Don't forget, minor descriptions for each student are in Chapter 2 if you lose track of who's who! Also, PSA: Winston Reed and Neil Reid are entirely unrelated.
"Professor?" Cassie knocked on the open doorframe of the room. "It's Cassie, do you have a free moment to help me with some gear?"
Desmond Rolce, aka Professor Machina, swiveled around in his chair, away from the workbench he sat at. "Ah, Miss Mackintosh. For you, always. Come, come. What's the puzzle today?" Some bizarre machine sparked dangerously on the workbench, so Cassie had to wonder if he really did have a free moment, but she certainly wasn't one to question her teacher.
Desmond was a large, mid-fifties man with dark skin, curly hair, a strong British accent, and eye-catching metal arms and legs, with strange machinery and circuitry running all along them. He had been Class 15's homeroom teacher for their first of three years and had taken a particular shine to Cassie, becoming something of a mentor to her in all things cerebral and mechanical. He loved all of his students, of course, but now that he was no longer their homeroom teacher, he was free to engage with his favorite pupil as much as he liked without fear of favoritism. Besides, it's not like the other students let him ramble about computers and machines the way she did.
Quirk: Cyborg. The user's arms and legs are all replaced with metal, robotic limbs that he can tune and tinker with freely, and even replace with alternate models. The metal grows and heals like normal limbs, but it takes significant time without manual alteration. Full metal who?
She entered, holding her cello-sized switchboard of gadgetry in her arms. The room was equal parts R&D room and armory, with a few people scattered around the benches and tables lost in their own projects. For the most part, Wing Academy outsourced hero suits and items to support companies, but only for design and creation. The everyday maintenance that gear needed was done on campus by professional staff, the students themselves, or helpful volunteers like Professor Machina and occasionally Cassie. It was nearly noon, but you wouldn't know it in here - the fluorescent lights, constant soft whine of electronics, and faint smell of oil made it easy to lose track of time, and even someone as experienced as Professor Machina was prone to losing himself in his work and forgetting time existed. Just the way he liked it.
"One of my camera drones is flying off-balance, and I can't figure out why. The software is all fine, but I was hoping you could help me check the hardware?"
"Sounds like fun," he agreed with a nod. "Let's crack it open then, shall we?"
"Thank you, Professor." She set her switchboard down on the workbench with a metallic thunk.
"You know, Miss Mackintosh, you don't need to refer to me as Professor anymore. You are technically my peer now," Desmond pointed out.
She brushed it off. "I think we both know that's not true, Professor. Besides, I might start calling you Desmond once you start calling me Cassie instead of Miss Mackintosh."
He smiled wryly. "Touche."
There was no real intent behind either of their words. Desmond knew very well that Cassie's form of address for him wasn't really about a sense of inferiority - it was just a schoolgirl desperately trying to hold on to a sense of normalcy while the future rocketed towards her. If formalities were what she needed to keep her feet on the ground, he was perfectly fine with that.
As the switchboard hummed to life under Cassie's quirk and the panels slid open, he watched the camera drone unfold from its storage position and shakily fly out. Cassie had to manually correct the flight path over and over so that it didn't naturally hover right with the imbalance - nothing she couldn't handle, of course, but both quirk power and mental bandwidth were precious in a fight or rescue. As she demonstrated, he nodded, and they began their troubleshooting process.
Cassie's switchboard weapon was nearly as much Desmond's doing as it was hers. Unlike most students, Cassie had created much of her gear herself; the alleged reason for this was that intense tech from the Hero Commission used in the switchboard was too delicate to allow into the hands of a third party company, and the more personal reason was that Cassie was far too neurotic to trust anyone but herself with her beloved switchboard - with the exception of Desmond. Not only had he helped her apply for special use of the Commission's more delicate technology, he helped her build the actual thing, and to this day remained her first resource to turn to when it needed work beyond her scope.
Desmond's metallic fingers danced over the drone, checking and testing each of the obvious suspects. The antenna was undamaged, there was no wear and tear on the body, and the propellors…
Ah. He blinked. "One of the propellor's blades is cocked. It's catching the air wrong, meaning that propellor isn't spinning fast enough, creating less lift."
