Samuel woke up with a restless feeling. This was it. The day he had to prove himself.
Next to him, Lynn was already sitting upright, her fingers flying across her tablet with almost inhuman speed. He had never seen anyone type so aggressively.
“You’re late,” she said flatly.
She stood up, unzipped the tent, and slung her backpack over her shoulder without sparing him another glance.
Samuel stayed there for a moment, letting himself exist in the quiet. He had still slept on the ground, but it was better than before. No cold pavement. No icy bridge above his head. He had a mattress. A tent. A place.
And maybe—just maybe—a first connection.
Something that had always felt like an impossible step had happened naturally. Small. Effortless.
But anything good could crumble if the foundation wasn’t strong.
He stepped out of the tent and stretched, his thoughts flashing to the only memory he had of his parents. Not an image. Not voices. Just words.
A note left behind by whoever had taken him to the orphanage.
"Your father was a good man, and your mother was a beautiful, strong woman. Live by their words: you don’t fight evil with strength, but with humor."
He took a deep breath. Time to put that into practice.
“Hey Lynn, weird question, do you have—”
Before he could finish, she was already holding something out. A pair of earbuds and a phone, as if she had read his mind.
He blinked in surprise. “How did you…?”
Lynn glanced up from her tablet and gave the smallest smile. “My power is calculating probabilities, Samuel. Statistics don’t lie.”
He took the earbuds and phone from her. “Thanks…”
A small piece of that hollow feeling melted away. Someone had done something for him. Not out of obligation. Not out of pity. Just because. That was new.
He glanced around. The scene had changed. Where there was once empty space, now stood a sea of people. Eighteen-year-olds with their parents, with sponsors, with trainers. Kids who had come alone but were still dressed sharp. No one here had that homeless vibe. No one here was like him.
Above the entrance, the clock counted down. Three minutes left.
He put in the earbuds and cranked the music to screw-it-all volume.
"APT. – ROSÉ, Bruno Mars now playing."
He grinned. Time to make an impression.
Without shame, he started dancing his way up the steps. He felt the stares—parents, students, trainers—but he didn’t care. This was his moment.
“GAMBE GAMBE WASSUP!” he shouted, spinning mid-step, moving like his life depended on it.
Faces shifted from shock to amusement. Some tried to hold in their laughter. Others gave up and laughed outright.
Right at the final chorus, the doors opened.
With a last dramatic move, Samuel sprinted up the steps, threw his hand in the air, and shouted at the perfect moment:
"Apateu, apateu, uh, uh-huh, uh-huh (just meet me at the—)"
Dead silence.
People really stared at him now.
Samuel shrugged.
\Whatever. He’d figure it out.
He had made a good chunk of them laugh.
His first heroic act.
Making future heroes laugh.
----------------------------------------
As Samuel walked into the building with the crowd, he couldn’t help but grin. Now everyone knew he was here. That made him a target—for some. The elite types who didn’t like jokes. The ones filled with nothing but hate, just looking for a direction to aim it.
His eyes flicked across the room, scanning the space, before heading toward the registration desk.
As he moved through the crowd, he noticed someone shuffling behind him.
He turned.
Lynn.
Samuel studied her for a second, then took out his earbuds and handed back the phone. “Here, don’t need them anymore,” he said, hugging his Lord of the Rings book a little closer. “That’s why you’re following me right?”
“No.”
“Then why, Lynn?”
She looked at him through her glasses. A brief reflection flashed across the lenses. “You did something I didn’t account for. That’s unusual. An anomaly. That makes you interesting.”
Samuel couldn’t resist. He gave her an exaggerated bow, then straightened with a dramatic flourish, like some aristocrat from a bygone era. “Expected something different from me?”
“Yes.”
He put on a mock-offended look. “Wow, Lynn. Sometimes it’s okay to lie just a little.”
Lynn looked at him blankly. “Lying has no added value in a conversation like this. So, I see no function for it.”
“People must ask if you’re autistic a lot,” Samuel said, this time genuinely curious.
Lynn seemed to consider it. “In 42.5 percent of my interactions, someone has asked in some way. So, your hypothesis is likely correct.”
“Why do you talk like this? Why are you so focused on statistics?”
