The thing about elite hero academies?
You expect flair.
A floating welcome sign. A firework shaped like your initials. At the very least, someone vaguely excited that you bothered to show up.
Zach got a clipboard and a hallway that smelled like bleach.
The staff assistant didn't look up from her tablet. Her voice was flatter than a failing EKG.
"Name."
"Zach."
She waited.
"Last name?"
He shrugged. "Just Zach."
That earned him a single glance. One second of eye contact. He smiled. She didn't. Just tapped something into her screen like she was already regretting the interaction.
"Specialization?"
"Being inconvenient."
No laugh. No twitch. She handed him a packet and waved vaguely toward the hallway behind her like she was directing traffic.
He walked that way, each step a little less hopeful than the last. The marble tile gave up around corner three. Linoleum followed. Then concrete. One of the overhead lights buzzed like it was saying something in Morse code . Somewhere between the second vending machine and a door that looked like it had been kicked more than opened, he found it.
D-Class Quarters.
The sign was peeling. The plaque was duct taped. He stared at it a beat too long, then pushed the door open.
No fanfare. No congratulations. Just two metal bunks, a cracked window, and the distinct scent of something that had once been food and died bitterly.
Zach dropped his bag onto the nearest mattress. The springs groaned like they had something to say. The ceiling had a chunk missing in the corner—exposing concrete and a spiderweb collecting dust instead of bugs. The fan was tilted. The bulb near the door flickered like it was signaling for help.
He stood up, took a slow lap. One cabinet, hinge busted. One dented desk, carved with initials and stained with what was probably gum, definitely regret. The window was sealed shut. Not stuck—sealed. For safety. Or punishment.
He lifted the rug near the door.
Concrete. Dust. A bottle cap. One crushed pencil. A stain that said someone had either bled or puked there and the floor never forgot.
So this was D-Class.
A supply closet with beds. A dumping ground for students who had just enough potential to be ignored.
Zach straightened, walked over to the fan, tried adjusting it. The thing rattled like it wanted to fall and sue. He let go and pretended he hadn't touched it. Found a broom in the corner. Swept the worst of the dirt into a pile. Took the cabinet door off entirely just to feel like he'd accomplished something.
By the time he'd convinced himself this room could maybe pass as livable, the door creaked open.
Four strangers walked in at once. No harmony. No order. Just noise, boots, and energy.
Zach didn't stand.
He figured if he looked like he belonged long enough, someone might believe it.
The first one through was a girl—tall, long dark purple hair, eyes like sharpened steel. Her uniform was flawless. Not a wrinkle. She looked at the room like she was calculating how mant ways to slam someone through the walls No words. Just a nod, and she claimed the bunk by the window like she'd already assessed every angle of attack.
The second one brought the volume. Blonde pigtails tipped pink, sunglasses indoors, jacket tied at the waist like even her uniform didn't get to boss her around. "Yikes," she said, scanning the place. "This room screams tetanus."
She dropped her bag on the top bunk above his, popped gum into her mouth, and winked at Zach like they were already co-conspirators.
The third one entered half-buried in gear. Drones. Wires. A busted toolbox. Medium height, messy hair, goggles pushed to his forehead, grease on his sleeves like it came with the uniform. "This is gonna be a fire hazard," he mumbled. Then spotted an outlet and lit up. "Correction: beautiful fire hazard."
He dumped his stuff in the corner. Didn't pick a bed. Just started sorting tech.
The last one stepped in quiet. Taller than the rest. Lean. Dark skin. A hand-carved beetle charm around his neck. His eyes scanned everything—the walls, the floor, them. Gloves with the fingertips cut off. Scratches on the knuckles.
Didn't say a word.
Just nodded, unpacked with movements so precise it felt like a ritual.
That was it. Room full.
Four strangers. One wrecked dorm. No instructions.
Zach leaned back on his bunk and sighed.
"Guess it's gonna be a fun year."
