Archive of Our Own

The classroom buzzed with excitement and anticipation for the new student that was supposedly arriving today. People chattered and speculated on what their ability would be, how strong they were, if they could match up to Seraphina or Arlo, and where they transferred from.

The girls sighed. “Maybe it’ll be a handsome guy,” someone muttered dreamily.

”Ha, fat chance! Plus, aren’t you getting too greedy? We already have Arlo!”

”Hey-!” Another person interjected. “Maybe it’s a cute chick.”

Finally, someone with a brain sighed. “Guys, can you be normal? It doesn’t matter, as long as they’re strong. Wellston’s been accepting an awful lot of low-tiers recently.”

The group grimaced. “Yeah,” they said. “They’re just accepting anyone now, huh.”

Just then, the teacher walked in, looking exhausted and irritated beyond belief. She clears her throat. “Ahem.”

At first, no one listens to her. They're too busy making conversation with each other. Finally, she slams her hands onto her desk. "Class!" she commands, as a hush falls over the room. Glaring at her students, she continues. "Everyone, I know it's a bit late in the year, but we have a new student today!"

Curious eyes land on the door, where an average-looking kid walks in. He looks relatively unassuming, except for his overly gelled hair, which shines under the fluorescent lighting distastefully. A couple people snicker at that.

"Please introduce yourself," The teacher nods to the new kid, who's quickly become the center of attention.

He fidgets with his tie for a second, straightening it to make himself look more presentable. He then smiles, waving at everyone. "Hello!" He greets cheerily, "My name is John. I'm looking forward to meeting you all!"

Most of the class is unimpressed at his bland introduction, which John seems to notice, so he hastily tacks on a "—And I hope we can get along!"—Not that it helps.

After that, he shuffles to the back of the class, where there is an empty seat, next to a redhead, who regards him with some interest. His sharp yellow eyes pierce through John like lasers, evidently curious about his ability, which was nothing out of the ordinary.

John noted, with a shudder, that everyone was looking at him like that. Hopefully a long and arduous lesson on the unit circle will dull their keen hunger for knowledge.

Or not.

As class ends, the chatter begins to pick up again, and while John starts packing up his things and getting ready to leave, a girl with curled hair approaches him.

"Hi, John!" she smiles kindly. "I'm Elaine. Welcome to Wellston!"

John feels himself flush, unused to positive attention like this. He stares at her face, analyzing her features. Something shifts behind her vibrant green eyes, but he isn't quite sure what.

At his hesitation, Elaine takes the initiative to continue their conversation. "How's your first day so far?" She asks.

John scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. "Not bad, I guess..." he answers.

"Wonderful!" She clasps her hands together. "So which school did you transfer from?"

His eyes snap to the motion, and there's an itch that tells him that something is off here, that maybe this isn't just friendly conversation, but he brushes it off and tears his gaze back to Elaine's face. It's only polite, after all. High-tiers like him need to restrain themselves. Be nice, John.

He misses how her hands clench ever so slightly tighter as he responds, "Erm, actually I was homeschooled before this!"

Elaine gasps, putting a hand to her mouth. "Woah, really? We've never had one of those before..."

"Hah... I was feeling a bit lonely, so I decided to try something new!" John explains, unable to stop focusing his stare on her hands.

"Well, you've come to the right place!" She chuckles at him. Did it always sound this fake?

Less enthused in the conversation now, John stammers. "Ah," he says. Be nice. "That's great to know!"

He was happy to be at Wellston. He was extremely grateful for the opportunity—he got a second chance at one of the most lucrative high schools in the nation. He should be happy. With how hard John had studied for the entrance exams, he should have been overjoyed to even be in this place.

It will be different this time, he had promised himself. The past is in the past.

His smile twitched as she asked the question. It really was no different than New Bostin.

Everyone was just like those vultures at his old school.

This place was just like the rest of the world, he thought, as Elaine asked, "So, John. What kind of ability do you have?"

Suddenly, everyone was listening. The classroom had gone silent, so quiet that the faint ticking of the clock could be heard, counting the seconds that passed by.

It hit three, then five, then nine. John stuttered.

"U-Um, it's no big deal, really." He laughed it off, extremely uncomfortable. The redhead he had sat next to earlier was looking at him, having stopped talking to his friend (who looked like a tangerine, and no, John didn't laugh at his own joke. He would never).

It was like everyone's ears had perked up, eager to hear what he had to say.

He floundered, taking in the girl in front of him. He had felt somewhat betrayed (John had seriously thought that she was trying to be friends with him, not just go sniffing for his ability), and from what he could trace from her aura, it was some sort of... regenerative ability? Perhaps healing?