Cassie immediately leaned in closer and saw that he was right. "Oh, for heaven's…" She dragged a hand down her face in shame. "How in the world did I miss that?" Desmond had to agree - it should have been one of her first suspicions. Cassie was clearly distracted, and the reason wasn't hard to guess: graduation.
"I must wonder the same thing. You're better than this, Miss Mackintosh. Have you been sleeping?" he questioned. Desmond wasn't one to sugarcoat. It was usually something Cassie appreciated about him, but her dark skin flushed with embarrassment at his gentle reprimand.
"I have been sleeping," she confirmed.
"Sleeping well?" He raised an eyebrow.
"…I have been sleeping."
He sighed, both fond and exasperated. "One day you're going to be old like me, and you won't be able to take sleep for granted."
"I had better enjoy this while I still can, then," she shot back. Even in her tired, shamed state, Cassie till had a sharp tongue. Desmond appreciated that.
"Not what I meant, but I suppose I have no influence over you anymore, do I?" he mused wistfully.
"…I wouldn't say that, Professor," she said softly.
They sat in a contemplative silence for a moment, before getting back to work.
Vitani soared through the air, diving and weaving throughout the cityscape. She banked over a bank, cornered a corner, and bulldozed straight through a bulldozer, looking to all the world like a veritable shooting star. She flew in full hero suit, an aerodynamic astronaut-style orange and white jumpsuit with padding, bracers, and more.
Quirk: Up Up and Away. The user can fly by surrounding herself with a protective shield of air. Additionally, she can create these shields around other people or objects via touch, but she loses velocity and fine control the more shields she has active and the further they get from her. At high intensities, these shields look like fields of stars due to the friction of the air. Overuse leads to symptoms not unlike altitude sickness. Better hope you're not scared of heights!
"Good work, Vivi!" Her teacher called out below her, easily keeping pace at superhuman speeds. "Don't forget, vertical limit of thirty feet off the ground for the training exercise!"
Miss Sara Zambiea, aka Quickstep, was easily the youngest of Class 15's teachers at twenty-eight years old. She was their homeroom teacher through their second year, and still liked to help them with training whenever she got the chance. She had tanned skin, a headscarf, and (fittingly) a runner's build. Her hero suit alluded to racecar drivers - red with blue accents, currently without her helmet since she was just supervising the students' training. This was what she lived for - classrooms were fine, but being on the field, whether training or a real emergency, got her blood pumping like nothing else, and she always did her best to extend that enthusiasm to her students.
Vitani was about to call back an affirmative, but before she could, a flash of shining pink lit up the cityscape, followed by a battle cry and a loud crash. It seemed that Sherman, her competitor who was currently trailing behind her in their race, had resorted to brute force to get through the obstacles that Vitani deftly aeronavigated. She grinned to herself. That was a bad sign for him, and a good one for her.
Sara sighed and screeched to a halt, before turning and blasting off towards Sherman. "I'll meet you at the finish line!" she called to Vitani before she became nothing bur a blur.
Quirk: Sprint. The user can run at incredible speeds for short times. Extending the time places wear and tear on her body, and her reaction time remains human. Don't ask about the kinds of crashes she's had.
"Okay!" Vitani responded, before redoubling her efforts. She knew Sherman was toast against her, but if she was lucky she might even make it to the finish before her teacher.
The cityscape blurred past her as she rocketed onwards. It was created as a multipurpose training ground, and after three years, she knew it like the back of her own hand. Their race had a strict path to follow at the threat of disqualification; however, that didn't mean she couldn't get creative with a few shortcuts and daring maneuvers here and there, as long as she stayed on the course. A hint of nausea crept into her from the exertion and quirk usage, but she pressed on. Just a little bit more - !
A blur of red and blue flashed in front of her, and Sara passed the finish line set between a pair of buildings before decelerating and waiting for Vitani with a proud smile. "Excellent, Vivi! Your cornering is improving all the time, and you stayed well under the height limit."
Vitani flew over the finish line and slowed to a halt as the friction stars died around her and her air shield dissipated. "Thanks, Miss Sara!" she panted. "I was hoping to beat you, but I guess I need more practice before that, huh?"
Sara laughed. "Don't compare yourself to me quite yet, little rookie," she teased her affectionately. Finally, Sherman crossed the finish line and fell to the pavement in a defeated, dramatic slump, the shining pink energy in his veins fading the match the streaks of dye in his hair, and then fading away completely.
