Elastic Potential
And she was gone, vanished through the gaping hole in the ceiling.
"So destroying these metal vultures is just a bonus then!" Alex roared over the mechanical shriek of the drones, her voice raw with adrenaline as she hurled another crimson-eyed machine into the concrete wall. It exploded in a shower of sparks and twisted metal.
Mateo's chest tightened as he watched the carnage unfold around him. His fists clenched uselessly at his sides, knuckles white with frustration. This was it—the moment that would define everything. These weren't opponents he could face with brute force. The sleek, predatory drones buzzed through the air like mechanical wasps, their red optical sensors scanning for targets, blade-tipped arms whirring with deadly precision. Each one was a reminder of his inadequacy.
I'm going to fail again.
One of the girls—her face set in fierce concentration—lifted a jagged piece of drone wreckage with her mind, the metal shard hovering in the air before she drove it through another drone's central processor. Sparks cascaded around her as she grabbed the dead machine telekinetically, wielding it like a battering ram to clear a path through the swarm. The metallic screech of drone against drone echoed through the arena.
The guy in the crimson hero costume—already looking like he belonged here—unleashed a torrent of flames that turned the air itself into a weapon. Mateo felt the heat wash over him from twenty feet away as hundreds of drones melted into slag, their metal frames glowing orange before collapsing into molten puddles.
Look at them. They're already heroes.
Ben moved through the chaos, untouchable, as the drones' attacks slid off him harmlessly. Henrik slashed with surgical precision, his bone-blade finding weak points in each drone's armor. Even the blond guy—what was his name?—moved with fluid grace, staying just behind the main group, watching everything with those calculating eyes.
And Mateo? Mateo could only run.
His lungs burned as he dove behind a pile of rubble, the displaced air from a drone's blade ruffling his hair. His shirt hung in tatters, dark stains spreading where the metal had found its mark. Each shallow cut stung like a brand of failure.
Sixty seconds. Alex was already halfway to the finish line, her abilities clearing a path through the mechanical horde. The others weren't far behind, their confident movements a stark contrast to his desperate scrambling.
Mateo crouched behind his shelter, gasping for air that tasted of ozone and fear. A drone's red eye appeared around the corner of his hiding spot, its optical sensor locking onto him with a soft beep that sounded like a death sentence. The machine's blade extended with a mechanical whir, gleaming under the arena's harsh lights.
How many more times will I fail? Even if he could activate his quirk—and that was a big if—what good would it do? He'd never trained with it, never understood it, never wanted it.
Think, Mateo! THINK! But his mind was blank, paralyzed by the approaching drone and the weight of his own inadequacy.
The world seemed to slow as the drone's blade carved through the air toward his throat—
Something slammed into his side, knocking him flat as the killer machine whistled overhead, its blade missing him by inches. Mateo hit the ground hard, the impact driving the air from his lungs.
"What the hell—" he gasped, looking up to see his savior.
The boy who'd pushed him to safety was small and wiry, with thick glasses that had somehow stayed on his face despite the chaos. His cotton-black hair looked like it belonged on a sheep rather than a hero-in-training, and his baby face made him look twelve, not seventeen or eighteen.
He's been hiding back here too. The realization should have been comforting, but it only amplified Mateo's shame. If this kid had made it this far, he had to have some kind of useful quirk.
"You're the Slime boy, right?" The kid's voice was steady despite the mechanical death flying around them. His eyes were bright with something that looked disturbingly like excitement. "Good thing you're still here. We could really use each other's help."
The boy extended his hand, and after a moment's hesitation, Mateo took it. They ran together, using destroyed drones as shields while the others grew smaller in the distance.
They must be three-quarters of the way there by now. The thought made Mateo's stomach churn. While he was cowering behind debris, they were proving they belonged here.
"Okay, here's the thing," the boy said, his words coming rapid-fire as they sheltered behind a twisted piece of machinery. "My quirk is utility-based, not combat-oriented. I'm basically dead meat on my own out here, but together? Together we could actually win this thing!"
"So what can you do?" Mateo asked, surprised by the desperation in his own voice.
"Dimensions!" the boy said, adjusting his glasses as sweat beaded on his forehead.
That sounds incredible. Could he manipulate space? Alter the dimensions of objects?
"I can calculate the precise dimensions of any physical quantity. Sounds boring, right? But here's the thing—I've been watching you since the trials started, and your slime? Your slime is fascinating."