An idea popped into his head.

"Nonsense, I won't judge!" Elaine said. "We're just curious, after all."

That's ridiculous, he rolled his eyes internally, though he wasn't sure whether it was at his absurd idea or Elaine's equally absurd statement.

John’s not quite sure what had come over him—for some ungodly reason, something in the moment possessed him to spit out his aforementioned ridiculous idea.

“I… uh… can heal.” The words died in his mouth, and he cringed. “Yup,” he said, popping the ‘p.’ “I can definitely do that.”

Well… high school is the opportunity for new beginnings, right? Maybe this could be good for him! He couldn’t possibly hurt anyone if he was only a healer!

He could practically hear the collective eyebrow raise of the class, their undivided attention now undoubtedly fixed on him.

Elaine had an odd expression on her face, and John felt a petty sense of satisfaction. That's right, he thought. I'll take your ability and use it way better than you ever did!

"Really?" She tilted her head, disbelieving. "Healers have been kind of hard to come by here, hehe."

Her sweet reply made John almost feel bad, until she followed up with a "What level are you?"

Even for John's standards, that's a little bold. "Woah," he jokes. "You trying to fight me?"

Elaine's eyes widen. "What, no!" she shakes her head from side to side quickly. "I was just thinking that it would be helpful to have another strong healer for turf wars."

That piques John's interest, and he forgives her for her transgressions against him. He had never heard of more than one healer at a turf war match. One was already a rare sight, as many of the poorer and lower-level schools didn't have them.

"Hm," he hums, thinking aloud. She had said 'another strong healer,' so he was thinking at least an elite-tier. Maybe he should say high-tier just to be safe?

(If he was being honest, John had basically no experience with healers or healing abilities. He had never bothered to train using abilities he deemed useless, offensive abilities taking the priority. Even less so was he familiar with what a 'strong' healer was deemed. Was a 3.5, the bare minimum to be considered strong, considered to be good? He had no idea.)

Finally, he reaches an answer. "I'm a 5.0," he shrugs. It was a modest 2 levels lower than his actual power level, so he was pretty sure it was okay. And, he wondered if he said he was a high-tier, people would leave him alone.

Lost in his thoughts, John looks up to survey everyone else's expressions. From what he had read on the Wellston website, the school had the highest concentration of high-tiers, so this should come as no shock to the rest of the student body.

...Or perhaps he had been mistaken? Everybody looked shocked. John felt a cold sweat build on his face. Maybe a 5.0 was too weak...?

"Sorry?" John mumbles. "Uh, it would be higher, but my ability is kind of... restricting."

"Dude," someone says from the crowd, and John looks up. It's the redhead. He's talking with a sort of reverence in his voice that almost makes John blush again. "That's like, really strong. Especially for a healer."

"Oh." John laughs it off, feeling embarrassed. He really needs to get out of here.

He quickly shoves everything into his bag, zipping it up and throwing it onto his back. "Nice conversation, see you around!"

John pointedly ignores the exclamations that sound awfully like "wait" and "come back" in favor of ducking out of the classroom and into the crowded hallway. He tries his best to blend into the crowd and hopes that he doesn’t share a class with any of the people who overheard the conversation.

———

Apparently, rumors in Wellston spread fast. His second period had gone well with minimal hiccups, but third period was a different story. It was a boring class, so the teacher droned on about history and the development of unique abilities that stemmed from the— John tuned most of it out.

Until he was hit in the back of the head by a paper airplane.

John hissed, flinching at the impact and rubbing the back of his head. He turned around to see the same two guys from his math class. The redhead was scolding his friend, who didn’t seem too worried.

He narrowed his eyes, scanning the paper. There was something written on it, though the handwriting was in a loopy cursive that John struggled to read.

”Stay after class,” it read.

John frowned. What type of setup was this? As far as he knew, these guys were hooligans that disrupted class. How the teacher never noticed was beyond him. With his passive, he could sense their aura channels, and with their potency, he could reasonably assume that they were strong.

An elite-tier and a high-tier, he noted with some disdain. They were probably the arrogant types who think they’re so much better than everyone else.

From what he could glean using his passive, the red one had some sort of ranged offensive ability and the orange one… John wasn’t too sure, actually. He frowned. Months of disuse did make his ability proficiency way worse.

But that didn’t matter. What mattered was that he didn’t accidentally stumble into some scheme (again) and regret it. Did those guys seriously believe that he was going to listen to them? He didn’t even know them!