"Aww, man. Stupid obstacle course…" he groaned from the ground. Sara walked over and offered him a hand to pull him up.
"Sherman. Do you know what you did wrong?"
"I tried to beat a speed quirk in a race?" he deadpanned.
"No. Well, yes. But the real problem is your movements and your somatic awareness. Humans are born to run in a certain way, with a certain rhythm, using a certain set of instincts to make that speed happen. You and I, with physical enhancement quirks, don't have that luxury. We have our limbs moving faster than our brain is designed for, meaning we have to make it happen manually. Makes sense?" she explained.
"Yeah, yeah. I gotta move each of my four limbs individually and watch out for the world around me. While Vitani just gets to fly," he grumbled.
"Don't be a sore loser, Sherman," his teacher chided him. "You only have to function in two dimensions - Vitani has to work in three, not to mention her vertical handicap for the race. She earned this victory."
"I know," Sherman sighed. "Sorry, Vivi. Good job."
"Thanks!" she chirped. Sherman's momentary gripes had rolled off of her like water off a duck - it was nothing she hadn't seen from him before, and him from her. They, alongside Winston, had spent many hours studying together to try and keep up with the more academically-inclined students of the class, and nothing shows the worst parts of someone like overnight cramming for exams. They were all were effectively inoculated to each other now.
"However, you are right that this was a hard matchup for you. You were in a race against someone you knew was faster than you, and you tried your best regardless. And…" She showed him a stopwatch. "You beat your personal record for the course."
"Really?!" Sherman's eyes lit up, and Sara stifled a laugh. He always bounced back with even the slightest positivity.
"Really. Come on, let's finish with stretching." Sara ushered them along.
"Dad, you don't have to go as a family member for me. You can go as a teacher! I don't want the others to think that you don't care that they're graduating too." Skyler sighed in the chair she sat on in front of her adoptive father's desk in his classroom.
"Skybug, you're my daughter. I'll be there for the other students too, but they'll understand. Besides, I've been to a million of these already - I love the civilians as much as the next hero, but they've talked with me enough. If I go officially as one of your teachers, I'll be stuck with the public all day. I want to be there with the other students, and I want to be there with you," Neil Reid told her.
"You won't be able to have your suit and gear on you if you're not on duty, and I know you hate going places without it." She crossed her arms.
"I can keep some on me to act as a provisional hero," he rebuked her smugly. Good student or not, Neil had been finding loopholes in hero regulation longer than she had been alive.
Mister Neil Reid was the class's most recent (arguably current) homeroom teacher: a tall, personable middle aged man with dark hair and a small goatee. He stood out as remarkably normal compared to his homeroom teacher counterparts, the energetic Miss Sara and the eclectic Professor Machina. Fittingly, the third year was when the students needed the least hands-on direction, allowing Neil to fill his preferred role of a laid-back guiding mentor instead of a strict drill sergeant of any sort. As the class hurtled into a wild world of capes and masks, Neil stood as an anchor for the students, even as the rug of adolescence was pulled out from under them. But this class was special to him - Class 15 had made more progress from their humble (borderline abysmal) beginnings to a real team of competent heroes than any other class Neil had taught before, not to mention the trial by fire that was their recurring contention and eventual all-out-battle with the Stone Syndicate. And of course, his daughter, Skyler.
As the young redheaded woman huffed in front of him, he couldn't help but feel his heart fill to bursting. His little girl was pulling out niche Commission standards to debate with him, giving up her monopoly on her father so that her classmates wouldn't feel neglected. She had become a real hero indeed.
"Dad, you're clouding," she informed him casually.
Ah. So he was. He waved away the fog floating off of him.
Quirk: Mist. The user releases fog-like particles using the water in his body, which he can control, shape, and feel any movement inside of. Overuse leads to dehydration. He tends to get 'misty' when emotional, but maybe not in the traditional sense.
"Sorry, sorry." He laughed. "Just… can't believe you're all grown up. Already arguing with me like an equal."
Skylar gazed off into the distance somewhere behind him, not bothering to complain about his good-natured parental patronizing. Even sitting right in front of him, Neil knew that her brain was off somewhere else. "So you promise you'll spend time at graduation with the others too? Not just me?"