Silence stretched. Just the sound of bags unzipping. Metal clinking. The ceiling fan wheezing like it was begging for death.
He watched them.
The purple-haired one folded her uniform jacket like she was inspecting it for rank. Not a wasted motion. No sound. The kind of serious that made clipboards fear for their lives.
The blonde flopped onto the top bunk, boots kicked off in random directions. Wild card energy.
Tech guy mumbled to his tools and hadn't acknowledged a single other person. Definitely spoke drone fluently. People, not so much.
Bug guy clasped his hands behind his back like he was cataloging a terrarium he might one day rule.
And Zach?
Zach waited for someone to blink first.
It didn't take long.
The blonde stretched with a dramatic groan. "Okay, are we doing the silent prison cell thing, or are we gonna talk like ya know people?"
"So," she said, stretching with a groan, "are we gonna talk, or are we committing to the whole silent prison-cell vibe?"
No one answered.
She sat up, clapped her hands once, and grinned like she was about to cause a scene on purpose. "Okay, new game: name, Aspect, subclass. Don't be weird about it."
Elle didn't even look up. "Why?"
"Because I like to know what I'm working with. In case one of you turns out to be secretly explosive."
A pause. Then, surprisingly, Elle answered.
"Elle Tamsin. Aspect of Water. Subclass: Bubbles. Compression and directional burst."
She raised her hand, palm up. A single bubble shimmered into existence—perfectly round, floating weightless.
It popped with a sharp snap, sending a wind burst strong enough to ruffle Zach's hair and knock over Sato's screwdriver.
"Neat," Zach said.
Mika gave a low whistle. "Remind me not to call you cute in close range."
"Noted," Elle replied, already reaching for her notebook.
Mika pointed at herself. "Mika Korin. Aspect of Light, Subclass: Body Projection. I don't move at light speed or teleport or anything, but I can project light from myself. Bright enough to blind. Hot enough to sizzle."
She raised one hand and pulsed her palm—light spilled out in a flash that made Derrin flinch.
Sato sighed next. "Sato. Aspect of Tech. Subclass: Drone Sync. I link with machines. My drones think because I do. Control range: fifty meters. Processing power: better than most of you."
"Thanks for the warm welcome," Zach muttered.
Derrin spoke last, calm and even. "Derrin. Aspect of Beast. Subclass: Bug. Short-range control. They listen. They scout. They defend."
A beetle crawled across his knuckles like it was responding to his voice.
Mika leaned closer. "Can they attack?"
"Yes."
"…Hot."
Then it was Zach's turn. Five pairs of eyes, five different kinds of curiosity.
He pushed himself upright, stretched, and gave them his best lazy smile. "Zach. Aspect of Summoning. Subclass: Basic Sword."
"Basic as in…?" Mika tilted her head.
"Exactly what it sounds like."
He raised his hand and summoned it. A dull shimmer. A simple blade—not glowing, not special. He flipped it once, then let it vanish.
"That's it?" she asked.
"Yep."
"No fire? No secret transformations?"
"Nope."
"…Still kinda hot," she muttered.
"I get that a lot."
The room settled after that. Not peaceful—just functional.
Sato pulled out another drone and started calibrating its sensors. Derrin opened a book titled Invertebrate Structure and Social Systems. Elle tied her hair back into a perfect ponytail and resumed writing. Mika laid back and started tossing gummy worms at the ceiling like she was trying to feed the fan.
Zach sat cross-legged on the floor, back to the bunk, listening to the faint hum of the power systems running somewhere behind the walls.
It wasn't warm.
It wasn't home.
But it wasn't silent either.
The intercom crackled overhead.
"All first-year students report to the main courtyard for orientation. Repeat: All first-year students to the courtyard. Now."
Mika rolled off her bed with a groan. "Well. Time to go be ignored by professionals."
Zach stood, dusted himself off, and slung his sword across his back.
Welcome to Halcyon Academy.
Where the bottom didn't even get a floor—just concrete and a lack of expectations.