The white void’s air was crisp, biting at the nose but fresh in the lungs. White mist curled from their breaths as Robin rolled her shoulders, adjusting to the chill.
“Thank you for letting me borrow your clothes,” she said, tugging at the sleeve for the fifth time.
Hellena stretched her arms overhead and gave a casual shrug. “Don’t thank me.”
“Regina bought it for you during her outing,” She added, tilting her head with a sly smile.
“Oh,” Robin murmured, her gaze dropping to the tracksuit. The fabric suddenly felt heavier, a reminder of something unresolved.
Hellena noticed the subtle shift but didn’t press. She stepped aside and continued stretching her legs.
“Sooo…” Robin cleared her throat and forced a grin. “What are we doing today?” She clapped her hands lightly to shake off the lingering discomfort.
Hellena straightened. “Today you’re finally going to learn how to use a matrix.”
Robin spoke more softly. “That’s why he’s here…”
“Does he make you uncomfortable?” Hellena asked without missing a beat.
Robin shook her head quickly. “No, it’s not that. He’s just…”
“Aggressively American?” Hellena offered.
Robin let out a short laugh. “I was going to say intense, but that works too.”
They both turned to the source of their conversation. Hugh was doing a full split, his towering, muscle-bound frame balanced perfectly between two cement blocks like some kind of circus strongman.
Hellena planted her hands on her hips,“Can you hurry up with whatever the fuck you’re doing?” her shoes tapping impatiently against the gravel.
Hugh didn’t move. His voice was annoyingly calm, paired with an offensively bad Chinese accent.
“I’m being .”
Robin blinked. “I don’t get it.”
“Empty yo mind,” Hugh began, his tone slipping into a faux-mystical rhythm.
“Be formless, shapeless… like . You put into a cup, it becomes the cup. You put into a bottle, it becomes the bottle. Be , my .”
“Is the accent necessary?” Hellena raised an eyebrow
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Combat and Leadership class was held in the Academy stadium, a massive open structure that swallowed sound and movement alike. As required, every student wore the academy-issued combat uniform.
A reinforced black vest armored their upper bodies, a bold white “V” stamped across each chest—the Academy’s insignia. Beneath it, a navy-blue bodysuit clung close, flexible while also built for durability. White utility belts, gloves, and knee-high combat boots completed the ensemble, giving the entire class an almost militarized appearance.
Standing there, Robin found herself thinking back to the training session she’d had with Hugh a week earlier.
“You nervous?” Nikolai said beside her, his tone light. “Don’t be. I heard our instructors are pretty chill.”
Robin lips curving into a teasing grin. “Didn’t know you were checking me out.”
“What—no!” Nikolai sputtered. “I just happened to notice!” Heat rushed to his face, giving him away instantly.
Before Robin could tease him further, the instructor stepped into the center of the arena.
His eyes were the first thing she noticed—an unnatural shade of purple that stood out even from a distance. Up close, however, the dark circles beneath them told a different story.
As if confirming her impression, he yawned openly.
“Good evening, class,” he said. “I’m your Combat and Leadership instructor, Tristian Truman. Pleasure to meet you.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” the students replied, though the words came out uneven and halfhearted, more obligation than enthusiasm.
Truman’s gaze swept over them. “The semester just started and you’re already drained?” One eyebrow lifted. “Do you kids need constant stimulation just to stay awake?”
A ripple of unease passed through the crowd. Students exchanged quick glances, caught off guard by how swiftly they’d been sized up.
“Well, if that’s the case,” Truman went on, his tone deceptively casual, “I’ll give you one. Today, we’re doing a matrix comprehension test.”
The word test hit the stadium like a dropped weight. Groans rose almost instantly, Nikolai’s among the loudest.
“This guy can’t be serious,” he muttered,
Professor Truman let the noise die on its own before speaking again.
“Consider this your first lesson kid,” he said. “Never let your guard down when you’re a hero. The world doesn’t wait for introductions.”
He paused, eyes sharp despite the fatigue etched into his face.
“This academy has a reputation to uphold,” Truman continued, his voice firm but measured.
“So give it your best shot.”