"I promise," he agreed. She nodded, like she knew that was the best she was going to get. Good - Neil had been out-stubborning teenagers for years, and he certainly wasn't going to let his daughter of all people be the one to surpass him.
"Alright. I'll talk to you later - I have to go meet Sandalphon from the Palisades. Hopefully Tristan hasn't picked a fight with him by now."
"You know, you could always work for me instead of them," Neil offered with a playful smile.
"Dad." She rolled her eyes. It was a joke, and they both knew it. The Palisades were a prestigious hero team that Skyler had been accepted into. She rationally knew she had earned her invitation, but she also knew that she definitely couldn't afford to turn away a chance with them. Not to mention how mortifying working for her father would be.
"Right, right. I love you, Skybug." He gave her a smile as she stood to leave his classroom.
"Love you too, Dad." She waved softly and headed to the doorway, where she came inexhaustibly-chipper-face to perpetually-sleep-deprived-face with Kazuhiko.
"Kazu!" She smiled, and her eyes focused on him - a rare occurrence with how distractible she tended to be.
"Red." He nodded a greeting to her, using an old nickname to reference her orange hair. "How's it going?" He leaned against the doorframe, standing nearly half a foot taller than Skyler.
"Same old. My dad's impossible."
"Don't I know it." He barked a laugh. "Shame we got stuck with him, huh?" The words hid a thinly-veiled affection. Years ago, Neil had been a means to an end for Kazuhiko - a teacher with a similar quirk, who could be useful for making himself stronger. But Neil had a way of worming his way into his student's trust, and he had become an extremely important figure in Kazuhiko's life. And like all teenagers, the best way Kazuhiko knew how to deal with that was half-hearted jabs.
"Yeah. You here for quirk work?" She tilted her head.
"Yep. Stay hustling. Grind never stops," he drawled. She giggled - all heroes were physically fit, and Kazuhiko was even quite broad, but his personality was the furthest thing possible from a traditional gym rat.
"Right. Gotta stay alpha. Red meat. Red pill. Red-blooded American," she joked.
"I'm not American."
"Then I guess you'll never truly know the grind, will you?"
"What a shame." He sighed in mock-disappointment. "Good thing I've got a real Yankee like you watching my lily-livered back, huh?"
"I suppose I can manage you for now," she confirmed with a playful shrug.
He cracked a smile. "Thanks, Sky. I'll see you later?"
"See ya, Kazu!" she called as she walked past him. Kazuhiko watched her go and walked into the classroom, where Neil sat stifling a laugh. Kazuhiko very pointedly avoided looking Neil in the eye as he pulled out a notebook and pencil.
"…So what was that?" Neil asked.
"Can we just talk about quirks, please?" Kazuhiko said a little too fast to convincingly deadpan as he sat down in the chair by the desk.
Neil raised his hands in surrender. "Whatever you say, Romeo."
"Mister Reid."
"Okay, okay. So, you want to try spreading your mist thinner, right? Let's talk span of control. See, the tricky thing about thinning out a mist-based quirk…"
Public transit was used to some weirdos, but a group of three undead humanoids and a jellyfish took the cake. Acheron and duo that was Morticia moved (floated, in Morty's case) alongside a horrifying cross between a ghost and a skeleton, wearing flowing robes that swayed and shifted without even a faint breeze in the air. He didn't float like Morty did, but he hardly seemed to walk either, as though he was only nominally corporeal.
"And then Tish got him like 'wham!' and Acker was all 'stinger attack!' and they were down for the count!" Morty told her story, gesticulating wildly as she floated above the group, nearly horizontal.
"To be clear, I did not actually say 'stinger attack,'" Acheron clarified.
"Maybe you should've!" Morty insisted.
"Well, it sounds like whatever you did, it worked splendidly," the skeletal figure congratulated them with something that was probably an amused smile. Victor Green, more commonly known by his pro hero name Lich King, had traveled from his usual stomping grounds to visit his two proteges at their school for a day of catching up, and now they were escorting him to his train for his transit back. There was always more work to be done for a pro hero, even though he wanted to stay with the children - no, not children anymore, he reminded himself - for as long as he could.
