Seven hours later, Mateo was in his dorm, peeling off his hefty hero suit equipment, still surprised that he had won the fight against Inferno.
His right arm moved without the sharp bite of pain that had accompanied every motion after the hydraulic punch. Atlas Academy's medical staff had worked efficiently—advanced regenerative treatments that could mend fractured bones in hours rather than weeks. The kind of technology that made sending seventeen-year-olds into war zones seem almost reasonable.
Almost.
After stripping down, he folded the gear into the special black backpack AA had issued to all students. Tomorrow, this bag would carry everything he owned into a real battlefield. The thought felt both inevitable and impossible, like standing at the edge of a cliff knowing you had to jump but unable to believe your feet would actually leave solid ground.
It was seven in the evening. The dorm felt hollow, emptied of the usual tension that followed training. The rest of the students were still mingling in the common areas—Classes A through F finally able to see each other after the brutal isolation of the past week's sessions. Mateo had watched a few of the other fights: Alex dismantling Henrik with surgical precision, Switch and Akira's surprising duel that had ended in a duel rather than clear victory.
But crowds had never been his refuge. He'd retreated here for solitude, to process what came next in the only way he knew how—alone, in silence.
As he sat on his bunk, his fingers found the worn envelope tucked between his spare clothes. Four hundred dollars. Three hundred scraped together from odd jobs back in Ashdrift, plus the hundred Shinji had pressed into his hands with awkward pity. He'd never spent a cent of it—Atlas had provided everything. Food, shelter, purpose. Would money even matter where he was going?
The door opened without warning.
Inferno walked in, and Mateo felt the air shift—not with the usual crackling tension, but something quieter. Inferno's left arm hung in a reinforced cast His shoulder moved stiffly as he maneuvered his own gear bag, but his face betrayed nothing.
Mateo found himself staring at the sling. I did that. The thought carried no satisfaction, only a strange hollow recognition. In a few hours, they'd fought as enemies. Now they were... what? Allies? Strangers sharing the same fate?
"Thank you."
The words came quietly, unexpectedly. Inferno was facing his own bunk, methodically packing his hero suit with his good hand. His red hair caught the overhead light, making him seem less imposing than usual—just a tall, injured kid preparing for war.
Mateo blinked, realizing he'd been silent too long. "Thank you? For what?"
Didn't I just beat you? He'd expected resentment, maybe cold professionalism. Inferno's father was a top-three hero—assuming the man was still alive—and sons of legends didn't typically thank the people who humbled them in front of cameras.
Inferno didn't elaborate. He shouldered his bag with practiced efficiency and headed for the door, moving like their brief exchange had never happened. Mateo almost let it go, chalking it up to post-battle adrenaline or concussion symptoms.
The door closed. Mateo settled back on his bunk, ready to lose himself in sleep before tomorrow's reality arrived.
Then the door cracked open again. Inferno's face appeared, stoic but somehow less guarded than before.
"Aren't you coming?"
"Coming for what?" Mateo sat up, confused.
"You didn't hear?" Inferno paused, understanding flickering across his features. "Right. You don't have a phone."
Mateo had been pulling off his boots, already mentally preparing for unconsciousness. Now he had to engage with whatever this was. "So what's going on?"
"Reeves said she has a 'surprise' for us before we deploy tomorrow." Inferno's words carried their usual military precision, but something underneath had softened. "Meet at training bay Alpha by 1930."
"For what?"
"Not sure. We'll find out when we get there."
And so they walked together through Atlas Academy's sterile corridors, bags in hand, not talking. Other students passed them with an energy Mateo couldn't quite name—nervous excitement, maybe, or the kind of manic brightness that came from refusing to think too hard about tomorrow. This was their last day as trainees. Tomorrow, they'd be something else entirely.
They reached training bay Alpha to find ten others already assembled. Mateo wouldn't have known about any of this without Inferno's intervention—a realization that sat strangely with him.
"You finally made it." Reeves stood at attention in her standard military uniform, but something in her posture was different. Less like a drill sergeant, more like... he couldn't place it.
They fell into formation out of habit, muscle memory from weeks of conditioning.
"Now, I'm sure most of you are wondering why you were called here," Reeves began, pacing with her usual measured steps. Mateo braced himself for another training exercise, some final test designed to push them past their limits one more time. It would be cruel but expected.
"Other trainees have been dismissed to their quarters for rest before deployment." She continued pacing, but there was something different in her rhythm. "But not you twelve. I have something special planned."
