October 29, 2317
Two days of rest, in Oliver's humble opinion, was not even close to enough to compensate for the extremely troublesome and exhausting endeavor they'd just been put through over the past week. If anyone were to ask him, they shouldn't be going back to classes until the second week of November. As it were, they'd be going in for an abbreviated school week, not thirty-six hours after the award ceremony. Even more unfortunate was the fact their teacher had decided that the best use of one of their two days off was to call each of them individually to his office and assess their performance during the festival. He had a sinking feeling that his performance in the second round, or lack thereof, would be a major talking point. His lackluster fight against Clara was also sure to come up. 'Great. I wonder if Holl would be too bent out of shape if I just blew it off entirely? I could just have Lyon tell him that I have a stomach ache or some other debilitating injury. No, Lyon's a shit liar, plus Marcus would almost certainly catch wind, and then I'd have to deal with that. Annoyingly long lecture it is.'
"Speak of the devil," he grumbled to himself as his oldest and, to this point, only friend walked through the front doors of the dorm with a blank expression on his face. Marcus glanced around the chaotic common room until his eyes found Oliver sequestered away in the most remote corner, then made a beeline for him. As the boy sank into the leather seat opposite him, Oliver sighed and decided to cut straight to the point. "How did your meeting with Holl go?"
"About as well as you'd expect. He just told me that I should focus on being better in a team, especially with people I don't see eye to eye with," Marcus replied.
"Well, that is the reason you lost," Oliver remarked helpfully, earning a scowl. He shrugged in response; he felt no real need to lie to him. Marcus let out an exasperated sigh and opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted when someone bumped into his chair hard enough to tilt it forward a few degrees. Nathan apologized hastily, never even looking at them, and continued down the hallway that led to the freshman dorm rooms. They could hear him mumbling to himself for a few seconds before the din of the room overpowered his voice.
"The hell was that all about?" Marcus asked, righting himself and his seat.
"He's been like that since the award ceremony. Probably has something to do with Halloway going bonkers." That sobered Marcus' irritation. While he didn't know the girl very well, even Oliver had to admit that her little 'episode' during the tournament had unnerved him a bit. It wasn't every day you watched someone's face melt off of their skull, after all. As if that wasn't enough, said someone was shot with a blowdart and taken away from the arena by her supposed father. No one had heard from either one of them since.
Marcus looked as if he were about to speak, perhaps to change the subject to something less… unnerving. Instead, a loud crash reverberated throughout the common room, effectively cutting their conversation short. Oliver glanced over, looking to see which piece of furniture had been broken this time, and saw one of the room's coffee tables had collapsed under the weight of a sophomore student.
"Hey! Come on, guys. You're gonna get me in deep shit with the twins again!" Rune said nonchalantly, his face still blotched by bruises from the tournament. Despite his position as the head of the boy's dorm (Oliver made a mental note to ask him how that happened later), his plea was ignored as the sophomore got back up and chased after the boy who'd pushed him. Rune groaned and hung his head dejectedly, while the one responsible for his wounds clapped a hand on his shoulder.
"Good luck with that. They're still all sorts of riled up after the tournament. Best to just let them get it outta their systems," Damien said, his southern drawl as pronounced as ever. Rune gave him an 'are you serious?' look before shaking his head and starting to walk away.
"I'm going to take a nap." In the back of his mind, Oliver did feel a bit of pity for the boy. He absolutely wouldn't want to be in charge of so many testosterone-charged teenage boys with a penchant for wanton destruction. Marcus let out a breathy laugh.
"Anyway, Mr. Holl will probably want to see you here soon. He's got Lyle in his office now, but considering he was out in the first round you've got maybe five minutes to prepare."
"Brilliant," Oliver grumbled sarcastically, pinching the bridge of his nose. Almost as if he'd been summoned, Lyle stepped into the commons and, after a brief search, his eyes landed on Oliver. The boy sidestepped a pair of entirely different wrestling sophomores, and raised his hand in greeting.
