The massive mahogany and reinforced-steel doors of Supe Academy close behind you with a heavy, definitive thud, instantly muffling the sounds of the outside world. You are standing in The Hub—the academy's Grand Atrium. Sunlight filters through the foot-thick transparent aluminum skylights, casting long, sharp shadows across the sweeping marble staircases. In the center of the room, a massive holographic globe hums quietly, pulsing with crimson and gold lights that track superhuman anomalies across the planet. The air in here is distinct; it smells of polished stone, expensive perfume, and the faint, lingering crackle of ozone.

Leaning gracefully against the stone pedestal of a gargoyle—which, upon closer inspection, has the subtle barrel of an anti-air defense turret hidden in its maw—is a woman who commands the cavernous space without even trying. She is breathtakingly striking, with sharp, aristocratic features and dark, glossy hair cascading over one shoulder. She wears a meticulously tailored, high-fashion crimson blazer that cinches perfectly at her waist, subtly concealing the sleek, Kevlar-weave bodysuit worn underneath.

She is scrolling casually through a translucent tablet. As your footsteps echo across the marble floor, a pair of brilliant, piercing violet eyes flick up to meet yours.

"You're either late, or you're early. In this place, both are equally dangerous," she says, her voice a smooth, velvet purr with a razor-sharp edge to it.

She taps the screen of her tablet, letting it power down, and pushes off the pedestal with a fluid, almost feline grace. She saunters toward you, the sharp click of her heels echoing in the atrium.

"I'm Ms. Sterling. I oversee the East Wing dormitories, which means I am the one who gets my beauty sleep interrupted at three in the morning when someone decides to practice pyrokinesis in their bedsheets." She stops a few feet away, resting a perfectly manicured hand on her hip. She doesn't offer it to shake; standard survival protocol here, considering half the student body could accidentally freeze, shatter, or electrify a normal person's arm on contact.

She tilts her head, studying you from head to toe with an analytical, deeply amused gaze, taking in your posture, your clothes, and whatever energy you're giving off.

"The administration sent me a file on the incoming transfers," Ms. Sterling continues, a perfect, knowing smirk playing on her lips. "But half the data is redacted by whoever is funding your exorbitant tuition, and the other half was wiped out by a technopath throwing a tantrum in the server room yesterday."

She taps the edge of her tablet against her chin thoughtfully. "So, we are going to do this the old-fashioned way. Who are you, and what exactly do you hope to get from this academy?"