“It’s my power,” Lynn said.
That’s when it clicked. She had mentioned it before, but he had never taken it literally.
“Your power is… being smart?”
“Genius-level tactical analysis and probabilistic calculations,” Lynn corrected. “But in short, you could say I’m designed for calculated decisions. A tactical analyst.”
Samuel stared at her. “What power level is that? Can you actually fight with it, or are you more on the support side?”
For the first time, she did something unexpected. She casually flipped her hair and pulled her tablet closer, a rare display of pride.
“I want to be a hero, not a support unit. With my power, I can observe anyone and make the right decisions to ensure victory. It might not seem like a combat ability, but it’s actually perfect for it. My power level is 10.3.”
There she is, Samuel thought.
He turned back toward the registration desk, fully aware that Lynn was still following him, fingers flying across her tablet without pause.
When he reached the counter, he looked up at the woman behind it.
She wasn’t like the cashier from the dollar store. Her expression was friendly, but sharp. And Samuel didn’t like that.
People often looked at him with scrutiny.
But she?
She looked through him.
Like she could see right past the attitude, the jokes, the bravado—straight to the part of him that didn’t believe he was worth much at all.
"Power identification, name, financial status, living situation, guardian, and any other information you wish to share," the woman said with that same soft but unrelenting gaze.
Samuel cast a quick glance around, making sure no one was close enough to overhear. A small wave of relief washed over him when he saw that Lynn had stopped behind the large sign that read: "Wait here until it’s your turn."
Then he turned back to the woman and handed her his power identification.
For a moment, he hesitated.
This was it.
His name—the only thing he still had from his parents.
His situation—the truth he had spent so long being ashamed of.
But the world wouldn’t stay gray forever. This was his chance to find the change he needed.
Straightening his shoulders, he flashed a broad, confident grin. "Name’s Samuel Sero!"
The woman took his card and scanned it. Her eyebrows lifted slightly, but her face remained warm and composed. She handed it back.
"Alright, Samuel. What’s your financial status, living situation, guardian, and any other relevant information?"
He ran a hand through his hair and let out a dry laugh. "I, uh… am about as broke as a person can get. Been living under a bridge in Knoxville. No parents, no guardian. That’s about it. Real Spider-Man origin story—except he at least had a house," he added thoughtfully.
The woman smiled, kind but knowing. "No need to worry, Samuel. Starting today, things will likely change for you. You’re an eleven—the schools will be eager to have you. And as for your other…" she paused briefly, her expression softening, "challenges—once you're accepted by a school, you’ll immediately receive a salary. The school will explain why. The amount depends on where you end up, but it won’t be lower than thirty thousand dollars a year."
Samuel exhaled sharply through his nose. Thirty thousand. He could stretch that forever.
The woman continued, “You can proceed through the door behind me. Once inside, everyone will see who you are and what your abilities are. Schools are only allowed to recruit after you’ve given a demonstration. You can decide when to do that. For example, you might want to gather information about the schools first.”
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
She looked at him—just a fraction longer than necessary. A hint.
“After your demonstration, any school can approach you. Good luck.”
She slid a wristband across the counter. The moment Samuel touched it, it curled snugly around his wrist.
Time to enter the hall of scouts.
Samuel walked up to the door and scanned his band. A soft beep sounded, and the doors slid open.
A bright light spilled from inside—almost heavenly, like the world itself was telling him that this was the moment everything would change.
He stepped in.
The space was massive.
Athletic tracks stretched into the distance, state-of-the-art testing equipment flickered with holographic displays, strength measurement machines stood ready for demonstrations. Above, the ceiling was open, a free-air corridor for those who could fly.
And everywhere—people.
The suits. Men and women in sharp business attire, constantly on the phone, likely in direct contact with universities.
The candidates. Hundreds of eighteen-year-olds scattered across the hall. Some browsing tables filled with brochures about the different schools, others already deep in conversation with recruiters.
Samuel scanned the room.
And then he saw it.
Valcroy Academy.
The recruiters stood by their table; their posture almost bored. No one was talking to them. They didn’t seem in a hurry to approach anyone either.
Samuel took a step in their direction, but before he could move any further, Lynn appeared beside him.
