Nael stepped down from the platform and headed to the back of the classroom, where Lyne had directed him. The students' reaction had surprised him a little. For future heroes, he'd expected a warmer welcome.

  But deep down, he didn't care. Those icy stares, those barely veiled whispers — he was used to them. His antics at school had often earned him the same treatment.

  On his way to his seat, he scanned the room. Closed, cold faces. In the front row, a boy with light blond hair ostentatiously looked away. Further back, a girl with round glasses whispered something to her neighbor while staring at him with disdain. Others didn't even bother hiding their smirks.

  He sat down by the window, his heart heavy.

  Lyne, who had remained near the door, watched in silence.

  Time dragged. Boredom crept in like a slow poison. As was his habit, Nael rested his head on his desk, ready to drift off.

  But a clear, composed voice pulled him back.

  "Hello."

  He looked up. A student stood before him, hand extended, gaze hesitant — almost sheepish.

  "Hello," Nael replied, surprised but polite.

  He reached out to shake the offered hand. But the moment their palms met, the other student's face shifted. A grimace — quick, instinctive, impossible to fully hide. His nose wrinkled. His lips pressed together. He pulled his hand back as if he'd touched something unpleasant.

  "My name is..." He paused, looking Nael over. "Do I really have to give you my name?"

  He turned on his heel and walked back to his seat without another word.

  Nael sat very still. The warmth from the almost-handshake already gone.

  Under the desk, his fist tightened until his knuckles went white.

  "How can people talk about sacrifice, greatness, heroes — and look at another person like that?" he thought.

  The silence pressed down on him. Every second felt longer than the last. He could feel the stares, hear the murmurs, catch the quiet laughs.

  Then something shifted in him.

  He stood up.

  "Hello again," he said, loud enough for the whole room. "My name is Nael. Nael Lightborn."

  Silence. Then laughter.

  "Go sit down, nobody asked you!"

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  "Yeah, nobody wants to hear you!"

  "Go back to your corner!"

  Nael gritted his teeth. There was a lump in his throat, but he didn't move.

  "I know you didn't ask," he said, his voice steady despite the trembling underneath. "But I have to say this. I've always dreamed of this place. I wanted to be here, no matter what it cost. Because I believed that here, of all places, there was something worth believing in. That heroes were different."

  He looked around the room.

  "But this isn't a hero academy. It's a group of villains wearing the right uniform."

  The laughter stopped.

  Murmurs rippled through the class instead. The blond boy in the front row looked away, visibly uncomfortable. The girl with round glasses had gone quiet, her expression harder to read now. Others kept their arms crossed, faces shut.

  "So you think you're better than us?" a voice spat. "You dare judge us?"

  A student rose from his chair. Tall — around six foot one — with a solid build and short black hair. His eyes, dark brown and hard, fixed on Nael without blinking.

  He walked toward him. Slow, deliberate.

  The room went completely still.

  Near the door, Lyne slipped out without a sound.

  Five meters. Four. Three.

  Nael didn't move. His heart hammered. His legs trembled, barely perceptibly, but he held his ground.

  Two meters.

  The student's fist came up.

  CLACK.

  The door burst open.

  Every head turned. The Principal stood on the threshold, arms crossed, expression unreadable. His gaze moved slowly across the room — pausing on the student, then on Nael.

  Nobody could tell how long he'd been standing there.

  The student lowered his fist. His jaw stayed clenched.

  The Principal stepped into the room. Then, without a word, he began to clap.

  Slow. Deliberate. Each clap landing like a verdict.

  He stopped in the center of the room and looked at them — really looked, one by one. Some dropped their eyes. Others went still.

  "Is this how you welcome a classmate?" he said. His voice was quiet. That made it worse. "By treating him like an enemy?"

  No one answered.

  He sighed, and for a moment something tired showed on his face. Then he turned to the dark-haired student.

  "Mat. Since you seem eager to make an impression — tomorrow, you and Nael will be partners for the integration trial. A combat assessment in front of the teaching staff."

  Mat opened his mouth.

  The Principal raised one hand. "That's not a suggestion."

  He let the silence sit, then continued in a softer tone.

  "Take the rest of the day. Classes are cancelled."

  The room broke apart slowly. Small groups formed, students drifting toward each other by habit. Some looked relieved. Others still threw glances at Nael — part hostility, part something else.

  Nael stayed in his seat as the room emptied around him.

  The Principal approached.

  "You have courage, Nael," he said. "But courage without control is just noise. Tomorrow, you'll need to prove something. Be ready."

  He left.

  The room was empty now. Nael sat alone in it, the silence different from before — heavier, but his own.

  "What am I even doing here?" he thought. "What's the point?"

  He stayed like that for a while, head in his hands.

  Then another thought came. Quieter, but stronger.

  "No. Not after everything it took to get here."

  He unclenched his fists.

  "Mat wants to crush me? Fine. I'll show him."

  ----

  Back in his room, Nael dropped onto his bed and stared at the ceiling.

  The images kept coming. Mat advancing. The contemptuous looks. The laughter.

  But they didn't paralyze him. If anything, they sharpened something inside him — a determination that hadn't been there this morning.

  "Tomorrow is my test," he murmured.

  He looked at his hands, turning them slowly in front of him.

  "But I still don't know what I can do..."

  He thought about the soccer match — how he hadn't been winded. The heat that had burned through him that night. The vision. The being of flames.

  Something was there. He just hadn't found it yet.

  He got up, pulled on a jacket, and headed out. His feet carried him toward the academy gardens without him quite deciding to go there. He just needed air, and quiet, and a little distance from the day.

  Tomorrow would come soon enough.

  ---

  END OF CHAPTER 8