The silence in the wake of my power display was a heavier burden than any bully's taunt. It was the silence of shattered expectations, of a paradigm violently shifted. I stood amidst the wreckage of the training dummies, the crater from my palm-strike seeming to pulse with a quiet, menacing energy. The stares were no longer curious or pitying; they were wary, analytical, and in some cases, deeply fearful.
Proctor Vance's cybernetic eye had barely stopped whirring. She finally cleared her throat, the sound unnaturally loud in the hush. "The power display is concluded. All examinees, form a single line for final processing."
As the others shuffled into formation, the murmurs started up again, a hive of speculation buzzing around me. I felt a light touch on my arm. Isis stood there, her emerald eyes wide, searching my face for some trace of the boy she'd known.
"Ark… what was that?" she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "That wasn't just… training. That was…" She struggled for the word.
[PSIONIC RESIDUE DETECTED: CONFUSION, APPREHENSION, CONCERN.] the System reported dispassionately.
"It's me, Isis," I said, my voice low and steady. It was the truth, but not the one she wanted. "It's just a different kind of power."
Before she could respond, Jaxon shouldered his way over, his usual boisterousness tempered into stunned respect. "Buddy! That was insane! You moved like… like a ghost! And that punch! No flame, no energy, just… bam! A crater!" He mimicked the motion, his own pyrokinetic energy flickering unconsciously around his fist. "I knew you had something in you!"
His enthusiasm was a stark contrast to Isis's troubled silence. He saw only the cool factor, the raw effectiveness. Isis, with her telepathic sensitivity, felt the cold, clinical intent behind it.
The line moved forward towards a table where officials were handing out sleek, matte-black smartwatches. As I approached, Proctor Vance fixed me with her dual-eyed gaze.
"Greystone. A word."
I stepped slightly aside from the line. The buzzing in the gymnasium seemed to hush around us.
"Your biometrics are an anomaly. Your display was… unclassifiable," she stated, her tone flat. "It demonstrates Alpha-level control and destructive potential, but the source is undocumented. The committee will need to review your placement."
This was the moment. The attention was a spotlight I couldn't afford, not while I was still understanding the System. The old Ark would have meekly accepted whatever they decided. The new Ark calculated.
"I understand, Proctor," I said, injecting a carefully measured note of humility into my voice. "The display was… intensive. It took everything I had. To be honest, I'm not sure I could replicate it consistently. Given the uncertainty, and to avoid any… disruption… I would like to request placement in the Beta Class."
The System provided no commentary on deception, only on physiological control, ensuring my heartbeat remained steady, my pupils didn't dilate with the lie.
Proctor Vance's human eyebrow twitched upwards in surprise. No one ever requested a lower placement. Her cybernetic eye scanned me, no doubt checking for signs of insincerity. It would find none.
"A prudent, if unusual, request," she conceded after a long moment. "It will be noted. However, the final decision rests with the Academy Director after the entrance ceremony. Collect your gear."
I nodded and moved to the table, receiving my smartwatch. It was cool and heavy on my wrist. As I fastened the clasp, the screen lit up, displaying my name and a temporary ID photo—the old, nervous Ark. The data was sparse. NAME: GREYSTONE, ARK. CLASS: [PENDING]. ALLOWANCE: CR 1,000.
A thousand Credits. A month's stipend for simply being here. It was more money than I'd ever had at once. The other data fields—Course Schedule, Dorm Assignment, Rank—were all blank, waiting for the final verdict.
We were herded out of the gymnasium and into the heart of the Valerium Hero Academy campus. The transition was jarring. We left the sterile, functional testing areas and entered a world of breathtaking grandeur. Soaring arches of white alloy and blue crystal framed walkways that hovered over tranquil koi ponds. Holographic banners depicting legendary heroes fluttered in a simulated breeze. The air itself was cleaner, scented with ozone and the faint, floral aroma from genetically engineered blossoms that glowed with soft, internal light.