“Valcroy?” Her fingers were already moving across her tablet. “Exactly what I anticipated and calculated.”
Samuel turned to her. “And where are you going, Miss Genius?”
“Valcroy.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You too?” A wide grin spread across his face. “Guess we have to stick together then. A ready-made school buddy.”
Casual. Like it didn’t matter.
But deep down, he hoped she’d say yes.
For the first time in his life, maybe he’d have a friend.
Lynn glanced up from her screen, analyzing him. “Humans are herd animals, so your hypothesis is correct, Samuel. While your jokes do not demonstrate optimal behavior, I also calculate that staying together would be beneficial.”
Samuel chuckled. So that’s how she says yes, huh.
And together, they walked toward Valcroy’s table.
The recruiters looked up as Samuel and Lynn approached, but none of them seemed eager to speak first. Samuel sifted through the flyers, scanning for information. The school seemed massive, but nowhere did it explicitly say where it was located.
A soft beep sounded. A moment later, a voice filled the air above the table.
“Samuel Sero, 11, superhuman physicality.”
A brief silence followed before the voice spoke again.
“Lynn Effan, 10, genius-level tactical analysis.”
The people at the table immediately sprang to life. Their earlier disinterest vanished as they moved toward them.
A striking red-haired woman stepped up to Samuel, while a broad, muscular man turned to Lynn.
“Found what you were looking for?” the redhead asked with a smile.
Samuel gave her a cynical look. “You were sitting back all relaxed, but the moment I turn out to be an eleven, you jump up? Seriously? You guys the gold diggers of superheroes? Herodiggers?”
The woman laughed, eyes flashing with amusement. “No, nothing like that. At Valcroy, we consider everyone, regardless of their power level. But they have to pass our advanced screening system first. Once your name is called, it means you made it through.”
Samuel raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly does this system do? Take over the world when no one’s looking?”
She laughed again. “No, no. It analyses your movements, your facial expressions—everything you’ve done since stepping inside. It determines whether you fit our culture. And apparently, you do.”
Samuel nodded. Fine. As long as they made him an offer in the end.
“I don’t see where your school is located. Is it far from here?”
The redhead gave him a strange look, as if he had just crawled out from under a bridge. Which, ironically, he had—making the moment pretty hilarious to him.
“The location of our school is classified. No one without the proper security clearance is allowed to know.”
“Got it. I’m gonna go do my demonstration. I’ve heard enough.”
He glanced around to see if Lynn was free, and as expected, she appeared at the perfect moment.
"You want to watch my demonstration so you can analyze me, don’t you?"
"Correct," she said flatly.
Together, they walked toward the demonstration area.
On the way, something stood out to Samuel.
All around them, eighteen-year-olds chatted excitedly. This was the day they had been waiting for. The day they could finally hang up their jackets, throw on their capes, and start playing hero. The energy was almost celebratory.
But for Samuel, it felt different.
This wasn’t just a stepping stone. It was his chance to prove himself. His parents had died to protect him. He couldn’t let that be for nothing.
By the time they reached the demonstration counter, he was more than ready.
Behind the desk stood a broad-shouldered man with dark gray hair and a stare that could make a person freeze on the spot.
"So, grandpa," Samuel said casually.
A small circle of space instantly formed around him as nearby candidates subtly took a step back.
"The demonstration—what’s the deal? Simulations? Requirements? Just say the word!"
The man stared at him, his gaze sharp as a blade. "Grandpa?"
"Uh… my bad! You’re right. Grandfather?" Samuel looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes.
The man let out a slow, heavy sigh. At his side, Lynn quietly typed something into her tablet.
"The demonstration is simple," the man said at last. "Do whatever you think will impress the scouts. The schools are watching. They’ll recruit based on what they see. Free game."
Samuel’s eyes scanned the room. Impress them. Put on a show.
His gaze landed on the weightlifting section. A grin crept over his face.
"Alright, alright. Got it. Time to get to work."
He glanced at Lynn. “Don’t follow me, okay? Not until I’m done. For your own safety and all.”
Lynn simply nodded and noted something down on her tablet.
Is she writing my memoir or something? he thought.
