The girl stood there for a moment, breathing hard, her fist still clenched. Dust settled around her like snow. She stared at her hand, turning it over slowly, like she was trying to figure out how she'd just pulverized a three-story golem with one punch.
Then she looked back over her shoulder at Hero.
Her eyes narrowed.
"Fuck you, pervert," she muttered.
And then she was gone.
Just launched herself into the air, a streak of light against the sky, flying off toward the horizon so fast she left a sonic boom in her wake. Within seconds, she was nothing but a distant speck.
Hero stood there, hand moving to his chest, his expression one of genuine confusion.
"What did she say 'fuck me' for?"
Gary cleared his throat awkwardly. "Probably because you looked up her skirt... sir."
Hero's head snapped toward him. "She is the one who—"
He stopped.
Groaned.
Sighed deeply, the kind of sigh that came from a place of profound exhaustion with the universe itself.
"Whatever."
He turned, surveying the wreckage around them—broken pavement, scattered golem chunks, the general chaos of what used to be a normal street.
Then his eyes landed on the car.
"So," Hero said, tilting his head slightly, "are you, like, a mechanic by any chance?"
Gary followed his gaze.
The car was destroyed.
The entire front end was compressed into something that barely resembled a vehicle anymore. The hood was crumpled like aluminum foil, folded back on itself at impossible angles. Both headlights were shattered, hanging by wires. The engine—what was left of it—was visible through the mangled metal, smoking and dripping fluids onto the street. The windshield was completely gone, just jagged edges of glass still clinging to the frame. One of the doors had somehow come off its hinges and was lying ten feet away. The tires were flat, rubber shredded.
It looked less like a car and more like abstract art titled "Regret."
Gary stared at it.
"I don't think that's fixable, sir."
Hero looked at the car.
Looked at Gary.
Back at the car.
"Yeah," he said flatly. "No shit." He paused, then added, "Learn about your sarcasms, Gary."
In the distance, sirens began to wail.
Hero inhaled.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Then a smile spread across his face—small at first, then growing, like someone who'd just realized they'd won the lottery.
"I guess I can't go to the academy then."
He started giggling. Quietly, under his breath, trying to contain it but failing miserably. His shoulders shook with barely suppressed laughter.
He turned and started walking away. Slowly. Casually. Like a man who'd just been handed a golden ticket out of responsibility.
"Can't you fly?"
Gary's voice cut through the moment like a knife.
Hero stopped.
His smile died instantly.
He turned back to Gary, his expression shifting from joy to pure, concentrated annoyance in half a second.
"You son of a—"
He inhaled again. Deep. Controlled. The kind of breath meant to prevent murder.
Then exhaled.
"I'm gonna get you fired one day."
He raised his hand and snapped his fingers.
SNAP.
His eyes ignited—blue light flaring bright, those strange symbols spinning across his irises like clockwork.
The air in front of him tore.
Not ripped. Not opened. Tore. Like reality was made of fabric and someone had just taken scissors to it. A line of pure darkness appeared, vertical, thin—and then it expanded. The edges peeled back, revealing... nothing. Not blackness. Not void. Just absence. A hole in the world that didn't belong.
The tear widened, growing until it was tall enough to walk through, wide enough for a person to pass.
Hero looked back at Gary one last time.
And gave him the finger.
Then he stepped through.
Hero stepped through the portal.
The tear in reality sealed behind him instantly, space stitching itself back together with a soft whisper of displaced air.
He took one step forward—
And nearly walked straight into someone.
"AH!"
The person—a guy, maybe sixteen, with bright green hair and way too many piercings—let out a startled yelp that cracked halfway through.
Then he disintegrated.
Not violently. Just... came apart. His body broke into hundreds—no, thousands—of tiny versions of himself, each one the size of a thumb, all screaming in tiny high-pitched voices. They scattered like startled insects, running in every direction across the pavement, bumping into each other, tripping over Hero's shoes.
Hero looked down.
A cluster of mini-hims were scrambling over his sneakers, their tiny faces twisted in panic.
He stared at them for a second.
Then stepped over them and kept walking.
The tiny versions continued their chaos behind him, gradually reforming into a shaking, full-sized person who was now sitting on the ground, hyperventilating.
Hero ignored him.
His eyes lifted.
And there it was.
Sterling Hero Academy.
The gate alone was massive—towering structures of reinforced steel and something that shimmered like liquid light, standing at least fifty feet tall. They weren't just gates; they were monuments. Intricate designs were carved into the metal—images of heroes in action, battles frozen in time, symbols from a dozen different cultures and eras. The gates hummed with energy, a low, steady thrum that you could feel in your chest.
Beyond the gates, the academy sprawled like a small city.
Buildings stretched toward the sky—some sleek and modern, all glass and chrome that reflected the afternoon sun in blinding flashes. Others were older, classical architecture mixed with futuristic upgrades, stone columns supporting structures that floated without visible support. Domes. Towers. Arenas that looked like coliseums redesigned by someone who thought physics was a suggestion.
One building rotated slowly on its axis, each floor turning independently.
Another had walls made entirely of water, held in place by some kind of force field, fish swimming lazily through translucent corridors.
A third building wasn't touching the ground at all—it hovered, tethered by chains of pure light.
Training grounds sprawled between the structures—obstacle courses that defied geometry, arenas with surfaces that shifted and changed, entire sections that looked like they'd been pulled from different environments. A desert. A frozen tundra. A volcanic wasteland. All contained, controlled, side by side.
The place was massive. You could fit entire neighborhoods inside the academy grounds and still have room left over. Streets—if you could call them that—wove between buildings, some paved, others hovering like ribbons of solid light.
And the people.
God, the people.
They were everywhere.
Students walked through the gates in groups, laughing, talking, arguing. Some wore uniforms—variations of the same basic design but customized in a thousand different ways. Others wore combat gear, training clothes, casual outfits that still somehow screamed hero in training.
But it wasn't just humans.
A girl with crystalline skin refracted light as she passed, leaving rainbows in her wake. A guy made entirely of shifting shadows slipped through the crowd, his form flickering like a candle flame. Something with way too many arms juggled textbooks while walking. A student who looked like they were made of living stone lumbered past, each step leaving cracks in the pavement.
Above, people flew.
Some with wings—feathered, leathery, mechanical. Others with jetpacks, hoverboards, or nothing at all, just flying because they could. A group of students zipped past on what looked like surfboards made of pure energy, laughing as they weaved between buildings.
Someone slithered past Hero's feet—an actual person whose lower body was a serpent's tail, scales gleaming iridescent green. They moved fast, navigating the crowd with ease, chatting with a friend who walked beside them on legs made of flickering flame.
A drone zipped overhead, projecting a holographic schedule in mid-air. Another followed, this one carrying someone's lunch order.
Near the gate, a vendor had set up a floating cart, selling what looked like glowing energy drinks and snacks that defied description. A student with six eyes examined the options while their friend—a literal cloud with a face—hovered beside them, debating flavors.
The sounds were overwhelming. Conversations in a dozen languages. Laughter. Shouts. The hum of powers being used casually—electricity crackling, fire whooshing, ice crystallizing. The distant boom of something exploding in one of the training arenas. Music blasting from somewhere, a mix of genres that shouldn't work together but somehow did.
The air itself felt different here. Charged. Alive. Like the entire place was breathing with potential.
This wasn't just a school.
This was where the next generation of heroes was forged.
This was where legends were born.
This was the last place Hero Sterling wanted to be.
He stood there, hands in his pockets, staring at the gate, at the sprawling impossible city beyond it, at the future everyone expected him to be part of.
He sighed.
Long.
Deep.
Resigned.
"The academy."