Chương 38: The Top News Story

The semester started, and a war for Seraphina's approval erupted four hours later. Upperclassmen elite-tiers scrambled to sit at her table for lunch. An impromptu line formed immediately after, of all the students who were too weak for the table but wanted to 'introduce themselves.' In no time at all, self-introductions became offers to do favors, and then came all the deal proposals and unsolicited advice.

"No one at Wellston likes them, Seraphina. They go around hunting for dates in the low-tier public schools. I'm serious, really! If I were you…"

"Just between us, Seraphina, I wouldn't really talk to Kralik. He's kind of…" She sat at the table next to mine, and with my sense enhancements I overheard some variation of 'just between us, Seraphina,' upwards of thirty times. About a week in, as was natural, the crowd of opportunist students brought up combat. Half the stories were designed to sound impressive, to show off the best traits of their abilities and themselves.

The smarter ones understood that their measly power was nothing to Seraphina, even if they were elite-tiers, and marketed themselves mainly with their experience and fighting skills. What exactly they were trying to achieve, what kind of position they wanted relative to Seraphina, I didn't know for sure. I guessed some sort of second-in-command or advisor role, or maybe it was a play to enhance their college applications. Letters of recommendation from god-tiers were a valued commodity.

The other half of the combat stories were self-victimizing. Not one person said it explicitly - 'I'm the victim' or 'I was wronged' - but that was what they were saying. They raised their voices in righteous outrage. Indictments of opponents' cowardly, unfair tactics came up daily, previous five-against-one group ambushes were mentioned at every opportunity, and of course there were descriptions of grievous injuries.

At the end of every story, there was always an unspoken suggestion that someone ought to do something about it, someone ought to right these obvious wrongs, someone, someone, someone. How would Seraphina know if one crowd was exaggerating their capabilities, or if the other crowd was lying about what torture they'd suffered? How would she know if they were trying to influence her into taking an irritating rival down a peg or two? It was impossible; Seraphina was new to the school.

Even god-tiers had to be clueless freshmen for a while. So information access acted as the great equalizer, leaving her vulnerable to being fooled- -only she wasn't. Because I had warned Seraphina that all this would happen, during her tour of the school four months before. In her bag, she kept the thick, wire-bound dossier of student information that I had given her when we met.

She was fully prepared, so she rarely took any advice or favors or deals, and every insincere sob story was met with a merciless fact-check.

"... How does Seraphina know so much about what happened last year?" I overheard a fourth-year whisper, two weeks into the semester.

"I don't know," another fourth-year whispered, shaking her head in defeat.

"I don't know how she hasn't taken our side yet." Seraphina did end up helping a handful of students, a few mid-tiers and low-tiers. But all the savvy high-ranking sharks, the ones who'd been licking their lips at the human-shaped opportunity before them, were left disappointed and confused.... Of course, there was other important news beyond Seraphina; Wellston High had plenty of prodigies to pay attention to. Arlo was naturally number two.

John's existence was itself a controversial third-place story, as a high-tier who needed to copy other people to show his strength. And then came myself and Cecile Arbor - us two girls who had battled for 'strongest female freshman' and were now battling for Jack. Among the non-Seraphina first-years, Rei's sister Remi had won the tournament. Second and third place were claimed by two boys from the main canon cast, Isen and Blyke, with their own eyebrow-raising ability levels of 3. 6 at age fourteen.

Even without Seraphina, it was an especially strong cast of young students, so city newspapers were capitalizing on us with sensationalist headlines.

"The Strongest Years of Recruiting Wellston High has Ever Seen!"

"Every Year a God-tier: Who is Wellston's Mysterious John H. Doe?" The level-obsessed student newspaper went even further by grouping us together as the 'eight rising stars,' the only students with a good chance of reaching god-tier. I found it all kind of amusing, in an absurd and ridiculous way, but ultimately didn't mind it much. Being the fourth or fifth-largest 'news story' fit with my intention to keep a low profile. Then, three weeks into the year, they put out an article ranking us in a tier list.

