The next day, on the same weathered roof, Theo became a blur.

  He moved with the speed of five sustained Bouts, darting back and forth around Stupendous in a frantic, golden-tracered orbit. He struck from the left, feinted right, launched a kick from below. The air whistled around his limbs, his movements too fast for a normal person to track.

  Stupendous barely moved.

  He didn't run, didn't jump. He took light, almost leisurely steps, tilted his torso a few inches, shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Each motion was minimal, precise, and utterly effortless. Theo’s blows—which could have shattered brick—passed through empty air where the hero’s body had been a fraction of a second before.

  Theo landed lightly on the roof’s access door, his chest heaving. He’s dodging everything. But he can’t see behind him. If I use the door as a launch point and aim for his blind spot…

  Before gravity could pull him down, he pushed off again, a golden streak aimed directly at the back of Stupendous’s head. It was a perfect angle, a perfect ambush.

  Without turning, without even seeming to look, Stupendous tilted his head slightly to the left. Theo’s fist passed through the space where his skull had been.

  What? How?

  Theo’s momentum carried him forward. A massive hand shot up and grabbed his face, halting him in mid-air. He hung there, suspended by Stupendous’s grip, his feet dangling.

  “You’ve done well,” Stupendous rumbled, his voice calm. “Your speed is acceptable. Your stamina is improving. But you still move like someone who is thinking about fighting. You telegraph. You plan. You attack the space I am, not the space I will be. You have a lot to learn.”

  He opened his hand. Theo dropped, landing in a crouch.

  “That’s it for our training this week,” Stupendous said, walking toward the roof’s edge. “See you next weekend.” He paused, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at the hammock, generator, and television. “Oh, and pack my stuff into your apartment.”

  Then he leaped. One moment he was there, the next he was a shrinking silhouette against the afternoon sky.

  Theo ran to the edge. “Wait! The hammock won’t fit through the door!”

  But he was gone.

  Theo sighed, turning to look at the bulky striped hammock and the pile of gear. “Damn.”

  After ten minutes of awkward maneuvering, he managed to fold the hammock, haul it and the generator to the edge, and—with a grunting effort—jump down to his own balcony below. He stuffed it all into a corner of the living room, next to his father’s old armchair.

  He checked the clock. Time for his flight back to the academy.

  ---

  At the airport, amidst the flow of weekend travelers, Theo saw a familiar, broad-shouldered silhouette.

  Edgar stood directly in his path, blocking the way to the Turboland gate. His expression wasn't the competitive smirk from the dorms; it was flat, suspicious.

  “So we meet again, you stupid idiot,” Edgar said, his voice low.

  Theo tried for normalcy. “Oh, hey man.”

  Edgar stared at him for several long seconds, his eyes scanning Theo’s face as if looking for cracks in a story. “Late bloomer my ass,” he finally said, the words quiet and deliberate. “I want you to know I’m onto you. Something happened during that field trip. And I’m going to figure out what.”

  Before Theo could form a reply, a young woman with cheerful blond hair slid her arm through Edgar’s. “It’s time to board the plane!” she chirped. She noticed Theo and her face lit up with genuine warmth. “Oh, hi, Theo! How have you been?”

  “I’ve been alright, Elena,” Theo said, forcing a smile. Edgar’s older sister had always been kind.

  “What about your dad?”

  “He’s fine. In fact, way better than before.”

  Elena beamed. “That’s wonderful!” She glanced at the gate signage. “Starlight Airlines… are you also heading to Turboland?”

  “Yeah.”

  Her eyes widened. “Wow, you got in? How? Aren’t you…” she trailed off, the unspoken ‘baseline’ hanging in the air.

  “Well, I kind of have a Signature now.”

  Elena laughed, a bright, disbelieving sound. “Stop playing, Theo!”

  Edgar cut in, his tone grim. “It’s true. He has a Signature. He’s… really strong now.”

  The smile faded from Elena’s face, replaced by stunned awe. “Seriously?”

  Theo scratched the back of his head, the habitual, nervous gesture. “Yeah. I’m a late bloomer.”

  “Wow,” she breathed. “What are the odds of that?”

  A tinny voice announced over the intercom: “Now boarding Starlight Airlines flight 422 to Turboland Municipal. All students, please proceed to Gate B7.”

  “Well, I won’t keep you boys waiting,” Elena said, recovering her smile. She gave Edgar a quick side-hug. “Go catch your flight!”