Students in crisp uniforms of black and silver, marked with either the Alpha symbol (a stylized 'A' wreathed in a sunburst) or the Beta symbol (a 'B' enclosed in a gear), moved with purpose. They glanced at our disheveled, civilian-clad group with a mixture of nostalgia and superiority. I saw a few Alphas demonstrating minor powers—a girl tracing patterns in the water of a fountain with hydrokinesis, a boy levitating a few inches off the ground as he read from a data-slate.
The social hierarchy was already starkly visible. The Alphas walked with a innate confidence, their conversations louder, their space unquestioned. The Betas moved in tighter groups, their demeanour more focused, less ostentatious.
We entered the Grand Athenaeum, the venue for the entrance ceremony. It was a colossal, circular auditorium with tiers of seating rising towards a domed ceiling that displayed a real-time holographic map of the known Gateways and their threat levels. The seats were filling with hundreds of new students, their murmurs creating a low thunder. At the front was a raised stage, and behind it, a massive, backlit seal of the Academy.
I found a seat near the back, deliberately choosing an isolated spot. The System automatically mapped the exits, calculated sightlines, and identified potential threats in the crowd. Brody and his cronies were a dozen rows down, glowering. Tom Poland, the newly-minted Alpha, was surrounded by a group of students already vying for his attention. Isis and Jaxon sat together further forward, a bubble of Alpha radiance. And Athena Knight… she sat alone, a silver-haired island of silence in the rising sea of noise, her sword propped against her seat. Her gaze was fixed ahead, seemingly oblivious to everything.
The lights dimmed, and a hush fell over the Athenaeum. A figure walked onto the stage, and his presence commanded absolute attention. He was an older man, his hair silver, his face lined with experience and authority. He wore a simple, elegant grey uniform, but on his chest, he bore no Alpha or Beta symbol. Instead, he wore a small, platinum pin of the Academy seal. This was Director Sterling Thorne, a man whose name was synonymous with the modern hero system.
"Welcome," his voice boomed, without the need for amplification. It was a voice used to giving orders that saved cities. "Welcome to Valerium Hero Academy. You are the best and brightest of your generation, the shield against the chaos that bleeds from the Otherworlds. You have passed the entrance exam. But passing the exam is not the goal. It is the barest minimum requirement for the burden you now seek to carry."
He paused, his eyes, sharp and discerning, sweeping over the sea of young faces.
"Look around you. You see familiar faces, and you see strangers. You see those you perceive as stronger, and those you perceive as weaker. This Academy is built on a foundation of order. That order is defined by the class system: Alpha and Beta."
A wave of tension passed through the crowd. This was it.
"Your initial placement is based on our assessment of your control, potential, and power source. It is not, I repeat, not, a final judgment on your worth." He let that hang in the air for a moment. "It is a starting point. A designation to streamline your training and manage resources. Alpha-class students will focus on large-scale threat neutralization, leadership, and advanced combat applications. Beta-class students will excel in specialized support, tactical analysis, tech integration, and team-based operations."
I could feel the divide solidify in the room. The Alphas sat a little taller. The Betas, a little more resigned.
"However," Director Thorne's voice sharpened, "stagnation is the enemy of progress. Therefore, the Academy operates on a principle of meritocratic competition."
He gestured, and a large holographic display activated above him, illustrating the rules.
"Intra-class challenges are permitted and encouraged. An Alpha may challenge another Alpha to a sanctioned duel to settle disputes or establish hierarchy. A Beta may challenge a Beta. These are to be conducted in designated arenas with proctor oversight."
Nods and murmurs of understanding. This was expected.
"But what of the line between the classes?" he asked, a subtle challenge in his tone. "Can a Beta surpass an Alpha? Can determination and ingenuity overcome raw power?"
The hologram shifted, displaying the image of a grand, coliseum-like arena.
"Once a year, we hold the Clash of Heroes, an institution-wide tournament. It is there that the lines blur. It is there that a Beta-ranked student may formally challenge an Alpha-ranked student. And…" he paused for dramatic effect, "if the Beta is victorious, they will not only earn tournament glory… they will instantly switch classes with the defeated Alpha."