Mateo's heart dropped. "Wait, you mean you just... measure things?"
"Exactly! But that's my point!" The boy's eyes gleamed behind his glasses like he'd discovered fire. "You don't know how to use your power, and I've already run the calculations on your slime. Density of 1.3 kilograms per cubic centimeter—that's denser than water but lighter than concrete. Viscosity of roughly 12,000 centipoise, which makes it about ten times thicker than honey. And the tensile strength? Nearly perfectly elastic. It stores kinetic energy like a rubber band and releases it with minimal loss."
He's actually figured all this out? Mateo stared at the kid, caught between awe and annoyance. Here he was, barely understanding his own quirk, while this stranger had apparently solved it like a math problem.
"Here's what we're going to do," the boy continued, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. "You're going to shoot your slime at that boulder over there—"
"I don't shoot slime," Mateo interrupted. "I just... it comes out of me. Sometimes."
The kid blinked. "You've never practiced?"
"No."
"Never experimented with different consistencies or applications?"
"No."
"Never tested the maximum range or—"
"I said no!" Mateo's voice cracked with frustration. "I don't know how to use it, okay? I don't even want to use it!"
The boy stared at him for a moment, then broke into a grin that was either inspiring or completely insane. "Well, lucky for you, I do! Your quirk follows physical laws, which means it's predictable. And if it's predictable, we can use it."
Do I have a choice? Time was bleeding away with every second. The others were probably nearing the finish line while he sat here getting a science lecture from a kid who looked like he'd never seen the inside of a gym.
"Tell me what to do," he said, hating how small his voice sounded.
After absorbing every word of the boy's rapid-fire explanation—physics and strategy crammed between dodging mechanical death—Mateo felt something shift inside him. Not confidence, exactly, but a desperate kind of hope.
He closed his eyes and felt for that familiar pressure building beneath his skin. The sensation made him sick—a reminder of every moment he'd rather forget—but he pushed through it. His pores tingled as they widened, the feeling both uncomfortable and strangely liberating.
The green slime emerged slowly, fighting him every step of the way. Instead of the uncontrolled eruption he was used to, he tried to focus it into something useful. A thin stream at first, barely thicker than his thumb, wobbling and inconsistent.
"More!" the boy—Glasses, he decided to call him—shouted over the drone noise. "You need more mass!"
A crimson drone screamed toward them, its blade spinning with mechanical hunger. Mateo lashed out instinctively with his pathetic slime tendril, and by some miracle, it made contact. The viscous fluid wrapped around the drone's central body, and he could feel the machine's struggle through the connection, its motors whining as it fought against the elastic grip.
When he yanked his arm down, the drone smashed into the concrete with a satisfying crunch of metal and circuits.
It worked. It actually worked.
But his moment of triumph was short-lived. More drones converged on their position, a metallic swarm with murder in their red eyes. Mateo tried to summon more slime, but his control was still garbage. Sometimes it came out thick as pudding, sometimes thin as water. Sometimes it barely emerged at all.
"I can't control it!" he gasped, dodging another blade that carved splinters from the concrete where his head had been.
"Then don't!" Glasses yelled back. "Stop trying to control it and just let it out! Physics will do the rest!"
Easy for you to say. But desperation made him reckless. He stopped fighting the sensation and let the slime pour out of his arm like a green river. The mass grew rapidly, thicker than his wrist, then his forearm, swelling into something that looked almost alive.
When he swung left, four drones disappeared into the gooey mass. The satisfying crunch as he brought them down sent debris flying in every direction. When he swung right, three more joined the scrap pile.
I can do this. The thought was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.
"Now shoot your slime toward that boulder!" Glasses pointed to a chunk of concrete the size of a car about forty feet away.
"I told you, I don't shoot—"
"Throw it then! Fling it! Whatever you call it!"
Mateo gathered his will and pushed. The slime shot forward—not gracefully, not with perfect aim, but with enough force to splatter against the rough surface of the boulder. To his amazement, it held firm, creating a taut line between them and the elevated position.
"What now?" Mateo called, his heart hammering as fresh drones began to circle.
"Now we literally catapult ourselves to victory," Glasses said, grinning like a maniac despite the mechanical death surrounding them. "Basic physics—elastic potential energy converted to kinetic energy. We're going to use your slime like a giant slingshot!"
This is insane. But insane was better than failure.
