled with shadowy illusions—fake civilians in danger, phantom monsters, distorted versions of their own fears and insecurities.
Hye-Jin's light flickered as doubt crept in, but then she remembered her earlier realization. She didn't need to be perfect—she needed to be real.
"Everyone, stay close to my light," she called out, letting her radiance blaze brighter. "It'll burn away the illusions."
The super strength user, Kang-Dae, grinned. "Now we're talking!"
The healer, Su-Jin, stayed close to provide support. The sound manipulator, Joon-Ho, used his abilities to disrupt the instructor's concentration. The time dilation user, Hae-Won, slowed down the most dangerous illusions.
Hye-Jin's light became the anchor that held the team together, burning away fear and doubt with steady radiance.
This is what I'm meant to do, she realized. Not just shine, but be a beacon for others.
"Excellent," Instructor Park noted. "You've learned that leadership isn't about being perfect—it's about being a beacon others can follow."
"Pass, all of you. Hye-Jin, strong leadership under psychological pressure."
So-Young's Team - Ring D
So-Young found herself with perhaps the most challenging team: a student with water manipulation who seemed to clash with her fire abilities, a boy with earth powers who was overly aggressive, a girl with wind manipulation who wouldn't stop talking, and a quiet student whose power seemed to involve manipulating shadows.
Their instructor was Kim Tae-Sung, a veteran hero known for his ability to exploit team weaknesses and poor coordination.
"Fire and water, earth and wind," he mused as the match began. "Let's see if you can work together or if you'll tear each other apart."
The water manipulator, Soo-Min, immediately started complaining. "Great, I'm stuck with someone whose power cancels mine out."
The earth user, Byung-Ho, was already charging forward recklessly. The wind manipulator, Ae-Cha, was giving contradictory advice to everyone.
So-Young felt her anger rising—not at the instructor, but at her teammates' lack of coordination. The same anger she'd felt when Min-Jun had abandoned them, when her brother had mocked her, when everyone had underestimated her.
But then she remembered something from her secret training sessions: fire wasn't just about destruction. It could also bring people together.
"Stop," she said quietly, but her voice carried across the arena with surprising authority.
Small flames danced around her hands—not threatening, but warm and controlled.
"Soo-Min, steam," she said simply. "Your water, my heat. Byung-Ho, I can superheat your earth attacks. Ae-Cha, your wind can direct my flames. Dong-Min," she addressed the shadow manipulator, "you can hide our attacks until the last second."
What followed was a display of coordination that surprised everyone, including So-Young herself. Her fire became the catalyst that allowed all their abilities to work together—steam attacks, superheated earth projectiles, directed flame strikes, and shadow-concealed assaults.
I don't need Min-Jun, she realized with fierce satisfaction. I can lead just fine on my own.
"Remarkable," Instructor Kim noted. "You've turned a team of conflicting abilities into a coordinated unit. That's advanced tactical thinking."
"Pass, all of you. So-Young, exceptional leadership and creative problem-solving."
Aftermath
As the testing concluded and results were announced, the four friends found themselves in the facility's waiting area, all bearing the golden badges that marked them as academy acceptances.
"We did it," Jae-Wook said, still hardly believing it. "We actually did it."
"Of course we did," Tae-Min replied, though his usual cockiness was tempered by the day's lessons about the importance of teamwork over individual brilliance.
Hye-Jin glowed softly with genuine happiness—not the controlled radiance her parents expected, but real joy. "I can't believe how well the team combat went."
"You were amazing," So-Young said quietly. "All of you were."
But even as they celebrated, there was an empty space in their group. Someone who should have been there, sharing in their triumph.
"I still can't believe Min-Jun just left," Hye-Jin said. "He didn't even try to fight the equipment failure."
"That's not like him," Jae-Wook frowned. "Min-Jun never gives up on anything."
"Maybe he knew something we didn't," Tae-Min suggested. "Those orb explosions were pretty spectacular. What if it wasn't really equipment failure?"
So-Young's flames flickered around her fingers as she thought about their missing friend. The anger was still there, mixed with hurt and confusion.
"He made his choice," she said, her voice carrying an edge that surprised her friends. "When I tried to stop him, he just... walked away. Didn't even look back."
"You tried to stop him?" Jae-Wook asked.
"I called his name. Asked him not to leave. Told him we were supposed to stick together." So-Young's flames burned a little brighter. "He ignored me completely."
The group fell silent, processing this information.
"We should still check on him," Hye-Jin said finally. "Make sure he's okay."
Jae-Wook looked at his phone, seeing his earlier unanswered text. The response had come back: Went home. Good luck.
"He's fine," Jae-Wook said, though he didn't sound entirely convinced. "Just disappointed, probably."
"We'll tell him everything when we see him," Hye-Jin decided. "Every detail of the tests, what the academy is like, everything. Maybe he can try again next year."
We'll tell you everything later, Jae-Wook texted as they left the facility. Proud of you for trying.
As they gathered their things and prepared to head home, none of them could shake the feeling that something important had changed today. They'd all passed their tests, proven themselves worthy of the academy, discovered new depths to their own abilities.
But they'd also learned that the path forward would be more challenging than any of them had imagined. And they'd be walking it without their fifth member, the quiet boy who'd somehow always been the center that held their group together.
What they didn't know was that while they'd been proving themselves in controlled testing environments, Min-Jun had faced a real monster and saved a real life. Their tests had been about potential.
His had been about choice.
And in a car outside the facility, Director Yoon was making plans that would change all their lives forever.