The summer mist had cleared.
It was the first day of August, and the gates of Bjørnevika Hero Academy stood tall and shining beneath the golden morning sun. Emblazoned with the academy crest—a silver mountain crossed by a sword and flame—the gates loomed not as a warning, but as an invitation.
To most students, it meant opportunity.
To Laurick Andersson, it meant something much heavier.
He stood just beyond the front walk, wearing the new school uniform—navy with black trim, sleeves slightly long on him. The Dreamcatcher device rested snugly inside his collar, its glow subtle beneath the fabric.
His backpack hung lightly from one shoulder, but the weight he carried was internal.
Behind his still expression, the whispers of the Nightmare Monsters were quiet—watching.
Waiting.
Within the school grounds, mops squeaked against polished tile.
Pringelina, now known to most staff only as "Ms. Lina," wheeled her janitorial cart toward the east wing. Her uniform was oversized, her movements slow and ordinary.
But her eyes never missed a detail.
Especially when they landed on Laurick stepping through the gate from across the courtyard.
She froze for just a second—something bitter flickering behind her gaze.
So close.
But she wasn't alone.
Two shadows stepped into view behind her.
Tall, relaxed, and unmistakably alert.
Roald Ingvar Ingness, broad-shouldered with salt-and-pepper hair tied in a low knot, leaned against a windowpane casually. His palm rested on the handle of a nearby mop.
His quirk—Weight Palm—could instantly increase or decrease the weight of any object or person he touched with his open hand. From featherlight to crushing.
"You keep lookin' like that, Lina," he said with a chuckle, "someone's gonna mop you into detention."
Beside him, lounging against the hallway railing, was the younger and wirier Øivind Martinsen, half-smiling as he tossed a coin in the air and whistled absentmindedly.
His quirk—Pull Tune—made anything or anyone he looked at fall toward him when he whistled. Subtle. Terrifyingly effective.
"Eyes up, Ms. Lina," Øivind said cheerfully. "We're all here to help the youth. Not relive our old grudges, yeah?"
The air between them wasn't tense—it was clinical. Controlled. They weren't cruel.
Just capable.
And she knew it.
"I'm just doing my job," Pringelina replied, forcing a smile.
Roald tapped his temple. "Good. Keep it that way."
Outside – Academy Entrance
Laurick passed through the gate, head low.
He hadn't made eye contact with anyone yet, but he could already feel it—the stares, the hesitation, the weight of whispers waiting to bloom.
Some students already knew who he was.
Others only knew rumors.
But all would find out.
And as the school bell rang out through the misty morning air, echoing across the fjordside valley—
Laurick stepped into his second chance.
Whether the world was ready or not.
The interior halls of Bjørnevika Hero Academy were lined with shimmering banners bearing school values in bold lettering—Courage, Discipline, Compassion, Power with Control. Each footstep echoed with purpose, with pride.
But when Laurick Andersson reached the bulletin board listing class assignments, his name wasn't among the general first-year students.
Instead, it was printed on a separate page, tacked slightly below the others:
Special Quirk Development Class (S.Q.D.C)
Room 3-B – East Wing
Laurick stared at it quietly.
He'd expected something like this.
He'd lived his entire life either under restriction or under suspicion—why would his schooling be any different?
But he wasn't the only one.
There were five other names listed beneath his.
The Special Quirk Development Class was a program introduced only in recent years—quietly, without ceremony. It wasn't a punishment, nor a demotion. It was designed for students whose quirks either posed inherent danger, required excessive support, or had abnormal development patterns.
Each student assigned to it had potential.
But they needed guidance to be safe—for others, and themselves.
Inside Room 3-B
The classroom was modest—thicker walls, reinforced floors, and strategically placed sensor arrays that glowed faintly when certain quirks flared. The windows were layered with protective glass and rune inlays.
Laurick stepped inside.
A teacher's desk stood at the front, still unoccupied.
Several desks had already been claimed.
One of them sat nearest the window: a boy with pale skin, clean-cut hair, and dark-lensed goggles covering his eyes. He sat perfectly straight, fingers folded in his lap.
