The thing about elite hero academies? You expect a little flair. A floating welcome sign. Maybe a firework shaped like your initials. At the very least, someone who looks mildly excited you bothered to show up. What I got was a clipboard and a hallway that smelled like bleach. The staff assistant didn't even look up from her screen. Her voice was flat, like this conversation had already bored her in a dream the night before.

  "Name?" she asked.

  "Zach."

  She waited. "Last name?"

  I shrugged. "Just Zach."

  That earned me a pause. A full second of her actually making eye contact. I gave her my best smile. It didn't help. She tapped something on her tablet, unimpressed.

  "Specialization?"

  "Being inconvenient," I said.

  No laugh. Not even a twitch. She handed me a packet without a word and waved toward a hallway behind her. I followed the direction like a condemned man walking toward his final class schedule.

  As I moved deeper into the building, the shine faded fast. Marble tiles turned into scratched linoleum. Then bare concrete. One of the overhead lights buzzed in protest and flickered like it was having an identity crisis. Somewhere between the second vending machine and a door that looked like it had been kicked more times than opened, I found the sign. D-Class Quarters. The lettering was peeling. The corner of the plaque was held in place with duct tape. I stared at it for a long moment, then pushed the door open.

  No fanfare. No congratulations. Just a cracked window, two metal bunks, and the smell of something that probably used to be food. I dropped my bag onto the nearest mattress and sat down.

  Welcome to Halcyon Academy. Where the best of the best rise to glory.

  And the rest of us?

  We get sent to D-Class.

  The mattress groaned under my weight like it had opinions. The metal frame creaked in protest as I leaned back, one leg still on the floor, the other stretched out like I had the energy to care. The ceiling above me had a chunk missing in the corner—exposing cracked concrete and a lonely spiderweb catching dust instead of bugs. I tilted my head. The fan above was hanging at an angle, its blades slightly warped. Probably hadn't worked in years. A lightbulb near the door flickered like it was clapping for help.

  Nice.

  I stood, cracked my back, and took a slow lap around the room. The walls had paint so thin you could see the plaster underneath. There was one cabinet in the corner, probably meant to store supplies, but the left hinge was broken and the handle was missing. A single, dented desk sat against the window, its surface scarred with initials and something that might've been gum but I wasn't brave enough to check. The window didn't open. Not stuck—sealed. Probably for safety. Or punishment.

  I sighed through my nose, dropped to a knee, and lifted the edge of the rug near the door. More concrete. Dust. A crushed pencil. A bottle cap. Someone had definitely vomited here once, and the stain never fully lost the memory. So this was D-Class. A glorified supply closet for the unwanted. A holding pen for the kind of students who scraped by on potential and luck, but not enough of either to matter. Not yet, anyway.

  I straightened, walked over to the fan, and tried to adjust the angle. The thing groaned ominously and threatened to fall, so I immediately pretended I hadn't touched it. Found a broom near the corner and swept the worst of the dirt into a sad little pile. I took the cabinet's broken door off entirely, because it felt like the kind of victory I could claim for myself.

  By the time I finished pretending this place could be something livable, the door creaked open behind me.

  Four people walked in at once. No order. No harmony. Just a chaotic bundle of energy, boots, and opinions. I didn't stand up. I figured if I looked like I belonged here long enough, someone would believe it.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The first one through the door was a girl—tall, with long dark purple hair and eyes the color of cold steel. Her uniform was already crisp, not a single wrinkle, collar pinned right. She looked around the room like she was calculating the square footage of her disappointment. She didn't say anything. Just nodded once and claimed the bunk by the window without hesitation.

  The second was... louder. Tall, blonde, pigtails with the ends died pink tied up like she had plans and none of them were legal. She had sunglasses on indoors, a grin like she'd just punched someone in the face and gotten away with it, and a jacket tied around her waist like even her uniform didn't get to tell her what to do. "Yikes," she said, looking around. "This place screams tetanus." She threw her duffel onto the top bunk above mine, popped a piece of gum into her mouth, and gave me a wink like we were already co-conspirators.

  The third arrived half-buried under a stack of parts—tiny drones, a busted toolbox, and something with wires that looked like it wanted to explode just for attention. Medium height, messy hair, goggles pushed up on his forehead, grease smudges already marking his sleeves like birthmarks. "This is gonna be a fire hazard," he muttered, stepping over a crack in the floor. Then he spotted the wall outlet and lit up like a kid on his birthday. "Correction: this is gonna be a beautiful fire hazard." He dumped his gear in the far corner and started sorting tech before even picking a bed.

  The last one came in quiet. Taller than the rest, lean, with dark skin and a hand-carved beetle charm around his neck. His eyes scanned the room like he was reading more than just walls and broken furniture. His gloves were worn, fingertips cut out, and I could see small scratches on the knuckles—like he handled things that bit back. He didn't say anything. Just nodded to us and started unpacking with calm, methodical movements.

  And just like that, the room was full. Four strangers, one wrecked dorm, zero instructions. I looked around. Then leaned back on the mattress with a sigh. "Guess it's gonna be a fun year."

  No one said anything for the first twenty seconds. Just the sound of bags unzipping, metal clinking, and the slow, hopeless wheeze of the ceiling fan giving up on life. I waited. Back still against the bunk, eyes casually scanning the room like I wasn't silently ranking them all by how likely they were to stab someone in their sleep.

  The purple-haired one—she moved with military precision, folded her uniform jacket with care, placed it at the foot of the bed like she was reporting it for inspection. No wasted motion. No sound. She was going to be the serious one. Definitely the type to kill you with a clipboard before ever raising her voice.

  The blonde with the pigtails plopped onto the top bunk above me with a loud bounce, kicked off her boots without aiming, and yawned like she was allergic to structure. Wild card.

  The tech guy was already in the corner, mumbling to himself and unpacking like the rest of us didn't exist. He spoke machine fluently. People? Not so much.

  The bug guy had his hands clasped behind his back like he was observing a nature exhibit he might one day rule.

  And me? I was just waiting for the moment someone blinked first.

  It didn't take long.

  "So," the blonde said, stretching with a groan, "are we gonna talk, or are we committing to the whole silent prison-cell vibe?"

  Her voice cut the air clean. No fear. No hesitation. Just pure "I'm bored and I will absolutely start chaos if you let me" energy.

  The purple-haired one glanced up, but didn't respond.

  Bug boy raised an eyebrow.

  Tech guy didn't even flinch. Might not have heard her.

  I raised a hand lazily. "I vote for silent brooding, personally."

  She leaned over the bunk edge to look at me upside-down, blowing a bubble that popped against her lip.

  "Treeboy has jokes."

  "Treeboy?" I asked.

  "Yeah." She pointed to my bag. "You got a wooden sword strapped to it. Real old-school. Kinda hot, not gonna lie."

  "...Right."

  Purple-hair spoke next, voice low, even.

  "I'm Elle. Don't expect small talk."

  She didn't look at us when she said it. Just adjusted her sheets and laid down like this was any other mission.

  Sunglasses girl gave a thumbs up. "Mika. expect fun. And snacks."

  Tech guy finally glanced over. "Sato. Don't touch my stuff. Or look at it too long. Or breathe near it."

  And then bug boy gave the group a simple, "Derrin."

  No title. No threat. Just a name. Solid and still.

  Then all five of us sat there. In the world's worst dorm, under the world's saddest light.

  Five people who didn't belong.

  Five people the academy had already written off.

  Five people about to burn their names into the walls if the school didn't make space.

  I smiled to myself.

  Yep. This was gonna be fun.