A gasp rippled through the Athenaeum. My own breath caught. This changed everything. It was a pressure valve and a brutal motivator all in one. A Beta with ambition now had a clear, if difficult, path upward. An Alpha with complacency had everything to lose.
The implications for me were profound. My request for Beta class was no longer just a hiding place; it could be a strategic positioning.
"The Clash of Heroes is the great equalizer," Thorne continued. "It is where legends are born and hierarchies are shattered. Train for it. Strive for it."
He then delivered the final, crushing blow to Beta aspirations.
"Your class upon graduation determines your future. Graduate as an Alpha, and you will be fast-tracked into a full Hero license, granted leadership of your own team, and entrusted with the defense of humanity at its most vulnerable fronts."
He leaned forward, his expression grim.
"Graduate as a Beta, and you will enter the world as a Sidekick. You will serve under a full Hero. Your actions will be theirs to command. Your glory will be reflected. Your life will be in their hands."
The silence that followed was absolute. The weight of those words—Hero and Sidekick—settled over the Beta students like a physical shroud. I saw shoulders slump. I saw jaws tighten. The social ladder wasn't just about schoolyard status; it was a blueprint for the rest of our lives.
For the first time, I saw a crack in Jaxon's confident facade. The idea of being anyone's sidekick was anathema to him. Isis looked contemplative, no doubt calculating the psychological dynamics of such a relationship.
"And so, we begin," Director Thorne said, his voice softening marginally. "Your class assignments have been uploaded to your academy watches. Your dormitories and schedules are active. Your journey starts now. Make yourselves worthy of the legacy you seek to inherit."
The hologram vanished. The lights brightened. A collective exhalation filled the hall, followed by a frantic rustling as hundreds of students looked down at their wrists.
A symphony of chimes and beeps echoed as the watches updated. I looked down at my own.
The screen refreshed.
NAME: GREYSTONE, ARK.
CLASS: BETA.
DORM: BETA WING, ROOM 734.
ALLOWANCE: CR 1,000.
A wave of relief, cold and calculated, washed over me. They had granted my request. I was officially a Beta. I was beneath notice, a face in the crowd. The perfect camouflage.
[OBJECTIVE ACHIEVED: LOW-PROFILE PLACEMENT CONFIRMED.]
[NEW DATA: 'CLASH OF HEROES' TOURNAMENT IDENTIFIED AS PRIMARY PATH FOR RANK ADVANCEMENT.]
I looked up, scanning the crowd. I saw Brody scowling at his watch, no doubt seeing the 'BETA' designation he feared. I saw Tom Poland looking stunned and thrilled at his 'ALPHA' status. I saw Isis and Jaxon, their screens undoubtedly glowing with the same prestigious classification, sharing a look of mutual, triumphant relief.
Then, my gaze fell on Athena Knight. She was already standing, her watch glanced at and dismissed. Her expression was unreadable. But as she turned to leave, her frosty grey eyes swept across the crowd and, for a fleeting second, locked with mine. There was no warmth, no camaraderie. But there was a spark of something—acknowledgment. She had seen my display. She knew the power that lurked behind the Beta designation. And in that look, I saw a silent challenge, a promise that our paths would cross again, not as classmates, but as something else entirely.
As the crowd began to disperse, buzzing with animated conversation about classes, dorms, and the shocking revelation of the tournament, I remained seated for a moment longer. The hum of the departing students, the flickering holograms, the weight of the watch on my wrist—it all felt surreal.
I was in. I was a Beta. A sidekick-in-training.
But as I stood and melted into the stream of students heading for the Beta dormitories, a cold, hard certainty settled in my gut. The Assassin System wasn't designed for a supporting role. It was a weapon meant for the shadows, a tool for a singular, decisive purpose.
The Director had spoken of Heroes and Sidekicks.
The System, now silently running its diagnostics in the periphery of my vision, had a different classification for me.
[DIRECTIVE UPDATED: ASSIMILATE. ADAPT. ASCEND.]
The game was on. And I was the wild card no one had seen coming.