Quirk: Lich. The user's ghostly form is only a projection from his real body and soul, a delicate object called a phylactery that he keeps hidden away. Everything from levitation to ectoplasmic blasts to receiving damage steadily takes away from his spectral power until the projected form is completely used up, but as long as his phylactery is undamaged, he'll be back in 24 hours. Also causes villains to flee in terror at the horrifying visage before them, but that's not part of his powers, it's just his face.
The two students had worked their internships with Lich King during their second years, Morticia for obvious reasons and Acheron for less obvious but equally key ones, and both of them had thrived under his tutelage. He didn't usually take interns (and frankly, most interns were terrified to work for him to begin with), but he adored these two, and wasn't looking forward to the news he had to give them.
They paused once they reached his train. Lich King only had a few more minutes, but it would be enough.
"This has been lovely, my dears. Thank you for humoring an old man." His voice, contrary to his appearance, was velvety smooth. "And of course, you have my heartfelt congratulations for everything you have done. In honor of your stellar accomplishments and the start of your hero careers, I have graduation gifts for you." He reached deep into his shifting, smoky robes and pulled out two boxes from seemingly nowhere, one tied with ocean-blue ribbon that he handed to Acheron and the other with soft red that he handed to Tish, quickly scooped up by Morty.
"A… gift?" Tish blinked in surprise.
"You didn't have to do that!" Acheron protested, but was clearly delighted.
"Of course I did. My students are about to start their lives as heroes, and you think I won't celebrate it? Absurd. Go on, open them," Lich King encouraged,
Acheron delicately unwrapped his box, and found a shining box with tools, pouches, and measuring instruments inside of it, as well as several small spheres that looked almost like bath bombs. In large letters on the front, it read 'artificial ocean salination kit.'
"It's specifically designed for aquatic quirk users. If you ever feel as though your skin desires the sea, this has multiple kinds of salts and other minerals that you can add to any bath you like. You can even attach one of the tools to your showerhead so that the water you shower under will be treated by the kit," he explained.
Morty, unlike Acheron's delicate unwrapping, tore through the paper like a wild animal, and found a treasure trove of paints, brushes, stamps, and all manner of art supplies. The label read 'give some color to anything or anyone, anywhere!'
"And that one is completely washable paints. You can use it on paper, on your clothing, on your skin, or even on Morty. It comes off of everything easily whether with a laundry machine, a face wipe, or even just a sponge and soap, and should have no negative effects on your skin. I even tested the sample on myself, and if it works on my ghostly old bones, it should certainly work on Morty," he informed her.
"Lich King, this is amazing!" Acheron exclaimed gleefully. "I'll use it first thing tonight!"
"I'm glad you like it!" he laughed happily. "You kids these days are impossible to shop for, but I'm relieved I made the right calls."
"Thank you so much! I'm gonna - " Morty began with a squeal, before Tish cut her off.
"Thank you, Lich King, but why now?" she questioned, looking straight at her mentor. "Graduation gifts are for graduation… aren't they?" Only someone who knew her as well as Lich King and Acheron did would notice the faint look of concern on Tish's otherwise stoic face.
Lich King swallowed. "Ah… yes. I'm afraid I have some bad news."
An uncomfortable pause hung in the air, and Acheron was the first to break it. "…Oh. I see."
Realization dawned on Morty. "You're… you're not coming?"
Lich King turned his palms up helplessly. "I'm afraid I just received my schedule from the Commission, my dear. I unfortunately will not be in attendance at your graduation."
"But… but you're the reason we made it there at all!" Morty protested. "We can't graduate without you!"
"You've done so many incredible things by yourselves already, my dear Morticia," he insisted. "I'm very sorry that I can't be there, but this is a chance for you to spread your wings without me."
"It's okay, Lich King," Acheron tried to reassure him. "We understand. People need you, and - "
"I don't understand! You could have requested time off!" Morty cried. "You could - !"
"Morty." Tish's previously silent voice, though flat as ever, was firm. "That is enough."
Morty bit her trembling lip. "…Fine." Without another word, she faded into the empty chasm of Tish's back where she came from, effectively removing herself from the conversation. Acheron sighed internally. This wasn't good. Morty and Tish only fought when there was disconnect between Morticia's rational and emotional minds. The body might have been hiding it, but Morticia was upset.