They ran—not toward the finish line, but backward, away from their goal. Every step felt wrong, like running from salvation itself. But Mateo could feel the physics working, the slime stretching taut as a bowstring. The sensation was nauseating, like part of his body was being pulled apart, but he gritted his teeth and kept running.
The others have to be almost finished by now. The thought made his legs pump harder, pushing against the increasing resistance of his elastic tether.
"This is it!" Glasses shouted, wrapping his arms around Mateo's waist. "Brace yourself!"
Should I shake him off? The thought flashed through Mateo's mind. He could go alone, faster, without the extra weight. But Glasses had given him the knowledge to make this possible. And besides...
I might need his brain later.
Mateo stopped resisting the pull. His feet left the ground, and the world exploded into motion.
Faster than before. Faster than with Alex. The arena blurred beneath them as they rocketed forward, the sensation of flight both terrifying and exhilarating. Blood rushed from his head as they gained altitude, the world taking on a dreamlike quality.
But something was wrong. They weren't flying straight toward the finish line—they were heading directly for the boulder where he'd anchored the slime.
We're going to die.
The rocky surface rushed toward them with lethal speed. At this velocity, they'd be reduced to paste against the stone.
Glasses screamed behind him, but Mateo was already moving on instinct. Slime erupted from his shoulder—not controlled this time, but as if on instinct. The green mass formed a cushion between them and the boulder, absorbing the impact with a wet squelch that he felt in his bones.
They bounced off the slime barrier, their trajectory redirected skyward. The ceiling rushed toward them—artificial lights simulating a sun that had set hours ago. If they hit that metal surface at full speed...
At least we slowed down.
They reached the apex of their flight, and for a moment, everything was perfect. Mateo could see the entire arena spread out below them like a tactical map. The mountains of rubble looked like pebbles. The other contestants moved like insects far below.
I'm flying. The realization hit him hard. I'm actually flying with my quirk.
"Maximum height: forty-five feet!" Glasses yelled, his voice filled with scientific glee. "Prepare for descent!"
Mateo released his connection to the slime anchor and felt gravity reclaim them. The ground rushed up with frightening speed, but for the first time in his life, he felt like he might actually understand his power.
I can do this.
They were falling toward the front of the pack, several feet ahead of even the fastest contestants. The red finish line was painted on the dark concrete like a promise of redemption.
But as he prepared to create a landing cushion, two things happened simultaneously.
First, Glasses twisted behind him, somehow repositioning himself to be in front during their fall.
Second, the world shifted. One moment Mateo was falling toward victory, the next he was running with the other contestants far below. His perspective had changed completely—instead of seeing the ground rushing toward him, he was looking up at Glasses falling with another figure.
The blond guy from the dorm.
He switched places somehow. That had to be the blond guy's quirk. Somehow, he'd switched places with Mateo mid-fall, stealing his victory at the last possible second.
Of course. Even when he finally did something right, someone else found a way to take it from him.
Mateo took a step toward the finish line, but an invisible force yanked him backward. He didn't need to look to know what it was—he'd felt Alex's pull too many times before.
Not this time.
He spun around to see Alex thirty feet away, her fist clenched in concentration. The pull was stronger than he'd ever felt it, trying to drag him away from the finish line he'd worked so hard to reach.
I won't fail again.
A slime tendril shot from his arm to the ground, anchoring him against her power. The elastic connection stretched taut as she pulled harder, but he held firm.
Come on, Alex. Come closer.
She took the bait, moving within range to increase her power's effectiveness. The moment she was close enough, Mateo struck—not with his quirk, but with his foot, catching her in the stomach and breaking her concentration.
The telekinetic pull vanished, and his stretched slime snapped back like a rubber band. He flew forward, skidding across the concrete on his back, scraping skin from his elbows and shoulders.
But he made it.
The red line passed beneath him as he slid to a stop. Around him, the other contestants were still fighting their way forward, but he was already across.
I did it. I actually did it.
But even as the realization sank in, another thought followed close behind: Would I have made it without Glasses? The kid had figured out everything about his quirk in minutes, while Mateo had spent two years hating it. Without that knowledge, without those calculations, he'd still be cowering behind rubble while everyone else claimed victory.
Does it count if I only succeeded because of someone else's brain?
The question gnawed at him as he lay there, bleeding and exhausted but technically victorious. He was still on probation, still didn't understand his quirk, still felt like he didn't belong at Atlas Academy.
Maybe that was a start.