"... In S-tier, Queen Seraphina." I read the article out loud to my lunch table, rubbing my temples in disbelief.

"The S-tier stands for 'sure thing,' because she's already a god-tier. And it's looking like she'll be 'Ace Seraphina' by the end of this Turf Wars season. It took her five seconds of fight time to destroy Agwin High's team in our first match of the year. She hails from the Galanis clan in the South Atlantic, so the limits of her potential are being kept hush-hush to us northeners… but stay tuned for the next issue, because-" I shook my head in implicit condemnation.

"-Because one of our trusted journalists will be spending their weekend on an investigative trip to Seraphina's hometown." Ventus, Karrin, and all the medium-strong kids who weren't on the tier list were trying to be respectful while giggling their heads off. It wasn't working so well. Arlo had started glaring at them, and then gave me a look of absolute dread from across the table. But I didn't want to just single out Seraphina. She may or may not have been listening from her seat a few heads away.

"In A-tier we have Arlo Lingard," I read, "with a current level of 5. 1, and a shiny new passive that makes his body harder to break than steel. He recently reaffirmed his spot as King in a 2v1 against Isen and Blyke, both 3. 6s. We've ranked him here because he's a near-guarantee for god-tier. The editorial team is willing to give hundred-to-one odds to anyone who wants to make a bet."

"So we're tables at a casino, is that right?" he muttered under his breath.

"… Wellston's reigning king has a whole lot going for him, as the heir to the city's greatest clan. His parents are 7. 3s - though his ceiling could be as high as 7. 5 if you count Valerie Lingard. He's also in the middle of a growth spurt, in both senses of the word… to the many girls who have started crushing on him, his recent jump from short to average height is nearly as important as his ability growth. If you're reading this, Arlo, please confirm whether or not you're single!"

I had noticed that he was suddenly my height. Somehow, the annoyance I felt at being ranked in a tier list with other humans began to evaporate. I flickered my eyes over to him.

"Congratulations," I said. He tried very hard not to react. Then I made an ironic kissy face, as if he actually had romance to look forward to, not an arranged marriage to be decided by eighty-year-olds who saw him as a breeding stallion. Arlo scowled and snatched the newspaper from my hands.

"Let me read yours, then," he said, straightening the pages in a snapping motion.

"Seeing that you're having so much fun with mine."

"... Meili Strauss ranks in the B-tier." He traced his finger over my smaller segment of newspaper.

"Despite her solidified Jack position and strong growth over the summer, the same questions about her remain. A single god-tier grandfather counterweighted with two elite-tier parents might present concern… Therefore, some believe that other royal candidates have a chance to beat Meili within the year." He raised an eyebrow at me, but I only shrugged.

"It's just manufactured intrigue," I replied.

"Keep going, you'll see."

"…On the other hand, the few recorded Devil's Hands users on public record are all 6. 0-plus. So a fair judgment is that she's more likely to make it than not. More to her credit, Meili has managed to fend off seven challenges for her position: including four from Cecile Arbor (4. 3) and one from Remi Sterling (4. 2), both of whom appear later on the list…" Arlo breathed in like he was about to keep reading. He frowned.

"That's everything," he said.

"Really? No commentary on your appearance or relationship status? They singled me out specifically?"

"You should be happy for me, Arlo," I pointed out.

"If they did include me, it would probably be to pair me in a couple with you." He blinked at me, clearly trying to find a reason to object. But Arlo remembered the previous year just as well as I did, so in the end he just covered his face with his palm and sighed. He muttered something about wanting to shut the newspaper down. We still had a few opportunists at our table; some of them hadn't gone to Seraphina's.

A high-ranking older girl whose name and existence I was trying to ignore swooped in to grab Arlo's attention. She proceeded to say as many consecutive comforting, flattering things as one could possibly say without giving away the game. But Arlo wasn't quite the right audience for her type of performance, not anymore. He nodded at her but started subtly leaning away, and pushed the article back to me.