"Yo, Oliver, you're next," he announced before collapsing into a nearby chair. Oliver didn't particularly like how he'd phrased that; he felt like he was next in line to jump off a bridge and into a rushing river. Resigned to the lecture he was sure to get, Oliver got up and carefully made his way out of the boy's dorm.
It was colder than he'd expected, much to his chagrin. If the days continued like this, he'd have to break out his winter coat earlier than usual. The last thing he needed was to lose a few inches of height due to the early autumn chill. It seemed as if the rest of the student body had noticed the cold as well since the grounds were largely deserted. The breeze coming off of the Hudson River didn't really help much either, making him shiver in his t-shirt and jeans. He'd made it about halfway to the administration building when he noticed something odd.
A shirtless Lyon doing yoga.
On the list of things Oliver never thought he'd see (and the list of things he never wanted to see) was his classmate doing a bakasana in the middle of fall with no shirt or shoes on. If the boy noticed his approach, he didn't show it as Oliver tried to slip by as quietly as possible. Of course, the universe hated him, and he stepped on a dead leaf, resulting in a large crunch that alerted Lyon of his presence.
"Ah, Oliver. On your way to Mr. Holl's office, I presume?" Lyon asked, resuming his position, now with his eyes closed. Oliver contemplated just walking away and completely ignoring him but figured that wouldn't be the best course of action (Lyon was notoriously stubborn in his attempts to befriend him).
"Uh, yeah."
"Wonderful day, yes? I do love seeing the trees change color. Until now, I'd never seen it first hand, only in picture books my guardian would provide," Lyon said. Oliver couldn't help but feel a bit by the boy's words. There was always something about Lyon that seemed a bit… off. Some of his mannerisms and speech patterns suggested he'd had minimal contact with people before coming to the Forge. Oliver had always chalked it up to him being sheltered and homeschooled when he was growing up.
"I suppose," he said awkwardly. There was a brief moment of silence before Lyon lowered himself into a lotus position and grinned his usual wide smile.
"You are not like the others, Oliver," Lyon stated, his tone somehow both neutral and assured at the same time. As he sat, the orange-haired teen held up one arm and examined his, still broken, fingers. "I don't think you see it yet, though. Very strange."
"Uh-huh. Look, I'd love to stay and talk, but Holl is probably waiting for me," Oliver said, now even more eager to end their conversation. Lyon, not noticing or perhaps ignoring his discomfort, merely nodded and snapped the fingers on his good hand. A small ball of fire formed from the spark and flew up to float right next to Oliver's shoulder.
"You're shorter than usual. Hopefully, that will help keep you warm until you reach administration. However, regretfully I won't be able to offer the same on your way back. I've still got another fifteen minutes of yoga before a five-kilometer run and then Quirk training. I'm hoping to find a way to utilize my more powerful attacks without the risk of breaking my fingers, which, as you can see, is quite troublesome."
Oliver left without another word, though Lyon seemed too intent on his exercises to notice. However, like he'd said it would, the ball of fire stayed hovering over his shoulder until he reached the large, brick building that served as the metaphorical brain of the campus. Unlike the building used for classes, administrations was much easier to navigate, and before long, Oliver found himself standing in front of a door labeled:
Derrick Holl
Hero Studies
Oliver signed and raised his hand to knock, but before he could, the door swung open, and he came face to face with his teacher. 'Right. Mind reading,' he thought. "Mr. Ferdinand, come on in."
"Sure." Based on his personality, Oliver was expecting the man's office to be chaotic and messy. Instead, the room was lavishly decorated with plush furniture, floor to ceiling bookshelves, and a myriad of household plants adding small splashes of green to the room. In one corner of the room was a series of shelves filled to the brim with framed photographs. His curiosity getting the best of him, Oliver walked over to the shelf and was surprised to realize he recognized, however vaguely, many of the people in the photos. "Isn't this?"
