"Did he cheat?"
"I heard his ability is manipulating systems and now it's gone."
"Or maybe… maybe he never had an ability to begin with."
Malik didn't respond. He kept his eyes forward, fists buried deep in the pockets of his academy uniform. His heart thudded harder than it had during any combat drill.
The worst part? He didn't understand it either.
After Combat Theory, Instructor Lura pulled him aside. Her voice was sharp, clipped.
"You weren't on the dueling schedule," she said. "But your name appeared in the top slot after initial evaluations. Then you dropped to last. Care to explain?"
Malik opened his mouth. No words came. He didn't know why the system marked him first—then last.
Lura studied him, silver-streaked brows drawn together. "Either you're a late bloomer… or something the system can't categorize."
She didn't wait for a reply.
"Regardless," she said, already turning away, "attention like this—earned or not—comes with weight. Keep your head down. Do the work."
Easier said than done.
The cafeteria was unbearable. Even Xander, Margaret, and Frank seemed unsure how to act. They had seen the leaderboard. They'd heard the rumors.
"You okay?" Margaret asked, sliding her tray next to his.
"Fine," Malik muttered, though the knot in his stomach said otherwise.
Peter didn't even look at him.
The training schedule intensified. Strategy, then combat drills, followed by power honing and physical conditioning. Every day was designed to push students past their limits.
Malik struggled.
He couldn't channel energy like the others. When classmates summoned flames or bent wind into spirals, he stood in silence, fists clenched, willing something—anything—to rise. Nothing did.
He wasn't just powerless. He was invisible.
No one wanted to spar with him. He was assigned dummy bots while the others faced off against each other. Humiliation took root.
Then came the seventh day.
And everything changed.
The leaderboard updated.
Malik Barn – Rank: 1/500 | Ability: Undisclosed
The academy went still.
Students rushed the display boards like a riot waiting to ignite. Whispers morphed into wild theories. A nobody from a public zone had again outranked every first-year—and most upper-years too.
"How is that even possible?"
"He's a bug. A glitch."
"He's not even a student. He's a plant from the Board."
Within the hour, Malik was summoned to the headmaster's office.
The room wasn't what he'd imagined. Wide. Quiet. The dome ceiling curved like a planetarium, glowing with soft ambient light. No guards. No surveillance. Just a man at a desk carved from a living tree.
Headmaster Paul looked up from his tablet. His face gave nothing away.
"Malik Barn," he said, voice calm but cold.
Malik stood straighter. "Yes, sir."
"You've drawn curiosity. Concern. Envy." He tapped a finger once on the desk. "And yet… you've done nothing. No duels. No victories. You've failed every power test. And still, the system ranks you first. How do you explain that?"
"I don't know," Malik said. And he meant it.
Paul tilted his head. "Honesty. Rare. But insufficient."
Silence.
"I've seen anomalies," Paul continued. "Abilities that bloom late. Or erratically. But you… You activated something during evaluation week. Our data confirms it. We just don't know what."
Malik swallowed. "I didn't activate anything."
Paul's eyes narrowed. "Then someone—or something—did it for you."
A pause. Heavy. Weighted.
"Until further notice," he said, rising, "you'll be monitored during all practical sessions. No more solo drills. We need to see what you are… and why the system believes you're first."
Malik nodded, throat dry.
As he left, he felt the silence stretch behind him, wrapping tighter than before.
The fall from first to last had brought pity.
But the rise back to first?
That brought suspicion.
And Malik knew—if he didn't uncover the truth soon… someone else would.
---
From that day forward, Malik's life wasn't his.
Every practical session came with shadows—two faculty observers standing in the corners of the training halls, tablets in hand, logging his every move. Even in classes where no power use was required, the instructors watched him like a ticking bomb.
And still… nothing.
No spark. No flicker. No hint of power.
During power honing, his fingers twitched with effort, but not even a ripple stirred in the air. While others projected heatwaves, froze water, or bent shadows, Malik stood in his assigned booth, sweating with silence.
The monitors whispered behind their clipboards.
"Still nothing."
"Not even a flicker."
In combat class, the drones tracked every movement—footwork, strike patterns, aura levels. Malik always gave it everything. Dodging. Striking. Reacting. But without powers, his stats ranked lowest.
A new tab appeared on the leaderboard:
Anomaly Fluctuation Index
Only one name was listed:
Malik Barn – Rank: 500/500 | Ability: Undisclosed
Then—five days later—it happened again.
During a strength test, Malik gripped the resistance bar, the machine designed to measure pressure and force. He barely exhaled—
—and the screen exploded in light.
Numbers blazed. Spiked. Crashed. The machine rebooted mid-test.
The room froze.
Instructor Lura's voice snapped through the silence: "Continue."
They did. But the rumors didn't.
"He manipulates machines."
"He's a walking glitch."
"A spy from the Board."
"Or worse… he doesn't even know what he is."
By nightfall, students across all classes—1A to 1E, even upper years—watched Malik with a blend of interest, fear, and something new: envy.
Then the leaderboard updated again.
Rank: 1/500 | Ability: Undisclosed
Same day as the machine failure.
That night, in the library, Margaret sat beside him.
"Why does it only happen once in a while?" she asked. "And why always first… or last?"
Malik shook his head. "I don't know."
"But it never happens during monitored sessions," she added. "Only when no one's looking."
"Which is why they think I'm hiding something."
"Are you?"
He looked at her—tired eyes, clenched jaw. "If I was… don't you think I'd have used it by now?"
Margaret didn't answer. She slid a folded note across the table.
Observation: Malik's leaderboard ranking spikes only near unmonitored machines. No visual evidence. System logs only.
It wasn't signed. But the handwriting—tight, precise—looked familiar.
Frank?
"Someone's investigating you," Margaret whispered. "Trying to protect you. Or expose you."
---
The next day, Instructor Lura changed her approach.
No more dummies.
She paired him with Jamlick for a dueling simulation.
"You've been avoiding real combat," she said. "No more. Hit or be hit."
Malik hesitated. "But—"
"You're not glass, Malik. Fight."
The match started.
Jamlick summoned his kinetic shield and lunged. Malik dodged, blocked, moved. Still no offense.
"Again!" Lura barked.
The second round moved faster. Malik ducked, parried. His body felt… different. Sharper. Like his muscles moved before he told them to. Every twitch was precision.
Jamlick's shield cracked under Malik's palm.
Sparks flickered in the arena's walls. A scoreboard blinked—just for a second.
No one noticed.
The match ended before the glitch escalated.
That night, the leaderboard updated.
Rank: 1/500 | Ability: Undisclosed
---
Malik was summoned again.
The office felt colder this time. He wasn't alone.
A data specialist. A combat analyst. And a man in a long black coat who didn't introduce himself until spoken to.
"I'm Board Agent Merren," he said. No smile. No warmth.
The analyst began. "We've checked every system. No signs of tampering. The spikes come from him."
"But there's no ability signature," the tech added. "No elemental imprint. No aura. Nothing."
"Then it's not a power," Merren said. "It's a condition."
Paul leaned forward. "You are either the rarest student we've ever accepted… or the most dangerous."
The room pressed inward.
Malik's voice came small. "I just want to train. To learn. Like everyone else."
"Then prove it," Paul said.
"Your next evaluation will be public. No monitors. No restraints. No tech. Just you, in the combat arena."
"We're accelerating the trials," Merren added with a smirk. "Let's see if the glitch… fights back."