The days slipped by, and before anyone knew it, October 2nd had arrived—the eve of the joint training event. In the classroom, excitement mingled with tension as Mrs. Stone took attendance.

  At the roll call, a chill ran down Iris’s spine when Anya was called upon. The sound grated on her, a constant reminder of their unsettling tension. Anya, ever calm and seamlessly integrated into the class, irked Iris to no end. How could someone blend in so perfectly? The thought festered beneath her simmering irritation.

  “Now, as you all know,” Mrs. Stone announced, her voice steady, “tomorrow begins the week-long joint training event. You’ll be meeting the Beta Facility students and taking an exam together at the end of the week. Whichever class scores higher wins.”

  Anya’s hand shot up. “Since my ability requires equipment, am I allowed to bring any for the exam?” she asked with polite optimism.

  “Unfortunately, that won’t be permitted,” Mrs. Stone replied with a shake of her head. “You’ll have to make do without it. I’m sorry if that makes things difficult.”

  “Alright, I’ll make it work,” Anya said, her bright smile unwavering.

  As the class dispersed, Iris hurriedly packed her things, desperate to escape the oppressive atmosphere. But just as she reached the door, a gentle tug on her arm halted her. Turning, she found Anya standing there, her usual cheer now mixed with quiet determination.

  “Excuse me, Iris. Can we talk, alone?” Anya requested, her tone both sweet and firm.

  Iris forced a smile. “I’m a bit busy; I don’t think I can,” she replied, edging toward the exit.

  “Don’t worry—it’ll be quick,” Anya insisted, tightening her grip and leading Iris into an empty classroom. The door slammed shut behind them, and a faint purple glow emanated from the ring on Anya’s finger, forming a shimmering barrier around the room.

  With the sudden confinement, Anya’s expression shifted. Her cheery mask gave way to a calculating look as she fixed Iris with a piercing gaze. “You know I’m not supposed to be here,” she said coolly.

  Iris’s fists clenched, small flames flickering around her fingers. “Of course I do, you liar,” she snapped.

  Amused rather than offended, Anya replied lightly, “I have no ill will toward you—let’s just keep this civil, shall we?”

  “Civil?” Iris’s voice trembled with rage. “There’s nothing civil about this! I hate you—especially because your father, that murderer, killed my parents!” Her flames roared to life, casting ominous shadows across the room.

  For a moment, Anya remained serene. Then her smile sharpened, and a dark glint filled her eyes. “Oh, wow,” she drawled mockingly, “I don’t know how you uncovered that, but I’m impressed. You’re just as smart as your father….your real father.”

  A bitter laugh escaped her as Iris’s flames flared even brighter. “What do you mean? He died when I was a child.”

  “Oh, oops,” Anya purred, her smile widening as if she relished the slip. “Looks like I let something slip that I shouldn’t have.” A cruel glint danced in her eyes, daring Iris to press further.

  Iris’s anger flared, her flames roaring around her as if reflecting her inner inferno. “Tell me what you know,” she demanded, voice trembling with rage.

  Anya’s grin deepened into something sinister. “So violent, Iris. How about this? Beat me in a fight, and I might just tell you everything.” Her earring pulsed with an azure glow, casting an ethereal light as reality itself seemed to warp.

  In an instant, six mechanical limbs materialized around Anya—twisting, floating appendages armed with sharpened fingers and a gleaming chainsaw. The disembodied hands pointed at Iris, poised like predators. “Care to take your chances?” Anya taunted, revving the chainsaw. Its metallic whine mixed with the hum of energy as the mechanical hands charged and then snapped forward, unleashing a volley of laser beams that streaked toward Iris.

  Instinctively, Iris conjured a bow of living flame, drawing back a fiery string and releasing a barrage of blazing arrows. In midair, her arrows collided with the laser beams, erupting in miniature explosions that rocked the room. Shockwaves rattled the walls, and flickering lights danced on the chaos of heat and energy.

  Staggered but unyielding, Iris glared at Anya. “Is that all you’ve got?” she spat.

  With a roar, Anya lunged forward, chainsaw swinging in a vicious arc aimed at Iris’s shoulder. Quick as a flash, Iris sidestepped and retaliated with a torrent of fire aimed at Anya’s side. The searing heat scorched, but Anya twirled away with graceful defiance.

  Mechanical hands circled like vultures, their fingers morphing into blades that sliced through the air. Iris spun her flaming bow into a blazing shield, sparks erupting as the blades met her barrier. “Come on, Iris! Show me what your anger is worth!” Anya taunted over the clamor.

