While Owen continued his training under Mrs. Zinc’s watchful eye, Training Room Three echoed with the sound of impact.

  Walter Adams staggered backward, boots scraping across reinforced flooring, his Attack Armor flickering violently around him in fractured plates of hardened energy.

  Across from him stood Mr. Pendelton—small in stature, hands calmly folded behind his back, expression unreadable.

  Walter wiped blood from the corner of his mouth.

  Walter: Damn it! For such a little guy, you really are a monster.

  Mr. Pendelton didn’t blink.

  Mr. Pendelton: I told you when we began this training—appearances are rarely accurate, Mr. Adams. Now… dodge this.

  The air compressed.

  Walter felt it before he saw it—a distortion, subtle but lethal.

  He tried switching to his Speed Armor—

  Too slow.

  An invisible force slammed into his chest like a freight train. The impact detonated the air around him, launching him across the arena. He crashed into the far wall hard enough to spiderweb the surface.

  His Attack Armor shattered mid-flight, fragments of metal dissolving into sparks before they hit the floor.

  Walter groaned, sliding down the wall.

  Mr. Pendelton: Now then… what did we learn?

  Walter coughed, forcing himself upright.

  Walter: That short guys can actually pack a punch.

  Mr. Pendelton sighed deeply, rubbing his forehead as though warding off a headache. With a flick of his fingers, the arena reset—cracked walls smoothing over, debris vanishing, the entire space returning to a blank white expanse.

  Mr. Pendelton: Mr. Adams, if you intend to progress, you must stop pretending that brute force is a personality trait.

  Walter pushed himself off the wall, jaw tightening.

  Walter: Oh great. Let me guess. Another lecture about how I need to “use my head” and stop charging in recklessly.

  Mr. Pendelton turned slowly.

  Mr. Pendelton: You see? That right there. That attitude. Continue like this and you will watch your classmates surpass you one by one. Is that what you want?

  He stepped forward.

  Mr. Pendelton: To remain weak?

  The word hit harder than the invisible blast.

  Walter shot to his feet, fury burning behind his eyes.

  Walter: Weak? You cannot possibly be talking about me.

  Mr. Pendelton: There is no one else in this room, son.

  Walter’s hands trembled—not from fear, but rage.

  Walter: No disrespect, sir… but if you think I’m weak, then you seriously need to reevaluate.

  Mr. Pendelton’s gaze sharpened.

  Mr. Pendelton: My evaluation was completed during the first week of this program.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  You lost both of your midterm matches. Your academic scores are average. And worst of all… your Aspect holds extraordinary potential.

  He paused deliberately.

  Mr. Pendelton: It simply found itself burdened with a poor user.

  The words snapped something inside him.

  Walter roared and slammed both fists into the ground. The floor shattered beneath him, cracks racing outward in jagged lines as blood streamed from his knuckles.

  Walter: What the hell do you know?!

  Mr. Pendelton: Considerably more than you, it seems.

  Walter stood, breathing hard, then turned away.

  Walter: This is a waste of time. I’m done.

  He took two steps toward the exit.

  Mr. Pendelton’s voice followed him—calm, cutting.

  Mr. Pendelton: Are you truly walking away because someone criticized you?

  Walter didn’t stop.

  Mr. Pendelton: I imagine Jack must be quite disappointed.

  Walter froze.

  The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

  Slowly, he turned around.

  Walter: …What did you just say?

  Mr. Pendelton: Jack Adams. Your father.

  Walter stepped forward, each footfall heavy.

  Walter: And what exactly do you know about my old man?

  Mr. Pendelton didn’t look away.

  Mr. Pendelton: I know he raised you better than this.

  I know your mother is struggling more than anyone should.

  And I know that acting like this will not help either of you.

  Walter stared at him.

  Walter: How did you even know him?

  Mr. Pendelton exhaled slowly.

  Mr. Pendelton: We served together. Back when the government hunted our kind—captured us—forced us to fight their wars.

