I sighed and shook my head as Calvin leapt straight out the window like the batman on budget, vigilante with no rent to pay.
For a second, I thought that was it — dramatic leap, broken leg.
But then I saw it.
A flash of dark green aura lit up around him like a silent explosion, his eyes blacked out completely with that eerie symbiont glow — white rings burning at the edge of his sclera. His right hand whipped around and pulled something metallic from his inventory
A rusted cafeteria tray.
Of course.
I didn't even want to know where that came from.
With that signature Virelia finesse, he jumped on the oversized tray and hovered mid-air like he was auditioning for a sport that didn't exist yet. The air hissed as the metal vibrated beneath him, his aura syncing with the motion.
Calvin Esposito.
Third-year.
Roommate.
Level 3 Symbiont Crest: Paramagnetism.
Can attract, repel and resize any non-living material with a different molecular structure to his own.
> "He can't attract people," I muttered aloud, watching him slice through the sky on a food tray, "but he still thinks himself a chick magnet."
The irony burns brighter than his aura.
By now, most of Galileo Hall had come alive. Doors flung open. Students poured out onto balconies and stairwells like it was a block party. Some recorded. Some cheered. A few screamed.
But no one missed the blue plasma creature streaking down the middle of the wide hall — tearing through paper flyers, skipping across banners, and shooting past confused vending machines.
Calvin ducked, dodged, and swerved. He soared between a fruit seller and an espresso drone, sending crates flying and oranges bouncing like marbles. The plasma beast zipped low, slipping through legs and buzzing past backpacks. Calvin trailed behind, all green light and reckless glory, nearly decapitating a lawn chair setup from the Crestless Club's pet adoption booth which had stall in my hall for some reason.
> "bro's not been faking it with those parkour instashot reels," someone whispered from behind me.
I didn't argue.
The plasma monster hit the receptionist gate, triggering a minor explosion of sparks and fractured glass. It tried to flee.
But Calvin, mid-air, jumped off his tray, caught it with his power mid-tumble, and flung it.
The metal disk spun like a coin from hell — SLAM!
It hit the Echo dead on.
The creature hissed into vapor, sizzling into nothingness as a soft blue crackle filled the space.
The receptionist desk?
Shattered like your mood after a bad grade.
> "CALVIN ESPOSITO!" a voice roared from the back office.
Mr. Luigi.
Sixty-something. Bald.
Smelled like espresso and disappointment.
Calvin brushed past the remains of the vaporized Echo like he just won Virelias Got Talent. Students around him clapped, whistled, a few even chanted his name.
> "Caaalvinnn!, Let's gooo!"
I made my way down the stairs as he basked in the praise, smiling like a sponsored pro athlete.
I nudged him.
> "Wanna explain why a class-three Echo was hiding under my laundry?"
Calvin's grin dropped half a centimeter.
> "If there was a breach or even a rift nearby, we'd have gotten an alert. Besides… that thing wasn't trying to attack. It was hiding."
> "In our room."
> "Exactly. What I'm wondering is… from what?"
I didn't like that answer.
And I like it even less now.
He turned toward the balconies where students leaned over, phones and holo-tabs in hand, already uploading clips to their socials.
His voice rang out clear.
> "Not everyone is strong enough to fight, but those of that are gotta step up and help. I mean You are stronger for a reason."
The applause came again, louder this time.
Calvin stood with his tray tucked under his arm like a war trophy, grinning as if nothing had just tried to infect us.
And me?
I stood there, trying to act impressed.
Because truthfully, I was.
> Top of his class.
Only Level 3.
And still doesn't act like a dick well most of the time.
You'd think being in a university would mean freedom.
You'd think wrong.
> "I mean… it's still an academic institution," I said, hands in my pockets, blazer slung lazily over my shoulder. "Too many students disappearing mid-week, and next thing you know, they're cancelling pizza nights."
Josephine rolled her eyes hard enough to summon thunder.
> "Right. Because God forbid the institution of Virelia loses another Fresco Friday."
She stepped over a crooked pavement tile, curly brown hair bouncing behind her. Ankle high black loafers, baggy white tee, and that same old sarcasm. Some things were consistent.
We walked side-by-side through Centro Rosso, the old district just outside the university's central zone. Virelia's heartbeat, they'd call it on the forums — terra-cotta roofs, chipped fountain statues, balconies covered in drying uniforms and garden herbs.
A pigeon flew overhead and barely missed my shoulder.
> "It's got personality," I muttered.
> "It's got bird crap, on you" Josephine said flatly.