The student-run newspaper (glorified gossip magazine) was what had sparked our dating rumors, almost a year before. Its existence had seemed absurd to me at the time, because none of the high-rankers who were in power actually liked having their lives up for constant discussion. So I'd wondered: why in the world had it not been cancelled? The short answer was that high-tier school staff protected the newspaper club.

The longer answer was that this was where the world's treatment of god-tiers as automatic celebrities backfired. Wellston High's most talented students would probably become public figures later on, so why not prepare them for it early? Some gossip-hungry student had used this logic to establish the school newspaper in its current form, and the same logic had justified its continuous existence over decades, cementing it as tradition. Although the tier-list-style ranking was definitely a modern 'innovation'…

Still feeling vaguely amused at the choice of structure, I started working my way through the entries, tracing my finger along the coarse surface. Ventus copied me from the seat to my left. After a minute he leaned in closer to read the Cecile Arbor section, which was typed in a tiny font size to fit a small section at the bottom.

"Holy shit," Ventus said. I looked up at him. His eyes were widened. He was making a puckered expression, like he was trying his absolute best not to laugh, and not in the performative way but in the fully honest 'I really shouldn't be reacting to this for my own good' way. He tapped his finger violently on Cecile's section. I immediately started reading it, and very nearly spat out a mouthful of salad at the words on the page. I swallowed, coughing.

"Arlo - you have to read this," I managed, and turned the paper to face him.

"You weren't the one who got singled out." Cecile Arbor ranks in the D-tier, the article read. She's fresh off four consecutive losses to her arch-nemesis, Meili Strauss. No, we're not trying to be cute or ironic there - our investigators have found that even their parents are feuding. But that's a story for another time. A narrative is spreading that Cecile is just a bargain-brand version of Meili, with a slightly worse (but similar) ability. It's difficult to find a way to disagree.

What exactly does Cecile's Vine Conjuration ability do that Devil's Hands can't do better? Cecile's parents and grandparents are all 5. 8s or 5. 9s, and the Arbors are in general well-known for their perpetual position just beneath the top. Truly, to be fully transparent, Cecile was primarily included in this issue because she's an editor for this newspaper. Nobody else thinks she has much of a chance to reach god-tier.

When we say, "some believe that other royal candidates have a chance to beat Meili," it's because Cecile wrote it. Luckily, she wasn't allowed to touch her own section for journalistic integrity. She'd probably put herself in the A-tier. Arlo read it silently with a stony face, making a valiant effort, but ultimately crumbled at the finish line. He smiled.

"I bet you think they did a good job now," I smirked.

"Don't you?"

"Well." Arlo's huff came out like a laugh.

"Maybe I'm feeling slightly more forgiving." Cecile had made a terrible first impression on both of us. Arlo had given no indication of warming up to her in the year that followed. I could say for certain that I disliked her, after suffering through the four pointless title fights that she'd started… and she was also one of the opportunists who had tried to place themselves next to Seraphina. Which is probably why the other editors felt confident enough to call Cecile out, I realized.

She's not friendly with anyone in the top five. Especially since they're assuming that John belongs to the same faction as Arlo and me. John was being included in the top five, and he had his own entry. But because we had intentionally fed everyone a bunch of lies about him, more than half of it was totally wrong. I still wanted to show the writing to him, knowing he'd like it. Unfortunately, John wasn't sitting at his default spot in the seat to my right. I searched for him, glancing around the cafeteria.

The many different-colored heads of hair looked like a giant lollipop variety pack. In the crowd of high-contrast shades, John's lone head of black was easy to find. He was having a conversation with a silver-haired girl at a table in the far corner. The amber glow in his eyes meant his ability was active. I activated my own ability, just the vision enhancement, and realized his arms were colored with a black, shining steel.

"That's so cool," said the silver-haired girl, or I at least got as much by lipreading. She admired John's hands for a moment before looking up.

"Your copying's amazing. I've always wanted to see my Metal Arms in a different color." A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"I said you're doing me a favor, didn't I?" John moved his arm around.

