Chapter 234: 234 | Ms. Steele Finds You Lacking
I let the problem dissolve into the category of "things future Lukas gets to worry about." Present Lukas had done his job. Future Lukas could handle the consequences. That guy was probably smarter anyway.
I checked my phone. 5:45 AM glowed back at me in white numbers against the lock screen, which was still the default Halloran logo because I hadn’t bothered to change it.
Fifteen minutes until Steele’s conditioning session turned Field Epsilon into a designated suffering zone.
Perfect timing. I was warmed up, loose, and the nervous energy that had been crawling through my chest since yesterday’s evaluation had burned off somewhere between the third Blitz sprint and the fifth staff rotation. My muscles felt good.
That particular ache of having actually worked them instead of just going through motions. The specific burn that came from pushing past maintenance into something resembling legitimate effort.
I jogged back toward the main campus at a pace that would look normal to anyone who happened to be awake at this ridiculous hour. Nobody jogged urgently at 5:40 AM unless something was wrong. Present yourself as someone who chose to be awake, not someone who needed to be.
The early morning air carried that specific California coolness that would evaporate the second the sun climbed high enough to remember it was supposed to be warm here.
My breath fogged slightly on the exhale. I could feel the sweat cooling against my neck and shoulders where it had soaked through the workout shirt.
By the time I reached Field Epsilon, a handful of my cohort members had already started gathering near the equipment shed. The field itself looked almost peaceful at this hour.
The sun hadn’t climbed high enough to make the grass shine yet. Everything sat in that gray pre-dawn light that made distance harder to judge and made people look slightly washed out.
Caden sat cross-legged on the grass looking like someone had dragged him out of bed by his ankles, his blonde hair sticking up at angles that suggested he’d either slept wrong or been electrocuted. Possibly both.
Marco stood next to him, yawning wide enough to unhinge his jaw. Neither of them looked particularly thrilled about their current situation, which I respected. At least they were honest about it.
"Belmont." Caden raised a hand in greeting without lifting his head. "You’re already sweating. Tell me you didn’t voluntarily exercise before the exercise we’re about to be forced to do."
"I went for a walk."
"A walk." Marco’s eyebrows climbed. "A walk that made you sweat through your shirt?"
"It was a vigorous walk."
Caden snorted. "You’re insane. Certified. I’m putting it in my notes."
"You don’t take notes."
"I’m starting today. First entry: Belmont is clinically unwell."
More students trickled onto the field over the next ten minutes. Camille arrived looking like she’d been awake for hours, her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and her expression communicating that she intended to win whatever Steele threw at us.
Rina appeared near the back of the group with her sheep mug clutched against her chest, her white hair still damp from what I assumed was a shower. Percy materialized from somewhere with his notebook already open, scribbling observations about the morning temperature and humidity levels.
Felicity showed up at 5:58 looking unfairly put-together for someone functioning on what I assumed was minimal sleep. Her blonde ponytail caught the early light in a way that probably shouldn’t have been distracting but absolutely was.
She caught my eye and smiled, that warm and knowing expression that made me want to check if Sloane was watching through some kind of girlfriend surveillance network.
"Nice shirt." She nodded at my compression top. "Blue suits you."
"You picked it out."
"I have excellent taste."
Caden’s head swiveled between us with the speed of someone who had just discovered gossip. "Hold on. She picked your clothes? Yesterday’s blue situation was Hardy’s doing?"
"We went shopping." Felicity’s tone was completely innocent. "Friends do that."
"Friends." Caden tested the word like he was trying to determine if it contained poison. "Sure. Friends."
I was about to respond when the temperature on the field dropped about ten degrees.
Not literally. But it felt like it.
Imara Steele walked onto Field Epsilon at exactly 6:00 AM, because of course she did. The woman probably synchronized her footsteps to atomic clocks.
She wore Halloran’s standard instructor athletic wear, navy blue compression everything that hugged her frame with a thoroughness that made me briefly forget I had a girlfriend.
Steele’s physique was the kind of thing that happened when someone spent two decades in active Hero work and never stopped training afterward. Her arms showed definition without bulk, her shoulders carried the breadth of someone who actually used them for combat rather than just lifting weights, and her legs were frankly absurd.
I’m talking thighs that looked like they’d been carved from bronze by a sculptor with very specific interests. The kind of legs that made you understand why ancient civilizations put goddesses on pedestals.
Her dark skin gleamed in the early light and her natural hair was cropped short enough to stay completely out of her face. Her expression communicated that she had already evaluated everyone present and found us lacking.
"Class 1-B." Her voice carried across the field without shouting. "Welcome to conditioning. Some of you will hate this. Some of you will hate this more. Neither matters. What matters is that you leave this field stronger than you arrived, or you leave this program entirely. Questions before we begin?"
Nobody raised a hand.
"Good. We’re running. Five miles. No Aspects. No excuses. Anyone who finishes after thirty-five minutes repeats the run tomorrow in addition to tomorrow’s session. Go."
She didn’t yell start. She didn’t blow a whistle. She just said go with the casual authority of someone who expected immediate compliance and usually got it.
We went.
The first mile was manageable. I settled into a pace somewhere in the middle of the pack, faster than I’d run during yesterday’s evaluation but not fast enough to draw attention. Caden fell in beside me, his breathing already starting to labor.
"This is abuse." He gasped between strides. "This is definitely abuse. Can we report her?"
"To who?"
"I don’t know. Someone. The authorities. The UN."
"Pretty sure the UN doesn’t handle Hero Academy conditioning complaints."
"They should. This feels like a war crime."
Camille blazed past us on the left, her ponytail streaming behind her like a flag marking conquest. She didn’t look at either of us. She didn’t need to.