Lich King sighed as well, externally. "I am truly sorry, Morticia. And to you as well, Acheron. I will make it up to you."
"I understand," Morticia intoned. "Thank you for the gifts, Lich King. And for your best wishes."
"Same here," Acheron agreed. "On both counts. Have a safe trip back."
Lich King smiled softly, a terrifying sight to anyone but his proteges. "Of course. I hope to see you again soon. All three of you."
It wasn't time for a hug, not when he had hurt them. He knew that. But he gave them a kindly final glance as he stepped onto the train. The doors closed, leaving Acheron alone with Tish and, somewhere hidden inside, Morty. Tish was silent. Acheron decided to break the ice.
"Well. That sucks." He laughed sadly.
Tish nodded. She didn't smile or laugh, of course, but Acheron saw some tension drain away. If Acker said something sucked, that meant it sucked, and she wasn't being selfish for saying so. No need to be strong for Lich King anymore.
"…It really does."
"Tea? My room?" he offered with a conciliatory tilt of his bulbous head.
"…Yes please," she answered quietly. "Coffee for Morty." Somewhere inside her hollow body, Tish felt her heartbroken spirit fighting tears.
Voices raised in the academy's main foyer. Two brothers were escalating from petty to outright angry, while a girl with blue-dyed hair sat silently and listened.
"I don't understand you, Tristan!"
"You don't understand because you're not listening!" Tristan scowled. "I'll say it as many times as I need to - I'm not joining your team!"
Galahad Goodwill rubbed the bridge of his nose - it was as close as his impeccable heroic persona would allow him to showing genuine annoyance. Galahad was Tristan's polar opposite: where the younger brother was borderline menacing in appearance and attitude alike, his older brother was the perfect picture of a flawless boyscout hero. He was equally handsome to Tristan, but appeared almost angelically kind and regal, marred only by the current frustration clear on his face. Instead of Tristan's dark hair and pair of wings made of wicked twisting steel bursting from his shoulder blades, six wings of shimmering heavenly light floated inches from Galahad's back, and two ram horns curled over flaxen blonde hair - carefully styled and maintained, of course. It seemed the brothers shared at least that one similarity.
"So. Let me get this straight. I worked worked my arms off for years on the Palisades hero team, and finally gained enough clout to hold a spot for my little brother, because you said you wanted - deserved - only the best team. I said okay, because Dad would kill me if I didn't hold a door open for you, but I said you had to prove yourself or else I wouldn't be able to do anything. You successfully proved yourself as a capable prospective hero, and even have a friend from your class coming with you. And now, you're telling me you don't want it anymore."
"Yep." Tristan popped the P in a (successful) attempt to infuriate his brother further.
"Why?" Galahad asked in a strangled voice.
"I'm going to say this one more time, Gal. Because I want to be a hero under my own power. Not the Palisades'. Not Dad's. Not yours. Not anymore."
"People would kill for the opportunity you have right now, Trist!"
"Then give it to one of them!" he spat like it was poison. "I can think of at least one person you owe it to."
Galahad inhaled deeply to calm himself. He wouldn't sink to Tristan's level, he told himself. "Miss Marinette Lemaire's invitation to the team was postponed due to her injury, and - "
"You mean the invitation was revoked," Tristan growled. "Dangled like a carrot and then snatched away, just because she was a goddamn hero. A hero that you all pretend to be, right before you turn around and steal something away from someone who deserves a medal."
"Tristan. Please," Marinette said quietly.
"She passed her finals just the same as we did," Tristan continued furiously. "If you want to take me and Skyler, there is zero reason for you to not take her. Especially after you promised it to her before the injury, and especially knowing how she got injured!"
"We are fully aware of the circumstances surrounding the events of her injury, I assure you. But you have to understand the liability she would be for the Palisades as long as she's in a weakened state." Galahad kept his voice carefully neutral. The only thing worse for him than the discomfort of talking about Marinette like the wasn't in the room would be talking to her face.
"'Liability' my ass!" Tristan snarled. "Weakened state or not, Marinette is stronger than any of your dime-a-dozen, holier-than-thou weakling runway models out there who are only good for photo-ops and soundbites! You don't care about me and you don't care about her. You just care about your team's image!"