  Focusing through the maelstrom, Iris summoned every ounce of strength. Her flames roared into a swirling maelstrom—a shockwave of fire that surged forward. The room crackled as laser beams and fire collided in a dazzling, destructive dance.

  Anya’s chainsaw shrieked as she slashed downward, but Iris dodged, retaliating with a fresh volley of flaming arrows that seared toward Anya’s chest. The rotating chainsaw deflected the arrows into sparks, as the mechanical hands quickly reconfigured, extending razor-sharp claws.

  Iris spun, enveloping herself in a fiery vortex that incinerated two of the claws. “I guess I’ll just have to burn through all your tricks!” she shouted, drawing back her bow once more. With fierce determination, she formed a large, spiraling bolt of fire—a blazing comet aimed squarely at Anya.

  “Try it!” Anya shouted, her chainsaw revving louder as she raised a translucent, azure barrier. But when Iris released the bolt, it struck the barrier with overwhelming force. The barrier shattered, cracks spreading like spider webs, and the fiery comet sent Anya stumbling back, her chainsaw flaring and sputtering under the impact.

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  Seizing her moment, Iris surged forward, flames coiling around her arms like living serpents. She aimed a burning fist at Anya’s midsection—a final, decisive blow. Yet, as she closed the distance, a mechanical hand lashed out and wrapped around her arm, yanking her off balance.

  Iris snarled as the metal hand’s grip tightened around her arm, heat pulsing from her skin as she tried desperately to burn it away. The metal began to glow red-hot, but Anya was already moving—swinging her chainsaw in a deadly arc toward Iris’s exposed back.

  At the last moment, Iris twisted her body, thrusting a searing wave of flame between herself and the chainsaw. The intense heat forced Anya to recoil, her chainsaw hissing as the metal steamed under the sudden surge. Iris barely evaded another vicious swing, when—without warning—thick vines burst through the wall. The sudden greenery tore into the room with startling force, shattering Anya’s barrier and sending spider-web cracks across the floor. Amid the chaos, vibrant flowers bloomed along the snaking vines, their delicate petals a stark contrast to the charred, smoky remnants of Iris’s flames.

  The vines moved with ruthless speed, wrapping tightly around both Iris and Anya. Iris struggled desperately as the rough coils squeezed her arms and torso, while Anya’s chainsaw was wrenched from her grasp and clattered to the ground, swallowed by the creeping vegetation. Even the floating mechanical hands were no match, their laser-emitting fingers crushed into useless scrap.

  Then, through the ruined wall, a figure stepped forward—his silhouette framed by the swaying, intrusive vines. Jonathan emerged, his face etched with stern disapproval as he surveyed the chaotic scene.

  “What in the world is happening here?” Jonathan’s low voice carried enough weight to silence both combatants instantly.

  “Oh, you know, just playing around,” Anya replied with a mischievous smirk that belied the danger of the moment. She shot a wink in Iris’s direction. “Right, Iris?”

  Iris’s breath came in ragged bursts, the adrenaline, and heat still pulsing through her. “Yeah… just a little sparring,” she muttered, though her voice lacked conviction.

  Jonathan’s brow furrowed as he regarded them both. “Really? I must have missed the memo about children playing with chainsaws and setting rooms on fire,” he said dryly.

  Iris’s gaze fell to the thick vines still coiled around her. “Should I just burn my way out of these?” she snapped, her voice edged with impatience.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Anya interjected, her tone shifting to caution. “Trust me—Jonathan’s power is far stronger than either of ours. You’d only make things worse.”

  Jonathan’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve let your previous… incidents slide, Iris,” he declared, his tone cold and commanding. “But this is the last time. Countless reckless uses of abilities, and Anya trying to slice someone up with a chainsaw—that’s where I draw the line.”

  A frustrated sigh escaped Iris as her shoulders slumped. “You knew about the other times?” she muttered, her voice a blend of hurt and disbelief.

  “Of course I knew,” Jonathan replied, disappointment tinting his tone. “You’re not as subtle as you think. I was curious to see what a spy from Noir could do, but you’ve been rather lackluster.”

  “You… you knew this entire time?” Anya asked, fear flickering in her eyes.

  Jonathan’s gaze hardened slightly. “Both authority-type users and subjugator-type ability users are immune to the authority of memories. Let me share a secret: I possess two abilities—plant manipulation and the subjugator of nature. Whatever concept I desire, I can turn it into plants under my control.”

