Chapter song: Knee Socks - Arctic Monkeys
After the last few students trickled out of the lecture hall, the smile that was plastered on Eden's face vanished just as quickly as it had arrived.
She brought a hand to her face, massaging the sore facial muscles, feeling tired. "God, it's exhausting being sweet and bubbly."
Instructor Barnes, who'd closed the projector, threw her a sympathetic glance. "I don't think that's something an anchor should be saying."
Eden rolled her eyes. "Please, you know those anchor stereotypes are a false narrative, those damn government drones cooked up to make us look more approachable. The truth is, anchors can be just as vicious as Strikers—if not more."
"That is true, but it's important not to scare off the First Divisions this early, right?"
"I'll try not to take offence to your words, Instructor Barnes, but don't you think coddling them is a bad idea? They will find out about the true purpose of the academy soon enough, and once they do, my bitchy attitude will be the least scary thing they'll have to face."
Nathanael sighed, feeling equally drained. He ran a finger through his hair, the act making his biceps bulge even more under his navy uniform. Eden gulped. "It's not my place, Eden, you know that. Besides, letting them know the real danger they'll be facing this early on could affect them mentally. We want them to be in the best condition and focus on honing their abilities and figuring out what they can do first. The rest comes after."
Eden nodded. "The gates have been opening more and more lately. Just last week, Divisions 3 and 4 were called out to deal with a C-level gate. We're lucky there haven't been any B or A levels until now."
"Yes, I heard. The Third Division had a hard time, but were lucky to have dealt with the main boss quickly."
Eden scoffed. "I wouldn't say lucky. I don't know how much longer we can keep this up, especially with Lucien as our Vanguard. He's receiving abysmal anchoring, and with all that power he's got inside of him, it's getting harder and harder to find an anchor who can keep up with him. It doesn't help that he won't make it past the basic level of anchoring either. If only he could find a compatible partner and get paired up."
Barnes' expression turned grave. "I realize that. We are constantly testing our high-level anchors, but none of them can make it past yellow."
"Maybe one of these First Division newbies will be up to the task?" Eden joked, though the edge of her voice sounded hopeful.
Barnes shrugged. "Never say never? We will get their results soon enough. The ones with the highest scores will be tested to see if they can form a match with our S-Class Striker."
~*~
Kenneth was able to get a three hour workout session in and was feeling rejuvenated. Maybe it was the fifteen anchoring sessions he was forced to take part in, but they left him feeling sharper and more focused.
A small smile hung over his lips as he disconnected his headphones. He was noticing a visible change in his physique, and he was glad to see his efforts were finally paying off. As he was heading back to the dorms, he spotted a bench near the makeshift terrace just outside the building. He decided to sit for a moment, soaking in the warmth of the sun. Its powerful rays created a soft shadow over his face, sharpening the softer lines on his visage.
Kenneth Grey was a remarkable specimen to gaze at. His bright red hair seemed to glow under the afternoon light, making him stand out amongst the dense green foliage around him. The trees swayed gently in the breeze. Now and then, he could hear the chirps of birds in the distance. The quiet hum of the campus drifted in the background, distant chatter, the faint rhythm of someone's training session nearby. For a while, he just breathed.
But his thoughts didn't stay still for long. They drifted back to that last mission. The images came in flashes: the dry, crackling wind, the smell of dirt and iron, the explosion. Burnt flesh. Blood. He thought about what he could've done differently. a step earlier here, a shift in timing there. Maybe if he hadn't hesitated, maybe if he'd killed—
His jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists, resting against his knees.
"What's got you thinking so hard?"
The voice broke through his thoughts, carrying that inflection of self-importance that could only belong to a single person.
Kenneth looked up and found himself staring into a pair of piercing blue-grey eyes. Lucien stood there, one hand in his pocket, his dark hair catching the sunlight like strands of ink.
Kenneth blinked, slightly caught off guard. "Captain."
Lucien tilted his head. "You look like aStriker on the verge of a rampage."
Kenneth huffed out a small laugh despite himself. "I have no idea what that's supposed to look like."
"It's not that different from what you're doing now," he said, his eyes flickering to his clenched fists. Kenneth followed his line of sight and quickly unclenched them.
Lucien got closer, standing a mere inch away from him now. "What's on your mind?"
His buttery voice resounded in his ears, making him frown. It was frustrating how nice it sounded, the kind of voice that was pleasant to hear and made the back of your head tingle. "It's nothing," he said briskly.
The young man said nothing in response. Without asking, he sat next to him on the bench, crossing one leg over the other as he leaned forward, his arm resting casually over the edge of the bench, his eyes boring into his fiery ones with keen interest. He caught a whiff of his scent, sweet with a note of herbs that was a strange combination but oddly suited him. Kenneth leaned back almost instinctively.
He could've sworn he saw the corner of his lips lift a fraction, almost reeling from the reaction. This irked Kenneth to no end. He didn't want Lucien of all people to know that he got to him, got under his skin. This was a weakness he'd carry with him and have buried with him to his grave.
He couldn't help thinking back to his conversation with Fae. There's no way in hell what I'm feeling is simple adrenaline.
"Is there something you want, Captain?"
The man lifted a brow. "I think I've already made it clear what I want."
"…and what would that be?"
"I want to know what's on your mind."
Kenneth stared at Lucien, the sunlight glinting off his eyes made it hard to hold his gaze for long. "Why?"
His question was simple, yet it seemed to carry so much weight. Lucien studied him for a long moment, as if asking himself the same question.
Why did he care? Why did he want to know? What was it about Kenneth that made him so transfixed, so taken by this man he'd known for less than a month?
Perhaps he'd already known that Kenneth, with eyes that burned like fire, and hair that reminded him of the pomegranate seeds he used to devour as a child, was an enigma that would leave him so consumed. It surprised him. Lucien wasn't one who held an interest in others. He was often cold and liked to keep his distance, yet when faced with this man, he felt compelled to do the opposite.
From the moment he'd first laid eyes on him, saw the fierceness that was his movements, the unadulterated confidence that permeated from his body even in the presence of a powerful Striker such as himself.
"…I don't know," he said after a while. "I just do."
Kenneth's pupils retracted a fraction, his lips parting ever so slightly. He didn't know how to respond to those words. How could he? all he could do was look up at the man, his gaze filled with wariness, especially with the way he was looking at him. Eyes so blue they reminded him of the icy tundra of the north. He couldn't decide whether he liked the way Lucien was looking at him.
That look of his felt oddly endearing to Lucien, and he couldn't for the life of him understand why. He just knew he enjoyed seeing the anchor look so uncomfortable.
The two men stared at each other for a long time, neither saying anything. It wasn't until an entire thirty seconds had gone by that Kenneth looked away, irritation creeping its way through his body. His face on the outside remained impassive, but there was a slow and steady storm brewing inside of him.
Like an unrelenting prey that had found its mark, an irritation so vile that he could hardly contain it. Yet hidden deep within that irritation was something he couldn't describe. a second consciousness underlying this annoyance he felt whenever he was around the Striker.
Projection in its fullest extent, yearning to be pushed out and latch onto the very person that was causing him to feel such visceral emotions. However, it didn't come out. Kenneth wouldn't let it—whatever it was.
He was stronger than most and had learned to endure pain a normal human couldn't even begin to imagine. He forced it all the way down as he let out a deep sigh, turning to look at Lucien, who'd been patiently waiting for an answer.
"You really shouldn't concern yourself with me, Captain. I'm fine."
And with those words, he got up, gave the Striker one last look before leaving.
All Lucien could do was stare at his retreating figure before a scoff escaped his lips.