"Ethan."
The voice reached him before the footsteps did.
He looked up from the book in his hands, blinking once, as if pulled back from somewhere far away. Tall shelves surrounded him on all sides, packed tight with volumes most students never touched unless they were assigned. The library was quiet in the way empty places often were—not peaceful, just undisturbed.
"I'm right here," he said.
Maria stood a few steps away, hands folded in front of her. Her expression hovered between concern and familiar irritation. She had been the library secretary longer than Ethan had been enrolled at the academy, and she knew his habits well.
"Isn't it time you went to class?" she asked. "Your break ended a while ago."
Ethan glanced down at the book again. The cover was worn, the spine creased from being opened too many times.
The Catalyst: An Authorized Record.
He closed it halfway but didn't put it down.
"What's the point?" he said quietly. "It's not like I have anything left to learn in there. With my kind of talent, all I get are the same looks. The same jokes." He shrugged. "I'd rather stay here and read."
Maria sighed. "You've been reading that same book for months."
"I know."
"Why?"
He hesitated, then answered honestly. "It doesn't feel complete. Like something's missing."
Her brows knit together. "What do you mean?"
"The way they wrote it," Ethan said. "It's too clean. Like they stopped halfway through the truth and decided that was enough."
Maria's eyes flicked toward the far end of the library.
"Be careful," she said under her breath. "You shouldn't say things like that."
Ethan smirked, lowering his voice. "There's nobody else here. And it's not like they're tracking us as threats." He gestured vaguely at himself. "You're not super-abled, and I'm barely different from a normal human. Low rank. Low talent. Remember?"
"That doesn't matter," Maria snapped. "I work here, Ethan. I can't ignore rules just because we're close. If someone notices you skipping class again, it won't be you they question first—it'll be me."
That made him straighten.
"…Alright," he said, sliding the book back into place. "I'll go."
"Good."
He paused. "I'll come back later."
"I know you will," Maria replied.
Ethan left the library.
The hallway outside throbbed with the dull rhythm of lectures in progress. Voices leaked through classroom doors, layered with the faint hum of energy dampeners embedded in the walls. He walked without hurry. There was no point rushing now.
When he pushed the classroom door open, the lesson was already underway.
"Ethan Blackwood."
The teacher's voice cut cleanly through the room.
"Why are you just arriving?"
Ethan bowed his head slightly. "Sorry, sir. I lost track of time while reading."
A snort came from the back of the room.
"Not only is his rank low," a voice said, "he can't even keep track of his own schedule."
Laughter followed.
Ethan didn't turn around.
He didn't need to.
Jordan.
The teacher's gaze hardened. "Enough. Quiet."
The room settled, though the amusement lingered like static.
"Take your seat," the teacher said.
Ethan walked to his desk. The chair had been shoved aside, angled awkwardly. Before he could move it, the chair suddenly lifted—smooth, precise—and slid neatly back into place.
Jordan dropped his hand as if nothing had happened.
Ethan sat without comment.
The lesson continued.
"Since the first emergence of the Incongruent," the teacher said, pacing slowly, "combat doctrine has evolved."
Ethan let out a quiet breath, barely a sound.
"Invasion," he murmured. "More like an invitation."
The teacher cleared his throat sharply.
Ethan fell silent.
Jordan's glare burned into the side of his head.
"Early resistance relied on borrowed frameworks," the teacher continued. "Games. Simulations. Simplified roles. Tanks. Damage dealers. Support types. Mages."
Several students nodded.
"These classifications still exist," the teacher said, "but they are not limits. Some of you excel at range. Some in physical enhancement. Others in output abilities. This academy exists to teach you how to fight beyond a single role."
Ethan listened.
It was all basic knowledge. He had tried every path—close combat, ranged focus, support structures. None of it had changed his rank.
The bell rang.
Students stood and gathered their things.
Ethan remained seated.
Jordan didn't.
He approached with three others, stopping directly in front of Ethan's desk.
"Why do you keep showing up?" Jordan asked. "You enjoy being the center of attention?"
Ethan said nothing.
"You should learn to hide," Jordan continued, grabbing the front of Ethan's shirt. "Like the rat you are."
Ethan stayed still.
Reporting never helped. Teachers looked away. Administrators ignored patterns that didn't threaten the system.
Jordan's fist drew back.
"Ethan."
The voice came from the doorway.
The room froze.
A boy stood there—posture straight, presence heavy in a way that had nothing to do with rank displays or flaring energy. The air around him felt… different. Quiet, but tense.
"Ethan," he said again.