Misato watched Monroe jog across the field, keeping her face neutral while sizing him up like a particularly confusing puzzle. The fat kid from nowhere suddenly acting like soone worth paying attention to.
"Alright, Monroe," she said when he reached her. "Show what you can do. If you’ve been hiding a useful ability under that squishy exterior, I want to see it."
Monroe wiped sweat from his face. "It works best with a direct demonstration." He extended his palm toward her. "May I?"
Misato hesitated for half a second. Direct contact. That required a level of trust she didn’t offer freely.
"Fine." She held out her arm. "But try anything weird and I’ll make five of to kick your ass simultaneously."
"Noted." Monroe wrapped his fingers around her wrist, his palm against her pulse point.
Nothing happened for a mont. Then warmth began spreading up her arm—a gentle tingling sensation that wasn’t unpleasant. It reminded her of the first sip of hot cocoa on a cold morning.
"This is level one," Monroe said. "Barely noticeable, but it numbs minor pain."
The sensation intensified, warming further until it felt like sunshine on her skin after swimming.
"Level two." His eyes watched her face carefully. "Good for moderate pain, sprains, that kind of thing."
"Interesting," Misato admitted, genuinely surprised. Maybe the fat kid wasn’t useless after all. "Can you focus it on specific areas?"
"Absolutely." The warmth concentrated at her shoulder, which had been aching since yesterday’s training session. The tension lted away.
"Huh." She rolled her shoulder, testing the range of motion. Better than it had been all morning.
Monroe nodded. "It’s mostly short-term, but with practice, I can extend the duration."
Misato took her arm back, processing this new information. She’d assud Monroe would be the weak link—deadweight to carry or sacrifice depending on the situation. That’s what Blair would have done. Write him off imdiately, use him as bait in a gate, or ignore him entirely.
Blair.
Her mind drifted back to yesterday afternoon, when Vale had announced the team assignnts.
===
"This is unacceptable!" Blair paced across her Summit House living room, flas literally dancing at her fingertips. The expensive couch would have ignited if Misato hadn’t placed a hand on Blair’s shoulder.
"Lady Blair, please. You’ll burn the furniture again."
"I don’t care about the furniture! Did you see who Vale put with? Charles Leone? That misogynistic trust fund baby who thinks won should be decorative?" Blair’s voice rose with each word. "And that anxious scholarship kid who carries around those stupid notebooks? And the Tanaka boy who doesn’t speak? And Dante Pope—Dante, who should be kissing my feet for the privilege of breathing the sa air!"
Misato stood patiently, allowing Blair’s fury to burn itself out. This was their pattern—Blair exploded, Misato contained the blast radius.
"We should have been together," Blair said, her voice dropping lower. "You’re my person. My support. Vale knows this. He deliberately separated us."
"I know, Lady Blair." Misato kept her voice steady while maintaining her position one step behind Blair’s right shoulder. Never equal, never in front. Always the shadow.
But secretly—in a place so deep she barely admitted it to herself—Misato felt sothing like excitent bubbling beneath her concern. A chance to stand on her own. To lead instead of follow. To prove her value outside Blair’s orbit.
"My team is a joke," Blair continued, dropping onto the couch dramatically. "I’ll carry them all."
"You always do," Misato said automatically.
Later, reviewing the team assignnts in her own room, Misato analyzed the Midnight Foxes objectively:
Jordan Wayne - Lazy genius. Shadow manipulation. No ambition.
Belle Fox - Gold digger with no combat ability. Only interested in resources.
Naomi Love - Powerful but fragile. Breaks after one burst. Potential if trained properly.
Jace Monroe - Fat lottery kid. Unknown ability. Probable liability.
On paper, the weakest squad in Obsidian. Probably the entire academy. But they were hers now.
===
"Monroe," Misato said, snapping back to the present. "That’s a useful ability. Why weren’t you more forthcoming about it?"
He shrugged. "People underestimate what they don’t understand."
Annoyingly astute for a lottery kid who looked like he’d been sweating through his uniform since orientation.
"Show sothing else," I said, keeping my voice flat so he wouldn’t know I was actually curious. "What level can you push it to?"
"Ten is the ceiling." He kept his tone casual, almost bored, like this was a conversation about the weather rather than combat capability. "But that’s reserved for situations where everything else has already failed."
