CHAPTER 168: ATTENTION

The morning sun filtered through the wide glass panels of the F-Class Superhero Academy Hall, casting long, slanted beams across the white-tiled floor. Each panel shimmered faintly with faint runes—etched wards designed to absorb stray blasts or the occasional outburst of uncontrolled power from the rookie superheroes.

The city’s main tower was visible through the upper levels, a distant spire cloaked in soft cloud, but all attention today was focused on the arrival of a single student who’d quietly entered through the side entrance with his hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed, golden-blond hair shining beneath the light like it had been kissed by celestial fire.

Elius didn’t care about making an entrance. He didn’t need it. It simply happened wherever he went.

The F-Class, unlike the lower-rank branches, was less about brute-force training and more about strategy, adaptability, leadership, and control.

These were the best among the weakest—a contradictory classification for those stuck in a tier known more for irrelevance than results. Many here were trying desperately to climb into E-rank.

Few succeeded. But this particular classroom, upper division of F-Class, was considered elite among failures—a gathering of overlooked talents who had mastered their abilities but not the public narrative surrounding them.

Elius took his seat near the middle row. The moment he sat down, a ripple spread across the room. Eyes turned, whispers erupted like hissing steam, and a few mouths parted slightly as if they couldn’t believe what they were seeing.

"That’s him," someone whispered.

"He’s real?"

"Wait, no—seriously, that’s him?"

Elius didn’t look. He kept his face turned toward the hovering chalkboard where the lesson’s objectives floated mid-air. He read them—tactics against mind-control metas, negotiation strategies with anti-hero groups, and field improvisation using limited allies. He absorbed the content calmly, without reacting to the soft murmurs that gathered like pollen in spring.

But when recess came, he found himself surrounded.

It started with two girls from the right side of the classroom—one with crystal arms, another with glowing vines braided into her dark hair. They walked up hesitantly, both clutching their lunch trays like shields.

"Uhm," the crystal-armed girl said, voice small. "Hi."

Elius glanced up, and that was all it took.

Half the room moved toward him like a tide. Students flooded the space around his seat. Boys, girls, and every vibrant color in between. The girls stared at him with open-mouthed admiration, their eyes wide with disbelief. A few had tears in their eyes, actual tears—shimmering pearls of emotion that trembled down their cheeks without shame.

"He’s so beautiful," whispered one, a soft-skinned girl with floating jellyfish hair.

"He’s not even trying," sobbed another, who had been clutching a notebook filled with doodles of fantasy warriors but was now using it to hide her crimson cheeks.

One boy—a tall, broad-shouldered guy with aquamarine lips and feathers instead of eyebrows—was already wiping his eyes with a handkerchief. "I thought perfection wasn’t real..." he murmured dramatically, shaking.

"I just... I just wanna be his boot sole..." another moaned softly, collapsing against a friend.

Elius blinked. "Boot sole?"

The entire group laughed nervously, unsure if he was offended or amused. But Elius didn’t wave them away. He simply leaned back slightly, resting his elbow against the edge of the desk, head tilted in that unconsciously charismatic way that made light bend off his cheekbones.

He wasn’t annoyed. Not even slightly. Crowds didn’t bother him. Especially not these ones. Their enthusiasm was innocent, childlike even. They weren’t trying to gain power or exploit his presence. They just... wanted to be near something they thought was out of reach.

And that was fine.

"Elius, right?" asked a boy with golden eyeliner and sharp green nails. "Do you have a superhero name yet? Or are you just gonna go by ’Hotness Incarnate’?"

That got a huge laugh. Even Elius cracked the faintest grin, though he didn’t answer immediately.

Then came a flood of questions.

"What’s your ability?"

"Are you an Esper? You look like one."

"Do you already have a mentor?"

"Are you single?"

"Wait, what are you doing after class?"

"Wanna spar later?"

"Do you wanna form a party?"

"Can I touch your hair?"

Elius raised a brow at that last one. "My hair?"

The girl who’d asked—a chubby, soft-voiced student with sunflower tattoos—immediately flushed red. "I—I mean—it’s just so... perfect."

"Depends," Elius said, smirking slightly. "If it’s a sneak attack, I’ll consider it an assassination attempt."

Another burst of laughter.

"Are you always like this?" asked a silver-eyed boy wearing a cape that was clearly stitched by hand.

"Like what?"

"So calm. You’re like... like a god pretending to be a student."

Elius shrugged. "I’m just listening."

He let his gaze drift across the room then, subtly taking in each presence, not just with his eyes but with his spiritual perception. Even through the noise and praise, he could see the truths behind them—the hidden fears, the personal struggles, the inferiority complexes layered beneath bright grins and playful flirts. Many of them were desperate. Not for fame. But for acknowledgment. For meaning.

That was something he understood better than he cared to admit.

As the crowd around him began to settle—mostly because several students realized they were late for their food orders—Elius stayed behind, still seated, casually glancing out the wide window overlooking the city’s northern edge. The clouds rolled slow and heavy, glowing faintly with the filtered sunlight of an unusually tranquil day.

Someone placed a juice box beside him.

He looked over.

It was the boy with the feather-brows. "You didn’t bring lunch," the boy said. "You probably forgot. Or maybe you fast for training? Anyway, it’s mango-flavored. Just take it."

Elius gave a quiet nod. "Thanks."

"Don’t read too much into it," the boy added hastily, turning. "It’s not like I like you or anything!"

"Of course not," Elius replied dryly, sipping the juice.

The next class session came and went in a haze of discussions about hero diplomacy and the blurred lines between registered vigilantes and illegal operatives. Elius answered one or two questions when called, always measured, never overly enthusiastic. But everything he said was taken as gospel. The instructor—a nervous woman with a trembling left eye—kept checking her notes, clearly intimidated by Elius’s mere presence.

When the last announcement echoed through the speakers—"End of today’s coursework, students dismissed"—a collective sigh swept through the room.

Elius stood.

As he walked toward the door, dozens of eyes followed. No one blocked him. No one dared. But several of them whispered quietly among themselves.

"Maybe he’ll come back tomorrow..."

"Do you think he’ll join the special team branch?"

"Should we follow him?"

Elius didn’t react. He just walked forward, fluid and steady, as if carried by a wind they couldn’t feel. The heavy metal door parted for him like curtains to a performance.

And then he was gone.