John pondered it. He was undoubtedly curious, but he also wasn’t exactly thrilled about the idea. Did he want to go? Did he not? He stole a quick glance at the pair (who seemed to be escalating into a full-blown argument over… pens?), and quickly decided that nope, he did not want to associate with those weirdos.

When class ended, John avoided eye contact, tossing the paper into the recycling bin as he darted out of the classroom as quickly as he could.

”Yo!” He could hear someone call out behind him, but he ducked away and scurried to where he needed to be.

Unfortunately, because nothing was allowed to go well in John’s life, he bumped into someone.

”Oof!” John hissed as he fell onto his ass, immediately sprawling his papers all over the floor. What the hell did he just bump into? A brick wall?!

Dazed, he rubbed the back of his head as he stared up at the culprit. It was a blonde boy, who was glaring at him as if he had personally killed his family or something. John felt a headache coming on.

”Excuse me,” he apologized. “I should've been looking where I was going, haha.”

“Tch,” The boy slipped his hands out of his pockets and stepped around him. “Watch where you’re going next time.”

John stared at him in disbelief as he waltzed away, looking graceful and unbothered as ever. He felt a vein pop in his forehead.

Was this seriously how everyone in this school acted?

Were they all this rude and stuck up?

He gritted his teeth and cleaned up the mess, neatly stacking the scattered paper into a pile and standing up.

He huffed, irritated. What a weird guy, he thought. Hopefully I won’t bump into him again.

Staring at the retreating figure of the guy, John thought about all the noteworthy people (read: weirdos) he met today. First, Elaine—she seemed nice enough, however shallow her pleasantries were. He bit his tongue, chastising himself for being so naive. She most definitely only was interested in his ability; had he said that he was a cripple (like he originally intended), he doubted that she would accept the news well.

Next were the two delinquents (from what he gathered) who were in a multitude of his classes. He didn’t sense any animosity yet, but he remained wary of them. They were strong, and he remembered an overwhelmingly powerful aura from first period, but he wasn’t sure if it was from them or a different student. A fuzzy image of a purple-haired girl popped into his mind, her clear blue eyes ingraining themselves into his head.

Finally, there was that blonde boy. He was the picture-perfect stereotype of a snobby, pretty, rich boy, which John snickered at (he did not laugh at his own jokes; he did not). He hadn’t paid very close attention to his aura, but John got the general sense that he was strong as well. With how confidently he carried himself, it reminded him of how John himself used to prowl the halls as a royal.

He wrinkled his nose, grimacing. He didn’t exactly want to think about that.

Plus, that’d be ridiculous. There was no way he had crashed into the King of Wellston on his first day. He was unlucky, but not that unlucky!

Just then, he was snapped out of his thoughts as the bell rang, and he realized that he had been standing in the middle of the hallway like an idiot. People eyed him as they passed, but left him alone.

For the most part.

A hand clasped on his shoulder, making John flinch.

He whirled around to see a blue-haired kid with a barely concealed look of condescension.

”Hey there, champ!” The boy said, voice saccharine and in a tone that definitely didn’t spell malicious intentions, “I heard from the grapevine that we got ourselves a newbie!”

John couldn’t focus, eyes glued to the hand on his shoulder. What exactly was this guy aiming to do?

”So, how’s school been treating you?” He said, backing John against a wall.

As his head hit the wall with a thunk! John scowled. He rubbed the back of his head, staring daggers at the kid. “Can we cut the small talk? What do you want?” John scoffed.

”Ohoho, woah! No need to get all snappy!” The boy grinned. “I’m Zeke, and I’ve heard all about you, the new high-tier at Wellston.”

“So what?” John snarled, something dark curling deep in his gut, itching for a fight. “You wanna go?”

Zeke smiled. “We don’t get high-tiers often. You sure you even are one?”

A calm rage sliced through the fuzzy indignation in John’s head as he bit out a wolfish grin. “Oh, don’t get it twisted,” he laughed. “I’m worse.”

Before him, Zeke’s body morphed—a transformation ability, his passive told him—sharpening the points of his fingers into inky black claws and—

Everything paused.

Before he froze, John had a keen sense of familiarity with the aura that washed over him.

Had he sensed it before…?

…

In an instant, Zeke is sprawled out on the ground, and the girl from first period is in his place.

Her ponytail swishes behind her as her eyes glow an icy blue, and John struggles to place a concrete number on her strength.

Fast, is the only thought that comes to him. She’s fast.

”Hey, you.” She says, raising an eyebrow. “Stop causing trouble.”