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
“Listen up, folks!” Hugh bellowed.
He stood before them in a judo gi that was at least two sizes too small while pacing back and forth like a drill sergeant addressing fresh recruits.
“Red and green’s all you ever need!”
Robin nodded along, doing her best to look attentive, while Hellena lingered off to the side, her weight lazily shifted onto one leg.
Hugh turned back to them, planting his feet. “Green’s for defense. You keep your head low, take the hit, stay grounded—and your ass gets to see next Monday.”
He took a dramatic step forward, chest puffed out with unmistakable pride.“To demonstrate," He paused, letting the moment hang. His expression hardened. “Kick me in the balls.”
“What—what!?” Robin stammered, blinking rapidly, hoping her ears might correct themselves.
“I can take it!” Hugh declared. “I used them greens to strengthen my body. I’m now as hard as steel.”
Hellena arched her brow. “Is this some kind of sick fantasy of yours?”
“What kind of man fantasizes about getting his balls kicked?” Hugh snapped back, genuinely offended by the suggestion.
Neither Robin nor Hellena answered.
They didn’t need to.
The silence stretched on, thick and judgmental.
A beat passed. Realization hit him—slow and painful, like getting his balls kicked.
“Moving on! ” he said loudly to pretend the last minute didn't occur.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Trial One: Strength Test
A row of weighted blocks lay ahead, each one heavier than the last. Every student had been allotted one thousand Ams for training— generous, but deliberate. Spend too much too fast, and you’d only prove how little control you had.
“All right. Mr. Briggs—step up.”
Professor Tristian’s voice carried cleanly across the room.
Norman strode forward.
He was built like a collection of sharp angles: square jaw, square nose, broad square shoulders. Massive—though somehow still less imposing than Hugh.
Green Aether flickered around his body. Beneath it, however, is a faint current of Dark Aether seeping through.
The energy surged.
In the blink of an eye, Norman’s body expanded—taller, wider—until he towered over the arena floor, standing more than five meters high.
With steady focus, he wrapped his enlarged arms around the thousand-kilogram block. The block groaned as he lifted it from the ground, raising it above his head before carefully lowering it back into place.
Professor Tristian nodded. “I noticed a fair amount of Dark Aether. Your control isn’t as clean as it could be.”
Norman inclined his head. “Thank you, Coach.”
He stepped aside without another word.
“Ms. Nwosu. Your turn,” Professor Tristian called.
A confident figure stepped forward.
Lola moved with purpose, her strong build evident even beneath the uniform. Smooth dark skin caught the light as her short, reddish-brown bob framed piercing pink eyes that gleamed with quiet assurance. She didn’t hesitate while making a straight line for the farthest one.
The five-thousand-kilogram block.
A curious murmur rippled through the class.
With effortless grace, Lola bent down. Green Aether flowed from her hands and into the block itself. The massive weight rose as if it were made of paper, floating in her grasp. No strain. No excess movement.
No trace of Dark Aether.
Perfect control.
She set the block down gently, brushed the dust from her palms, and turned toward the professor with a small, composed smile.
“A clever solution,” Tristian said, interest finally creeping into his voice. “Reducing the block’s effective weight instead of forcing your body to match it.”
“Thank you, sir,” Lola replied coolly, before walking back to rejoin her friends.
“Now, Ms. Richie.”
Robin’s heart skipped.
She stepped toward the blocks, eyes drifting instinctively to the smallest one—fifty kilos. She could lift it, but the thought made her stomach twist.
Reluctantly, she shifted toward the two-hundred-kilogram block.
She planted her feet and drew in a steadying breath, trying to remember Hugh’s words.
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The absurd phrase echoed in her head, and she nearly slipped.
Green Aether surged through her body as she gripped the block. She used Transfiguration the way Hugh had taught her, reinforcing muscle and bone, forcing her body to bear the strain.
Slowly, the block rose.
Her arms trembled when she lifted it overhead before carefully lowering it back into place. The moment it touched the ground, exhaustion hit immediately—sharp and undeniable.
Professor Tristian nodded once. “Your matrix control is clean,” he said. “But you played it safe.”