"Alchemist. Currently ranked fourteenth on the popularity charts — a former student of mine, like the rest of these." Oliver quickly scanned over the rest of the pictures. There had to be at least thirty of them, a large number of them he recognized as heroes; others seemed to be from all sorts of different walks of life. Some were holding college degrees, others dressed in mechanic jumpsuits or nurse's scrubs, one was even dressed as some ancient guy in a toga standing on a stage. "Not all of them, of course, but when you spend four years teaching a batch of students, you tend to form a bond of sorts. I know Mr. Forrester has a similar shelf in his office, though he brags to no end about having taught Overgrown."
Above the rest of the photos was one that looked like it was from Holl's youth. It showed a much younger version of his teacher, with four others, two men and two women, smiling at the camera. The five couldn't have been much older than Oliver, though there was something off about them. Something familiar. His attention gravitated towards the two on the right of Holl in the photo, a girl with a striking resemblance to his, currently missing, classmate, and a skinny man with red eyes. Like the woman, something about the man was familiar, but he couldn't quite pinpoint what. "Who are they?"
"Old friends," Holl said simply, his tone final but sad. He looked at the picture mournfully for a moment before his usual laidback expression returned, and he motioned for Oliver to follow him. That's when Oliver got another surprise. Sitting on a small table between two cushy-looking couches was a chessboard. Noticing his pupil's surprise, Holl grinned and took a seat on one of the couches, gesturing for Oliver to do the same. "I heard you were a chess guy. This thing was a gift from a former student, and since Forrester was angry I kept beating him, it's been sitting in a cabinet for far too long."
Oliver said nothing as he took his seat and looked down. He was 'White', something he normally disliked. The first move was always important, and allowing his opponent to go first had always allowed Oliver to get a solid grip on their playing style. Regardless, he grabbed one of his pawns and moved it forward. For a while, the two said nothing, too involved with the match to speak. However, Oliver's mind must have betrayed him since Holl leaned back after taking his Rook and put him into check. "You're wondering who the other three people in the photo are."
"Well… obviously the black-haired girl is related to Melody somehow. The others all look familiar to a degree, but a bit harder to pinpoint why." At this point, Oliver felt no need to lie. His thoughts were all but an open book at this point anyway; why be dishonest? Holl sighed and gave the photo another sad glance. When he spoke, Oliver wasn't too surprised that he changed the subject.
"Of the thirty-two students who graduated in my year, eighteen went on to become Pros. Of those eighteen, five never made it past the sidekick stage. All but six either died or resigned within the first five years, and of those six, only one is still in service," Holl said, a faraway look in his eyes. Oliver frowned, his eyes averting to the game board. The statistics were daunting, two-thirds lasting less than five years, an unspecified number of those 12 having died. The most unsurprising fact Holl had given him was that there was only one still active.
"You said only eighteen went on to be Heroes. What about the other fourteen?"
"They went on to other careers, like many of my own former students. Just because you go to a school that primarily focuses on heroics doesn't mean you necessarily have to follow that career path. USAEI is one of the most elite schools in North America and can pave a path towards whatever field you want to go into," Holl explained, returning his attention to the game. Oliver had a sinking feeling that his teacher still hadn't gotten to the point of this conversation. "Patience is a virtue, Mr. Ferdinand, but you do have a point. At the end of the day, Heroism as a career is one of the least rewarding, dangerous, and downright stupid paths you can take. There is a very high chance that you could lose everything you hold dear if you continue down this path. I guess what I'm trying to say here is, do you really want to be a Hero, Oliver?"
Whatever Oliver had been expecting to come out of his teacher's mouth was nothing compared to this. The question sent a shockwave throughout his body. His head snapped up, and he looked at Holl in surprise, though his teacher met him with a neutral expression. "I'm sorry?"
"To be brutally honest, you don't seem to. You're ranked last in the entire year, only barely scraping in. You hardly participate in practical lessons unless it benefits you or you're coerced. Your grades are fine but don't stand out; It's clear that you have the mind to get better marks but not the drive. To the untrained eye, you don't seem to fit to be in this course." Oliver didn't know what to say. In reality, he knew that everything his teacher said was true. He almost always did take the easy route in all of his schoolwork. During practicals, he had always been threatened — usually by Marcus, but on rare occasions Clara and Rylee as well — into putting in the bare minimum amount of effort. A pit formed in his stomach for reasons he couldn't quite understand. Hell, the only reason he'd even applied to USAEI in the first place was because of Marcus. He'd been perfectly content with going to a boring local highschool before his friend had practically forced his hand, so why was he having such a negative reaction to Holl's examination.
