Here's my new story, hope you all enjoy I'll plug my Discord and let you all get to enjoying for now
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Titus scanned the room, his presence as steady as ever, though his expression had shifted. Earlier, his face had been a wall—strict, uncompromising. Now it was sharper, more analytical, as though each of us were data points he was recording. When his eyes passed over mine, there was a flicker—brief, unreadable, but deliberate.
"You nine who weren't able to claim a seat," he said bluntly, "you may leave the premises."
The words hit like a gavel. Final. No chance for appeal.
I felt a sting of doubt then, remembering Midas' words about Sentinel being "easy" for me to enter. Easy for me, maybe. But not for them. The students walking out would probably filter into second- or third-rate academies, or maybe Sentinel's weaker sister schools. A softer exile.
Titus turned sharply. "The rest of you—the ones seated—stand and follow me. The last part of your examination is ahead."
Fifteen of us rose, shadows cast longer as we trailed him for the third time. His pace was steady, not rushed.
Eventually, we reached a waiting room with exactly fifteen chairs. The symmetry wasn't lost on anyone.
"Sit," Titus said, gesturing. "I'll return shortly." He disappeared through a connected door—likely briefing the interviewers on the results of our second trial.
The moment the door shut, the tension bled into chatter. Students claimed seats quickly, clusters forming. As expected, Liora, Darien, and I sat near each other. Not chance—gravity. The strong drew the strong, right?
Darien leaned toward me, his excitement barely restrained. "I can't believe this is finally happening… what about you?"
I let a moment stretch before replying, balancing sincerity and restraint. "It really does feel like a dream. Sentinel's the kind of school you grow up hearing about, the place you imagine when you're a kid."
Darien grinned, relieved at my answer. "Exactly. There's not much like it. I'm confident about the interview, but… still, I'm nervous."
"Confidence doesn't erase the stakes," I said lightly. "Even if we're sure we'll get in, there's still the matter of placement. What class we land in, right?"
Darien nodded quickly. "Right. You don't know much about the academy, given your background, but here's how it works. Class S is the crown jewel. Students in Class S are basically guaranteed pro status. It's the smallest class, deliberately kept exclusive. The other classes—they are larger—they can have strong students too, don't get me wrong. They've still got chances to rise. If anyone in those classes is exceptional, they can eventually replace a spot in Class S."
[Replace. Not rise beside. Every system has a ceiling.]
"How many students make it into Class S?" I asked.
Liora answered this time, her voice precise. "Fifteen. No more."
"You've got it drilled into your brain," I said with a chuckle, playing light.
Darien laughed. "She's the daughter of Andrei Steele. Legendary. She's probably had Class S expectations thrown at her since she was a child."
I shifted the conversation. "I've been meaning to ask—rumor has it Liora's powers are ice-based. And you already know mine. So, Darien… what about yours?"
He smiled, proud, almost eager. "I call it adaptive regeneration. It's simple. At first glance, I'm basically normal—ordinary, even. But when I take damage, my regeneration doesn't just heal me. Each time I recover, my body adapts. I become tougher, stronger, more resistant to whatever hurt me. Of course, the adaptations fade over time, but while they're active…" He shrugged, his grin sharpening. "…I'm practically invincible."
[Interesting. A reactive power. He grows through punishment. It's athletic conditioning taken to an absurd extreme. It's dangerous in drawn-out fights, but his weaknesses are obvious. Hit him fast enough, hard enough, before his body learns, and he's just flesh. But if he survives long enough… he evolves into something you can't put down.]
In that moment, Titus finally returned. His gaze swept the room with clinical precision. When his eyes crossed mine, there was something deliberate in the way they lingered.
"The first student will be taken now," he said, voice as flat as a verdict. "Adrian Voss. Please stand and follow me to meet the interviewers."
A few seconds of silence passed. Confused glances shot around the room.
"Well, this is awkward," I muttered as I rose. To them, I was still Vincent Daintly—the son of Malcolm Daintly.
As I approached, Titus gave a curt nod and turned, leading me into a long, dim corridor branching off the waiting room.
"I hope you're prepared," he said as our footsteps echoed. "The interviewers and I have many questions for you. Your fate lies in your answers."
I kept my silence until we reached the far end of the hall. Then, as his hand touched the doorknob, I said, "Fate isn't real."