Robin nodded and quickly stepped aside to rejoin Nikolai to avoid more attention.
“That was pretty good,” Nikolai offered her an encouraging smile.
“Thanks,” she muttered, still feeling the weight of her nerves more than the block itself.
“You could’ve done better if you did the same thing as Lola,” Eugene remarked flatly. “She just showed you how.”
“Dude,” Nikolai hissed.
“It’s okay,” Robin said quietly, forcing the words past the lump in her throat. “He’s right.”
Eugene huffed, apparently satisfied, and said nothing more.
*Great, just what I needed—another reason to hate his guts.* Robin rolled her eyes as she turned away.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
“You know what this piece of iron’s called?”
Hugh spun the revolver lazily between his fingers, the motion effortless despite the weapon’s weight—and his own massive frame.
Robin hesitated. “Uh… a gun?” she ventured, unsure if this was some kind of trick.
“.500 Magnum,” Hugh corrected. He lifted it so the barrel caught the light, polished steel gleaming like it was meant for something theatrical. “Best of its kind. This bad boy hits like a goddamn mule.”
He flashed a grin wide and feral, something closer to a lion baring its teeth. “But as much as I love guns like any red-blooded American, truth is…”
The revolver turned in his hand.
The muzzle pressed against his own temple.
“They got old.”
BANG!
Robin hand flew to her mouth. Hellena, by contrast, didn’t even blink.
Hugh remained standing, grinning like a fool as shards of flattened bullet clinked harmlessly to the ground at his feet.
“Them bullets can’t touch your skin when the green’s shieldin’ ya,” He tapped the side of his head with the revolver. A faint green glow still flickered over his temple, scale-like and alive.
“That’s why we need somethin’ else.”
He raised his free hand. Between his thick fingers, faint red sparks began to crawl—hungry, raging, alive.
“Them reds.”
“Green keeps you alive,” Hugh continued, his voice dropping, something almost sadistic creeping in. “Red makes sure the other guy ain't getting back up.”
The crimson light flared brighter.
Robin and Hellena both stepped back at the same time, as if they’d rehearsed it.
“Most folks turn red into all kinds of fancy crap,” Hugh said, red Aether creeping up his jaw and casting his face in a hellish glow.
“Lightning. Fire. Big flashy nonsense.”
“But we ain’t tryin’ to look pretty.”
KABLAM!
The sound cracked across the field like another gunshot.
Splat!
“You see what I did there?” Hugh said proudly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “No flash, no fuss , still gets the job done.”
Robin’s stomach churned.
“Twelve years,” Hellena’s nostrils flared, her expression flat with disgust. “Twelve years surviving in the void and it gets killed by your saliva.”
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Trial Two: Precision Test
At the far end of the arena, a cluster of stone pillars stood in a precarious formation, tall and narrow—like oversized bowling pins waiting to be knocked down.
“Nikolai,” Professor Tristian called, motioning him from the baseline.
Nikolai stepped forward, flexing his hand. Red Aether crept across his right palm, coiling and condensing until it formed a pulsing sphere of fire.
“Go.”
With a grunt, Nikolai hurled the fireball.
It tore through the air and slammed into the pillars in a thunderous explosion.
KABOOM!
“You’re strong,” Tristian said flatly. “But lacking precision.”
Nikolai nodded stiffly and retreated back into the crowd.
“Ms. Fan.”
Fiona strutted forward, a sly smile tugging at her lips. Her sharp features were framed by smooth brown hair, light blue eyes gleaming with confidence. Tall and slim, she carried herself like the arena already belonged to her.
She raised her hand, fingers curling into the shape of a gun. Red Aether spiraled between them, sparking like live embers.
“Go.”
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
“Not bad,” Tristian muttered. “Precise. Potent. Flashy.”
Fiona lowered her hand, a smug smile curling as she turned back toward the class.
“Next… Ms. Silva.”
Aubrey stepped forward, almond-brown skin glowing under the arena lights. She rolled a small metal sphere from her pocket into her palm. With a flick of her fingers, teal Aether crackled to life around it.
“Go.”
She tossed the sphere upward.
It shot forward like a bullet—then swerved.
Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack.
The sphere arced back and landed neatly in Aubrey’s hand, spinning obediently in her palm.
“Powerful and precise,” Tristian said, nodding. “Good work.”
“Thank you,” Aubrey replied proudly, flashing a smug grin Fiona’s way.
Fiona crossed her arms and huffed.
Robin watched it all in awe. Each student’s approach was wildly different—raw power, sharp accuracy, creative control. .
She decided it was best to sit this one out.
She really didn’t want anyone seeing her attempt Hugh’s so-called “spit attack.”
“You’re not participating?” Eugene interrupted her thoughts, cold and pointed.
“Ah—no,” Robin said quietly. “I’m not really great with transmutation.”
“Hmm... Just as I thought,” Eugene muttered under his breath.
Robin bristled.
He glanced at her, expression unreadable. “You are close with Nikolai. How did you come to know him?”
“We met at a park a few weeks ago,” she replied, keeping her voice neutral. Then, after a pause, she added, “What about you? How do you know him?”
“Ask Nikolai.” The dismissal was immediate.
Robin stared at his back as he turned away.
-----
The arena hummed with restless energy as the test reached its conclusion and the final scores settled in.
Students buzzed with chatter—some whispering excitedly, others scowling at their results. A few simply sat there, eyes glazed over, as if they’d already given up on life.
Robin stared at the number glowing beside her name.
She exhaled sharply through her nose.
She’d studied for this. Really studied. She’d been so sure she’d do better.
Nikolai gave her shoulder a friendly slap. “Relax. It’s your first day. Probably just the nerves.” His easy grin did little to lift her mood.
Robin forced a thin smile. “Yeah… nerves.”
At the front of the arena, Professor Tristian yawned—long, drawn-out, and entirely unbothered.
“Now that that’s done,” he said, stretching before his tone sharpened, “we’re moving on to the final test for today.”
“Totalization.”
The word settled over the class like a weight.
“If you manage to impress me ,” Tristian continued, “I’ll be generous enough to hand out ten bonus points. So think carefully before you throw in the towel.”
That single word—bonus
Whispers rippled through the arena. Some students looked invigorated. Others looked like they’d already accepted defeat.
“Some people are actually gonna try it?” Nikolai muttered, raising an eyebrow.
“Is it that dangerous?” Robin asked quietly.
Nikolai smirked. “It always blows up in your face. You won’t die—but you’ll wish you had. Mostly because it’s embarrassing.”
“Giving up so easily, Nikolai?” Eugene’s tone dripping with mockery. “You’ll never surpass me with that kind of thinking.”
Nikolai scoffed. “Please. I don't need to learn totalization to kick your ass.”
“I’m still waiting for that day,” Eugene brush past them, to head toward the podium, his stride carrying that same quiet arrogance that made Robin’s skin crawl.
“What’s his problem?” She frowned after him.
“Don’t mind him,” Nikolai said with a shrug. “Yeah, he’s a dick—but you’ll get used to it.”
Robin bit the inside of her cheek.
She tried not to let her bias get the better of her—not after he'd shot her—but the longer she watched him, the harder it became.
Her thoughts drifted.
And once again, she was pulled back into the chaos of that week.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
“You know what’s better than green and red?” Hugh’s grin spread wide.
“Them maroons.”
His drawl was slow, deliberate.
“You mean burgundy,” Hellena corrected.
“Yeah… I call it that too,” Robin added quietly.
“Sure, if you wanna be a nerd about it,” Hugh took a step back to put some distance between them. “Maroon, that’s the color you get when you mix red and green together.”
Pui!
“Gross,” Hellena face twisted in disgust.
“Peel yer eyes, folks,” Hugh said with a sly smirk, the Southern lilt lingering in every word. “Y’all ain’t gonna wanna miss this.”
CRACK!
CRACK!
Hugh clapped his hands together.
The energies fused—red and green intertwining flawlessly. No trace of black. Only a rich, maroon glow pulsing between his palms.
“Y’all ever heard of a pagoda?” Hugh asked, grin widening.
“I’m ’bout to build one right here, right now!”
KRAKOOM!