Even without moving, he exuded awareness.
"You're the new one."
His voice was calm. Collected. Not cold—but cautious.
Laurick nodded.
"Laurick. Andersson."
"I know," the boy replied simply.
He didn't look at Laurick—not because he was rude.
But because he couldn't.
"My name is Alrik Vagle. I was born blind. No optic nerves. Doesn't bother me."
Laurick blinked, caught off guard by the matter-of-fact tone.
"How do you… see?"
Alrik gave a faint smile. "I don't. And I don't need to."
He adjusted the thick black band wrapped over his eyes.
"My quirk is Violet Laser Eyes. I emit a focused stream of radiation when I open my eyes. High output. High precision. High risk."
Laurick looked closer—and noticed the desk Alrik sat at had two charred marks near the edges.
"So you never open them?"
"Not if I want the walls to stay standing," Alrik said.
A beat.
Then he added:
"But if I ever do open my eyes… I never miss."
Laurick slowly made his way to an empty seat near the back, processing what kind of class this really was.
Five other students.
Each a risk.
Each a potential danger if left unchecked.
Just like him.
But perhaps… also like him, each one wanted more than to be feared.
They wanted to be heroes.
Even if the path ahead would be harder than anyone else's.
The Special Quirk Development Class – Room 3-B was quiet as Laurick Andersson and Alrik Vagle sat in their seats. The energy in the room wasn't tense—just cautious. Focused.
Laurick watched the door.
One by one, the others arrived.
The Third to Enter
The door slid open with a soft hiss, and a girl with vibrant red hair stepped through, a casual, confident aura trailing behind her like embers on the wind. Her uniform jacket was unzipped, her eyes sharp, warm-toned, and alert.
She took a long look at the room, nodded to no one in particular, and sat near the window, stretching out one arm and cracking her knuckles with a lazy grin.
"Name's Ragna Tryggeson," she announced casually. "My quirk's called Creative Combustion."
As she spoke, her body subtly shimmered—her skin giving off faint trails of heat.
"I go into something like a second mode. Boosts my agility, lets me manipulate flames in very creative ways."
She leaned forward, lowering her voice.
"But if I stay in that mode too long, my heart rate goes off the charts. I've… collapsed before. Burned too much oxygen, passed out mid-air."
She winked at Laurick.
"That's why I'm here. 'Special' class. Yay me."
The Fourth to Enter
A tall, lean boy entered next—his uniform impeccable, posture upright, expression unreadable.
His skin had a strange iridescent sheen, as if it didn't always want to stay in one texture. One hand bore reptilian scales, the other had elongated fingers with slightly claw-like nails.
He moved with a quiet confidence.
"Leiv Olai Henningsen," he said with a voice like cold water. "My quirk is simply called Mutation."
He took his seat and folded his hands neatly.
"It mutates me. Continuously. Based on instinct, exposure, mood. Sometimes useful. Sometimes painful. Sometimes… disturbing."
He looked at Laurick and Ragna.
"I'm here because no one knows where it stops."
The Fifth to Enter
The door creaked open again.
In walked a girl with long black hair that shimmered violet at the edges when it caught the light. Her uniform was perfectly ironed, shoes spotless. She walked like she didn't want to disturb the air.
Her face was striking—gorgeous, gentle, and graceful—but her eyes held a distant melancholy.
She looked at no one.
Said nothing.
Sat down in the desk beside Laurick without a word.
Ragna leaned over and whispered to Laurick, "That's Oda Mørk. Careful with her."
"Her quirk's called Cursed Voice. If she says anything—anything at all—the word gets turned into a curse. Even if it's just 'hello.' So… she doesn't talk."
Laurick felt a pang of emotion settle in his chest. The way Oda carried herself—delicate but composed—stirred something soft and unexpected in him.
He quickly looked away, heart thudding.
The Sixth to Enter
The last student walked in, eyes heavy-lidded, shoulders hunched.
