A quiet stillness settled over the hero classroom as Professor Celeste closed the hologram. Her gaze softened, and for the first time, she spoke not as a teacher, but as someone who had once stood on the battlefield.
"There is one more thing you should understand about Nexas… and about heroes."
The students leaned forward. Even Astra, who rarely showed emotion, lifted her eyes.
Celeste continued.
"I was once an active hero. My Nexas allowed me to control objects with my mind—telekinesis."
A few gasps rose. Some had heard rumors, but never confirmation.
Rain whispered, almost in awe:
"A psychic…"
Celeste smiled faintly—without pride.
"At that time, my team included someone unlike any of you. A sidekick with no Nexas at all. Powerless."
Raze's breath caught. The room grew sharper with attention.
"Many mocked me for it. They called him dead weight… a burden."
Her voice darkened.
"They were wrong."
She began pacing slowly, the memory clearly etched into her soul.
"One day, we received an emergency call. A Nexas user had gone berserk—ability: plant generation and manipulation. He had taken an illegal power-boosting drug from the black market."
A few students tensed.
"Power drugs are unpredictable. If your body isn't compatible, the Nexas mutates and the mind breaks."
The image was terrifying—vines tearing through buildings, trees bursting from concrete, civilians screaming, chaos spreading like wildfire.
Celeste's voice grew distant, as if she was seeing it again.
"We evacuated as many people as we could. Buildings collapsed. Roots dragged cars underground. We were outmatched."
Her fists tightened.
"And then he said it—my sidekick. The powerless one."
His words echoed in her memory:
'Use your ability to throw me close. I'll end this. Even if I don't come back.'
Raze's eyes widened. He understood immediately: this wasn't a story about ability. It was about resolve.
"I refused. Again and again. I told him we would find another way."
Her voice trembled for just a moment.
"But there wasn't another way."
The students held their breath.
"When I lifted him with my telekinesis, he smiled. He pulled the pin from an incendiary device—a fire grenade strong enough to burn through reinforced armor."
She closed her eyes.
"He crashed into the villain's chest, and the explosion swallowed them both. When the flames died, there was nothing left. No body. Not even ashes."
No one spoke. Even the air felt heavy.
Celeste placed a hand over her heart.
"I was praised for saving the city."
She looked at her students, pain and pride intertwined in her eyes.
"But I could never be a hero again—not when the best of us died without a name in the records."
Silence. Respectful. Heavy.
Then she ended with a lesson that carved itself into every student's mind:
"Remember this: Nexas does not define a hero. Power can make you strong… but heart is what makes you worthy."
Her gaze drifted, just for a heartbeat, toward Raze Arcwell.
"Never look down on someone because they were born without what you were given."
Raze understood.
More deeply than anyone in that room.
Because like that nameless sidekick…
One day, every person in that classroom might face a moment where power wasn't enough.
And when that time came—
What they chose to do would decide whether they were truly heroes.
⭐ A Secret Between a Boy and Two Blades
That evening, back at the Arcwell estate, Raze sat alone in his room.
The house was quiet. The city lights of Nexara blinked faintly outside his window.
He knelt beside his bed and pulled out a secure case from underneath.
A familiar weight pressed against his palms.
He opened it.
Inside, wrapped in dark cloth, lay a pair of swords.
Short-bladed. Perfectly balanced.
Edges that shimmered like a captured fragment of the night sky.
The real ones.
Astral Edges.
Forged from the fragment of a fallen star entrusted to his parents long ago.
A metal the world called Abyss Alloy—if it believed such things truly existed.
The blades at his waist now, the ones he had worn to homeroom, were almost identical—
same length, same weight, same shape.
But they were not these.
A few days after the combat exam, before the results were posted, Raze had gone to his parents.
"If anyone truly realizes what these blades are," he had said quietly,
"it won't just be about me anymore. It will drag our family, and maybe Lionel Academy itself, into something bigger."
He had looked down at the Astral Edges in his hands.
"I don't want that. Not yet."
Roland and Rose had exchanged a long look.
In the end, they agreed.
A master craftsman was commissioned to forge replica swords—
not simple steel, but a different high-grade, rare metal known as Arcsteel.
It was a deep-core alloy prized by elite heroes and high-ranking officers, tough enough to withstand Nexas clashes and expensive enough that only the wealthy could casually own it.
Rare. Costly.
Worthy of the Arcwell name.
But still inferior to Abyss Alloy—the difference between a royal treasure and a piece of the sky itself.
The Arcsteel replicas matched the Astral Edges in:
length
balance
weight
and even the faint, dark sheen along the blade
but they lacked that unsettling, bottomless depth that true Abyss Alloy carried.
The real blades were then placed in this case, sealed and hidden behind layered security deeper than even the Arcwell fortune vaults.
Now, Raze traced a hand along the wrapped hilts.
He could feel the weight of the choice he had made.
If someone inspected my swords now, he thought,
they'd find Arcsteel—rare, high-performance, expensive. But not a fragment of the Abyss Crater. Not something worth billions of ₦ per kilogram.
It was safer that way.
Safer for his family.
Safer for Lionel Academy.
Safer for a boy still trying to prove himself.
He closed the case gently.
"I'll come back for you," he murmured under his breath, eyes steady.
"When I can stand in front of someone who needs saving… and not hesitate."
Until then, the Astral Edges would sleep.
The world saw a powerless boy with rare Arcsteel blades.
Only Raze—and his parents—knew the truth.