  His eyes darkened at the memory.

  Mr. Pendelton: They called us “The Brains and the Brawn.” I would plan the engagements. Jack would break the enemy lines. He endured things that would have killed most men twice over.

  Walter’s anger began to fracture.

  Walter: That sounds like him.

  A faint smile tugged at his lips.

  Walter: Mom always told me he could shrug off anything.

  Mr. Pendelton nodded.

  Mr. Pendelton: He was relentless. But more than that, he was loyal. He always said that one day, despite my height, I would stand taller than all of them.

  Silence settled between them.

  They both sank down against the wall.

  Mr. Pendelton: How is Maria?

  Walter’s jaw tightened.

  Walter: Not good. She’s in rehab… after her last overdose.

  Mr. Pendelton closed his eyes briefly.

  Mr. Pendelton: Still the drugs?

  Walter nodded.

  Walter: After Dad died… she couldn’t handle it. Alcohol. Pills. Anything that numbed it.

  Mr. Pendelton: How long has she been there?

  Walter: Two years.

  Mr. Pendelton: Do you visit?

  Walter hesitated.

  Walter: I used to. Stopped this spring.

  Mr. Pendelton: Why?

  Walter swallowed.

  Walter: The last time I went… she didn’t recognize me.

  And when I said Dad’s name… she broke down. Screaming. Crying. They had to sedate her.

  His voice cracked.

  Walter: I couldn’t watch that again.

  Mr. Pendelton’s voice softened.

  Mr. Pendelton: I’m sorry. I should have been there more. The last time I saw you, you were barely a month old. Jack and I had just escaped captivity.

  A tear slipped down Walter’s cheek before he could stop it.

  Walter: I’m sorry. For earlier. I shouldn’t have—

  Mr. Pendelton placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

  Mr. Pendelton: You do not need to apologize for pain.

  Walter stood and paced the room, fists clenching and unclenching. After a moment, he stopped and faced him.

  Walter: Alright. Let’s start over. This time… I’ll listen.

  Mr. Pendelton studied him.

  Mr. Pendelton: Are you certain?

  Walter gave a small, genuine smile.

  Walter: If my old man heard how I was talking to you, he’d come back just to beat me himself.

  Mr. Pendelton chuckled faintly.

  Mr. Pendelton: Very well. First lesson: your obsession with brute force must end. You do not use it as a tactic. You use it as a solution to everything.

  Walter scratched the back of his head.

  Walter: It’s worked so far.

  Mr. Pendelton raised a finger.

  Mr. Pendelton: I am not finished. Your Attack Armor—you treat it like a stimulant. You overextend. You burn through reserves. You rely on power instead of creativity.

  Walter frowned thoughtfully.

  Walter: So what should I be doing?

  Mr. Pendelton’s eyes gleamed.

  Mr. Pendelton: Stop thinking of your Aspect as four separate armors.

  Start thinking of it as one system.

  Walter’s expression shifted.

  Walter: There’s something I’ve wanted to try.

  Mr. Pendelton: Go on.

  Walter took a slow breath.

  Walter: Combining them. Merging my armors into entirely new configurations. New functions. New abilities.

  For the first time, Mr. Pendelton smiled openly.

  Mr. Pendelton: Now that is the Walter Adams I was hoping to see.

  Very well. Forge something new. Even one successful hybrid will prove you are evolving.

  Walter rolled his shoulders, determination returning—not loud, not explosive, but steady.

  Walter: Right. Let’s do it.

  Mr. Pendelton stepped back.

  Mr. Pendelton: Your teammates have been waiting patiently for their turn. Do not keep them waiting too long.

  Walter blinked.

  Walter: Oh. Right. I forgot about them.

  Mr. Pendelton: Then let us not waste any more time.

  Walter’s energy began to gather around him—not violently, not recklessly—but deliberately.

  Walter: Yeah.

  He clenched his fists.

  Walter: Let’s build something better.

  End Chapter