John pries his eyes away from hers, looking down at the hall pass in her hand. “Yeah, yeah.” He grumbles. “I didn’t even start it.”

As he moves away, she stops him, grabbing him by the forearm.

”Watch your mouth,” she warns, bringing him in close. “You’re lucky you’re joining us for the turf war later.”

John blushes, coughing awkwardly at the close proximity. Then he realizes what she just said to him. “Haha— wait, what?”

He blinked, but at this point the girl had already dashed away.

Alone, in the middle of the hallway, John groans.

He hates it here.

He hates it here.

———

Overall, it’s been a pretty terrible day. If John could rate it, it’d be a 5/10 at the very most. Everyone kept bugging him about his ability (that he very much doesn’t have) and trying to talk to him. He didn’t expect to be so popular.

It disgusted him.

All the students here were so fake. They pranced around, wearing their faux personas, pretending to care about each other. Once he noticed it on Elaine, it all felt so obvious.

He didn’t matter to anyone. He should have learned that by now.

Their boredom after he refused to show his ability. They never cared about him.

They never would.

He watched with a sick fascination as the blood—his own, leaking from his forehead—seeped into the cracks in the metal cuffs. It was slight, but John could feel the uncomfortable slickness of his blood coating the inside of the cuffs, making it slippery.

A drop landed from his nose to the table. It reflected under the bright white of the lamp. Huh. Maybe red really was his color; that’s what Claire used to say.

Red… like the blood. Like her eyes. Like Keon’s aura—

“—You know,” Keon said. “You have a very unique ability, young man.”

John didn’t bother responding. Keon wasn’t worth his time (that’s what he told himself), and he couldn’t trust himself not to make another snarky comment (and risk punishment).

”It’s a shame, really, that you used it as you have. Your ability would have been quite the asset.”

He tensed, waiting for the familiar sensation of a hand in his hair.

”No matter,” Keon sighed instead, reaching for a tissue to wipe the blood off of John’s face. “I suppose it is my duty to teach you to play nice.”

John clenched his teeth. Ability this, ability that, who even cares? Who cares if he had ‘potential?’ If he hadn’t had his stupid ability, he wouldn’t even have been in here in the first place!

Out of his peripheral, he saw Keon’s hand approaching him, so he jerked back, eyes wide.

He was met with a questioning gaze and orders to remain still. John tried his best to follow them.

It didn’t quite work.

Keon only looked amused, muttering something about an interesting file to himself as he dabbed at John’s forehead deceptively gently. It was such a ludicrous scene that John actually gave a dry chuckle.

Interesting, was the word that John was described as.

His ability was interesting.

Therefore, John was interesting.

John focused his eyes again, absentmindedly filing that memory away. He was good at compartmentalizing, damn it! Maybe a little too good. He usually just pretended all that happened to a different person. New Bostin? Never heard of it! He didn't have any bad experiences he wanted to confront today! None at all! That was a problem for after he finished his lunch!

He made it to the long line of students in the cafeteria, despite already being there 5 minutes before the bell rang.

He peeked around the girl in front of him, and perked up when he saw it.

Chocolate cake!

John licked his lips. At least there was something worth a damn in this stupid school!

Just barely, he snagged the last slice. John let himself relax as he brought his plate towards his table. Finally. Some peace and qui…

…et?

A tap on his shoulder.

”Hey.” A familiar voice called. “I want that cake of yours. Give it to me.”

John stalled. “Eh?” He sputtered, utterly baffled. He turned around and found that purple-haired girl from before.

She stared at him expectantly.

He looked at his slice, then back at her. It was the last slice…

…But she had saved him earlier, hadn’t she?

John sighed. “Well, if you’re gonna steal my food, at least sit down.”

The girl narrowed her eyes, watching closely as John slid the slice of cake closer to her, holding back tears at the thought of having to part ways with the dessert.

Gingerly, she sat down.

As she ate his prize in front of him, John considered strangling someone.

In a show of inhuman restraint, he introduced himself to her and asked for her name. She just deadpanned at him and continued enjoying her treat while he glowered at her.

When she finally finished, she dared to leave the plate at the table for John to clean up, rising from her seat and brushing off her skirt.

As she turned, she stopped. “Meet us at the front gates after school for turf wars. Don’t be late.”

If John were any other person, if he was the high-tier he claimed to be, he might’ve been excited at the prospect of being on the team of the number one ranked high school in turf wars. Unfortunately, John is a liar, and he really would have liked to be anywhere but.

He really hated turf wars. At some point, it stopped being a fun way to grow stronger and test his ability and became more of a chore. The looks he got from Adrion and his other friend as he single-handedly crushed other teams didn’t exactly help, either.

