Shattered Blade

Hwak left the Principal's office with his mind swimming in possibilities and warnings. According to his schedule, he needed to report to the examination room before attending his first class. There, they would assess his baseline abilities—strength, speed, stamina—to establish his training regimen and determine his potential for awakening Evolan traits.

The medical wing gleamed with polished surfaces and equipment Hwak had never seen before. Two technicians in white uniforms directed him to stand on a circular platform.

"Arms out, legs shoulder-width apart," one instructed without looking at him.

As Hwak complied, blue light swept over his body. Numbers and graphs appeared on screens surrounding him. The technicians frowned at the results.

"Below average in all categories," one muttered, making notes on a tablet. "Another disappointing lottery pick from the Principal."

The second technician glanced at Hwak, not bothering to lower his voice. "Maybe we should test him again in a few months. Sometimes the larval form awakens late. Could be a rare mutation. If not..." He shrugged. "At least he'll make a good practice dummy for the rich kids."

Heat crept up Hwak's neck, but he kept his expression neutral, remembering his father's lessons about dignity. They handed him a bodysuit made of strange material that adjusted to his size when he put it on. His name appeared on the chest, glowing briefly before settling into the fabric.

"Take this home with you tonight," the first technician said. "Wear it to all physical classes."

Next on his schedule was martial arts training. Hwak navigated the sprawling campus, trying to ignore the stares of students in their tailored uniforms. As he approached the training field, he noticed a group playing what looked like football, but with aerial maneuvers that defied gravity.

While he paused to watch, trying to understand the rules, a ball rocketed toward him. It struck his face with such force that he stumbled backward and fell. Pain exploded across his cheek, and he felt immediate swelling.

A boy jogged over—the same one Hwak had seen earlier exiting the Maserati. Up close, his features were even more striking, with that hint of something inhuman in his green eyes.

"Hey, you okay?" the boy asked, while behind him, several others poorly concealed their laughter behind their hands.

Hwak forced a smile despite the throbbing pain. "I'm fine," he managed, though every word sent spikes of agony through his jaw. He couldn't show weakness here. Not on his first day. Not if he wanted to make friends.

He pushed himself up, adding with forced cheerfulness, "What's a little pain between friends?"

The rich boy's expression flickered—surprise, then something darker, before settling into an easy smile. "Friends, huh? I like that. I'm Ramon." He extended a hand. "Want to play with us?"

Hwak had never played organized sports—there was no time or space for such luxuries in the settlement. But the prospect of acceptance overrode his caution. "Sure," he said, taking Ramon's hand.

"Great! You can be goalkeeper."

Hwak soon realized this wasn't an honor but a target. As they positioned him between two posts, the other boys exchanged glances that made his stomach tighten.

The game resumed. Ramon tossed the ball high in the air, and one of the other boys underwent a partial transformation before Hwak's eyes. The boy's legs morphed, becoming grasshopper-like, and with one powerful leap, he soared upward. His foot connected with the ball, sending it hurtling directly at Hwak's midsection.

The impact drove the air from his lungs. He flew backward, crashing into the net. Something cracked in his chest—a rib, perhaps—but the other boys cheered as if he'd performed some impressive feat.

"Great defense!" one called, though Hwak had merely absorbed the hit with his body.

Someone asked if he was hurt, but Hwak could barely speak through the pain. He raised a trembling hand and gave a thumbs-up. "All good," he wheezed.

They started again. This time, Ramon dribbled the ball skillfully, evading four defenders who seemed to be making only token efforts to stop him. At the last moment, he passed the ball high into the air.

Another boy shot upward, partial wings sprouting from his shoulder blades—translucent, insect-like appendages that granted him brief flight. He caught the ball with his chest, passing it to a teammate who also leapt unnaturally high.

Through a series of aerial passes that no ordinary human could have executed, they advanced toward the goal. One boy kicked the ball directly at Hwak's face. It rebounded, only to be kicked again, this time into his stomach. This pattern continued until Hwak's body was a constellation of bruises, swollen and red.

Eventually, his legs gave out, and he collapsed to his knees. He didn't lose consciousness, though darkness edged his vision. Through the haze of pain, he saw Ramon approach.

"You're a good player! I love it," Ramon said, his tone casual, as if Hwak had participated equally rather than served as their punching bag. "We'll see you tomorrow."

Another boy called out, "Ramon, let's go. That's enough for today."

As they walked away, laughing and recounting their best shots, Hwak remained on his knees. Despite everything, a small, pathetic hope flickered in his chest. He had endured their game. They had invited him back. Perhaps, in their cruel way, they had accepted him.

"Friends," he whispered to himself, tasting blood on his lip. "I made friends today."

He didn't see the pitying look from a groundskeeper who had watched the entire scene unfold, nor did he notice the small diagnostic device in the collar of his new uniform, transmitting data about his injuries and recovery rate back to the medical wing.

In the Principal's office, a screen displayed his vital signs alongside a single notation:

*Subject demonstrates exceptional pain tolerance and psychological resilience. Continue monitoring.*