Classic.
"Oh why hello Josie" a wrinkled, positive shop owner called out to Josephine
"Good morning Mrs Zambrotta" Josie shot back.
"It's kind of surprising you know so many locals, that like the 6th one who's called out to you now." I muttered, almost in an envious tone
"Well your filthy richiness, us broke people use our feet to get around more, so it's only natural were familiar with the people who live around here".
"Or maybe your just the nice respectful little girl everyone loves" I said with an over exaggerated joyful expression.
"You make that sound like a bad thing" she quipped back.
We'd been walking for about ten minutes, heading toward her place like we had since we were kids. You wouldn't guess it looking at her now — sharp jawline, 5'5 frame, hips that could kill, and black eyes deep enough to drown a confession — but Josephine Rodriguez and I used to throw rocks at lamp posts and dare each other to fake Italian accents in public.
She lived with her foster grandfather and father, just a street down from the old record shop that refused to sell anything made after 2010.
And right now, she was my only alibi.
> "Anyway," I started, like I hadn't just dropped a bomb, "...I made it."
> "Made what?"
> "The Echo."
> She stopped walking. "You what?"
> "The plasma creature. Calvin chased it all across the hall. Wrecked half the reception."
> "You created a live echo to test your new technique—and thought using your senior as bait was smart?"
> "He handled it," I shrugged. "I needed to experiment. It barely even scratched him. Durability was off though… might've used too little core charge."
> "You're unhinged," she said, genuinely baffled. "You need therapy. Or an exorcist."
> "I'll only only go if you're the one doing the excorsim."
> "baby I'm only already fighting my own demons "
The streets opened wider as we neared her apartment complex — a stone-bricked, ivy-covered townhouse with a rust-colored gate and peeling flowerpots outside the window. The wind carried the smell of garlic, engine smoke, and distant wood-fired pizza.
> "Things have changed," I said, letting my gaze wander over the skyline. "Ever since the empire collapsed seven years ago, and Virelia broke off from the rest of the federation… things just don't feel the same."
> "Yeah," she said softly, "but we're lucky. At least we got to grow up in the one city that didn't burn."
A Vespa zipped past, blaring outdated trap music in french. Two older women argued over tomatoes. Somewhere behind us, a news drone buzzed overhead.
> "Still," I muttered, "kinda makes you wonder. Why us?"
> "Because we're blessed, it's synnical how the universe has a strange way of giving us exactly what we need but as humans we can't help but feel it's not enough and strive for more." she replied with zero conviction.
As we reached her front gate, I turned toward her.
> "Is your grandpa home?"
> "Wow. Right to it, huh?"
> "Just curious."
She unlocked the gate with a click.
> "You sure you weren't the one adopted into our family? You and abuelo talk more than I ever do."
> "He's wise. Charismatic. Smells like cigars and espresso."
> "Sounds like you're crushing on him."
> "bet."
She rolled her eyes, then jabbed a finger into my shoulder.
> "Also, you still haven't seen your family. It's been what—first week and not a single visit? What's your excuse now that you've stepped off campus, huh?"
> "I was busy… designing a creature of pure energy and terror to fly through my dorm room."
She laughed, punching in the door code. I caught a glimpse of her smile — real, not the performative one she used when roasting me.
And for a second, everything felt… okay.
But I knew it wouldn't last.
Josephine's place hadn't changed.
Same brick walls with coffee stains from the storm two weeks ago. Same ceramic owl statue by the door I always swore was haunted. Same low hum of old jazz spilling from an open window like it never stopped playing.
The door creaked open and there he was — Abuelo, standing tall, arms folded, dressed like he'd just stepped out of a vintage mafia film. Slick grey hair, short-trimmed beard, slightly wrinkled at the edges… but still sharp enough to gut a lie clean through.
> "Look what the wind dragged in," he said, smiling at me. "And Josephine too, I guess."
> "Gracias, Abuelo," she deadpanned, kicking off her boots. "Nice to see where the favoritism lies."
> "Don't pout, mija. I'm just saying—if Huey wanted to marry into the family, I wouldn't complain."
I choked on nothing.
> "Please don't," I said.
> "Seconded," she muttered. But I caught it — the pink bloom crawling up her cheeks, the way she suddenly found interest in the floor tiles.
I'm not stupid enough to miss things like that.
We shuffled into the living room. Still smelled like pine cleaner and roasted peppers. Abuelo settled in his armchair like a king, the remote nowhere to be seen, because legends don't change channels — the world just plays what they want.
> "Your dad still at work?" she asked.
