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At 6:30 in the morning, the sky barely starting to lighten, Ethan Mercer appeared at the gates of Ninth Middle School with a backpack and the expression of a man walking to his own execution.
Frank hadn't had time to get him a proper uniform. Ethan was wearing the blazer from his old school — Ashford Prep's colors, which stood out against the Ninth Middle School dress code like a penguin at a pool party.
The moment he stepped through the gates, heads turned. Fingers pointed. Whispers spread.
Ethan's pulse spiked. If he was recognized, the entire "low profile" strategy was dead. Frank had been extremely clear: nobody could know that the transfer student was that Ethan Mercer. If the school found out, every classroom would become a press conference, every hallway a photo opportunity, and every lesson would be replaced by students trying to get selfies with the kid who'd dragged a helicopter out of the sky on live television.
Stay calm. The pointing is about the uniform, not the face.
"Hey, buddy! Which class are you in? Why aren't you wearing the uniform?"
A hand slapped Ethan's shoulder from behind.
The serum reacted before his brain did. Every enhanced muscle in his upper body tensed for a throw — the kind of reflexive response that would have launched a hundred-and-forty-pound teenager twenty meters across the courtyard and ended Ethan's academic career before it started.
He caught himself. Barely.
"Class Eleven. Just transferred. Haven't gotten the uniform yet."
The hand's owner circled around to face him: a lanky kid with a friendly grin and the energy of someone who treated every stranger as a potential best friend.
"No way! I'm Class Eleven too! Come on, I'll take you."
On the walk, Ethan learned his guide's name was Tyler Briggs.
"Tyler, why was everyone staring at me back there?"
"The uniform, man. Nobody used to care about uniforms around here. But things are different now."
"Different how?"
Tyler looked at him with genuine shock.
"You seriously don't know? Our principal — Principal Holloway — is that Ethan Mercer's uncle."
Ethan kept his face perfectly neutral.
"Because of that connection, officials from the Education Bureau and the Department of Education show up every couple of days for 'inspections.'" Tyler made air quotes. "They say they're inspecting, but they're really just kissing up to the principal. His nephew is the hottest name in the country right now. The Aurelian Republic literally tried to kidnap the guy a few days ago."
Ethan, hearing himself described as "the hottest name in the country" by a kid who didn't know he was talking to the hottest name in the country, felt heat crawl up the back of his neck.
Even his thick skin had limits.
-----
They entered the Class Eleven classroom. The noise cut off like someone had hit a mute button.
Thirty pairs of eyes locked onto the kid in the wrong uniform. In a school where dress code compliance had become a survival skill, not wearing the blazer was the visual equivalent of setting off a flare.
A burly kid in the back row broke the silence.
"Tyler, who's the new guy?"
The way Tyler flinched at the question told Ethan everything he needed to know about the power dynamics in this classroom.
"Brother Dex, this is our new transfer student. His name is… uh…"
Tyler turned to Ethan.
"What IS your name?"
"Will Yang."
The fake name on his enrollment papers. Frank's creative contribution. Will Yang. Ethan had stared at it for a full thirty seconds that morning and concluded that his uncle's imagination was approximately as developed as a brick.
Will Yang. Really, Uncle Frank? Why not just call me John Smith and be done with it?
The burly kid — Dex Harmon — was sizing him up from the back row. His eyes traveled from Ethan's secondhand blazer to his slim build to his face, and the assessment that formed was visible in real time: small, broke, no threat.
"Will Yang." Dex leaned back in his chair. "We've got a rule in Class Eleven. New kid handles cleanup, blackboard duty, and water runs."
Ethan was amused.
He'd spent the last forty-eight hours fighting through the Aurelian Republic's Department of Defense, dragging helicopters out of the sky, and destroying fighter jet formations with infrared lasers. And now a high school bully was assigning him water duty.
"Sure. No problem. Anyone thirsty?"
Tyler opened his mouth to say something. Caught Dex's glare. Closed it.
Dex raised his water bottle. "Fill mine."
The four or five kids surrounding him — the particular species of teenage boy that orbits bullies like pilot fish around a shark — chimed in immediately.
"Mine too."
"Same here."
Dex looked at Tyler and smiled. Not a friendly smile.
"Tyler, you must be thirsty too. Give your bottle to the new kid."
Tyler wanted to refuse. He saw Dex crack his knuckles. Bad memories surfaced. He handed his bottle to Ethan without meeting his eyes.
Ethan took all six bottles, walked to the water dispenser, and filled them without complaint.
-----
The first two periods were science classes.
For a person who'd designed fusion reactors and synthesized Captain America's Super Soldier Serum, tenth-grade physics and chemistry posed a challenge roughly equivalent to tying his shoes.
During the twenty-minute morning break, Ethan finished both classes' homework assignments in five minutes. Not because he rushed. Because the problems were so far below his capability that answering them was closer to a reflex than a cognitive activity.
With fifteen minutes left, he didn't sit idle.
He found a broom and dustpan in the corner, and started sweeping the classroom. Thoroughly. Under the desks, along the walls, into the corners that hadn't seen a broom since the school was built.
Then he found a rag, washed it, and started on the windows.
The other students watched with the particular discomfort of people observing someone being exploited by a bully and doing nothing about it.
One of Dex's own crew pulled him aside.
"Dex, this kid isn't a troublemaker. Look at him — he's actually doing everything. Maybe we should ease up?"
Dex's expression darkened. He backhanded the kid across the ear.
"In this classroom, do YOU make the rules, or do I?"
Everyone looked at the floor. Angry. Silent.
-----
During the next break, Tyler found a moment when Dex wasn't watching and pulled Ethan into the hallway.
"Will, you're way too agreeable. You don't have to do everything they say."
"Just do enough to show Dex you acknowledge him. That's it. Nobody expects you to actually clean the whole room."
Ethan blinked. "Isn't this the rule? New student handles cleanup?"
Tyler's frustration visibly warred with his guilt over the water bottle incident.
"What rule! There IS no rule! Dex Harmon is just a thug who likes pushing people around. He's been running Class Eleven since he transferred in, and nobody stops him."
"There are thirty of you in one class. Why not just… deal with him?"
Tyler's face went through anger, then consideration, then deflation.
"First, the guy transferred from a sports academy. He can actually fight. Like, really fight. Nobody in this class can take him."
"Second, his dad used to be… let's say 'connected.' Now he runs one of the bigger real estate development companies in Ashford City."
"Regular kids like us can't afford to make an enemy like that."
Ethan leaned against the hallway wall and looked at the ceiling.
A bully with fighting skills and a rich father who used to be a thug. In a school where the principal was Frank Holloway, who was currently too busy with Education Bureau inspections to notice the power dynamics in a single classroom.
Ethan had built a fusion reactor, three suits of Iron Man armor, Captain America's serum, and was about to construct a Transformer.
And he was being bullied by a sixteen-year-old whose biggest achievement was transferring from a sports academy.
He almost laughed.
Almost.
"Don't worry about it, Tyler. I don't mind the cleaning."
Tyler gave him a look that was equal parts gratitude and pity.
Poor kid. He's too nice for this place.
If Tyler had known that the "poor kid" he was pitying could bench-press the school bus and had killed two people with his bare hands on live television three days ago, the pity would have been redirected.
Specifically, toward Dex Harmon.