"I… don't understand," he grumbled, which wasn't true. He understood why they'd want to kick him out; he was a waste of time and resources in their eyes. What he didn't understand was the hurricane of emotion that swept through him. Holl, obviously being privy to his private thoughts, leaned forward on the couch and met Oliver's eye.
"Everyone who follows the Hero's path will face a moment when they have to choose between what is right and what is easy. As your teacher, it's my duty to guide you towards the decision that best suits you, whether you decide to become a Hero or not. I don't expect you to know the answer quite yet, but no matter what, I won't give up on you or anyone else until you're getting your diploma and heading out into the real world."
"When will I know?" Oliver asked vaguely, though he was sure his teacher could understand what he couldn't put into words. In an instant, the intense look in his teacher's eye vanished, and he leaned back on the couch, his normal laid-back demeanor returning. He grinned at Oliver, took his King, and shrugged.
"No idea. Checkmate."
The rest of their meeting was spent going over footage from Oliver's battles, with Holl giving him pointers or, more often, pointing out something he did wrong. Amongst it all, Oliver felt himself actually caring about what his teacher was saying. He even felt a bit of embarrassment when the image of him flopping down onto the mall bench came on screen, though Holl looked more amused than anything else. Once they finally finished up his fight against Clara, the projector switched off, and Holl allowed silence to reign for several moments. Again, Oliver felt his eyes drift toward the chessboard, subconsciously trying to work out exactly how he'd managed to lose.
"Tell me something, which chess piece do you believe best personifies a hero?"
"Is that a serious question?" Oliver asked dryly.
"Sure, no wrong answers." Holl held up his hands in mock surrender, but Oliver felt compelled to answer for some reason. He studied the small, ornate pieces for a moment before his gaze came to rest on the one that sat beside the King.
"The Queen. It's the most versatile piece. It can move to basically anywhere it's needed, and losing it is a huge blow to your strategy in-game."
"Good point, but you're wrong." Apparently, there was a wrong answer. Oliver sighed and shook his head, feeling another lecture coming on. Holl smirked and reached down to grab, to Oliver's surprise, the smallest piece on the board. "The Hero is the Pawn. We… are expendable. First and foremost, our goal is to do our best to fight and protect the King or, in this case, the normal everyday citizen. The other pieces… uh, who cares? Up for interpretation, I suppose."
"Sounds like a sad life, being a pawn," Oliver commented. For a moment, a flash of something passed over Holl's face, and his grin faltered.
"Which is why so many people don't follow this path or bow out when the goings get tough. Now, I've still got five meetings to get to today, so scram. Remember what we've talked about today."
Purpose of a Hero
As much as she loved having the unique opportunity of working under the Number Two Hero, Amy Rivers (better known as Bubble Bee) couldn't deny that the office was much quieter when her boss was out. In fact, times like this when her boss was missing – he tended to disappear quite often – and the rest of her fellow sidekicks were out on leave or patrol were some of her favorites. Of course, these brief moments of respite were almost always interrupted by Oddball bursting in the front doors dramatically, and this time was no different.
Unlike usual, Oddball paid her no mind, storming past her and yanking open the door to his office. For a hopeful second, she entertained the idea that he was actually on his way to do the two months of backed up paperwork. That hope was quickly squashed when said pile of paperwork went flying out of the open door and scattered across the floor at her feet. Amy let out a sigh and, accepting of her fate, stepped into the office. Like Oddball himself, the office was a complete mess with seemingly no semblance of order whatsoever. Photos, knick-knacks, and assorted office supplies or paperwork covered every available surface. The large, dark wood desk leaned heavily to one side, a result of the potted plant acting as one of its legs.