"You have a nice ability. Good defense and power, I can feel that."

"Thank you?" she squeaked in immediate alarm.

"But I'm just a 2. 8, nothing special, so- ""Don't worry about it," he said.

"Where I'm from, 2. 8s in Sophomore year live like kings."

"Really?"

"Honest to God, yeah. Let me tell you. At my old school, some of these people had the most overinflated egos I've ever seen…" He started making fun of someone named Oliver. The table of mid-tiers went along, at first in the incredulous, polite way you did when someone far above you put effort into the conversation. But then it turned out that Oliver really was an interesting character, and by the time he was done their listening seemed almost genuine.

"So some random guy with a basic laser ability got to be a top freshman?" asked one of them.

"And then he got all cocky about it? That's so obnoxious."

"Kind of makes sense though," someone else said.

"Where I'm from, even mid-tiers are rare; it was a total backwater. I took a long time to adjust when I first came here for school."

"Hey, um. John…" A boy with orange hair activated his ability.

"If you copied her ability, could you copy mine?" John agreed without hesitating, producing a blackened, ashy flame in his palm. All the mid-tiers leaned in to stare at the night-colored fire, and then someone else asked for their own turn, and then another, until they were all arguing amongst themselves to determine who went first.

"You know I'm here three more years, right?" John said, seeming amused. In hierarchical terms, they were being disrespectful of his time. But he simply sat there smiling, and waited for them to decide. I felt myself smile, too, and decided not to go get him. I sent him a text instead. A loud sound, a 'bang!', suddenly came from behind me. Simultaneous crunching noises rang out.

Before I even whirled around to see what it was, I felt my mood begin its downtrend, viscerally, like the sheer drop a few moments after a parabola's peak. I recognized it just by the sound. Two girls with body enhancement abilities slugging each other in the face, scattering blood and skin on the ground, soaking white bread to a fleshy pink.... Ending fights that had gone too far was a Jack's duty – so after managing to separate the two girls ("Stop! Let go! I was just about to win! Get off of me-"), I dragged them both to Darren's office. When I returned to my table I found John in his seat, picking at his now-lukewarm food. I breathed out and checked my hands for residual blood before sitting down.

"I sent you a text," I told him. John nodded an acknowledgement… then looked up from his plate at Arlo, who was staring at him.

"Do you want to tell me something, or what, Arlo?" I felt myself stiffening. There was a very conspicuous blip of silence in the conversation around the table, and really in all the tables that surrounded us.

"... It's just that I don't understand you, John," Arlo said accusingly.

"At your level, why do you continually grant them so much of your time?" It hit me that he had been staring in silence, awkwardly, for a period of unknown length while I'd been gone.

"Maybe I do a bad job at explaining," John said.

"I'm not really sure why it's so hard to get." He ate a bite of carrot.

"I'm only as strong as whoever's in front of me," he lied.

"That's just the way my copying works. Everyone's my equal." Everyone's my equal. I wanted to nod as a show of acceptance, but saw not a single nod from anyone. It was a lie available only to him, a lie I had told him to start using, a lie I had gotten Darren to include in John's medical files. One that I still wished, a bit jealously, that I could use for myself. It came out naturally and casually between mouthfuls. Arlo hesitated to speak.

"I'm sorry," he eventually said.

"But I find that ridiculous." John simply shrugged, pulling his phone from his pocket. He turned to me and asked, "So what did you text me, Meili?" John Doe (5. 4) ranks in the A-tier. No, that is not a misprint, yes, his level really is that high, and yes, we made sure to confirm it with Headmaster Vaughn. But even knowing his ability's name and level, we can't really say much about his potential ceiling. Aura Manipulation has no public information on record.

From his student file (yes, that we were given access to), we know he has the capability to mimic a singular ability up to his own level. His copy is always pitch-black. We've seen flames, shields, claws, and lightning, but never Time Manipulation. His passive is listed as 'Aura Vision,' but we don't know what it does or if it even does anything during a fight. As even the strongest one-trick pony abilities rarely go above 7.

