Civics let out and the hallway exploded with movement. Students spilled out in every direction.
Ren and Bishop waited just outside the classroom door, leaning against the wall. The trio wasn’t complete without Isabella Garcia.
"What is she still doing in there?" Bishop muttered, craning his neck to peer through the doorway.
Ren glanced inside. Izzy was leaning casually against Mr. Callahan’s desk, her short silver curls falling forward as she asked the teacher something.
She wore a soft gray sweater and a short pleated skirt that rode up slightly as she shifted her weight. Ren’s eyes drifted without permission and settled on the curve of her hips.
『Damn. You really do get better every day. 』
"I genuinely do not understand how she enjoys civics," Bishop said, shaking his head. "Like, actually enjoys it. It offends me on a spiritual level."
Ren pulled his gaze away. "Today’s class was kind of a vibe though."
Bishop gave him a long look. "Ren. The entire topic was a defense of the Hero Body."
"Yeah."
"You enjoyed that."
"It was... interesting."
Bishop stared at him for another beat, then let it slide. He’d known Ren long enough to recognize when he was covering for Izzy.
A minute later, Izzy emerged, slightly rushed, her light blue glasses sitting a little crooked on her face. She adjusted them quickly as she approached.
"Guys," she said, already talking before she reached them. "Tell me I didn’t make you wait too long."
"We’re good," Ren said with an easy smile.
Bishop’s face told a different story.
"B, I see you." Izzy fell into step naturally between them, the three of them flowing together toward the cafeteria. "You know I don’t play about my GPA."
"I didn’t say anything," Bishop protested.
"You had the face."
"I’m fine."
"He’s fine," Ren confirmed, chuckling.
They walked down the sunlit hallway. Izzy shifted her bag to her other shoulder.
"Ren, are you free tonight?" she asked. "I need to get through the science Chapter before Thursday."
"Yeah, for sure."
She turned to Bishop. "Can’t even ask you. You’re gonna be glued to that IronClad announcement."
Bishop’s whole face lit up. "Hell yeah. Lady Vega’s contract reveal? I’m not missing that shit. And real talk, I think IronClad only signed her because of Storm Girl. The timing lines up too perfectly—"
Izzy’s watch beeped sharply.
She stopped dead, glanced down, and her expression shifted, suddenly focused, almost tense. "Guys... sorry, I gotta go."
"Right now?" Bishop asked, eyebrows raised.
"Ren, tonight. Please don’t bail on me," she said, already backing away. Her silver curls bounced as she weaved quickly through the hallway crowd.
Ren watched her go, eyes tracing the sway of her skirt until she vanished around the corner.
Bishop watched Ren watching her for a second, then wisely kept his mouth shut and started walking again.
"She’s still deep in that stuff," Bishop said after a beat. Not mean.
"Don’t," Ren muttered.
"I’m not saying anything."
"You’re saying something."
Bishop shrugged, pushing his glasses up. "Bro, she’s been drawing hero sketches since we were nine."
"And?"
Bishop let it drop. "We literally just waited ten minutes for her."
"Yeah..." Ren said, but his mind was somewhere else.
『When is she gonna realize that’s risky? She’s too grown for that stuff now. 』
The cafeteria was just ahead. Greasy pizza smell and loud chatter spilled out into the hallway.
Bishop glanced down at his phone, scrolling. "Man... this Glitch thing is actually wild. Dude might really be cooking Flamebird."
***
Damage Control, Central Mayvel.
Priscilla sat across from Marvin Bliss in his sleek glass-walled office on the thirty-second floor. Outside the transparent walls, the glittering daytime skyline of Central Mayvel stretched endlessly, sunlight bouncing off steel and glass towers.
Flamebird paced slow, restless circles in the waiting area.
Damage Control was the biggest PR firm in the hero space, clients spread across Mayvel and well beyond it. Marvin ran communications with the kind of calm that came from having cleaned up worse messes than this. Usually.
"This has gotten completely out of hand," Priscilla said. She leaned back in the leather chair, but her posture was anything but relaxed.
Her sky-blue shirt was rolled neatly to the elbows, paired with fitted black wide-leg trousers and sharp heels. Her two-toned hair, jet black on the right side, stark white on the left, was cut clean and sharp at the neck, framing her face with clinical precision.
"I told you I was handling it," Marvin replied, eyes still on his tablet. "You didn’t need to come all the way down here."
"I’m here, Marv."
He finally leaned back, light glinting off his glasses. Through the glass, Flamebird reached the end of the waiting area, turned sharply, and started back the other way. The Veil Tech signing was only two weeks away. This was the worst possible moment for a crack in the armor.
"We deployed mist drones to suppress civilian footage," Marvin continued. "Standard protocol. Who in their right mind accounts for a criminal running a live stream? Tell me how that’s on us."
"It happened," Priscilla said flatly. "So what’s the play?"
Marvin was quiet for a beat, fingers tapping the edge of his desk. The real issue was Twitch Tak. Any other platform and they would have had levers to pull. But TT had been in open war with the Hero Body for two years. They weren’t going to bury a clip that was already hitting numbers.
"That account is going to get pushed hard," he said. "CCN found blood in the water and they’re not letting go. TT has every incentive to boost it. If this had landed anywhere else, we could manage it."
"I flagged the planted footage idea when you first brought it up," Priscilla reminded him.
"You did." Marvin didn’t deny it. "But Cloud was already on site. A hero had to deliver something."
Priscilla didn’t push it. He wasn’t wrong. They’d done everything right.
Marvin tilted his head toward the glass wall. Flamebird was still pacing.
"Honestly?" Marvin said, voice lower. "The real problem is him. I’ve watched that stream four times now, and one thing keeps sticking out. How does a Class D hero go down from a single hit?"
"Marv—"
"No. Priscilla." He leaned forward, eyes serious. "We are not in the business of patching structural cracks forever. That man is becoming a liability, and I’m not going down with him. I’ve built too much."
Priscilla stood smoothly, adjusting her shirt cuffs.
"And for what it’s worth," Marvin added as she reached the door, his voice dropping, "you’re talented. You’re valued. Don’t let his ceiling become yours."
"Thanks." She paused for half a second with her hand on the glass door, then pushed it open.
Flamebird stopped pacing the moment he saw her face, reading it before she said a word.
"Tell me," he said. It came out almost like an order.
Priscilla kept walking past him down the wide, sunlit corridor.
"Your numbers are still climbing." she said without slowing down.
"That’s not what I asked."
"I know."
***
A/N: This world is wide and the cast is large. I’m building it carefully. Stay with me, every name you meet matters, and every thread connects. Your patience will be rewarded.