Chapter 287: 287 | Research Voyeurism is a Valid Field of Study
The alarm went off at five-thirty, which was a personal attack on everything I believed in.
I dragged myself out of bed with the enthusiasm of someone walking to their own execution. The shower helped. The cold water blasting my face at five forty-two helped more. By the time I pulled on the Halloran gym uniform and checked my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I looked almost human. Almost.
The gym uniform was simple enough. Navy shorts that hit mid-thigh, a white compression shirt with the academy crest on the left chest, and trainers that the equipment team had fitted during orientation.
The compression fabric clung in ways that probably said more about my current physical condition than I wanted the average observer to notice.
Demigod doing its work underneath the surface, building muscle density that my frame had never supported before the transmigration. Hard to hide capability when your clothes are designed specifically to broadcast every physical detail to anyone with working eyes.
I grabbed my water bottle. Considered whether five-forty-seven in the morning was too early for my life to be complicated. Decided that the question was irrelevant because my life was already complicated and the morning air was not going to care about my feelings on the subject.
I headed out.
The fog hit first, thick and damp in the specific way that coastal California mornings specialized in.
The training fields were somewhere ahead in the grey, visible as vague shapes that suggested suffering was waiting on the other side of visibility.
Other students emerged from the dorms around me, most of them moving like people reconsidering their life choices. Some were jogging. Most were walking. A few looked like they were seriously considering just lying down in the grass and letting institutional consequences happen to them.
The resigned energy was universal.
Felicity found me before I’d made it twenty steps past the dorm entrance.
"You look terrible," she announced, falling into step beside me with the specific brightness of someone who had slept an appropriate number of hours and was prepared to make that everyone else’s problem.
Her blonde hair was pulled back in a high ponytail that caught what little light the fog was permitting.
Her gym uniform fit in ways that my brain registered on three separate levels simultaneously—aesthetic appreciation, tactical awareness that other people were definitely also noticing, and the distant acknowledgment that I was too tired to fully process any of this.
The white compression shirt did not believe in subtlety. Neither did the rest of the uniform. I filed the entire situation under "morning complications" and kept walking. "Did you sleep at all?"
"Sleep is for people without complications."
"That sounds like a yes but also a story I need to hear immediately. Like, right now. Before we get to whatever fresh horror Steele has planned."
"It’s really not that interesting."
"Liar." She linked her arm through mine with the casual physical confidence that seemed to be her factory default setting. The contact was warm. I was cold. The math worked out in her favor.
"I heard voices in the hallway around midnight when I went to get some water downstairs. Multiple voices. Near your room, actually. Which is super weird because I also heard Camille’s voice, and I definitely heard Petra’s voice, and neither of them has any reason to be in your hallway at midnight unless something very interesting was happening that you are now going to tell me about because I’m invested."
I kept walking. "You have good ears."
"I have excellent ears. They’re one of my best features. So are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to use my considerable imagination to fill in the blanks?"
"Your considerable imagination is probably more entertaining than the truth."
"That’s not a denial."
"It’s not a confirmation either."
She laughed, the sound bright and warm despite the morning fog that wrapped around us like a damp blanket. Her grip on my arm tightened fractionally. "You’re impossible. You know that? You’re absolutely, completely, categorically impossible and I’ve decided to find it charming instead of infuriating, which is honestly a gift you should be more grateful for. Most people would’ve given up on getting a straight answer by now."
"Most people have better things to do with their time."
"See, that’s what I’m talking about." She gestured with her free hand, expansive and animated. "That exact thing right there. You deflect so smoothly I almost don’t notice you’re doing it. Almost. But I do notice, which means I’m cataloging it for later, and eventually I’m going to figure out your entire system and then you’ll have no defense left."
"That sounds ominous."
The training grounds came into view through the fog. The main field was a sprawling expanse of carefully maintained grass surrounded by running tracks, obstacle courses, and equipment stations that looked like they had been designed by someone who genuinely hated the concept of rest. Students from both Class 1-A and Class 1-B were already gathering, forming loose clusters that sorted roughly by homeroom and social connection.
Steele stood at the center of the field like a monument to physical punishment.
She wore her standard training attire, tight athletic wear that showcased a body honed by decades of professional combat, and her eyes swept across the gathering students with the expression of someone cataloging weaknesses for later exploitation. The morning light caught the sharp angles of her face and the coiled strength in her posture. She looked like she had been awake for hours. She probably had been.
"Belmont. Hardy." Her voice carried across the field without effort. "You’re early. Good."
"We live to exceed your expectations," Felicity called back.
"No you don’t. But I appreciate the attempt at flattery."
I spotted Caden and Marco near the equipment station, Caden gesturing animatedly about something while Marco nodded along with an expression that suggested he had stopped listening approximately three sentences ago. I navigated toward them, and Felicity came along without releasing my arm, which drew looks from several other students that I chose to ignore.
"Belmont!" Caden’s grin was already at full wattage despite the hour. "Bro. Dude. My guy. Yesterday was cinema. Absolute cinema. I rewatched the footage like four times before bed and it just kept getting better."
"You rewatched footage of me kissing Camille?"
"No, I rewatched footage of you tactically neutralizing an opponent through unconventional psychological disruption. Totally different thing. Very professional. Very educational."
Marco smirked. "He watched it four times."
"It’s research! I’m learning!"
"You’re a voyeur with institutional access to surveillance recordings."
"Research voyeurism. Completely different."
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