5, we've tentatively pegged his ceiling there, and therefore put him in the A-tier with Arlo. But this is guesswork. Here's what we do know. He's said that he wants to copy every single ability at this school, even though the vast majority can't possibly be of any use to him. He spends lunch going around the tables, talking to everyone and copying abilities - mid-tiers and low-tiers included.

He doesn't want to be a royal, and he's fought exactly twice since the semester started, but he's still growing faster than anyone else at this school. Are you confused yet? We were, too, when we had to figure all of this out! John is a complete enigma! But a year from now, we'll be able to say to Agwin, "We have three god-tiers while you have none," and John's going to be the reason why.... So there was a wealth of news stories in just the first few weeks.

Or people in the shape of news stories, who had the power or potential power to justify reporting on them. But something strange happened, a month into the year, when all of the names stopped coming up as much – somehow, Wellston's top word-of-mouth story ended up being none of them. The top story was a ghost. Rumors of ghost sightings were spreading through Wellson High. It took the form of a white fog. That was the rumor, anyway.

The ghost was a white mist in vague human shape, pure and perfect like unsoiled snow, wandering the halls every day after classes let out. Most of the student population was skeptical, or scoffed and brushed it off. How convenient that the ghost only appeared after classes let out, when there were fewer people in the school to serve as witnesses, when students had time to play stupid pranks like pretending to be a ghost.

"It's just some upperclassman with the Mist Body ability trying to scare the freshman," someone said in late September. A totally reasonable and logical explanation. Until it turned out that no student possessed the Mist Body ability, and neither did any employee of the school. After realizing this, teachers checked the registry more carefully, in search of the culprit, only to find that nobody on campus had an ability the color white.

Seraphina's powers came with a purple glow, while Arlo's barrier was golden yellow. My claws were a deep crimson, Cecile's vines were translucent green, and Remi's lightning was pale blue. On and on they searched, from the top of the hierarchy to the bottom, but found nobody who fit the bill - the mystery of the ghost went unsolved. But so what? Just an odd white mist in the premises, floating aimlessly through campus - what reason did anyone have to care?

A time-controlling demigod walked the halls in school uniform. John Doe and Arlo Lingard were racing toward god-tier, and then there was Remi Sterling, who was a 4. 2 as a first-year. After a few days passed with no new revelations, interest in the ghost began to decline. Then it started attacking students with their own abilities. A Fire Breath user made the first report, of the ghost spewing spectral white flames from its mouth.

Then there was a girl with the Laserbeam ability, who said that the ghost shot her with snow-colored beams of crackling energy, almost like her own lasers. Against an Agility user, the ghost moved with supernatural acceleration - against a Super Strength user, the ghost solidified and kicked its target through a row of metal lockers. The ghost was always pure white, including the abilities it copied, and always attacked without warning or reason. It always won.

"Don't you think John has something to do with it?" A student said in October.

"Since he can copy abilities?" Arlo made an announcement to the school a day later.

"The rumors linking John to the ghost are idiotic," he said.

"The ghost's ability is white, not black, and it uses multiple abilities at once. To connect them on the basis of copying is to connect Time Manipulation and Agility on the basis of speed." Time passed. The ghost kept appearing and winning, appearing and winning. Particular members of the top ten suffered awful defeats.

Parents slowly became worried, suspecting that it came from a powerful force outside the school – until Vaughn made an explicit statement that the ghost was a totally legitimate part of Wellston, the exact opposite of foul play.

"I believe that the ghost, whoever it is, was brought here by Headmaster Vaughn," Arlo announced soon after.

"He is interested in our growth. There is no greater fuel for progress than being defeated by your own ability." So there it was. The student body generally accepted the explanation. The ghost became a school feature, just like the courtyard, the rooftop, the sturdy brick walls. But on their own, the students who fought the ghost more than once began to understand its true mechanics.

