The dorms were built like bunkers — reinforced walls, sealed glass, soundproof insulation. On the surface, they looked like luxury apartnts. Beneath the polish, you could feel the paranoia in the design.
Room 103 sat on the eastern wing, floor six. A corner unit. Two bunks. Private washroom. One small kitchenette that would almost never be used. Two desks with embedded holo-terminals and biotric locks.
Hernan stepped inside first.
The room slled like sterilized steel and recycled air. One wall was already flickering with the Academy welco screen: a slow rotation of quotes from alumni, news feeds, and training schedules.
He dropped his duffel on the lower bunk.
Nico stumbled in behind him, still buzzing from the evaluation matches.
"Okay, real talk," he said, tossing his tech case on the desk. "Who taught you to fight like that?"
Hernan sat on the edge of his bed. "Instinct."
Nico snorted. "Right. And I was born knowing how to write code in my sleep."
He pulled out a screwdriver the size of a syringe and popped open the terminal housing. Tiny sparks jumped between his fingers as he rewired the biotric lock to respond faster.
"Y'know," Nico continued, "I ran the academy betting boards last year. Made good coin. I'm saying this because you just screwed up every early rank prediction I had."
Hernan didn't respond. He was studying the wall across from him — not the screen, but what lay behind it. He could see the faint outline of embedded wiring, feel the hum of surveillance in the walls.
He tilted his head.
Two caras. One audio line. Likely automated facial mapping.
He filed that away.
Nico clicked his tongue. "You're not much of a talker, are you?"
"I talk when it matters."
Nico smirked. "Cryptic. I like it."
Later that evening, after unpacking and running a basic calibration on his training wristband, Hernan sat by the window.
From here, you could see the Hero Tower.
It rose beyond the campus walls like a monunt — sleek black steel, etched in gold light. The upper floors pulsed softly, alive with motion. Transports landed on the external pads every few minutes. The tower never slept.
Neither did the mories it carried.
Hernan's fingers curled slowly against the windowsill.
His reflection stared back at him, faint and expressionless.
Behind his eyes, the list remained.
Thirteen nas.
One goal.
A soft knock at the open door pulled him from the silence.
He turned.
Tessa stood there, one hand on the fra, a light jacket slung over her shoulder.
She didn't look like soone with sothing to say. More like soone who'd walked halfway to sowhere and changed direction.
"Hey," she said. "They're handing out orientation guides in the quad. Thought you might want one before they disappear."
He blinked. "Why?"
She shrugged. "You didn't seem like the elbow-your-way-through-the-crowd type."
"...Thanks," he said, accepting the slim data slip she handed him.
She hesitated, eyes searching his face.
"You held back," she said again, more certain now.
He looked at her, unreadable.
"You watched ?" he asked.
"I watch everyone."
He considered that. "Smart."
She stepped back. "Just don't get caught holding too much back. This place has a way of dragging out secrets."
With that, she turned and walked away.
That night, after lights-out, Hernan didn't sleep.
He sat in bed, screen dimd low, sifting through campus maps, power routing layouts, old construction permits. Piece by piece, he reconstructed the tower's architecture.
He studied:
Entry routes
Ergency egress tunnels
Personnel rotations
Biotric access zones
The files were outdated, but it didn't matter.
He wasn't planning anything today.
He was just learning the board.
This wasn't about speed.
It was about precision.
About patience.
The Zodiac 13 had killed his father.
And soday, they would look him in the eye and realize they'd missed one.
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