The Meridian thing faded from conversation by the time we bused our trays. Not because anyone forgot about it, but because first-year Hero students possess a remarkable talent for compartmentalizing problems that don’t have homework deadlines attached. By two o’clock, the cafeteria had emptied and the topic had been replaced by speculation about what Radiant had planned for Hero Basics that afternoon.

"I heard he’s bringing in live combat dummies today," Eden said as we walked the covered pathway toward Building C. He flicked his Zippo open and closed in that compulsive rhythm he maintained whenever his brain needed a fidget outlet. The lighter caught afternoon sun with each snap. "Like, actual reactive dummies that fight back. Not the entrance exam robots. Something new."

"You heard that from who?" Maribelle walked beside him, her crimson skin catching the warm light in ways that made the gold of her irises stand out even more than usual. Her tail swayed with each step, the spade tip twitching in what I’d learned to read as relaxed interest. She bumped Eden’s shoulder with hers, a gesture so ingrained between them it looked involuntary. "Because the last time you heard something, you told me the cafeteria was getting a soft serve machine and it turned out to be a yogurt dispenser."

"Yogurt is just cold milk that went through something traumatic. Basically the same thing."

"It is aggressively not the same thing, Eddie."

The nickname made Eden’s ears go red. Nobody else in the cohort used it. Nobody else was allowed.

Behind us, the rest of 1-B spread across the walkway in loose formation. Caden walked with Marco, both gesturing at their phones about something that involved a lot of hand waving. Finn drifted along at the back with the boneless ease of someone whose schedule existed purely as a suggestion. Percy had his notebook out, because Percy always had his notebook out, and was explaining something to Rina about the acoustic properties of Building C’s ventilation system that she appeared genuinely fascinated by. Her sheep mug steamed gently between her palms despite the California afternoon warmth, and her tail had relaxed into an easy swing that told me she’d gone from tolerating Percy’s information density to actively enjoying it.

Felicity found me at the front of the group. She did this every day now, materializing at my elbow like she’d been assigned the position by some authority I hadn’t been consulted about.

"So. Radiant today."

"Radiant today," I confirmed.

"What do you think he’s got planned?"

"Something that’ll make at least three people cry and one person question their career choice."

"That’s every class."

"And it works every time."

She grinned. The freckles across her nose scrunched when she did that, a detail I’d catalogued against my better judgment. Her blonde hair was down today, falling past her shoulders in waves that caught the light with an almost unfair consistency. The fitted white top she wore beneath her open blazer didn’t help. The Ecchi Logic trait was doing its usual background work of making sure every incidental detail about every woman in my radius registered with pornographic clarity whether I wanted it to or not.

I did not want it to.

My body disagreed.

We reached Building C and filed through the main entrance, joining the stream of 1-B students converging on Room 214. The hallway smelled like industrial cleaner and ambition, which at Halloran was essentially the same thing. The chatter bounced off polished concrete walls as people speculated about what lesson awaited them. Theo mentioned something about team formations. Camille predicted sparring matches. Nyx said nothing, which from Nyx communicated more than most people’s entire sentences.

The door to 214 stood open.

And the energy in the room when I stepped through it was wrong.

Not bad wrong. Just different. The reinforced wall panels remained in place from the previous session. The demonstration floor was clear. The compressed tiered seating faced the central platform as expected. Everything looked identical to the last time Radiant had occupied this space with his seven-foot-two frame and his luminescent smile and his ability to make a room full of teenagers believe they could accomplish impossible things through sheer proximity to hope incarnate.

Except Radiant wasn’t here.

Imara Steele sat on the edge of the demonstration platform with one leg crossed over the other, her gold athletic jacket catching the overhead light. Her pale blonde hair fell past her shoulders, the two distinctive tufts framing either side of her face with their signature asymmetry. Her pink eyes tracked each student entering the room with the relaxed attention of a large cat surveying its territory from a comfortable rock.

She held a coffee.

She did not offer to share.

The disappointment hit the room like a weather front. I watched it move through the cohort in real time. Theo’s shoulders dropped by approximately two inches. Eden’s lighter froze mid-click. Caden stopped dead in the doorway and Marco walked directly into his back, producing a muffled sound of protest that Caden didn’t acknowledge. Felicity’s hand tightened on my arm with the specific grip of someone whose expectations had just been redirected without consent.

"That’s not Radiant," Hiro observed from three rows back, his voice carrying the wounded energy of someone who’d spent forty minutes selecting the optimal angle for his hair specifically to be observed by America’s number one Hero.

"Outstanding observation, Sato." Steele took a slow sip of her coffee. The steam curled up past her face and disappeared into the warm air of the lecture hall. "You’ll make a fine detective one day."

The class filed in with the muted energy of children arriving at a birthday party to discover the clown cancelled. Seats filled with less enthusiasm than usual. The anticipation that normally preceded Radiant’s entrance, the electric quality of a room about to be occupied by a living legend, had been replaced by something flatter. Not hostility. Not resentment. Just the gravitational drop of unmet expectation settling into resignation.

I took my third-row seat. Percy materialized to my left with his pen already moving. Caden collapsed into the row behind me with audible dejection.

"She’s great and everything," Caden murmured, leaning forward until his mouth hovered near my ear. "Love the energy. Love the commitment to making us question our life choices. But she’s not the seven-foot walking motivational poster who can punch through the sound barrier."

"Careful. Her hearing is way better than you think."

"I’m being quiet."

"You think you’re being quiet. Those are different things."