It would always destroy you in the same way you had destroyed your last opponent: brutally and violently, because it only went after you if you had been brutal. If you couldn't help but stomp your surrendered victim in the ribs, or keep on choking them after they'd already passed out, then the ghost would show you exactly what it felt like. They began to understand, privately, that the ghost was a mirror of themselves. And of course I had understood, from the very beginning.

I was the one who'd told him to become the ghost. Beautiful John swung downward with an arm of pure white quartz. Down on a face made of gray stone, hard enough to crack it, hard enough to leave a splotch of red on his chalky, hardened knuckles. Not hard enough to knock his target out. John loomed over Gavin in a classic mount position, milky mist masking his body type and facial structure.

Gavin tried a stone uppercut, but it was softened by the boy's awkward position against the ground, so John didn't even bother blocking. He kept on landing, flush, on Gavin's stone-coated face. Stone Skin was a tough ability. In the sense that it gave the user much more defensive enhancement than offense, so they couldn't knock themselves out even if they tried. It was a quality that made John's job harder, too. It made it harder for him to replicate the crippling damage Gavin had recently dealt out.

Gavin started screaming out in pain, and tried bucking his hips to break the mount. Tried rolling onto his side. Tried striking back with a sharpened-stone elbow, a literal spearhand, then nameless, thoughtless blows. John barely felt them, because his quartz skin was even harder, and kept on wailing away. It was evening, one of those early November nights where you felt the snow coming but it hadn't quite come.

Gavin had been walking back to the dorms from the dining hall with a friend, a 'friend' who had promptly sprinted down the hallway at the sight of white mist. Now it looked like he was regretting his choice of friend. He'd started crying. The concussed blubbering that went along with it was strangely understandable, despite the loud, rhythmic pounding of stone against stone. Something like: Why? Fuck you! Why, why are you doing this? It was just a couple more hits! Nothing like this.

Nothing like- He slammed down hard with a hammer fist to the teeth. If he weren't trying to stay anonymous, John would have gladly given up the answer: because the low-tier girl Gavin had wailed on earlier didn't have 'Stone Skin' to toughen up her face. But he was keeping his identity hidden, so he just kept on going. Kept on going until jawbone, cheekbones, and nosebridge were all broken like the girl's had been. Finally, beneath his stained fists, stone-gray skin returned to a normal human tan.

He stopped and stared, then raised Gavin's unconscious body into his arms. Meili's voice sounded in his earpiece.

"You're done, right?" she said.

"I've been on the other cams and there's nobody. You can drag him straight here for treatment." Her voice didn't spread out into the hall. That was one of the benefits of the Mist Body ability. John nodded (admittedly pointlessly), and started floating in mist form, but kept Stone Skin on his arms so Gavin wouldn't slip through. He felt the two abilities' aura patterns straining against each other as he did.

Using a density ability while also activating a 'dispersal' ability like Mist Body tended to be good practice, since they seemed to contradict each other. But they don't actually contradict, he thought. Supposedly. At least according to one of his mother's more confusing message transmissions. He kept flying through the hall toward the infirmary. Wind swept against the windows with faint trills and whistles.

When he looked through them, he saw himself pass the hundred or so student dorms that faced the central school building, golden room lights glowing faintly in the dark. All of them were occupied by students, and each student was occupied by their own varying problems and fears. Many of their 'big issues' were just tiny and childish, as he'd learned after three months, but many of them weren't tiny at all.

"My girlfriend's level keeps growing faster than mine."

"I might not be strong enough to go to college."

"I'm way too broke to afford any Turf Wars tickets."

"My Mom's going to beat me again if I don't grow." He let out a breath. It had been long enough since his arrival to make a judgment about Wellston – that Wellston High was, in short, a school. Which was of course to be expected, but some part of him had been hoping for more. Yes the facilities were higher-quality, yes the food was tastier, yes everyone treated him with respect, yes and yes onto infinity.

But the food and facilities were better because 'better' families were sending their kids, and people respected him only because they'd never known him as a cripple, because his closest friend was the second-strongest girl in the school. Level still lived at the top of everyone's minds. If he were still a cripple, he could only imagine how awful life would be. It was better than New Bostin, but not paradise, not even close - the frequency and intensity of his fights proved it.