John dropped his head to the table with a crash, drawing the attention of some others around him, but he couldn’t care less.

He should’ve just pretended to be a cripple. That would probably be less miserable than whatever this was.

———

The rest of his classes went by without much happening. People asked about his ability; John politely asked them to go away, the usual. When people (rightfully) doubted his healing ability, his go-to excuse was a snarky “well how do you expect me to prove it? You’d need to get injured first, I guess I can help with that!” Which caused most to back off.

It was fine. Everything was fine. John wasn’t exhausted, and he definitely didn’t hate everyone here. He was going to stay positive.

Plus, with a school full of overwhelmingly strong students, he probably wouldn’t even need to use his ‘ability’ during turf wars. It would be like a relaxing vacation—for the first time, he could simply watch instead of participating in the fight.

”Haha,” John laughed to himself, psyching himself up. “Ha. Ha ha ha. Heh.”

”…What are you doing?” Someone asked from behind him.

John yelped, jumping away from them. He twitched, fists curling into a ball as he prepared to fight whoever scared surprised him. I swear to god, if one more person—

It was a short, pink-haired girl wearing a bow. She smiled at him sheepishly. “Ah, sorry for scaring you… John, was it? I’m Remi, nice to meet you!”

He loosened his fists. Briefly, he saw Remi’s eyes dart to his hands and then back to his face. Her expression didn’t falter, however. Huh, that was weird. John noted. This girl’s strangely earnest. Or really good at acting.

It was probably the latter, he concluded. He glanced down at her. “You got me!” He said, putting on a cheery face. “What’s up?”

She tilted her head. “You… don’t know me?”

Why should I? Not everything is about you, John thought.

”No, sorry, I just transferred here,” is what he said.

He felt a little bad as she flushed and waved her arms around, embarrassed. “O-Oh,” she laughed it off. “I’ve been so used to people just knowing my name, since I’m the jack. Seraphina probably has it even worse… you know her, right?”

John nodded slowly. Seraphina… He had heard the name in passing, but he doubted he had met her before. Just what kind of person could she be to have such a steady stream of gossip be directed at her?

Still, he wanted to get going, so he just nodded along, agreeing with whatever Remi said. He didn’t know what punishment awaited him if he was late to turf wars. That girl with the purple hair seemed serious about it.

”I’ve been wanting to meet you since Arlo mentioned something about a new high-tier at Wellston, actually,” she admitted. “You’re a hard guy to get ahold of, John.”

John’s face flickered in surprise at the confession. She had implied that she went out of her way to seek him out, and failed. When had she even done that…?

Thinking it over for a second, his mind went back to the paper airplane from one of his earlier classes.

”Those two…” he muttered. “Could it be…?”

”Oh, you must mean Blyke and Isen!” Remi chimed in, swinging her arms as she began to walk. “They’re a handful, I know, so sorry about them. I hope they didn’t cause you any trouble; they seriously mean the best!”

”Oh, did I say that out loud?” John asked, ruffling his hair. It was already sticking out in places despite the gel, so might as well.

Remi clapped her hands together. “Hehe, don’t worry about it! Plus, I’ve been getting off topic. Let’s go!”

Well, she seemed nice enough. He didn’t sense any ill intentions, and that was without the bonus of “she knew where to go, and John was starting to get lost.”

He could only hope everything from here on out was easy and that he would have to do minimal work. Hopefully.

”C’mon,” Remi beckoned him to follow her. “We’ve got a bus to catch!”

”Huh?” John was snapped out of his thoughts, only to see the girl already scampering off. “Hey, wait!”

———

Outside, he was met with the two people he least wanted to see.

It was the blonde jerk from before, and (obviously) the purple-haired girl who stole his cake.

”Arlo! Seraphina!” Remi waved, speeding up to reach them. “I found him!”

John’s mouth curled into an ‘o’ before he could stop it. So that was Seraphina.

Surveying the team, everyone looked extremely miserable, except for Remi. He could already tell that Sera (she seemed like the type of person to hate nicknames… so he gave her one as petty revenge) and Arlo were the types with sticks up their asses, which meant that John needed to be less serious to balance things out.

More importantly, he didn’t really like these people and wanted to annoy them.

Which is exactly what he did.

On the way to the bus station, he asked Arlo why Elaine wasn’t there, in case he was actually a terrible healer. He had quickly learned that Sera didn’t entertain his question at all and resorted to violence, while Arlo was a little more lenient.

