Chapter 4
2188words
"Oh, one more thing," he called out, his tone casual.
My hand hovered inches from the door. I didn't turn around. I could feel his eyes on my back, heavy and smug, along with the unspoken amusement radiating from the others. They were watching me. Waiting.
"Make sure Mr. S'dala doesn't see you take it," he added.
The task had already been impossible, but now...how was I supposed to steal the ID card without Mr. S'dala noticing? Mr. S'dala was too alert, too perceptive. He notices everything. The idea of trying to take something from him made my stomach tighten with a quiet dread.
He wasn't done. "Once you have it, meet me by the front gates at the end of the day. Hand it over to me directly."
I didn't move. Still frozen where I stood.
He let the silence stretch .
Then he spoke again, softer this time. "But if you don't have it by then... well. Let's just say I won't stop Andrew this time."
The threat wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. It slid into my spine like a needle. I already knew what he meant. I knew what will happen if Andrew wasn't stopped.
He'll control my every nerve, snapping joints as if they were made of paper, distorting my limbs into angles they were never meant to bend. I won't be able to scream out loud, yet my muscles will scream. My fingers will close around my own throat, digging in with a force that isn't my own.
If Andrew wasn't stopped... he wouldn't just toy with me next time.
He'd break every part of me slowly.
And Nathaniel would watch.
Maybe he'd even enjoy it.
Maybe that was the point.
I nodded once, small and stiff, and opened the door. The second I stepped into the hallway, the weight in my chest lightened only slightly, but it never left. My body felt hollow...empty.
After lunch, I went to my last class: Superhero Ethics and the Law. One of the few classes I could tolerate. It focused on the responsibilities of heroes and the moral questions that came with power. Not that it applied to me. I don't have any powers. But it gave me something to focus on.
Mr. S'dala teaches this class, and he possesses a unique ability to make every lesson very significant. There's something about the way he presents even the most complicated concepts that makes them easy to understand. He engages with the class in a way that captures the attention of everyone, including those who typically don't pay attention.
However, it's not just his teaching that captivates me; his teal blue hair shimmering under the light, and his striking orange eyes are difficult to ignore. I often find my gaze locked on the beauty mark on his chin. When he smiles, even slightly, the entire room seems to feel warmer.
I sat in the back, quiet and unnoticed, waiting for Mr. S'dala to walk through the door so I can solely focus on him. I want to catalog every detail: his voice, his mannerisms, the rhythm with which he articulates each law or ethical dilemma... He doesn't know it but, he has made this place tolerable for me.
I'm not sure what Mr. S'dala sees in me, but despite being a "mundie," he has never treated me any differently. He greets me with the same kindness he shows everyone else. There's no pity in his eyes, no judgment, just a genuine interest in seeing me succeed. It's hard to believe that someone like him exists in my world.
As my classmates filed in, I kept my eyes on the door, waiting for him to arrive. When Mr. S'dala finally walked in, his presence instantly brightened the room. That warm smile was there, as always, and I felt my heart feel... different when his eyes swept over the class and briefly met mine.
Every time he looks my way or asks a question, my heart feels different in my chest. I don't think it's admiration... I'm not quite sure what it is... but I know it's something deeper, something I haven't fully admitted to myself yet. I've always made it a point to learn everything I can about him: his interests, his history, even his quirks. It might be silly, or even obsessive, but I can't help it. He's the one bright spot in my world that seems to grow darker every day; the one person who makes me feel like there's still something worth holding onto.
Mr. S'dala appears to be youthful and full of energy, but he is actually in his early forties. He carries himself with grace and enthusiasm, making it easy to forget how experienced he truly is. His power is Energy Absorption, which allows him to absorb any form of energy in his vicinity and redirect it in various ways. I have witnessed him turn the force of an attack back on its source or use the absorbed energy to create protective barriers that shield others from harm. This power requires immense control and understanding, qualities that could easily lead to misuse in the wrong hands, but not with him. He wields it with such precision and care that it's hard not to be in awe of him.
He's told us stories in class about the times he's used his ability on the field, how he's absorbed the energy from an entire explosion and redirected it safely away from a crowded area, or how he's turned an enemy's strongest attack into nothing more than a gentle breeze. I hang on to every word, imagining what it must be like to have that kind of power, to be able to protect others so effortlessly.
But there's more to Mr. S'dala than just his power. He's a father with two children. He talks about them sometimes, about how proud he is of them, and they live with their mother now. When he mentions that part, there's a sadness in his eyes when he mentions them, a longing that I can't quite understand. I know that he lives alone in the Ivory Den district, one of the best areas in the city. His apartment building is called Heavenly Divine, and for some reason, it feels fitting. He lives in apartment number 4, my favorite number.
His favorite color is red, and his favorite food is curry, which he always says reminds him of home. Even in the coldest winter, he still starts his mornings with an iced coffee from his favorite cafe called Neurobrew, the chill doesn't seem to bother him at all. It's these little things that make him feel so real to me.
And yet, I was going to betray him.
Mr. S'dala greeted everyone. Even me.
I wondered what he would say if he knew what I was planning.