Wooden columns erupted from the ground, glowing with radiant light. They bent, connected, and reformed, stacking and locking into place.
In moments, a pagoda stood before them —solid, intricate, impossibly precise.
“Dude,” Hellena groans, tapping her feet. “That’s not a pagoda—”
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Robin jerked upright.
The present crashed back in with a sharp buzz in her ears.
“The test’s about to start.” Nikolai snapped his fingers right in front of her face.
“Robin? You there?” His voice cut through the haze.
“I’m fine, don’t worry ’bout little ol’ me—” Robin's words slipped out in a thick Southern drawl.
Mortification hit all at once. She slapped a hand over her mouth, the weight of the accent settling in.
“You good?” Nikolai asked, “If you want, we can head back to class. No point staying anyway.”
Robin didn’t know how to explain it—but something felt different.
A strange, confident pride surged through her veins, sharp and intoxicating. Beneath it, a hunger gnawed—raw, unfamiliar, and demanding.
Her gaze drifted to the center stage.
Eugene was preparing for the test.
That smug expression. That effortless arrogance.
It lit a fire in her chest.
The hunger twisted into something sharper—glory. Her ego swelled, matching the surge building inside her. She didn’t hesitate.
It was time to show Eugene exactly who he was dealing with.
Robin straightened, planting her hands firmly on her hips.
“You know wha’?” she drawled.
“I think it’s time we show these folks how we do it.”
Nikolai stared at her like she’d grown horns.
“…Okay,” he said slowly. “But why do you talk like that?”
----
Eugene was just about to step onto the stage when a hand landed firmly on his shoulder, stopping him mid-step.
“Where you think you’re headin’, hon?” Robin’s voice carried authority—low, confident, thick with that newfound drawl.
“This ain’t no place for a pretty boy like you.”
Eugene turned sharply, irritation creasing his brow. “What did you just call me?”
Robin smirked and stepped closer, invading his space with unapologetic swagger. “Why don’t you step back and let a real man handle this.”
She brushed past him like the stage already belonged to her.
Eugene’s glare burned holes into her back. The sheer audacity of it left him speechless.
Professor Tristian said without looking up from his thinker, “Ms. Richie. What do you have for us today?”
“The good ol’ red and green,” Robin replied smoothly, casual but edged with quiet confidence. “I’m fixin’ to build myself a nice pagoda.”
“Transfiguration and Transmutation, then,” Tristian said dryly.
“Well sure—if you wanna be a nerd ’bout it,” Robin shot back without missing a beat.
A collective gasp rippled through the students. Several nearly choked, exchanging wide-eyed looks.
Professor Tristian finally lifted his gaze, studying her with faint curiosity. “Very well,” he said after a moment. “Don’t let me hold you back.”
“With pleasure.”
Robin stepped into position, confidence rolling off her in waves. She spat into both palms and rubbed them together with exaggerated enthusiasm.
“Ew…” someone muttered from the crowd.
“Peel your eyes, folks,” Robin said with a sly grin. “You don’t wanna miss this.”
CRACK!
CRACK!
She clapped her hands together.
The energies fused instantly—red and green spiraling into one another, forming a flawless maroon glow. No black seepage. No instability. Just pure, radiant power thrumming between her palms.
KRAKOOM!
The ground shuddered violently. A shockwave rippled outward, warping the wood like paper, bending the stage beneath her feet.
Gasps echoed through the arena.
Wooden columns burst from the earth one after another, glowing fiercely with maroon light. They twisted, locked, and stacked with surgical precision, forming something deliberate—beautiful.
In moments, a perfect pagoda stood before them.
Intricate. Symmetrical. Bathed in glowing energy beneath the spotlight.
Robin brushed the dust from her hands, as if she’d merely cleaned up after a long day.
She turned back to the class, a smug grin plastered across her face.
“How’s that for a show?”
For once, Professor Tristian stammered.
“I—” He cleared his throat, “I must admit… I’m impressed.”
“I know,” she said, tilting her head just enough to punctuate the confidence.
