Saving the Hero (Variants #1)

Prologue

JOON

Heroes weren’t born—they were made.

Built up by community, sculpted by the VIA, and polished by media headlines. Every step was paved with blood, sweat, and hair gel. I swore by it; let’s be honest, the best Heroes never had a bad hair day. It was an undeniable truth.

Look good, get fans, and get paid.

“Your scores are top-notch, kid.” An instructor keyed the data from my latest fight into his tablet.

I was twenty-one, but being a trainee meant I was a ‘kid’ to every Hero and agent of the VIA that walked through the door. The Academy of Specialized Individuals had a reputation for producing the most talented Heroes, and respect was only given when you earned your mask.

“Thanks, Boss,” I grinned.

‘Boss’ was safe; it gave the illusion of authority.

Learning names was never a talent of mine—that was Alex’s expertise.

She always called me on my bullshit, and knew my nicknames were code for ‘you’re not important enough to remember’.

When my mother and I first moved to Nightmyre City, it took me three weeks to learn hers.

After eleven years, she still hadn’t forgotten.

Back then, she was so small that I’d assumed she was half my age instead of only a year younger. Alex was always sleeping or spacing out, and my mom called her ‘the little dreamer next door’. The ‘little dreamer’ part stuck once her ability fully manifested.

“At this rate, you’ll make first class in no time,” the instructor mused.

First class Heroes were the cream of the crop; it was the only status I was willing to accept once I graduated. They got the best benefits, the highest pay, and special treatment from the VIA. It was an unfair system that I was ready to reap—and once I got in, I’d break it.

What the VIA didn’t advertise was that first class Heroes were always combat focused; they were the ones reporters chased after, who had their battles replayed on the morning news.

Plenty of second and third class Heroes had talent—but they specialized in rescue, intelligence, humanitarian efforts.

Interrogations didn’t make people cheer, and boredom wouldn’t stock bank accounts.

Becoming a Hero meant learning the truth—it had never been about saving people. Because of that, Alex would never reach first class, even if she deserved to.

I was ten the first time she pulled me into a daydream.

She’d hounded me with questions about my home country, and I told her about a nearby island we used to visit, and the lava tubes it was known for.

Alex wanted to help with my homesickness, and we were thrust into the middle of an active volcano.

She hadn’t gotten to the section in her documentaries where they talked about dormancy, and ignored the fact that people couldn’t live inside of something that would kill them instantly.

Luckily, Alex hadn’t perfected her ability yet.

It scared the crap out of us, but there was no heat, no feeling of being charred alive.

Now? Well, with the things she could dream up, she was the last person I’d want to be tortured by.

That was the problem, though. She could only hurt someone inside of her own mind.

There would be nothing for a camera to pick up, nothing to print on newspapers or ‘like’ on social media.

I’ll just have to build the stairs, then she can climb to the top with me.

Lights flashed and numbers flickered with student scores on a massive projection that spanned above our heads.

It always hovered in the dome-covered arena, a hologram meant to pit everyone against each other.

My face grinned down at me, a fake expression that I’d perfected.

Second place out of sixty. It took too long to find Alex—sleepy eyes and a set of blue horns on her head, currently in thirty-first place.

It was an insult to what she could actually do.

Her numbers started to climb, and I squinted as she moved up on the scoreboard.

Still in her fight, then. Keep going, little dreamer, you got this. I chewed my cheek as I waited for her rank to keep moving.

The instructor droned on about something, but I kept my eyes fixated on the screen above us as Alex’s numbers froze. “…high power output, minimal damage risks, you’re quick on your feet. Honestly, kid, you’re ready no—”

An explosion came to our right, and his voice cut out with a yelp.

I let out a sigh as I pinched the bridge of my nose and held my breath.

The ground shook with the deafening sound, and I waited for the aftershock to settle as a building collapsed.

It sent a wave of smoke through the training ground, causing the air to fill with ragged coughs.

The place was the size of six football fields, caged in by a bullet-proof glass ceiling, and somehow Leo always managed to create enough chaos to affect everyone inside.