"Tristan…" Marinette said softly, half warning and half plea.
"I understand that you're disappointed on your friend's behalf." Galahad did his best to keep his tone even instead of rising to Tristan's level. "But the simple fact is that Miss Lemaire is not functioning at her previous capacity. We would be more than happy to receive an application again once she's certain she has returned to her full ability."
"Don't give me your customer-service voice, you stuck-up, preachy - !" Tristan began.
Galahad finally started to show signs of anger as well. "Would you step off the aggression for once in your - !"
Their voices battled for dominance as insults and arguments overlapped and blended together, while Marinette stayed silent. Finally, Galahad held up a hand in front of him and set his jaw. Tristan bit his tongue but stopped as well.
"I am not letting you drag me down into your childish badgering. This is only proving to me more and more that you need to learn a thing or two about being a real hero. You will join the Palisades alongside Miss Bell-Reid. Miss Lemaire will wait until she is fully recovered and apply again. End of discussion." The authority in his words had moved past that of a hero and reverted to that of a big brother speaking to a child, and he didn't even seem to realize it.
Once upon a time, that might have been the end of it. As a kid and even as a younger teenager, the cocky, delinquent Tristan could only ever be controlled with unyielding authority that simply wouldn't engage with him. But this wasn't the same Tristan anymore.
"I'll fight you for it."
Galahad was caught completely off guard. Tristan had never stood up to him after he pulled the 'end of discussion' card, and certainly not in the composed way he was now. No anger, no childish rebellion. Just the calm, collected focus of a man with a goal.
"Fight me for it? Tristan, are you insane?!" he sputtered.
"You think I need to learn a few things? Then try and prove you can be my teacher. Meanwhile, I'll prove that I don't need your help," Tristan challenged Galahad with a raised chin.
Galahad grinded his teeth. Tristan caught him in a trap. The older brother had given up on diplomatic persuasion, and instead went full brute-force. Now, Tristan was calling his bluff. If he tried to de-escalate back down to logic, reason, and treating him like an equal, it would be as good as surrender.
"…What are your terms?"
Tristan grinned a devilish smile. "One on one battle, knockdown rules. If you win, I join the Palisades quietly and obediently. If I win, you stop riding my ass for good - and you offer my spot to Marinette like she deserves."
Marinette bit her lip and said nothing.
"Fine," Galahad snapped at him. "Lead the way to the ring, baby brother." That might have bothered Tristan once, but he saw it for what it was now - a feeble attempt to regain control in the form of a petty jab. He almost laughed out loud.
"Alright, Gal. I know it's been a while since you've been in school, so I hope you'll allow me the honor of giving you one more lesson." His eyes narrowed, as sharp as the twisting metal of his wings.
"Don't fuck with my class."
Two chapters in two days? In MY Mortarboard? It's more likely than you think. Big boy chapter this time to make up for the short previous one! We meet some (mostly) good pro heroes today - Lich King and Galahad probably won't show up much through the story, but the homeroom teachers will.
I tried to emphasize a little bit of that awkward transition phase the students are going through here. Some teachers get called first names, some students get called hero names, some adults give advice and reprimands, some students talk to their mentors like peers… it's all very weird, even if it's in more subtle ways than Tristan and Galahad. I hope that came across okay, especially in comparison to how comfortable the students are with each other as shown in chapters 2 and 3. That little bit of discomfort is a really important part of any graduation, and I hope I do it justice.
Also, some hints at the Marinette lore! A couple of people were right in their guesses - her health issues are not a lifelong problem she's always dealt with, but rather are part of the recent recovery process from an event that took a serious toll her body, and have weakened her from her previously absolute throne as the almighty of the class. How curious…
ALSO also, I hope you noticed that Sherman can be petty and petulant. He's a very sweet boy, but he's very much a flawed (and slightly immature) teenager. This may well come up more later.
We've got a battle coming up next time, and our first real single-student focused chapter (not counting the introduction with Cassie)! I'm looking forward to practicing more action scenes, and I hope you're looking forward to reading it.
As always, constructive criticism is very welcome. I feel like I might have used too many italics for emphasis in dialogue? And might have relied too much on dialogue in general? I dunno, let me know what you think. Until next time!