Would he stop being kind to me and treat me like how everyone else treats me?
Seems like a possible conclusion.
My thoughts were interrupted when I noticed someone staring at me. I didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Andrew was sitting across the room, his legs spread wide as he lounged in the chair, one arm draped over the back.
When our eyes met, his lips curled into a smile.
A cruel smile.
A smile that said: "I own you."
He tapped two fingers to his temple in a mock salute, then mouthed the word, "Remember."
I looked away.
As Mr. S'dala began the lesson, he tapped a holographic control panel near his desk. A soft chime echoed through the classroom as thin, translucent screens projected into the air in front of each student. The topic of the day hovered in bold letters: "The Line Between Vigilantism and Heroism: Legal Accountability in Enhanced Justice."
He clasped his hands behind his back, walking slowly between the desks.
"When a hero intervenes outside the bounds of legal authority, even with good intentions, what are the consequences?" he asked the class. His tone wasn't demanding, it was steady, as if he already knew the answer but wanted us to arrive at it ourselves.
A few students raised their hands. I didn't.
I rarely do.
He nodded toward one of the students near the front. They gave a textbook answer, something about jurisdiction, moral justification, and approved use of power in emergencies. Mr. S'dala smiled faintly, correcting them gently, then redirected the conversation toward a real-world example from three years ago involving a well-known hero detaining a suspect detaining a suspect without following the Heroic Accord.
Her name was Volcanic Cat.
She had cornered a known data trafficker just outside the jurisdictional limits of Noble Sector District. Instead of reporting it to the V.E.I.L or waiting for official spell-clearance from the Heroic Council, she apprehended the suspect using extreme force. The trafficker had no weapon on them. Volcanic Cat burned through the concrete to trap him, left him with third-degree burns, and then released his coerced confession through astral broadcast to the public.
The public loved it. Her approval rating spiked. Merchandise sold out. Children dressed like her for the Festival of Sparks.
The Council didn't share the loving feeling.
Her Hero ID was revoked within a month. Her badge, her privileges, her title, gone. They didn't imprison her. That would have drawn too much attention. They erased her quietly, cleanly. Headlines moved on. So did the world.
Some say she fled Panadamned and lives in BlackWaves city. Others claimed she died and the Council stayed quiet about it.
But Mr. S'dala just said, "Eh, she works for a high-grade hero corp. No patrols. No outreach. Just a cold office job in a corner of a glass tower. Still wears red, apparently."
I shifted my gaze to the window.
A crow stood on the ledge outside, staring into the classroom. It didn't blink. Neither did I. We watched each other for a moment longer than necessary.
My focus drifted back to the class.
"Now," Mr. S'dala said, "what is the danger of relying too heavily on powers during a high-stakes situation?"
He moved through the rows, his steps measured, tone even. A few students exchanged glances. No one answered right away.
Then he paused near my row. Though I hadn't raised my hand, he looked at me.
"Slyvian," he said calmly. "What do you think?"
I met his gaze for a second too long before answering.
"It distorts the power dynamic. People with powers can easily forget how fragile others are... and how much damage they're capable of."
He nodded, pleased. ""Exactly. Most forget that we're all fragile, even with powers."
He stepped beside my desk. I didn't look at him.
Then, gently, he placed his hand on my shoulder.
A reflex in me tensed, but I stayed still. His warmth felt... good.
I looked up at him.
"Powers make us fragile," he said. "They don't always make us stronger. Sometimes... they just make us more afraid to be weak."
I didn't respond. There was nothing to say.
His hand lingered a moment longer before he moved on.
I looked away as he continued.
Mr. S'dala returned to the front, activating a series of clips showing recorded footage from various incidents: heroes stepping out of line, courtrooms debating their actions, victims giving statements. He explained each one with context, not judgment, allowing the class to weigh the ethics themselves.
I watched, but didn't absorb much. I was still thinking about the weight of the ID card I would have to steal. About the guilt I'd carry when I handed it over. About Nathaniel's voice, still in my head, soft and venomous, laced with false sweetness:
"See what happens when you listen? You get praise and gentleness from me."
Mr. S'dala's voice brought me back to the present.
"No matter how powerful you are," he said, "if you lose your principles, you're no longer a hero. You're just a threat."
I sat there, motionless.
It was a good lesson.
But it wouldn't change anything.
V.E.I.L (Vigilant Enforcement of Integrated Law): The global enforcement authority formed after the Fifth Collapse. V.E.I.L. is composed of superpowered operatives, advanced bots, and combat-grade androids working in perfect synchronization. Ruthlessly efficient always watchful, they serve as both peacekeepers and executioners under one doctrine: Order is Absolute. They are basically the police.
Neurobrew: Mr. S'dala's favorite cafe. A trendy, cafe popular with city drifters, off-duty supers, and freelance tech runners. "Brew it. Feel it. Forget it." That's their motto.
Festival of Sparks: Held once a year across all major districts, the Festival of Sparks is a massive celebration honoring licensed heroes, vigilantes, and those lost in the line of duty. It's also a way for governments to reinforce loyalty to the system and remind the people who the "true protectors" are.
