I figured Speech and Media Relations would be a joke class. Something about proper pronunciation and not saying "uh" into microphones. Maybe Vincent Hale would make us practice tongue twisters or recite the Hero’s Creed with proper diction.

I was wrong.

The classroom looked like a television studio had exploded inside an academic building. Professional lighting rigs hung from the ceiling, their adjustable heads pointing toward a raised platform at the front of the room. Camera equipment sat on wheeled tripods at strategic angles. A green screen stretched across the entire back wall, and a control booth with actual monitors and mixing equipment occupied an elevated position along the east side.

This wasn’t Speech class. This was media boot camp.

Vincent Hale stood at the platform’s center, wearing a fitted navy suit that probably cost more than most people’s monthly rent. His silver hair caught the studio lights perfectly, and his blue eyes held the specific intensity of someone who understood that every moment was a performance. The man looked like he’d stepped off a magazine cover, which made sense considering he’d been on approximately forty-seven of them during his active career.

The Oracle Feed provided unhelpful commentary about his Perfect Pitch Aspect and its applications in crowd control, but I was more interested in why a former top-ten Hero was teaching first-year students how to talk.

"Good afternoon." His voice carried through the room without effort, hitting every corner with crystal clarity. "Welcome to Speech and Media Relations, or as the course catalog officially calls it, ’Public Communication for Hero Professionals.’"

The twenty students of Class 1-B settled into their seats, which were arranged in a semi-circle facing the platform. Theater-style, but with enough space between rows that cameras could move freely during filming.

Because apparently we were going to be filmed.

"Before we begin, I want to establish something important." Vincent’s smile was warm but carried an edge underneath. "Everything that happens in this room will be recorded. Every exercise, every response, every moment you think the camera isn’t running. You will see yourself as the public sees you. You will hear your voice as civilians hear it. You will discover exactly how much distance exists between who you think you are and who you appear to be."

Caden shifted in his seat two rows behind me, and I could practically hear him reconsidering his life choices.

"The reason this matters is simple. A Hero who cannot communicate effectively with the public is a Hero whose career has an expiration date." Vincent gestured toward the camera equipment. "Every rescue you perform will be documented. Every statement you make will be analyzed. Every facial expression during a crisis will be screenshotted, memed, and dissected by people who have never faced anything more dangerous than traffic."

Felicity sat to my right, her blue eyes tracking Vincent’s movement with the focus of someone cataloging professional techniques. On my left, Rina clutched her sheep mug and looked like she wanted to disappear into her seat.

"The media is not your friend. The media is not your enemy. The media is a tool that will either work for you or against you, and the difference depends entirely on whether you understand how to use it."

Vincent picked up a tablet and touched the screen. The monitors around the room flickered to life, displaying what appeared to be a news broadcast. The sound came through speakers built into the ceiling.

The footage showed a Hero I didn’t recognize, a woman in a green costume with some kind of plant-based Aspect, standing outside a collapsed apartment building. Smoke rose from the wreckage behind her. Her face was streaked with ash, her costume torn in several places, and her hair was a disaster.

She looked like a Hero. She sounded like an idiot.

"I just, you know, did what anyone would do. The building was like, really on fire, and there were people inside, so I went in and got them out. It wasn’t a big deal or anything."

The reporter pressed her for details. The Hero’s response was worse.

"Um, well, my plants can, like, grow really fast? So I made vines to pull people through the windows and stuff. I think I saved maybe twenty people? I don’t know. Someone else was counting."

Vincent paused the footage and turned back to us.

"Jade saved thirty-seven civilians that day. She personally carried eight children to safety and coordinated the evacuation of an entire city block. Her quick thinking prevented what could have been the worst residential disaster in Portland’s history."

He let that sink in.

"The public saw a girl who couldn’t articulate her own heroism and didn’t seem to understand what she’d accomplished. Her approval rating dropped twelve points in the week following this interview. Three sponsors pulled their contracts. She’s currently ranked 847 nationally."

Theo raised his hand from the front row.

"What should she have said?"

Vincent’s smile returned, but this time it carried genuine warmth.

"Excellent question. What she should have said was this: ’I’m grateful we were able to save everyone. The families who lived in that building are safe tonight because Heroes and first responders worked together. That’s what matters.’ Simple. Direct. Focused on results rather than process."

He touched the tablet again. The monitors switched to a different piece of footage.

This time it was Radiant, standing in almost identical circumstances outside a building that had clearly suffered some kind of attack. His costume was pristine despite the chaos around him. His voice carried the same crystal clarity that Vincent’s did.

"The situation is resolved. All civilians have been evacuated safely. The individuals responsible are in custody. I want to thank the local police and fire departments for their coordination during the response."

The reporter asked about the threat level. Radiant’s response was perfect.

"The threat was significant, but it was contained. The people of this city can feel safe knowing that we take every incident seriously and respond with everything we have."

No details about the actual threat. No speculation about motives. No technical explanation of how his Aspect worked. Just reassurance, competence, and credit shared with other agencies.

"This is why Radiant has held the number one position for twelve consecutive years. Not because he’s the strongest Hero in America, though he might be. Because he understands that being a Hero means being a symbol of safety, and symbols don’t explain themselves. They simply exist and provide comfort through their presence."

Vincent walked to the edge of the platform, his blue eyes moving across each of us.

"Your first exercise begins now. Each of you will deliver a thirty-second statement to the camera about why you want to become a Hero. Not your origin story. Not your Aspect description. Not your family history. Thirty seconds explaining why this profession matters to you personally."