"Do you ever feel weird about doing this, Meili?" He spoke quietly into his earpiece.

"Pretending to be totally boring, normal students during the school day, then going full scheming mode after-hours?"

"Not really," she answered.

"Compared to August, this is nothing. And I don't think we're all that normal during the school day either." He considered it.

"I'm definitely not, that's true," he said.

"But you're always doing that act, aren't you? You pretend to have the same thoughts about things as the other high-rankers. You study. You go to class, pay attention, raise your hand." She laughed softly through the microphone.

"Let me fill you in on a secret, John. When I do my lips-pursed concentrating face in lecture, most of the time it's not because the pre-calc problem's really tough. I'm thinking about research and plans."

"Seriously?" he blurted. I knew she was some kind of academic freak, but…

"Seriously. I'm not trying to pull an 'I don't even study' or anything like that," she said.

"But anyway, you're pretty right. I do spend a lot of time pretending to be normal." He nodded, again pointlessly, and upped his caution slightly as he turned the corner into another hallway. After a few months walking the halls, he knew it was the only necessary corner-turn in his path to the infirmary.

"If you're actually not fucking with me, then…" He thought for a bit.

"Okay. What was the last good plan you came up with during math class?" John expected her to think for a while, but she answered right away.

"Definitely my plan to get Arlo and the Lingards to cover for what we're doing right now," she said.

"Specifically the way I framed it to them. Like I was in the process of convincing you into not being a Royal - as if it wasn't something we'd already agreed on together." John grinned beneath his cloak of white mist.

"Jesus," he said.

"You're actually sick." The King and Queen came from 7. 0+ backgrounds, so they had both figured out that Aura Manipulation wasn't as limited as John liked to make it seem. Seraphina's secrecy had been easy to secure, and Arlo had ultimately gone along to 'keep his seat.' The last part, in particular, had been intensely satisfying." I believe that the ghost, whoever it is, was brought here by Headmaster Vaughn. He is interested in our growth.

There is no greater fuel for progress than being defeated by your own ability." Those were the lines – made even better by the fact that the truth went the other way. As his mother had written to him, the fastest way to make progress was beating people with their own abilities.

"You're almost here, right?" Meili asked.

"Darren and I have a surprise for you." He nodded; he was right at the entrance. John entered the infirmary under a large overhead light panel. He went directly to the infirmary cots, where he carefully set Gavin down and gave the unconscious boy a serum injection. Then he headed for Darren's private lab, letting go of his three copied abilities when he started to get close. There was Mist Body, Stone Skin, and the all-important Color Changing - the ability that let him turn snow-white and fool the whole school.

Meili waved at him, standing in front of the lab while holding the door open.

"Don't go inside yet," she said.

"Just look at it." He peered into the dimly lit room to see what she'd prepared. It was a massive, reclined chair. An array of multicolored wires connected to it, with bulky mechanical structures wrapping the armrests, like handcuffs for a futuristic gorilla. There was a forest of sturdy-looking straps that seemed totally unnecessary, and the headrest was clearly designed to frame his head with unfamiliar robotic structures.

"Maybe you don't know what you're looking at," Meili said, gesturing at the chair.

"Your mother helped us a lot with it… I'll explain the whole process for using it in a bit. The point is that we can finally start, now that you've fought your way up to god-tier." She met his eyes - very, very seriously, with the kind of intensity she only let out after hours.

"We'll have our own ability enhancers within the month."

"It's pretty fucking amazing," John muttered, studying it; the chair looked just like what Claire had described.

"Let me take a guess - drawing my blood's part of the process, isn't it?" Meili blinked at him.

"You can tell by just looking at it?" John shook his head. He felt himself smiling in anticipation, at the sudden thought of his mother walking outdoors, free." I've known about it for a while," he explained.

"Since June, really. Two days after we first met." Claire's visions always happened. No matter what.