When he asked his question, the blonde stared at him like he was crazy (not too far off) and answered with a smirk that John had “better hope he was a good healer or else the consequences would be dire.”

Remi had frowned and whacked Arlo in the arm, saying not to “scare him,” which both Arlo and John scoffed at.

Arlo? Scare him? That arrogant bastard wouldn’t know what hit him!

As they boarded the bus, John found a seat next to Sera, who had her headphones in. He didn’t attempt to talk to her, someone who he actually was scared by. He didn’t want to risk another horrifically strong flick to the forehead (the first one actually knocked him over).

Being the nosy guy he was, he snuck an eye at her phone as she switched songs. It was a cheesy romance pop song, much to his surprise. John felt a smile creep onto his face as he looked the other way.

Sera noticed his odd behavior, taking out an earbud. “What?” She demanded.

”Nothing,” John grinned. “You don’t seem like the type to even listen to music, Sera.”

”That’s not my name,” she pursed her lips. “And what I do is none of your business.”

”Of course,” he nodded sagely, like he was agreeing with her.

”Why are you smiling?” Sera grit her teeth, annoyed.

John stifled a laugh. “None of your business.”

Across from him, Arlo and Remi sat side by side. Arlo had his arms crossed as he stared out the window behind John, all business-like, while Remi excitedly tapped at her phone.

The sunlight shone through the window, illuminating his classmates and bathing them in the glow of the afternoon sky. From this angle, they almost looked like acquaintances. Maybe even friends.

John shook his head. It was probably just the lighting. They weren’t growing on him.

———

John thanked every deity that he could think of for the fact that the other team, which belonged to a rival school named Agwin, also had a healer. If push came to shove, he could just copy that ability and heal.

As is customary with turf wars, the weakest player on the side that incited the battle had to announce the beginning of a fight. It was a one-on-one matchup this time, which was fine for John. He was sure that Wellston’s team was more than strong enough to take down Agwin, if their aura residuals were anything to go by.

He was waiting for the round to begin, until realizing that everyone was staring at him.

Oh, right. He was the weakest this time around.

”Um,” he shouted. “Turf war… Wellston versus Agwin! Begin!”

Arlo stared at him critically, as if John had forgotten something, and mouthed “Jacks, please take your positions,” to him. John brought his hand to his chin, in an attempt to cover up his embarrassment.

In his defense, it had been a while since his last Turf War, okay?

The corners of Arlo’s mouth quirked up into a smirk. “Pinky, you’re up first.”

The other team sent out their jack as well, a kid with blue hair and some offshoot of a speed enhancement ability.

He immediately rushed towards Remi, who sidestepped him, activating her own ability in response.

Now that John looked more closely, the kid probably had an ability more similar to that of a strength enhancement one instead. He was fast, sure, but his attention was drawn to the way the kid slammed the ground, forming arching cracks in the terrain that made the earth rumble.

John felt a sense of pity for him, considering the matchup. He could see now that Remi had an electricity ability, darting around and weaving through each punch thrown her way. Her speed was a bad matchup for his slower but heavier power.

He only needed a hit in, which would help him snowball the fight in his favor, but Remi was just too fast. She easily took him down, barely breaking a sweat. A shock to the gut was all it took, too.

So much for enhanced strength… John thought. Maybe he was being too critical. Remi’s form wasn’t exactly perfect, either. She relied too much on the speed boost from her ability, and her attacks lacked the strength behind them to knock out an opponent. If the other jack had been faster, she could have lost.

The way she fought was almost… naive. The kid left lots of openings in his assault, but she never took advantage of them—and John knew she noticed them too. Not targeting your opponents' weaknesses, John huffed. Isn’t that a little too nice?

Maybe John’s perception of things was skewed. Fight dirty; you have to do whatever it takes to win—that was the philosophy he had been barely scraping by with all this time.

You’re a bad person. Redeem yourself. Don’t hurt anyone anymore. Don’t be what they say you are.

Out of the corner of his eye, John notices a healing ability. It must be the other team’s healer, he realizes. For the first time in what feels like forever, John activates his ability.

And immediately feels like throwing up.

He fists his hair, tugging it and using the pain to ground himself.

It’s not enough.

He’s going to hurt someone—

“—I’m sorry,” John gags, memories unwillingly popping into his head. “I don’t want to remember anymore. I won’t use my ability anymore—“

Around him are his downed classmates, some with limbs that are sticking out wrong, covered in bruises and scratches. There is a deep, bloody gash in someone’s shoulder. It smells like iron and dirt. He can feel it, and betrayal itches like something living under his skin.

John gags again.

