Rose sat in the back of the car, watching the students who walked past the gates. They moved in groups, sometimes in pairs, their hands brushing or linked together. Their laughter rose and fell like soft waves drifting through the morning air. Their expressions shifted so easily. A smile, a frown, excitement, annoyance. All emotions she had read about but never once felt.
She watched them with quiet interest. She understood what a laugh was, but she did not understand what made it form. She understood sadness, but only in definition. She wasn't born with the ability to feel anything. She couldn't cry, laugh, panic, or flare up in anger. Doctors ran scans and tests for years. They found no disorder, nothing damaged or lacking. They declared her normal. Her parents disagreed. They feared her emptiness, feared how unreadable she was, they feared she might become a virus. They left her at an orphanage when she was five, convinced something monstrous would grow from the hollow space inside her.
Now she had only two ways to show anything at all. The first was when Mr. Flowers ordered her to react. The second was a method she had only recently discovered, the one she was going to use to get admission.
The car rolled through the campus gates. The school opened up in front of her like a private estate. Large fields stretched far into the distance. Tall buildings stood in clean rows. Trees lined the walkways, their leaves stirring gently in the wind. Fountains glistened where sunlight hit the water. Everything looked too polished, too perfect for what this place truly was.
Dark Central Academy was coded and hidden from the public, well it was because they feared what was inside the estate. Those who did knew it as the most elite academy in the world, a place impossible to enter. Not even wealth or influence could buy a place here.
There was only one way inside. You had to be talented.
Rose sat in the main lobby, waiting for the director to call her in. The chairs were deep blue with a faint shine, and the air smelled faintly of heated metal, the scent of machines working behind the walls. Screens of different sizes hung everywhere, all showing images of students training or reports about talent growth.
After a moment, she stood and walked to the large display board set against the far wall. A transparent screen lit up the moment she approached. It showed the Academy's ranking system, updated every minute. Its combat rankings were the most accurate and feared.
Dozens of names filled the list, but Rose focused on the upper five. Their portraits glowed faintly beside their scores. These five were known as the Upper Dark Stars. Every student dreamed of joining them. They were practically celebrities inside the estate school.
She wasn't here to admire them. She was here because of one order.
Mr. Flowers voice echoed in her memory.
"I don't care what rank you end up in. Five, four, three, two, or one. It doesn't matter how you climb. Your task is simple. Become one of the Upper Dark Stars."
Rose stared at the board a little longer. Not out of awe. Just calculation, Thinking of how she was going to be there.
A voice behind her broke her focus.
"Miss Flowers? The Director is ready to see you now." the school secretary said.
Ms. Hale led her down a long hallway. The lights dimmed and brightened as they walked, adjusting to their presence. The director's office door opened with a soft click.
Director Nate Buckley spoke without lifting his eyes from the tablet on his desk.
"Talents are our entrance exam. Without one, you do not even receive an application form. Dark Central Academy accepts only those born with abilities beyond human limits."
He shifted his gaze to the screens behind him. Footage of students training flashed across them. Some created fire with their hands. Some bent air or metal. Some moved faster than the camera could follow.
"This school may appear normal on the outside, but every person inside these walls is different," he said. "You know the history. Decades ago, an unknown device fell from an unknown threat into planet earth. It wiped out nearly half the population. When the world rebuilt, something changed. Children born afterward carried altered genes. New traits appeared. Powers people could not understand."
His wheelchair moved beside Rose with a smooth hum. The chair glided without any physical command from him.
"Humans feared these children. They wanted them erased. Every last one." His voice softened, almost like he was remembering something he wished he could forget. "But a woman stopped them. She believed these children were not curses but assets. She convinced the world to train them, guide them, prepare them. Because everyone knew that attack would not be the last threat. It was only the beginning, and the only way to save mankind was them."
Rose watched his chair more than his face. It moved like it was a part of him, responding to something she couldn't see. Nate Buckley had been diagnosed young with a degenerative nerve disease that shut down his muscles one by one. His body failed him slowly, but his mind never did. He was only twenty-eight but looked twice that age. His hair had been white since birth, so the color never surprised anyone.
The chair repositioned with gentle precision. He didn't lift a finger. It responded to brain signals alone, the AI interpreting his thoughts.
With a thought the chair moved, with a shift of focus it turned, and with a blink it stopped.
To Rose, it did not look like a machine. It looked like an extension of him, as if his body had simply changed shape so he could keep living.
"Miss Flowers, will you stand," he said.
Rose stood at once. She wore only casual clothes, she she hasn't been granted admission.
The director's eyes dropped to her legs. He did not hide the quiet longing there. He had lost the ability to move freely long ago. Watching others do so felt like watching a language he could no longer speak.
"Tell me," he said, "what exactly do you think you can offer this world?"
"My loyalty, sir," Rose answered. Her face remained blank.
"We do not need loyalty. We need talent." He moved closer. The soft hum of the wheelchair filled the silence. "Your profile says you can regenerate. It also claims you possess superhuman strength."
"But your father never allowed a verified exam," he said. "Convenient. This file feels fabricated."
The door opened before Rose could respond. Ms. Hale stepped back into the room.
"Ms. Hale," the director said, "prepare a talent exam for Miss Flowers."
"Yes, sir." She left again.
Silence settled over the room. Nate studied Rose closely, his pale eyes moving from her posture to her expression to the stillness in her face.
"Why do I have the feeling," he said slowly, "that you are not what you claim to be, Miss Flowers?"