Samuel strode toward the weights. The lineup started small—ten kilos—and gradually climbed into the hundreds of tons. The higher the weight, the stranger the metal looked. The heaviest ones weren’t even dumbbells anymore—just massive, reinforced metal spheres designed to be lifted overhead.
At the two-hundred-ton mark, a sign was attached:
"Heavy for Level 11. Do not use without supervision."
Samuel chuckled to himself. Yeah, this should get their attention.
He crouched, placed his hands under the weight, and lifted.
For the audience, he acted like it took effort. But in reality? It wasn’t much worse than carrying groceries.
His footsteps rumbled through the hall.
Lynn was the first to look over. Then the instructor beside her. Then the scouts. Then the other candidates, their conversations fading as they turned to watch.
Each step echoed like a drumbeat.
Samuel had scaled his strength down to match an eleven. Now, it actually felt heavy. Sweat beaded on his forehead, rolled down his temple, dripped from his chin. But he kept going. Slow. Controlled. He carried the weight to the center of the hall.
Under everyone’s eyes.
And yet, despite all of them watching—he knew he was still doing this alone.
He scanned the area, searching for a hook strong enough to hold the weight. It was made from the same reinforced metal.
Whispers rippled through the crowd.
“What is he doing?”
“Why is he tying a rope?”
“He’s insanely strong!”
“Not like Atlas, but still!”
With the hook secured, Samuel started to fly.
Slowly, he ascended, the rope pulled taut. An eleven’s strength—believable. He clenched his jaw, making it look like he was reaching his limit. Bit by bit, the weight lifted from the ground.
The room held its breath.
Scouts grabbed their phones. Every eye was locked on him as the massive weight rose higher.
Below, they stood in shadow.
A metaphor, Samuel thought. I’m leading them toward the light. Alone. No one beside me.
From above, they could see him rising, but the higher he went, the larger the shadow beneath him grew. People disappeared into it, swallowed by the darkness he created with his weight.
A sign.
Time to descend.
His doubts vanished with that thought. He quickened his descent but placed the weight back onto the ground with precision.
Dead silence.
Everyone stared.
They had just witnessed something rare. An eleven in action—not even knowing he was a twelve. A pure display of power.
Someone swallowed audibly. The silence cracked.
"Interesting," Lynn said flatly.
That seemed to be the trigger the scouts needed.
In a fraction of a second, they shot up, shouting into their phones. Chaos.
He had caused this.
The thought crawled under his skin. Is this what my power does? Does it create chaos?
He unhooked the rope and brought it back.
Then he lifted the massive metal sphere again and returned it to its place—once more acting as if it took effort.
Only when he stood up did he notice it.
Everyone was watching.
Not directly, not openly, but subtly. The eighteen-year-olds whispered excitedly to their friends, their parents, their trainers. The scouts barked into their phones. Who knew what they were saying?
But no one came up to him.
No congratulations. No pats on the back. No acknowledgment.
Until Lynn.
Without a word, she walked over and stood beside him. Not celebratory, not supportive. Just there.
But her presence was real, attending, friendly.
And that was enough.
----------------------------------------
Samuel stuck close to Lynn for the rest of the day, trailing behind her with an exaggerated serious expression, fake tablet in hand. He made dramatic notes, furrowed his brows like he was deep in thought, and nodded sagely at nothing in particular.
At first, she ignored him completely. But eventually, he caught the smallest twitch at the corner of her mouth.
Her demonstration was flawless.
The simulation tested her ability to read an opponent’s intentions in a split second. And what did she do? She shut them down using their own mistakes.
Samuel already knew: Lynn was dangerous.
She didn’t look strong, but she tore through some of the simulations. Not just with strategy but with pure, calculated force. A few well-placed strikes, and her opponents were down before they even knew what hit them.
When she returned to grab her glasses and snatch her tablet from his hands, Samuel responded with wild, exaggerated gestures, as if he had just witnessed divine enlightenment.
Lynn simply adjusted her glasses and took her tablet back.
It wasn’t long before the Valcroy Academy recruiters came to her. She got an offer and accepted it immediately.
For the first time, Samuel saw something like excitement in her.
“Well, this is it. Unfortunately, I haven’t gotten an offer yet!” he said lightly.
A small knot formed in his stomach. Was he about to lose someone again?