I watched his face. Nothing gave. "And what exactly does level ten do to a person?"
Monroe hesitated. "It’s complicated. I’ve only reached it once, during my awakening."
Misato didn’t believe that for a second. There was sothing he wasn’t saying.
"Look," she said, crossing her arms. "I thought you’d be our weak link. Dead weight I’d have to drag across the finish line. But yesterday you pushed through my entire circuit without complaining, and today you’re running extra laps with energy to spare."
She leaned forward slightly. "So what’s your deal, Monroe? Because you’re not what I expected."
He seed surprised by her directness.
"I’m just trying to improve," he said. "I know I’m starting from behind."
Misato studied him. His face was open, sincere even, but his eyes—amber with an unusual depth—were calculating sothing. Not lying exactly, but not telling the whole truth either.
"Here’s what I think," she said, dropping her voice so the others couldn’t hear. "I think you’ve got more going on than you’re sharing. I think that ’sensory manipulation’ has applications you’re keeping to yourself."
She tilted her head toward Naomi. "And I think you two have so kind of... arrangent already."
Monroe’s expression didn’t change, but sothing in his posture shifted almost imperceptibly. Interesting.
"What gave you that idea?" he asked.
"The hickey on her neck, for one. The way she keeps sneaking glances at you when she thinks no one’s watching." Misato let a smile cross her lips. "I’m very observant, Monroe."
"We’re... exploring synergies," he admitted.
Misato barked out a laugh. "Is that what they’re calling it these days?"
She thought of Blair then—how she would have reacted. Blair would have been disgusted. Lottery kid romance? Beneath her notice.
But Misato found it almost charming. People finding connection wherever they could in this brutal academy.
She’d never had that luxury herself.
"Look, I don’t care who you’re sleeping with," Misato said, keeping her voice low. "But I need to know if it affects our team."
"It doesn’t," Monroe said firmly. "Except that we work well together."
Misato nodded slowly. "I’ll take your word for now. But here’s the deal—I’m not Blair. I don’t play mind gas, and I don’t have ti for secrets that compromise our standing."
Monroe raised an eyebrow. "Blair?"
Shit. She’d said more than intended.
"Never mind." Misato waved her hand dismissively. "Point is, if your relationship with Naomi makes you both stronger, great. If it becos a problem, I’ll step in."
She turned to walk away, but Monroe caught her attention with a question.
"You thought I’d be cannon fodder, didn’t you? When you first saw ."
Misato stopped, considering her response. She could lie, but what was the point?
"Yes," she admitted, turning back. "I assud you’d be the first to die in a real gate. I planned my strategy around it."
She pointed at him. "I was wrong. You’ve got heart, Monroe. More than most of these privileged assholes."
He seed genuinely surprised by her honesty.
"You’re not what I expected either, Aya."
Misato laughed and looked across the field at the rest of their team. Belle was typing sothing on her tablet, probably calculating how to monetize the morning’s observations. Jordan had collapsed onto the grass again, his shadows retreating while he stared at the sky. Naomi was stretching her arms, working out the aftermath of her power usage.
And for the first ti in years, Misato was making decisions without wondering what Blair would think of them.
"Monroe," she said, making a choice. "I want you to help design today’s circuit. If your ability can push Naomi past her limits, maybe it can do the sa for the others."
He nodded, suddenly all business. "Jordan’s the priority. His shadow control is valuable, but his stamina is garbage."
"Agreed. And Belle needs basic self-defense that doesn’t rely on her useless passive ability."
They fell into strategy discussion imdiately, and Misato felt a strange lightness in her chest. This was leadership—real leadership, not just enforcing soone else’s vision. She was making calls based on her own judgnt, and Monroe was treating her ideas with genuine consideration.
"Let’s get started," she told Monroe, clapping her hands together. "Hey, team! New plan!"
As the others gathered around, Misato allowed herself a small smile. The Midnight Foxes might be a random assortnt of misfits on paper, but maybe—just maybe—they had potential. And for the first ti in her academy career, Misato was building sothing that belonged entirely to her.
Not to Blair. Not to Davenport Industries. Just Misato Aya and her strange little squad.
"Alright, Foxes," she said, surprising herself with the possessive pride in her voice. "Let’s see what you’re really made of."
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