Titus glanced back at me over his shoulder, unreadable, before pushing the door open.
Four individuals sat waiting, two men and two women. With Titus, that made five—three male, two female. The balance looked too neat to be coincidental.
Chances were high that at least some of them had abilities tied to lie detection. But I had prepared for this.
"Please, sit," one of them said. An older man with brown skin, striking white hair, and a voice as smooth as silk, unforgettable by design. His tone was pleasant.
I reached for the lone chair positioned in front of them. Lower than theirs.
[Don't you dare sit. Something's off about him. The voice. It makes me feel strange.]
I smiled, let my hand fall from the chair, and spoke lightly. "Is it alright if I stand? You've had us sitting all day. I could use a break from it."
The man tilted his head, pausing longer than necessary. "…If you must." His lips curled into a genial smile, all warmth and civility. "You may call me Adam." He gestured left, to a man with unremarkable features—black hair, pale skin, blue eyes. "This is Giovanni."
His hand shifted right, indicating a young brunette woman, seemingly the youngest of the four. "Rachel."
And finally, his hand stopped on the far end: an elegant woman with black hair and pale skin, her posture flawless, eyes sharp as polished glass. "That is Mei. You already know Titus, so no need for introductions there."
Adam's gaze returned to me, his voice still honey-smooth. "Now then—are you ready to commence the interview?"
[Without question, there's something wrong with him. It's the voice—it's compelling, soothing. If I hadn't warned you, you'd already be compromised. You'd think every word he said was reasonable. Congratulations—I just saved you. Now put him in his place. Mental powers crumble once their existence is known to be at play.]
"Adam?" I said, testing his name like a blade across stone.
He inclined his head slightly, curious. "Yes?"
"No disrespect," I said flatly, "but could you stop talking? Your voice is unpleasant. Disrespectfully so."
The air snapped taut. Adam's colleagues exchanged subtle looks of surprise—whether at the content of my words, or the fact I'd pierced through his power so easily, I couldn't be sure.
[You shut up too. From this point forward, I'll handle the important thinking. We don't know the reach of their powers, or the triggers. You'll just act on command. Don't think—just do. You can manage that, can't you? You've let me take the wheel before.]
I said nothing and turned my brain off, clearing myself of all thoughts.
Adam smiled wider, though the warmth in it was almost mocking. "I apologize," he said, the strange compulsion stripped from his tone. His voice, though still pleasant, was no longer honeyed. "I suppose it is rude to use my gift so freely. Is this better?"
"Yes," I replied simply.
Adam nodded, picking up a folder of papers, scanning them with unhurried grace. "Good. Then let us begin properly. Are you ready, Adrian?"
"I am."
"Then we'll start simple," Adam said, his voice measured but watchful. "Are you Adrian Voss?"
"Yes," I replied without hesitation.
"Good. I see looking at your math and English, it's obvious you are a bright individual. These scores surprise us since, given our research on you, you grew up in an orphanage and never truly received any exceptional education. Did you achieve these scores honestly?" Adam asked, looking at me along with his colleagues.
"Yes," I replied, not bothering to elaborate. The short answer catches Adam off guard as he glances at Giovanni, Rachel, and Mei, but none say anything.
"... well, okay then..." Adam said, putting one of the papers in his hand down. "We found one thing strange about your exams. While you fully completed and aced your math and English exams, you left your heroic integrity exam empty. We even considered just failing you for this, but we decided to give you a chance to explain. So, can you tell us why you left the heroic integrity exam empty?" he finished, his voice sounding progressively more distant to me.
[Don't worry about what you're told, simply repeat whatever I say.]
"I didn't leave the questions blank simply because I didn't want to answer. It's just that the options to answer each question weren't sufficient to me." I replied.
"Can you elaborate?" Adam asked.
"Yes or no doesn't define morality. Context does, making the exam flawed. Leaving the test blank seems like the only honest answer when the questions it asks are flawed." I reply.
Adam nods in agreement, but he doesn't seem to fully agree. "Yes, you're right; by that logic, a lot of the questions on the integrity exam are indeed flawed. Even I would struggle to answer the exam with only yes or no responses. Anyone asked to do so would find it unfair, which is why we decided to give you a chance to explain yourself... but there are some questions you could definitely answer. For example, question two: 'Have you ever taken a life?' or question three: 'Have you lied to gain an advantage?' These are both yes or no questions."