  A slow smile tugged at his lips as his fingers twitched. From his hand, a blood thorn began to grow, twisting in the air with malevolent life—a sharp, deadly seed waiting for soil. Anya flinched, but not fast enough. The blood thorn sliced across her side—its cut wasn’t deep, but it drew blood instantly.

  She gasped and stumbled, instinctively bringing a trembling hand to the wound. To her horror, mold began to spread from the incision—gray-green tendrils creeping along her veins as if invading her very blood. Her cry of pain filled the tense silence, and Iris looked on in shock.

  Jonathan’s voice was disturbingly light. “I wouldn’t worry too much, I don’t plan to kill you, yet. Just a little reminder that everything has consequences.”

  Anya staggered, clutching her side as the strange, invasive power crept through her. The mold continued to spread, tiny green stalks emerging from the puncture, yet it wasn’t immediately lethal. She struggled for breath, her limbs quivering in pain.

  Then, with a deliberate snap of his fingers, Jonathan retracted the thorn. The spreading mold halted, slowly receding until only the faintest scar remained. Jonathan stepped back, casually wiping his hand as if brushing away mere dust.

  The moment hung heavy between them—a mixture of revelation and retribution. Iris’s eyes widened in horror, while Anya, still breathing raggedly, stared at the wound in stunned silence. In that charged instant, a bitter lesson was clear to Anya: fear The Gardener.

  “Now, both of you are coming with me—to detention,” Jonathan commanded with a wry smile.

  The vines tightened their grip, pulling Iris and Anya toward the door as Jonathan turned to lead them away. Iris twisted against the restraints, a flicker of pity crossing her face for Anya.

  “Are you okay? That looked intense,” Iris asked softly.

  “Shut up. Don’t give me that act—I know you don’t really care,” Anya snapped, her glare icy.

  “You’d know all about acting, wouldn’t you?” Iris retorted.

  “Once we’re out of detention, I’ll finish what I started,” Anya warned, her tone low and dangerous.

  “Next time I get the chance, I’m blasting you with my flames,” Iris hissed.

  Jonathan stopped abruptly, rubbing his temples in exasperation. “Enough,” he snapped. “Could you both please stop trying to kill each other? You’re already in enough trouble as it is.”

  The vines continued their unyielding pull as the two girls exchanged heated glares. The delicate flowers adorning the vines swayed as if mocking the tension.

  Soon, they were dumped into a stifling detention room—a seemingly ordinary classroom with neatly aligned desks and sterile fluorescent lights. Yet the oppressive atmosphere was anything but normal. Jonathan had practically tossed them inside.

  “Anastasia, keep an eye on them,” Jonathan said irritably as he turned to leave. “They’re not going anywhere for the next few hours.”

  At the front of the room sat Anastasia, her presence immediately commanding. With long purple hair styled into twin pigtails—adorned with bright ribbons contrasting with a streak of blonde—and piercing cyan eyes, a subtle spider tattoo on her neck, she exuded dangerous authority. Dressed in a tight red dress with her feet casually propped up on the teacher’s desk, she overlooked a neat arsenal of weapons—pistols, rifles, and a sawed-off shotgun—scattered across the desk and floor.

  Glancing up from the magazine in her hands, she scowled. “Just when I was about to take my smoke break,” she grumbled in a rough, world-weary tone. “Take a seat, brats. And don’t make me repeat myself.”

  The threat was clear. Iris and Anya slid into two chairs near the front, exchanging tense, wary glances. Any thoughts of further rebellion vanished under Anastasia’s steely gaze.

  The room was quiet except for the rustling of magazine pages. Then, ever the risk-taker, Anya tentatively raised her hand. “Uh, excuse me, can I—”

  Before she could finish, Anastasia’s hand moved like lightning. She drew a pistol and fired a shot. The bullet whizzed past Anya’s ear, embedding itself in the wall with a dull thud. Anya froze, her face draining of color as she stared at the tiny hole.

  “No talking,” Anastasia said coldly, keeping the smoking gun steady and her eyes fixed on her magazine. “Unless you want me to aim a little closer. Sit down, shut up, and wait for Jonathan to return. Understood?”

  Iris and Anya exchanged a tense glance and nodded silently, their faces pale with apprehension. As they sank back into their chairs, one thought echoed between them—escape. Somehow, they needed to find a way out before this place swallowed them whole.