”I promise, I promise,” he sobs. “I’ll never use my ability again. Just get her out of my head!”

Claire stands in front of him innocently. She waves at him, a sweet smile gracing her face, which morphs into something more sinister.

There is blood caked under his nails, John remembers, feeling grimy. He hates it. More so, he hates her for causing that feeling.

She opens her mouth, but John beats her to it.

Viciously, he spits, “Oh John, what have you done?” mocking her voice. It makes her cry.

John stills. Claire doesn't cry when he insults her. She's used to his verbal beration by now (however horrible that is). She wouldn't...

The realization dawns on him.

This has never happened before.

He's not there anymore. It's okay. This isn't real.

John rubs his eyes.

It’s most likely only been a split second, but John is losing his chance to snag the healing ability as time passes. He knows that the Agwin queen has a similar ability level to Remi’s, if not slightly higher, so he needs to get it.

But he can’t.

His hands are trembling, and John feels like laughing. He’s so pathetic.

He has to do something. He can’t have his cover blown on his first day. That would be even worse than pathetic.

There’s someone staring at you, his subconscious tells him. They’re scared of you.

They're always scared of you.

Monster.

John swivels around, catching Arlo’s eye. Sera is playing some game on her phone (at least that’s what he’s assuming), and Remi is stretching. Arlo raises an eyebrow at him.

Not real; nothing you hear is real. He repeats the mantra in his mind. Everything is okay. You won't hurt anyone.

He motions for the blonde to come over.

Arlo furrows his eyebrows, giving him a ‘who do you think you are’ glare, but comes over regardless.

”What is it now?” He says, looking down at John, who is sitting on the ground, with contempt.

“Can you break my hand?”

There is a pause as Arlo stares at him.

John stares back.

”…You’re serious,” He finally says, making a face.  “You’re asking me to break your hand.”

”It’ll heal, won’t it?” John gives him his best grin. “I… uh. Haven’t healed anyone in a while. Need to warm up, you know?”

Arlo doesn’t look convinced at all.

”…Please? What if I told you it's an ability requirement?”

"Are you joking?" he responds, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What makes you think I would hurt one of my own teammates, let alone the healer? Do you want us to embarrass ourselves with a dysfunctional-looking team?"

John hangs his head low, his hands forming into fists. "My ability has restrictions," he explains calmly (Your voice is shaking, he tells himself).

The king almost looks pained, but he must be some sort of sadist, because he promptly hovers his foot over John’s hand (”Don’t blame me if your idiotic self gets hurt.”) and grinds down.

John bites his tongue hard enough to bleed, gasping quietly and yanking his hand away.

”So much for hesitation, huh?” He grits through the pain, sending Arlo a crooked smile.

Arlo, for once, looks at him with indignation. "You—" He closes his eyes, inhaling and exhaling. "Whatever. I don't want to deal with whatever issues you clearly have going on in your head. Get yourself together, John."

Something twists in John's gut, and he realizes a beat too late that it's affection. Bantering with his friends acquaintances was an action that was so familiar, something that John thought he would never be able to experience again. Something that John didn't deserve to experience again.

He has to stop himself. It had only been a couple of hours, but he found himself getting reluctantly attached to this group of royals. Their (albeit not with the purest of intentions) faith in his abilities, going so far as to replace their current healer with him, a complete fraud? It was unthinkable to him.

Arlo walks away, and John's attention turns back to his now mangled hand.

While he’s certainly had worse than a broken hand, it still hurts like hell. Every slight jostle sends hot flashes of pain through his veins, but it’s enough that he can feel content to activate his ability again.

An eye for an eye. An ability that requires him to hurt himself to heal others. That’s poetic, isn’t it?

It’s a punishment for himself. John wants to, no, needs to atone for the hurt he’s caused. Maybe, instead of not using his ability ever again, he could help people with it.

He can help people. He can help himself.

John laughs to himself, a little maniacally, the edges of his face frayed with hysteria. “I’ll be better…” he whispers, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I’ll be better.”

It’s a foreign sensation, healing himself. John has used healing abilities before, but it’s been so long since he last tried that it feels new and unusual. The bones in his hand mend themselves back together, snapping and crackling as they move back into place.

It hurts.

And it’s way different from tonics, John realizes. This is real. And it’s painful.

Why does everything I do have to cause pain?

Useless, I’m so useless. Can’t even heal properly.

John flexes his hand, the faint sheen of aura residuals glimmering back at him.

He looks back up to Arlo, feeling lost, and finds that the boy has a pinched expression on his face, looking guilty.