Tristian sighed, sweeping back his chestnut hair. “Let’s keep this short. What you’ve built is impressive, but—”
He gestured at the wooden structure behind her. “I’m disappointed you didn’t actually build a pagoda, as you claimed. So, nine points.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa—EXCUSE me?” Robin snapped, hands on her hips. “What do you mean I didn’t build a pagoda?”
“You built a pavilion,” Tristian said flatly. “Pagoda is a tower.”
Robin spun around, inspecting her creation—a roofed, open-sided structure with curved eaves, supported by wooden columns. Definitely not a tower.
Hugh’s raw skill has come as a package with his lack of cultural knowledge.
“Sir, I don’t mean no disrespect,” Robin jabbed a finger at the roof, “but, you see them curvy roofs? All that Asian-lookin’ business? That’s CLEARLY a pagoda, son.”
“I see it,” Tristian said evenly. “You’ve built a Chinese-style pavilion.”
Robin scoffed. “Ain’t no Made-in-China here. This is a pagoda—a cool Japanese thang.”
The students shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting between Robin and the professor.
“Can you move? It’s my turn.” Eugene’s voice cut through the tension, his glare cold and utterly unimpressed by her antics.
Robin squinted at him, getting an idea. “Well, look at that—an Asian fella.”
“Why don’t we ask him for his expertise?” she gestured grandly toward Eugene, completely ignoring the glare he was giving her.
“Excuse me?” Eugene’s voice tightened, the edge of offense sharp.
Robin leaned in, sniffing exaggeratedly. “Yep. Japanese—with a touch of Korean, too.”
Professor Tristian exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If I gave you full marks, would you step aside?”
Robin crossed her arms, an exaggerated pout forming on her lips. “I ain’t takin’ no pity points. If you want a tower, I’ll give you that pavilion thang you keep talkin’ about.”
She marched toward her “pagoda” with purpose.
“Pay attention, folks! This here’s what a pavilion looks like.” She slapped her hand against one of the wooden pillars.
KABOOM!
Smoke and splinters filled the room. Robin coughed, hair singed, smugness dented.
“Well,” Tristian said, brushing debris from his tracksuit, “it seems your technique is unstable. Five points.”
Robin groaned, running a hand through her singed hair.
“Eugene, would you mind giving a hand?” Tristian asked, utterly drained by Robin’s antics.
“Hmph.” Eugene huffed, tilting his chin with that practiced, infuriating arrogance.
Blue and yellow Aether flowed from his fingertips, weaving together seamlessly. Where they met, the two colors fused into a flawless indigo glow, shimmering like liquid glass.
With a slow, deliberate motion, Eugene raised his arm above his head. The indigo energy expanded outward, forming a massive dome that encapsulated the entire stage.
Gasps rippled through the students. Totalization on that scale—was something few could even attempt.
Eugene twisted his wrist counterclockwise. The air itself seemed to bend under his command.
Fragments of Robin’s exploded pavilion stirred. Shards of wood lifted, spinning and twisting through impossible arcs. Roof tiles whirled back into place with unnerving grace. Broken pillars realigned, snapping upright one by one, until the pavilion stood fully restored, flawless as it had been before.
Then, almost imperceptibly, the pavilion began to dissolve. Strand by strand, it unraveled into the floor. The roof, pillars, and tiles vanished like smoke caught in sunlight.
The podium was bare. Untouched. As though the pavilion had never existed.
“Thank you,” Tristian said with a nod, and almost automatic approval.
“Are we done here?” Eugene asked smoothly, his voice dripping with arrogance as he casually dismissed the indigo Aether from his hands.
“Ten points,” Tristian said, scribbling quickly, clearly wanting the ordeal to end. “Ms. Richie, you may… make your leave now.”
Robin froze.
The adrenaline that had surged moments ago—fiery, reckless, intoxicating—drained out of her like water through a sieve.
Her ego, once held like armor, lay shattered, splintered like the remains of her pavilion. The Southern drawl, the bravado—they flickered and died, leaving only a hollow sting of humiliation.
All that remained was Robin: small, exposed, standing in front of her peers, her chest tight with embarrassment.
Nikolai shook his head, his expression tight with sympathy.
*That was… brutal,* he thought.