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  As she walked away, Edgar leaned close to Theo, his earlier threat simmering in his eyes. “This isn’t over,” he muttered, then turned and strode toward the gate.

  Theo watched him go, the easy relief of the weekend dissolving. The gap between him and his peers wasn’t just about power. It was about perception. And Edgar’s was now razor-sharp, and aimed right at him..

  ---

  Theo and Edgar entered the plane’s cabin to find the first-class section commandeered by R2. Vance Kruger sat sprawled across three seats, a sleek, high-output music speaker balanced on his stomach.

  The bass dropped, that unmistakable synth-whistle of the anthem signaling it was time to go stupid. The entire forward cabin locked into the same head-nodding bounce, the beat a command more than a song. Aarav, Dykes, Benson, Keba, and Ethan were clustered around Vance, a council of hype. Festus lay completely upside down over a row of seats, his legs propped against the overhead compartment, shaking his head violently to the rhythm.

  Near the windows, Chloe, Lily, and Blessing had formed their own orbit, talking and laughing over the thump of the track. At the very back, isolated like a pair of shadows, Charles Blake and Simon Graves sat together in silence, their postures closed off from the celebration.

  In the aisle, Silas Reed was the engine of the party’s chaos. He wasn’t just dancing; he was performing, throwing out exaggerated, ridiculous moves—the “Lawnmower,” the “Shopping Cart,” the “Confused Octopus”—his face a masterpiece of goofy expressions as he pantomimed dodging invisible lasers. He was the class clown, and he was working overtime.

  After a few minutes, Chloe broke from her friends and strode over to Vance. “Come on, let’s change it up,” she said, swiping the speaker’s controls from his hand.

  The triumphant, bragging beat cut out. A new sound filled the cabin. It wasn't music in a traditional sense. It was a vibe, weaponized. A minimalist, hypnotic loop of distorted 808 bass and a haunting, childlike vocal sample—a single, sliced French phrase turned into a cold, circling mantra—over a trap beat that felt less like a rhythm and more like a heartbeat in a dark room. It was atmospheric, moody, and immaculately cool.

  Chloe claimed the center of the aisle. She didn’t just move to the beat; she conversed with it. Her hips found the pocket of the looping bass, a slow, deliberate roll that gathered the room’s attention. Then she turned, dropped into a deep squat, and began twerking. The motion was powerful, athletic, a display of control that sent a shockwave through the cabin. Each percussive pulse of the bass was answered by a corresponding, mesmerizing jiggle of her rear—a hypnotic, rhythmic bounce that was somehow both fluid and sharply defined.

  Her classmates erupted. A chant began, fueled by the primal beat: “Chloe! Chloe! Chloe!”

  Theo stood by the entry, watching the transformation. “Wow,” he murmured to himself. “They’re actually enjoying themselves.”

  Vance slammed a fist against his seatback. “YEAH, CHLOE!”

  From the sidelines, Elizabeth Kallon watched, arms crossed, a slow smirk spreading across her face. When the song looped, she stepped forward. “Not bad,” she called out, her voice cutting through the chant. “But let me show you how it’s done. African style.”

  The crowd parted. Elizabeth didn’t start with a shake. She started with a statement. In one fluid, impossible motion, she dropped into a perfect, front-facing split on the cabin floor. Then, from that grounded position, she began to twerk. It was different from Chloe’s—more technical, faster, a rapid-fire staccato vibration that made her entire lower body seem to blur. The jiggling of her backside was a controlled tremor, a visual echo of the beat so precise it looked like a superpower. The fabric of her pants strained with the effort, each cheek clapping the air with a sound that somehow synced with the haunting vocal sample.

  Every mouth in the cabin fell open in unison.

  Edgar, who had been lingering near Theo, broke into a wide grin. He tossed his bag onto a vacant seat and started moving toward the crowd with a confident, rolling gait.

  “Hey, everyone!” Festus yelled from his inverted perch, pointing. “Edgar’s entering the dance floor!”

  Blessing whooped. “Show us what you got, Edgar!”

  Theo watched his old friend slide into the space between Elizabeth and the cheering circle. Well, he thought, a memory surfacing of a younger Edgar dominating a middle-school talent show, he always did like music.

  The beat pulsed on, a cold, captivating loop, as the dance floor in the sky claimed another contender.

  To Be Continued...