Short blond hair, blue eyes, and a hoarse rasp to every breath he took.
He wore his uniform like it annoyed him, collar tugged slightly down, sleeves rolled up. But there was something in his aura—a storm tightly bottled.
He didn't speak. He didn't introduce himself.
But Ragna filled the silence.
"That's Sigve Lund. You don't wanna be around when his quirk goes off."
Laurick watched him take a seat at the back, quiet, distant.
"They call it Destruct Field. His body builds up volatile energy when he's emotionally unstable. If he talks too loud, if he screams…"
She trailed off.
"He doesn't. Not anymore."
Laurick looked around the room.
Six seats. Six stories. Six students with quirks that demanded caution.
And yet… he felt something stirring in the air. A sense of possibility.
A strange kind of belonging.
But even here—where silence met blindness, where mutation met flames, where fear met fragility—
they were all here to become heroes.
For several minutes, Room 3-B was filled with quiet tension.
The six students sat in their places, either staring forward, stealing glances at one another, or looking anywhere but at each other. Laurick sat with his arms folded, trying not to appear nervous—but his eyes kept drifting sideways.
To Oda Mørk.
She sat still as stone beside him, her hands folded neatly on the desk. Her gaze was soft, fixed on the board, but every so often her eyes shifted—reading the space around her like poetry only she could understand.
Laurick had felt danger before. Pain. Guilt. Pressure.
But this was something else entirely.
It wasn't a Nightmare Monster whispering in his head. It wasn't a villain tracking him.
It was just a girl sitting silently.
And it left him speechless.
Finally, summoning the smallest spark of courage, he pulled a small notepad from his bag, tore off a sheet, and scribbled a quick message.
Hi. I'm Laurick.
It's nice to meet you.
He slid the note across the table gently, as if afraid even the paper might disturb her.
Oda glanced down at it. Her fingers hovered just above the edge, then gracefully pulled it toward her.
She didn't smile. But her eyes softened.
Then she slowly reached into her own satchel, pulled out a fine-tipped black pen, and carefully wrote beneath his message:
I know who you are.
I'm glad you're here.
Laurick felt his chest tighten. He didn't know if it was fear, flattery, or something far more unfamiliar.
Before he could write a reply—
The door opened.
Heavy boots. Confident footsteps.
Their teacher had arrived.
A tall man in his mid-forties stepped into the room, short silver hair swept to the side, wearing a sharp uniform coat half-buttoned over a tactical undersuit. A wide scar ran down the side of his neck to his collarbone, and his dark blue eyes scanned the room like a commander entering a war room.
This was Harald Storstein.
And despite the name, his quirk had nothing to do with stone.
"Good. You're early. That's rare in this room."
He set a heavy binder down on the front desk and leaned against it, arms crossed.
"Name's Storstein. But don't get clever. I'm not strong because I'm built like rock—"
He raised his right hand.
"—I'm strong because my quirk is Field Lock. I can generate short-range quirk-neutralizing field that override or mute your quirk entirely—temporarily, and forcibly."
He looked directly at Sigve, whose eyes narrowed slightly.
"Yes, even yours. Especially yours."
He turned to the rest of the class.
"You're all here because someone thought you were either too dangerous, too unstable, or too broken to join a standard class."
A long pause.
"They're right."
No one moved.
Then he walked slowly across the room.
"But that doesn't mean you can't become heroes."
His tone softened just slightly.
"It just means your path's longer. Your grip's tighter. Your failures louder. And your victories—if you earn them—will carry more weight than most people could handle."
He stopped in the center.
"You six are the S.Q.D.C. That's not a label. That's a challenge. I will push you until you break—so you learn how to hold yourself together."
He gestured to the room, and the reinforced windows shimmered faintly with runic symbols.
"This space is where we fail, recover, and fail again until you learn control. No hero agency will accept you as you are."
His eyes locked briefly with Laurick's.
"And some of you already know what happens when control is lost."
Silence followed.
Until he clapped his hands once, sharply.
"Suit up. Test drills begin in ten."
"Welcome to your second chance."