Mateo caught it then—the slightest spark in Reeves' typically granite expression. Whether that was good or bad remained unclear.
The others exchanged glances. Akira, her animal companion as a pied crow perched alertly on her shoulder, seemed to be suppressing a smile.
"I'm taking you out," Reeves announced.
Silence. Then someone—Seraphine, maybe—voiced what they were all thinking: "What?"
"Out?" Henrik repeated, blinking rapidly. "Like... into the city?"
"To eat," Reeves confirmed, hands clasped behind her back. For the first time since Mateo had known her, she smiled. "You've earned it."
Mateo's mind stumbled over the concept. This was the woman who'd run them through obstacle courses in freezing rain, who'd pushed their quirks until they collapsed from exhaustion. The idea of her treating them to dinner felt like reality glitching.
Even Inferno tilted his head, the gesture making him look oddly wolfish in his confusion.
"You must think I'm some heartless hardass if the idea of me buying you dinner is this shocking." Reeves' sigh carried genuine weariness. "Actually, it was Akira's suggestion. Her father owns a restaurant downtown, and I thought..." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "You deserve a moment to breathe before everything changes."
A last supper, Mateo thought, though he couldn't deny the flutter of anticipation in his chest. After everything they'd endured, maybe they had earned something.
"Gear up," Reeves continued, pivoting on her heel with characteristic precision. "Those of you who have costumes, wear them. The people of the Capital need to see their future protectors. We represent hope now, whether we're ready or not. Reconvene at 2000 hours. Don't be late."
She walked away, boot heels echoing off the walls like a countdown timer.
"I swear, if they have glazed donuts, I might actually cry," Anon said, eyes closed in rapture as the six male students returned to their dorm. "The rice here tastes like cardboard soaked in disappointment."
Mateo methodically suited up while the others chattered about food and civilian life. He tried to imagine what tomorrow would bring. Back in Ashdrift, he'd watched distant explosions bloom like deadly flowers on the horizon. Would they be deployed into that chaos? Was anyone truly ready for such a thing?
No. He wasn't ready. But readiness felt like a luxury he couldn't afford. When the time came, he'd pour everything he had into his goal, even if it destroyed him in the process.
"Reeves wants us to inspire confidence in the people," Switch observed, checking the concealed knife strapped to his back. "But honestly, Mateo, you look terrifying in that getup."
"Did you see his fight earlier?" Ben's enthusiasm cut through the room's subdued atmosphere. "When he came out of Zeke's flames burning green with those black horns glowing red? He looked like something from a nightmare. No offense."
"None taken," Mateo replied, his voice hollow and metallic through the mask's filters. He glanced at Inferno, expecting some reaction to the reminder of his defeat, but the redhead showed nothing.
They made their way through Atlas Academy's multiple levels, past training rooms and medical bays, past the life they were leaving behind. The massive double doors that marked the academy's entrance loomed ahead—the same doors Mateo had approached a week ago, desperate and uncertain if he'd even be admitted.
Now he was leaving as a licensed hero, such as it was.
"You think we'll come back here?" Anon asked quietly as they approached the exit.
Mateo touched the door handle, metal cool against his gloved palm. A week ago, he'd been nobody—a kid with a weak quirk and impossible dreams. Now he was... what? A weapon? A symbol? An eighteen-year-old in a costume, about to eat dinner before marching off to war?
Behind him, he could hear Inferno's quiet breathing, the slight hitch that suggested his injuries were bothering him more than he let on. Ahead lay the city, full of people who would look at them and see heroes. Tomorrow, those same people would expect them to die for the privilege.
Is this what it means? The question formed unbidden in his mind as he pushed open the door. Is this what being a hero looks like?
The evening air hit his face through the helmet's vents, carrying the scent of a world that existed beyond training and preparation and the promise of violence. For one night, they would sit in a restaurant and pretend they were normal. They would eat and maybe laugh and for a few hours forget that tomorrow might erase them entirely.
Maybe that was heroic in its own way.
Or maybe he was overthinking things, and they were just scared kids trying to make sense of an impossible situation they had gotten themselves into.
The doors of Atlas Academy closed behind them with a soft pneumatic hiss, sealing off one chapter of their lives. Below, the city lights beckoned—bright, warm, and utterly unaware of what tomorrow would bring.
Mateo walked forward into the night, carrying his questions with him.