Breakfast in the cafeteria became a campaign event whether I wanted it to or not. Percy appeared at my elbow before I’d finished loading my tray with tonkotsu ramen and grilled beef short ribs, his notebook already open to a page covered in voter analysis.

"Three conversations changed overnight," he said without preamble. "Zara moved from undecided to leaning Lukas. Eden confirmed support. Maribelle explicitly stated she’s voting for you after your conversation about Rina’s conditioning concerns."

I grabbed a bread roll and added it to my tray. "That’s good news."

"It’s incomplete news." Percy’s pen moved as he talked, documenting in real time. "Theo’s core support remains stable at forty percent. You’ve gained ground but not enough to overtake him without either expanding your coalition or reducing his base." He paused. "Camille could swing five votes if she publicly endorses you. Has she?"

"Not yet."

Percy’s eyes flickered up from his notebook. For a moment the anxious exterior dropped and I saw the sharp analytical mind underneath, the one that had spent a sleepless night building me an insurance fraud fortress out of regulatory language.

"What happened last night?"

"Private conversation."

"The kind that results in public endorsement or the kind that results in public complications?"

I picked up my tray and headed toward the 1-B table. "Too early to tell."

The morning classes blurred together. Mercy’s Hero Law lecture covered liability frameworks for civilian property damage during rescue operations, which would have been interesting if I hadn’t already absorbed most of the relevant concepts from nine years of watching Diane navigate the same issues for her clients. The specific distinction between Villain Insurance coverage and Hero Exemption clauses was something I’d heard her explain to at least six different clients at dinner. By the time Mercy got to the third subsection of the coverage limitations statute, I was mentally drafting the email I’d need to send later about Rina’s conditioning schedule.

Crane’s Strategic Communications session focused on interview deflection techniques, which I filed away for future use. She walked us through three different approaches to handling hostile press, using real hero interview transcripts that had varying degrees of disaster embedded in them. The class spent twenty minutes dissecting one particular clip where a Rank B hero had accidentally confirmed an agency scandal while trying to deflect from it. Sloane looked personally offended by the incompetence.

By lunch, the campaign had taken on a life of its own.

Caden materialized at my table with a grin that suggested either good news or imminent disaster. With Caden, the distinction was often academic.

"So," he said, dropping into the seat across from me. "I’ve been thinking about our conversation."

"The one where I offered you access in exchange for endorsement?"

"That’s the one." He stole a gyoza from my plate without asking. "I’ve decided to accept. But I have conditions."

I waited.

"First: the conditioning schedule thing is real. Rina’s Aspect type genuinely suffers under the current pacing structure and nobody’s addressed it because nobody’s been paying attention. That’s bullshit and I want it fixed."

"Done."

"Second: I want credit. Not publicly, not in some announcement, but when you’re in that faculty meeting and you bring up the conditioning issues, I want you to mention that the data came from me. That I was the one documenting it."

I studied him. The goofball mask was completely gone now. This was the real Caden, the one who’d survived Halloran’s entrance exam by being invisible when it mattered and visible when it didn’t.

"Why?"

"Because I’m tired of being the comic relief." He said it simply, without self-pity. Just a statement of fact. "Marco and I have been running this bit since day one. It’s useful. People underestimate you when they think you’re the joke. But eventually the bit becomes the whole brand and then you can’t get out of it."

"You want people to know you’re paying attention."

"I want the people who matter to know I’m paying attention." He glanced around the cafeteria, his eyes landing briefly on Theo, then Camille, then circling back to me. "You’re going to win this election. I clocked that the moment you raised your hand yesterday. Theo’s got the warmth but you’ve got the hunger, and hunger beats warmth every time when the stakes are real."

"That’s a hell of an endorsement."

"It’s the truth." Caden stood from the table, leaving the half-eaten gyoza behind. "I’ll tell people I’m backing you at dinner tonight. Should swing at least two votes your direction, maybe three if Eden actually listens to me for once."

He walked away before I could respond. I watched him go, recalibrating my assessment of Caden Holt for what felt like the third time this week.

The afternoon brought Aspect Development Lab and the particular torture of demonstrating Phantom Touch at sixty percent capacity while Dravid watched with his inscrutable expression and documented every inconsistency he wasn’t supposed to be able to detect.

"The constructs show improvement," Dravid said during the fifteen-minute practical portion, his attention fixed on the amber projections I’d deliberately maintained at registered specifications. "Density is more consistent. Your range has extended by roughly four inches since last week."

"I’ve been putting in the hours."

"So I observe." He tapped something into his tablet, the sound precise and final. "I also observe that you never push to your documented limits. Your output consistently sits at approximately two-thirds of what your registration states you should be capable of producing."

The observation landed cleanly. I didn’t let my expression shift.

"Stamina management," I said, keeping my tone flat. "The documentation flags fatigue concerns when I sustain high output. I’m building endurance by training below my ceiling."

Dravid’s grey eyes held mine for a moment that lasted slightly too long. "A reasonable approach. Most students do the opposite. They push to their limits constantly and wonder why they burn out during extended engagements."

"I had good teachers."

"Indeed." He returned his attention to his tablet. "Continue."