Our training arena mimicked Nightmyre City on a smaller scale, and Leo Theron had just taken out city hall. His score started to drop on the hologram above us from damage penalties, but his rank stayed in first place. The guy was a walking explosive, consistently rewarded for unhinged behavior.

Typical.

“That kid’s a menace,” the instructor sneered.

I let out a shaky laugh and shrugged. “High power, high risk. At least it was just one building this time.”

Another went up in flames as the hothead stalked through raining ash. The academy’s training ground was built to be demolished, but it wasn’t exactly encouraged to burn the place down. Construction cost money, and the VIA hated to waste the funds they clawed at the government for.

When everything wasn’t on fire, Leo was pretty good company to keep. He had a permanent scowl, a mouth that wouldn’t stop running, and nearly exploded at every minor inconvenience. Still, he was honest. Leo didn’t put on a fake smile, and he didn’t buy the one I wore. I envied his indifference.

“Cho!” his voice cut through the air, and any head that wasn’t turned from the explosion itself, snapped up immediately.

I tensed, and tried to keep my eye from twitching.

Don’t be Alex, don’t be Alex, don’t be—

“If you don’t get that sloth off the battlefield, I’m gonna lose my shit.” Leo crossed his arms as he stood in front of me, covered in soot while smoke billowed out of the mask around his mouth.

It always reminded me of a muzzle—a metal contraption meant to help him breathe, designed for a feral dog. He never hesitated to defend his territory.

“You know she hates when you call her that,” I groaned. “It’s training, Theron. Don’t take it too seriously.”

Their feud was never ending, and not a single day went by without me having to play mediator. The worst part? I was the one to introduce them.

Stupid Joon, thinking everyone could get along. How na?ve, how simple-minded, how fucking masochistic of me.

“Yeah, and then I’m the bad guy when someone gets burned,” he spat. “She was asleep right in the line of fire—you’ve gotta be kidding me. She doesn’t belong here, and you know it.”

Children were exhausting.

“Just because she can’t raze a building to the ground, doesn’t mean she shouldn’t be here.” I grit my teeth. “There’s more to being a Hero than just strength. We all have weaknesses—you should know that better than any of us.”

Leo’s brows pinched, and he went rigid under my scrutiny.

I was never sure how much weight my words held with him, but he always paused before firing back, and I took that as a good sign.

Variants had abilities, but they also had backlash.

My legs had been broken more times than I could count; pushing them too hard, going too fast, letting my ability take control even when I knew my body couldn’t keep up.

The academy had even fit my suit with specialized braces to help regulate the force.

Leo had the worst backlash I’d ever seen.

Steam hissed through the black uniform they made us wear for training.

His mask kept pushing out smoke, and orange tubes that ran along his suit pushed bubbling coolant as a watch on his wrist flashed with red light.

If Leo kept going like this, losing to his temper and his flames, he’d be living with steel lungs in twenty years.

Worst-case scenario, he’d burn himself out in only two, and create a blaze that could swallow half of Nightmyre.

“She’s vulnerable.” His tone dropped, and I raised a brow. “What happens if she ends up on the field? What happens if she’s got a shitty partner, or gets separated? She can’t wake herself up. It’s a fucking liability.”

Says the talking matchstick.

“It almost sounds like you care.” I huffed a laugh, and Leo’s eyes went dark.

A tingle went up my spine and nausea curled in my belly.

Alex and I both knew she’d end up in second or third class; the goal was never to have her on the field.

I wanted to find a way to change the system entirely, and make it so Variants like her would be acknowledged for their value.

Yet Leo fixated on a miniscule possibility, and set off every sprinkler in the vicinity the moment Alex would appear.

I pulled my lips into my mouth and hummed. “Are you still mad about the time she won—”

Flames danced across his forearms. “That was a lucky shot.”

It wasn’t. Leo underestimated Alex when she’d first enrolled, and didn’t bother to look into her ability, or how it worked. He didn’t realize she wouldn’t need to touch him, and was drawn into her daydream within seconds of their first match together. It was the first time I’d ever seen Leo lose.

He ripped the mask from his face and black smoke poured from his curled lips. “This isn’t a game, Cho. You can’t guarantee she won’t be assigned a combat role. She shouldn’t be here.”