The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism

Chapter 204: 204 | Welcome to Hell, Class 1-B

The voice came from somewhere behind us.

I turned and found Imara Steele standing at the edge of the field like she’d materialized there through pure force of will. She was shorter than I expected from someone with her reputation, maybe five-four in the tactical boots she wore. Compact and dark-skinned with natural hair cropped close to her skull in a style that screamed military efficiency. Her forearms were visible beneath the rolled sleeves of her fitted grey shirt, and they looked like they belonged to someone who could bench press the equipment shed without warming up first.

Her eyes swept across the assembled students with the kind of attention that made you feel like she was cataloguing your weaknesses for future reference.

"Twenty-three minutes late," she said. "Twenty-three minutes of you standing around getting increasingly anxious instead of using the time productively. Stretching. Reviewing your own capabilities. Mentally preparing for assessment. Instead you spent it gossiping about whether I was coming and whether you were in the wrong location."

No one said anything.

"That’s your first lesson." She walked toward the center of the field with the unhurried confidence of someone who knew everyone was watching and didn’t particularly care. "A Hero’s time is never wasted unless they choose to waste it. Downtime is preparation time. Waiting is training time. Every minute you spend standing around anxious is a minute you could have spent becoming marginally less inadequate than you were the minute before."

She stopped at the midfield line and turned to face us directly.

"I am Imara Steele. You may address me as Instructor Steele, Professor Steele, or Ma’am. You may not address me as Imara, or by any nickname you think is clever, or by anything that suggests we are peers or colleagues or friends. We are none of those things. I am the person responsible for determining whether any of you are worth the resources Halloran Academy has chosen to invest in your development."

Petra’s expression had shifted from displeasure to something more complex. The kind of look someone got when they realized they were being outmaneuvered and needed to recalibrate their assumptions about what kind of game they were playing.

"You are Class 1-B," Steele continued. "The second Combat Operations cohort of your year. Class 1-A is over on Field Delta right now, doing the exact same assessment under Vincent Hale’s supervision. You will be compared to them constantly. Your rankings will be measured against theirs. Your failures will be contextualized by their successes. Every time you underperform, every time you demonstrate capability below your potential, every time you coast on natural talent instead of developing actual skill, that failure will be reflected in how this institution perceives the value of investing continued resources in your education."

She paused to let that sink in.

"My job is to make sure Class 1-B is not second-rate. Not second best. Not the cohort that 1-A gets to feel superior about. My job is to build you into Heroes who can look at anyone else in your year and know, with absolute certainty, that you earned your place at the top of this institution through effort and development and refusal to accept being anything less than exceptional."

Her eyes moved across the assembled students, and I could feel the moment her attention landed on me. The weight of assessment from someone who knew exactly how to evaluate capability and weakness.

"Before I can build you up, I need to know what I’m working with. Today’s assessment is simple. You will demonstrate your Aspect. You will demonstrate your physical baseline. You will demonstrate whatever combat capability you have developed through whatever training you’ve received prior to arriving here. I will watch. I will evaluate. I will make notes that will influence every aspect of your education for the next two years."

She smiled, and it was not a friendly expression.

"By the end of today, I will know which of you are worth my time and which of you are going to require significantly more effort than you’re probably willing to put in. I will know who has potential and who has been coasting on Aspects that do the work for them. I will know who belongs in this program and who should have stayed home."

Caden had sat up from his relaxed position on the grass. Even his perpetual good humor seemed somewhat subdued by the intensity radiating from the woman who would apparently be responsible for their academic futures.

"Questions?" Steele asked in a tone that suggested questions were technically permitted but strongly discouraged.

Nyx raised her hand. Because of course she did.

"Will the assessment results be publicly shared with the cohort, or will individual evaluations be delivered privately?"

Steele’s expression didn’t change, but something in her posture shifted almost imperceptibly. Interest, maybe. Or approval of someone willing to ask for information despite the social pressure not to.

"Publicly. Your classmates deserve to know who they’re working alongside. Secrets about capability breed resentment and miscalibrated expectations. By the end of today, everyone will know exactly where they stand relative to everyone else."

The implications of that statement rippled through the assembled students. Several people looked uncomfortable. A few looked confident. Most looked like they were trying very hard not to show how they felt about having their capabilities exposed for peer evaluation.

"Any other questions?"

Silence.

"Good." Steele walked toward the equipment storage building and retrieved a tablet from somewhere inside the doorway. "When I call your name, you will step forward, demonstrate your Aspect at maximum sustainable output, and then engage in a standardized physical capability assessment including strength, speed, agility, and combat application. The assessments will be recorded. The recordings will be reviewed by multiple members of the faculty. Your permanent records will be updated accordingly."

She looked down at the tablet, then back up at the assembled class.

"We’ll start alphabetically. Ashida, Ren. Step forward."

The tall boy with the dark hair and the analytical eyes moved toward the center of the field with the focused composure of someone who had been expecting this exact outcome. He positioned himself approximately ten feet from where Steele stood and waited for instructions.

"Aspect demonstration," Steele said. "Full capability. Now."

The assessment had begun.