Star Monroe decided the academy had a personality, and that personality was rude. The morning bell didn't ring, it screamed, vibrating through the walls like an angry parent banging on a door. He rolled off the narrow dorm bed and immediately regretted it. Not because he was sore—he wasn't—but because the floor was colder than betrayal. The room smelled like polished metal and cheap soap, the kind that promised cleanliness but delivered disappointment. Yesterday had been strange, sure, but today felt real, and reality was already squinting at him like a debt collector.
Breakfast was a battlefield disguised as a cafeteria. Trays floated, cups spun lazy circles, and someone sneezed fire into a napkin like that was normal behavior. Star grabbed something that looked like bread but had the confidence of a sponge and sat alone. His Rank F badge sat on his chest like a bad joke everyone could read. A few students glanced at it, then at him, then back at their food as if he might be contagious. He chewed anyway. Pride was expensive; hunger was louder.
A tall boy with shoulders shaped like refrigerators dropped onto the bench across from him. "You're the glitch, right?" he asked, already smiling like he'd rehearsed the line in a mirror. Star blinked. "If you mean the guy who didn't explode yesterday, yeah, that's me." The boy laughed too hard at that, slapped the table, and introduced himself as Bram without being asked. Apparently Bram collected rumors the way other people collected shoes, and Star was the newest pair.
Classes blurred together after that. Lectures about safety, responsibility, and how not to liquefy your own organs with bad technique. Star listened with half an ear and watched with the other half. Powers weren't magic here; they were habits with consequences. One girl's hands trembled after she lifted a chair too long. Another boy coughed blood into a cloth and pretended it was dust. The academy didn't hide the price tag, it just printed it in small letters.
The training hall smelled like sweat and electricity had a baby. Platforms hovered at different heights, instructors prowled like bored cats, and students paired off to prove they were better than yesterday. Star tried to stay invisible. Invisible was safe. Invisible didn't get called to the center by an instructor with a tablet and a smile that meant trouble.
"Monroe," Vale said without looking at him. "Demonstration circle. Now."
The word now had teeth. He walked out, feeling every eye crawl onto his back.
His opponent was a skinny girl who bounced on her heels like gravity was a suggestion. She introduced herself by throwing a marble-sized bolt of light at his face. Star didn't think, didn't plan, didn't even breathe properly. He just reached. The bolt slowed, wobbled like it had forgotten its name, and fizzled into glitter. The crowd made that sound people make when they don't want to clap but also don't want to be quiet.
"Do it again," Vale said. So the girl did, bigger this time, brighter, annoyed. Star felt the same strange tug in his palms, like catching a ball made of warm thread. The energy unraveled between his fingers and died politely. No boom, no hero pose, just a very confused attacker and a very confused Star standing there wondering if he'd accidentally cheated without permission.
Whispers multiplied. He caught pieces of them. Weird. Bugged ability. Maybe it's fake. Star wanted to announce that he also had no idea what was happening, but that didn't seem like a strong strategy. Instead he nodded at the girl, who nodded back like they'd both survived the same awkward date.
After the session, Bram found him again, eyes wide and delighted. "You embarrassed Mira," he said as if Star had just won a medal. "She hates being embarrassed. That's amazing." Star decided Bram was the kind of friend you didn't choose; he just attached himself like a confident mosquito.
Walking back to the dorms, Star realized something uncomfortable. Nobody had praised him. Nobody had explained anything. But nobody had laughed either. The academy didn't care about feelings, only results, and today he'd produced one. The sun dipped behind the towers, painting everything orange and dramatic, like the world was auditioning for a poster. Star looked at his hands and flexed them once. Whatever Residual Absorption was, it had woken up. And apparently, so had he.