Lynn nodded. “Based on my calculations, it shouldn’t take long before you receive an offer. They’re likely preparing a strong proposal, which could explain the delay.”
“Yeah, that must be it.”
Without another word, Lynn turned and walked toward the group of students selected by Valcroy.
The rest of the day passed quietly.
But no one approached Samuel.
Not a single scout.
Not a single school.
Slowly, something began to gnaw at his stomach.
Had he done something wrong?
Why weren’t they interested?
As the sun dipped lower, almost everyone was gone. Only the gray-haired instructor and a few lingering scouts with their final candidates remained in the hall.
That was enough for Samuel.
He grabbed his book and walked toward the exit without looking back. He wasn’t going to stand around like an idiot, waiting for a miracle that wasn’t coming.
A hand stopped him.
The gray-haired man.
"Hey, Samuel, right?"
Samuel nodded, clenching his jaw to stop himself from doing something stupid. Like crying.
"What are you still doing here? Why aren’t you with the school that scouted you?"
Samuel shrugged. "I wasn’t scouted."
The man’s eyebrows shot up. Perplexed.
"Let me see your wristband."
Samuel held out his arm. The man scanned it, his eyes narrowing as he read the data on his tablet.
"That’s strange."
Samuel’s gaze sharpened. "What’s strange?"
The man tilted his screen slightly, frowning. "It says here that you’ve already been recruited. That’s why no one else could approach you. But you’re saying you never got an offer?"
Samuel felt his breath hitch.
"What school recruited me?"
"I can’t see that," the man muttered. "It looks like… a system error."
A strange tension hung in the air.
"What school were you hoping to go to, Samuel?"
He tried to sound casual. "Valcroy seemed interesting."
But there was a hint of hope in his voice, slipping through despite himself.
The man smiled now. "Then you’re in luck. I work for Valcroy. I do this job," he gestured over his shoulder, "to see the new blood coming in. Wait here, yeah? I’ll call Valcroy."
He extended his hand. "Name’s Harren, by the way."
"Samuel," he answered, but Harren already knew that.
Harren turned away, phone already dialing.
Samuel watched him for a few seconds.
Then, without thinking, he started dancing like a hobbit.
The weight lifted from his shoulders. They did want him.
They thought he had already been recruited. But how? There hadn’t been a "bug" for anyone else.
Harren returned after a while. "The buses have already left for the airport. We won’t make that flight, so you’re coming with me. They’re sending a private jet."
He pulled a document from his pocket. "Oh, and here’s your offer. You’re in. First-year students get a starting salary of sixty thousand dollars—since, well, your financial situation isn’t exactly stable. That number goes up in your second year, but we’ll get to that later. The idea is that once you graduate, you’ll also give back to the school, so people like you will always have access to Valcroy. Plus, you’ll already have a solid foundation when you enter the hero world."
He looked Samuel dead in the eye. "I assume you accept?"
Samuel could barely contain his excitement.
"Uh, hell yeah! Knock me out if I ever say no to this."
Harren kept looking at him with a straight face. “Doesn’t seem practical.”
“Ah, not a jokester. Noted! Not that I’m going to do anything with that information, but it sounds cool to say.” Samuel clapped his hands together. “So, what now? Airport?”
Harren raised an eyebrow. “Yeah… but first, food. Anything you want?”
Samuel nearly tripped over his own feet. Anything?
He had never been given a choice before. The possibilities were endless—sushi, Korean, steak, pasta, pizza. How the hell was he supposed to pick?
“Sushi!” he blurted out.
Harren nodded approvingly. “Come on, I know a good place.”
As they walked toward the exit, Samuel glanced at him. “Hey, Harren… one more question.”
“Yeah?”
“How did I end up listed as recruited? No scout talked to me today, let alone made me an offer.”
Harren hesitated for a second, then sighed. “No idea, Samuel. Someone manually entered it. My best guess? Someone wanted to stop you from getting recruited. No clue why, but it was intentional.”
Samuel froze.
Someone had tried to block him.
Someone wanted him to stay out of the academies. To stay homeless?
Why?
Harren patted his stomach. “Come on, let’s eat.”
© Ruben Poelen, 2024. All rights reserved.
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