In the center of it all, Oddball was frantically sifting through his disorganized filing cabinet, flinging any document or folder that dared not be what he was looking for over his shoulder. Thankfully, as head of the agency's sidekicks, Amy wasn't the one that would have to clean up when the boss was done. Soon, Oddball's cumbersome white helmet joined the heaps of junk littering the floor. The man ran a hand through his electric blue hair as his eyes darted from one page to the next so quickly Amy was sure he wasn't actually retaining any of the information he was reading.
"Boss, you're hyperventilating," she said. Her voice appeared to shock the man out of his stupor. He turned on his heel and gave her an odd look before holding up a random manilla folder with the words 'Nicolas Parker' stamped on it in red ink.
"Ah! Bee, wonderful timing. When did you get here?" He proclaimed, tossing the folder over his shoulder. In the back of her mind, she really hoped Nicolas would be able to put his records back together when he was cleaning up.
"Been here all morning, boss. How was the tournament?" She asked, trying to keep him distracted and not destroying their agency. An odd look flashed over his face for a moment before he shrugged and leaned back on his desk.
"Same old, same old. Child gladiators and all that, but now I need to find that damn work-study form before everyone, and their mother sends them in. I mean, I know she said she'd work with me, but I could never have counted on this. Thank goodness Carlyle got there before the school staff and just took her away. It'll be better like this IF I CAN FIND THE DAMN FORM!" He exploded, knocking over his chair and causing a clock on the far wall to turn hot pink. "Huh, you know that does go with the drapes. Perhaps the carpet would look better in–"
"Boss!" Amy interrupted, trying to keep him from going off on one of his tangents and, god forbid, decide to totally remodel the office… again. Oddball looked at her, annoyed, but complied and sat on the edge of his desk patiently while his sidekick walked over to the one non-gutted file cabinet. After a brief moment of rifling through the folders, she produced a small packet of papers and presented it to her boss, who looked at them with disgust.
"No. Make Nicolas do it."
"Nicolas, and probably a few others, are going to be busy cleaning up your mess. Come on. You just have to fill out the student's name and sign a few waivers. Easy-peasy." The Pro Hero snarled and roughly grabbed the packet, as well as the pen his sidekick helpfully provided. Grumbling, he begrudgingly filled out the paperwork, checking every box, signing, initialing, and all the normal nonsense he hated. 'Who decided that being a Professional Hero would require so much damned paperwork. The damn council has it out for me; I bet their golden boy doesn't have to do this much crap.' As soon as he'd finished, he thrust the packet back at Amy and collapsed backward onto his desk, making it creak dangerously.
"Have someone bring that to the school. I'm gonna take a nap."
"Oh no, no way. You interrupted my quiet time, and you're paying for it. We're going on patrol in five minutes. Make yourself presentable!" Bee scolded, smacking him over his exposed head with a fly swatter (which she'd seemingly produced from nowhere). After his sidekick stormed out, threatening to be back, Oddball groaned and tilted his head up.
"They also never told me that having sidekicks would be so troublesome."
"I heard that!"
Purpose of a Hero
Okay, short chapter this time, but you gotta do what you gotta do. This arc comes to an official end with Chapter 49, and, as you might know, the 2nd anniversary of PoaH is on November 13th, so I'm hoping to post Chapter 50 on that day. Therefore, my 'every-other-week' upload schedule that I mentioned in my last AN is temporarily null.
In other news… I don't really have much other news. Life is pretty boring right now, ngl. The Tower of Nero was damned good (no spoilers from me), and I'm planning to make my third attempt at reading (or rather listening to the audiobook) of Kane Chronicles. I say the third attempt because the other two times I've tried to get into it, I went through big changes in my life and forgot to keep up with it. Maybe this time, I'll get past chapter 10; who knows?
Also, if you're the like… four people that read this story and are not in the discord, now is a better time than ever to join. I have a special surprise planned to celebrate PoaH's second birthday on November 13th.
In any case, let's get on to the preview:
Next Time on the Purpose of a Hero:
Chapter 48: Pride and Prejudice