> "Mmh," Abuelo nodded. "Client wanted the extra drawers fixed. Said the old table creaked louder than their ex's conscience."
> "He's a saint," I muttered, settling into the couch.
> "He's a bill payer," Abuelo replied, smirking. "But enough about the furniture. How's uni life treating you two?"
> "Restrictive," Josephine said.
> "Chaotic," I offered.
> "Erotic," Abuelo added.
> "Abuelo!" she snapped.
> "I'm old, not retarded."
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees.
> "Actually… I've been working on something."
> "Go on," he said, eyes narrowing like I just told him I joined the circus.
> "you know that thing, I made it"
A pause. Then—
> "¡Dios mío…!" Abuelo leaned back and let out a slow, impressed laugh. "And your roomate took the bait?"
> "Perfectly."
Josephine crossed her arms, unimpressed.
> "You're deranged."
> "I'm experimental."
> "There's a difference?"
> "A fine line."
> "You two are perfect for each other," Abuelo said with pride.
> "I do have something up my sleeve too," Josephine snapped.
> "Good," he said, standing. "Then it's time we settle this the old way. A little sparring match."
"I'd rather not" I said my conviction steeled
"I'll show you the thing" Abuelo chimed, making am offer that was hard to decline
"The thing, I'll gladly wipe the floor with your nieta then" my conviction broken
The Backyard — atardecer Training Ground
We changed in silence.
She wore charcoal sweats and a navy sports bra, curls tied back into a high ponytail. I threw on my grey track top, chain still tucked against my chest, blazer abandoned inside on a chair.
The backyard wasn't just a backyard. It was Abuelo's legacy futuristic metal dummies, floating obstacles, reinforced training tiles glowing faintly from past impacts. It felt like stepping into an underground facility, hidden behind tomato plants.
We squared off, dust kicking up between us.
> "Ready?" she asked, grinning now.
> "yawn." I said checking my finger nails
Her fists came in first — tight, trained strikes. She'd always been sharper up close. I danced backward, dodging, sliding. Threw a low kick, followed by a heel feint — crack, it caught her side. She winced, backed up.
> "You hit much faster now," she muttered.
> "maybe you just got slower."
We clashed again. She caught me with a knee and swept my foot mid-spin. I almost hit the floor, but twisted and launched a two-footed mule kick that sent her stumbling back.
And then she changed.
Her eyes went pitch black, glowing golden rings flaring across her irises. Her Crest Mark, shaped like an owl, burned bright on her collarbone. A yellow light staff materialized in her hands, bending like heated glass.
> "Still feeling confident?" she asked.
> "Depends," I said, raising a brow. "Did your Crest get stronger or just flashier?"
She struck.
The staff arced, light extending mid-swing, barely missing my temple. I ducked under, spinning left — but my foot caught something.
The floor.
It had hardened.
> "She's shaping light now?" I whispered.
> "Gotcha," she smirked, staff raised.
I dropped my weight back, skidding — and whispered,
> "i'll let you keep on believing that."
My irises glowed blue.
From the air beside me, a plasma Echo emerged with a low hum. Josephine flinched, barely dodging its lunge. Her staff shattered it with a swipe.
> "Really?" she snapped. "that easy?"
I smiled.
Then three more formed.
> "Huey!"
> "you know I've always been a guy who goes for quantity over quality" I said, sidestepping
She spun, light flashing as she fought them — quick jabs, sharp blocks. But they surrounded her, relentless.
> "Huey, this isn't fair!"
> "Neither is life."
Abuelo let out a short scoff.
Then he laughed.
The Echoes dissipated. She stood panting, arms spread, hair a mess.
We both dropped our Crests. The glow faded from our eyes.
Abuelo clapped slowly, like a coach who'd seen two rookies become monsters.
> "You've both grown," he said. "Josephine — shaping light into weapons? Formidable. Huey — the sheer number of constructs… unexpected."
I brushed dust from my sleeves.
> "To me, they're more for scouting. But if I make enough…"
> "lemme guess, they carry," she muttered, wiping sweat from her jaw.
> "Power-wise," I shrugged, "you've still got the upper hand. I'm barely Level 1. You're Level 3, with potential to hit 5."
She leaned on her staff, nodding.
> "Yeah, but… no one would believe you've only had your Crest for three months."
That hit different.
My eyes lowered to my glove — the blue tiger emblem still faintly glowing on the leather.
I remembered things I didn't want to.
> "Huey," Abuelo said quietly, "how is Atticus"
"the same state I left him in 3 months ago"