It’s such an out-of-character thing that it makes John forget all about himself for the moment, replaced with the overwhelming urge to tease Arlo.

Finally, he shakes his head, getting up and stretching. It’s not that serious, he reminds himself.

Leave it to the biggest jerk you know to snap you out of a mental breakdown.

From the middle of the field, Remi waves at him. She should be fighting Agwin's queen, but she's waving at him.

Despite himself, John waves back.

———

It's not that bad, John thinks as he heals Remi. She had a little bit of trouble with the queen, who had an earth-manipulation ability that blocked out her electricity. When it came to just physical power, Remi was handily fighting a losing battle. Arlo had made her resign before she got seriously hurt.

He was overreacting. Healing was simple enough. Everything was okay.

"Woah," Remi said. "Are you already almost done? I feel good as new!"

John smiled sheepishly, hovering his glowing hand over her ankle. "Did you sprain your ankle? It's already half healed, but I don't remember ever seeing you hurt your foot during the fight."

The pink-haired girl perked up, her face lighting up in awe. "You can tell? That was from like a week ago!"

"Oh, I'm sure Elaine could do just as well." John scratched the back of his neck. "It's not super impressive."

She tilted her head in confusion. "Sure it is, John! You're a really good healer, I don't see why you're so hung up on insisting you're not! That was really fast."

Warmth climbed up John's neck, trailing up until his whole expression shifted. "Um," he said, flustered.

"You'd better get used to compliments," Remi teased. "If you react to all of them like this, Blyke and Isen would never stop!"

"Okay, whatever," John mumbled into his hands. "You just caught me off guard."

Wellston won the turf war, obviously. When Remi left the field, Sera stepped up and made a joke out of Agwin's team. She moved so quickly and gracefully that it made everyone else look like amateurs. John was mesmerized by the way she glided across the field, taking out her opponent like it was nothing. She made quick work of the king as well, not retaining a single scratch on her perfect face. (She must've had some way to heal; maybe it was her passive?)

It was brilliant. Compared to him, something ragged and brutal, she was efficient and elegant. She was just amazing.

"Well?" Sera cleared her throat, stretching her neck. "Aren't you going to announce the winner?"

She was so cool.

———

Arlo crossed his arms as the bus arrived at the station. "John," he padded towards him. "Your ability..."

John winced. "Oh. Yeah... that."

"Why did you ask me to break your hand? I don't buy that it's a requirement for your ability. That's way too specific, and frankly, absurd."

"Yeeeah..." John sighed. How was he going to lie his way out of this one?

Sorry, I was having a mental breakdown and felt that I needed a punishment for using my ability, so I asked you to hurt me. Don't worry, though, I'm fully sane, I promise.

(Remi's sincerity flashed into his mind. That was the reason why he blushed, not because of her dumb little compliment. He wasn't some middle-school boy that had his heart racing at any positive attention from a girl, for god's sake.

You're a good healer.

It wasn't even anything groundbreaking—John was only doing his job, yet she was so earnestly admiring him.

He really didn't deserve it.)

Feeling his ears turning red, he quickly looked away.

Who said that he needed to lie his way out? If he was a good healer, then that was that. Him lying about needing to be hurt was a different thing. Maybe John was just batshit crazy and a masochistic bastard. That.

"I dunno. I just needed to warm up, I guess." He said.

Arlo rubbed his chin. "Right," he nodded along. "Because that's obviously the best warm-up. Honestly, I don't even know why I obliged you."

"...Sorry?" John tried. "I won't ask you to do that again."

The blonde put his head into his hands. "All of you guys are weird and insufferable."

Sera leaned forward from behind John. "I heard that. Do you want me to beat you again, Arlo?"

John slowly turned his head to Sera. "Was... Was that a joke I just heard? You can do that?"

"Shut up," she scowled. "I'll beat you up."

"Sureeee, Sera" John smirked, drawing out the 'e'. "But you won't, because I'm oh-so important now."

Sera glared at him. "I'm not sure if you're worth it. From what I hear, you have a couple loose screws, being so reckless and hurting yourself? Elaine is the more stable and less annoying pick."

"Careful there, you might hurt my feelings," John pouted, his feelings very much hurt.

One thing he really did appreciate was that after that final comment, no more remarks about the 'hand-breaking' incident were made. Sera and Arlo, the only two people who knew of it, had apparently noticed his discomfort and opted to drop the topic. For two cold-hearted youknowwhats, it was surprisingly thoughtful.

He did a one-over on everyone in the team: Remi, Arlo, Sera. They all looked fine, he noted with satisfaction.

...

John was not getting attached to them. No way.