The auditorium buzzed with the kind of restless energy only a full house of students could generate. Rows upon rows of uniforms — neat, pressed, and expectant — filled the seats beneath the towering glass do. Banners fluttered from the rafters, celebrating "Academic Excellence Week," and holographic displays shimred above the stage, showing looping clips of the top scorers.
Xavier’s face appeared front and center every few seconds — smug, perfect, the image of the academy’s golden student.
He stood backstage, leaning casually against the wall, one hand in his pocket and the other loosely gripping a cup of black coffee. His eyes tracked Aldric Blackwood standing at the podium — perfectly composed, and radiating confidence.
Aldric’s voice filled the hall, smooth and commanding. "Today," he said, "we celebrate not just achievent, but dedication, brilliance, and the spirit of competition that makes this academy thrive."
The students clapped politely. Xavier took another sip.
"And now," Aldric continued, glancing toward the side of the stage with a smile that was too rehearsed, too smug, "we have the pleasure of hearing a few words from soone who has once again claid the top position in our academic rankings."
The lights dimd slightly, and the spotlight pivoted.
Aldric’s smirk deepened. "Please welco, Xavier."
The audience erupted in applause. So genuine. So not.
Xavier’s boots echoed against the stage floor as he walked out. His expression was unreadable — sowhere between detached amusent and quiet readiness.
He stopped beside Aldric, who offered a handshake. Xavier accepted it — firm, steady, eyes locked — the briefest exchange of unspoken tension passing between them. Then Aldric stepped back, leaving the mic to Xavier.
The cheering died down. Silence filled the room.
For a mont, Xavier simply looked at the crowd. He rembered the last ti he’d stood here — the orientation day. The lights. The pressure. The endless stares. The anxiety that had crushed him so hard he’d passed out mid-sentence.
Not this ti.
He glanced at Aldric and Darius sitting in the front row — both wearing smiles that scread we’re waiting for you to slip.
’So that’s your plan,’ Xavier thought. ’Call back the mory. Make choke on it again.’
He exhaled slowly, let the tension roll off, then leaned slightly toward the mic.
"Good morning," he said, voice steady, calm. "It feels weird to be back up here again. Last ti I stood on this stage... well—" He chuckled softly. "Let’s just say I didn’t exactly make it to the end."
A ripple of laughter spread through the hall — light, genuine. Even a few instructors smiled.
Aldric’s smirk faltered.
"But I guess falling once doesn’t an you stay down forever," Xavier continued, tone casual, conversational. "You just get up, do your thing, and make sure the next ti they call your na, it’s not because you fainted — but because you earned it."
The audience clapped, so even cheering.
Xavier smiled faintly — that sharp, knowing smirk. "So yeah. Thanks for the recognition. I’ll keep doing my best... and maybe next ti, they’ll give a heads up before throwing on stage."
Laughter again. Louder this ti.
"Now," he began, voice smooth, steady. "Let do what I am supposed to do. Many of you—"
"Rapist!"
The word shot through the air like a bullet.
The hall went dead silent.
Xavier froze mid-sentence, his head turning toward the direction of the voice — sowhere in the third block of students.
Then another voice, from the shadows near the back — a girl’s this ti — "Attention whore!"
Murmurs rippled through the crowd like wildfire.
"Faker"
"He just wants fa!"
"He killed Kane’s son!"
"He’s just a psycho with luck!"
"You’re not a savior, you’re a goddamn monster!"
The room exploded.
Students started shouting over one another, half of them rising in outrage, others in defense. So Xavier supporters leaped to their feet, yelling back — "Say that again, asshole!" — fists flying before the instructors even moved. Chairs toppled. A table crashed. Soone scread as two groups collided in the center aisle.
"ENOUGH!" one of the instructors roared, but their voice drowned in the chaos.
Aldric and Darius exchanged faint smirks from their seats on the dais. It was clear now — this had been orchestrated.
Xavier, though, didn’t move. He just stood there, calm amid the storm. His eyes scanned the room, not angry, not shocked — just coldly observant. Then, slowly, he tapped the mic again, the dull thud echoing.
"Are you all done?" he asked, voice low but cutting through the noise like a blade.
So of the noise dimd, the energy shifting as people turned their attention back toward him.
Xavier looked at the students who’d insulted him, then at the ones fighting in his defense. He gave a quiet, humorless laugh.
"You know," he said, his tone suddenly quieter — not angry, not defensive, just real. "It’s funny how quick people are to build stories when they don’t understand the truth. How easy it is to hate soone when you’ve never seen what they’ve survived."
His voice carried through the silence now.
"I’m not here to prove myself to anyone. Not anymore. If you believe rumors over reason, that’s your choice. But if you think shouting nas makes you stronger — it doesn’t. It just shows how little you know about strength."
He paused, letting that sink in. The room had gone eerily still.
"The only thing that ever defines you isn’t what people say when they hate you — it’s what you do when the world’s against you."
He stepped away from the mic, gaze sweeping over the silent hall.
"And ?" he said quietly. "I don’t break that easily anymore."
Then he turned and walked off the stage — not rushed, not shaken — just calm, collected, every step echoing like thunder in that dead silent hall.
Even Aldric and Darius, for a brief second, had nothing to say.
As he passed Aldric, he murmured just loud enough for him to hear, "You’ll have to do better than these la traps, Blackwood."
Aldric’s smile froze, but his eyes narrowed slightly — that flicker of irritation he couldn’t hide.
anwhile, sowhere deep in the city — far from the flashing headlines, far from the noise and chaos of the academy — there was a place no map marked. Buried under layers of concrete and silence, a faint chanical hum broke the stillness.
Rows of old industrial lights flickered overhead, their pale glow cutting through the darkness in broken intervals. At the center of that dim lab stood a single pod — tall, cylindrical, filled with dense liquid that pulsed faintly with a blue-white light.
Inside it floated a figure.
Dozens of thick black cables ran into the pod from every direction — so pulsing with electric current, others carrying so kind of fluid that rged with the liquid inside. The pod’s surface was fogged with condensation, but faintly through the glass, a face could be seen — calm, motionless, eyes shut.
The faint sound of beeping filled the room. A screen nearby displayed dozens of running graphs, live vitals, neural readings — heart rate stable, energy response: rising. And at the top of the display, bold and centered, were the words:
PROJECT ASCENDANCY
Below it, the details shifted every few seconds — lines of code running like living veins across the screen. Then the label stopped, froze, and at the corner of the monitor, one na appeared, glowing faintly in red:
HOST: LUCAS BLACKWOOD
The cara on the screen zood in on the host’s face — pale, unaged, suspended in silence — before the system’s voice echoed softly through the lab speakers.
"Phase One... complete."
The blue glow brightened for a mont, the liquid inside the pod swirling as the machinery around it ca alive — sparks of energy dancing between the wires. And then, everything went silent again.
The hum steadied. The lights dimd back to their cold flicker.
And in the reflection of the pod glass... for just a split second... the host’s eyes twitched.
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