"I believe that's up to interpretation," I replied.
Adam seemed visibly displeased with my answer, "I need straightforward answers or-"
"Then ask me straight forward. I'm sure you have individuals here who can detect lies in their own ways. I can prove to you that a question like 'have you ever taken a life' is… subjective." I said evenly.
[Don't speak further. But be ready.]
Adam glanced at his colleagues, searching their faces for confirmation. Each gave a subtle nod. He turned back to me. "Alright then… Have you ever taken a human life?"
"I haven't. And I have," I answered.
The reaction was immediate. Giovanni, Rachel, and Mei's eyes all widened, their powers grinding against my words.
Mei was the first to break the silence. "It's… they're both lies."
Rachel's brow furrowed. "I'm coming to the same conclusion."
"It matches my ability as well," Giovanni added quietly, his gaze sharpening.
Adam tapped his finger against the table, eyes narrowing as if trying to pry meaning out of the contradictions. He flipped through a file with deliberate slowness, then looked back at me. "Your power… it's danger sense, isn't it?"
"It's complicated," I said.
Adam's mask slipped for the first time—frustration threading into his composure, though he tried to bury it beneath calm. "I see here your ability was only evaluated once, at age five. After that, you spent your life in orphanages. Could it be your power has… evolved?"
"Like I said, this is a difficult subject to define. But yes. Calling it simply 'danger sense' would be inaccurate now." I leaned forward slightly, speaking before Adam could cut in. "You know about the orphanage fire, I assume. I had disappeared just before it happened. Runaways aren't rare—but the reason I left was because of a feeling. Something new. Not a vision. Not sight. But the best way to explain it is this: danger sense itself isn't awareness of the present—it's prediction. Anticipation of an event before it arrives. Now imagine an evolution of that kind of ability. Something drastic enough to blur boundaries. Tell me—how many ways could such a power change, if it kept evolving?"
The words were vague enough to avoid lying, but concrete enough to sound like withheld truths. The perfect balance.
Adam leaned back slightly, studying me as though trying to parse the spaces between my sentences. "Not many ways, I imagine. From the sound of it, your ability is inching closer and closer to… precognition. How does it really work?"
[Too easy. He's giving you the opening. Now take it. Keep your thoughts shallow—let me handle the reasoning. Just give them the reveal.]
I nodded slowly. "I can hear a voice."
Adam's brows rose. "A voice?"
"Yes," I said without hesitation. "It tells me when there's danger, but also what to do. And whenever I listen, everything always turns out in my favor. No matter the situation."
Adam's interest in me sharpened, his tone now more precise. "This voice—was it the reason you left the orphanage?"
I nodded once. "Yes."
His eyes narrowed slightly as he flipped through a page in my file. "And your twin brother, Gael Voss—did he escape and live with you?"
"No," I said, steady but subdued. "Sadly, he didn't have the same survival advantage I did. He died."
A pause. Adam studied me in silence, the weight of the question pressing heavier than his voice. Then: "I'm sorry to hear that. Do you feel at fault for it?"
[Yes.]
"Yes," I said after a moment.
[Good. He'll assume this guilt is the reason you struggled with the earlier questions about taking a life. It makes you human. Flawed. Consistent. Everything is aligning.]
Adam nodded solemnly, his composure softening into something resembling genuine sympathy. For a moment, he wasn't an examiner—he was a man moved by loss.
"We are almost done here, Adrian," he said at last. His pen hovered over the page. "I must ask: did your power play a role in your performance during the second exam—in the room with the chairs?"
"The voice played a role, yes." My reply was clean, direct.
Adam scribbled notes, though his expression clouded, the faintest trace of confusion creasing his features.
[Let him be confused. It doesn't matter. With your 'power' framed as danger sense evolved toward precognition, everything aligns perfectly. Your story has weight. Your performances across the exams back it up. The recommendation guarantees you a slot, but this interview just made it airtight. Too airtight, perhaps—but that only strengthens the illusion. Of course your answers are flawless. Of course your decisions align. That's the entire point of me. A voice in your head that tilts every situation in your favor. Let them doubt the neatness. It still fits.]
Adam finally set the pen down. He looked at me one last time, his voice quieter now. "You may exit, Adrian, back to the waiting room. Also, do not share any details about the interview process—doing so may disqualify you from admission. I'm sure you're smart enough to understand."