Book 28: The Eden Conference

July 12, 2022 - 9:28 AM

E.C. Campus, Eden City, New Eden

After yet another dark and dreamless night, unfamiliar images suddenly flashed Soji awake; a black tree growing into the shape of a spine, neatly cut lines of bleeding flesh, and eyes with irises bearing a golden eight-pointed star.

His own eyes shot open to see that a single blackened finger had clawed the eight-pointed star into his wooden headboard. Soji’s eyes widened as he retracted the nail.

“I thought Doc said these bandages would suppress transformations…” The boy rubbed his temple in irritation. “Come to think of it, that fight with Angelo…I blighted myself partially, didn’t I? Something’s off…”

“Wake up time kiddies!” Tamara’s megaphone-amplified voice made him wince. He covered his sleeptime etching with a pillow. Outside his room, he could hear footsteps thumping against mahogany, racing to the bathrooms. Without warning, Tamara’s head popped through the wall, just above his own.

“You let a bunch of hungover teenagers beat you to the showers?”

He could hardly be startled at this point.

“I could have been naked, you know…” Soji mindlessly threw the pillow he’d just moved at Tamara’s head.

“Nah…” She let the pillow phase through her as she noticed the star etched on his headboard.

“Did you do that?” The woman gestured with a nod as she fully entered his room, standing in his bed as though it weren’t there. Soji looked back at the symbol.

“I think so…it was there when I woke up. Do you recognize it?”

“Where’d you see it?” She ignored his question.

“A-a dream. What is it?”

“It’s the Cain family crest,” she turned to leave, “hurry up and get dressed.”

~

Soji walked past the doors lining the hallway to the stairs. His steps faltered slightly when he noticed Angelo’s door slightly ajar.

“Yo, Soji,” Kuro called from behind him, smiling.

“You alright?” He asked. The two made their way downstairs together.

“I’m good, a little sore. You?” Kuro replied.

“Meh. Something…weird happened. I’ll tell you about it after whatever this is.”

They entered the lounge to find that they were the last ones there. Tamara stood in the middle, and next to her was a short, lanky man with a neatly trimmed beard and double-flick eyeliner. Soji’s eyes wandered to Angelo sitting in the corner of the room next to his usual cohorts. He wore a loose mask of gauze around his mouth, and refused to look at him.

“Now that you’re all here, this is Oliver.” Tamara gestured to the man next her. He bowed dramatically, tucking his elbow in to maintain a hold on to a bulging portfolio.

“He’ll be in charge of designing everyone’s uniforms today, so we’re going to split into groups and—”

“You’re skipping a few steps, girl.” He said in a soothing, dulcet tone.

“Oop! You are so right about that! I suppose, first of all, congrats on getting into the Institute! For the next three years, you’ll work as maestros for the M.I.I., taking whatever missions that I, as your dean, assign to you. Of course, I’m only able to select from a set of assignments that are deemed appropriate for students, so don’t expect anything too grand.”

“Wait,” Kuro interrupted, “If we’re gonna be working already, what’s the difference between us and a regular maestro? What will we be able to do differently after three years?”

“Good question. The short answer is that after you graduate, you’ll be able to take on any mission you please, by yourself or with whomever, including non-Institute assignments. Of course, you’ll also be granted an official Rank which means all sorts of perks.”

“Perks like money?” Soji asked excitedly.

“So much money…” Tamara nodded, leaving out the disproportionate gap in salary between Ranks.

“Anyway, the teams I want to split you into will be your squads for the rest of the year. The nature of your assignments will vary according to demand, and will range from just outside Eden City to some desolate slum on the other side of the world. Basically, places that don’t already have a local Institute campus are your jurisdiction.”

“That’s a lot, for the twelve of us,” Esme observed.

“It is…there have always been more blooms than maestros, but it’s especially bad nowadays. So you lot are going to be very busy this summer. You do, however, get a week off every month. Other than that, you work every day, even holidays.”

“Ew…” A shared disgust.

“So, shall we split you up?” Tamara clapped her hands, then procured a slip of paper from the pocket of her beige cargo pants.

“Will Niko Rose, Penny Otta— hold on, there are two of you named Penny. That’s gonna get old very quickly. Otta, you go by your last name now. The two of you, go sit by the couches in the far end of the room along with Anish Talia and Monika. Shoo!”

Monika grumbled as she followed Anish and Otta to the corner of the room where Niko sat with the smoldering Angelo and doting Esme.

“I’m just realizing I stuck all you First Family kids together. Play nice. The next team will be Esme, Kuro, Israel Stone, and Dione Teixeira. You four should definitely have a good synergy, so just head outside through this door,” she pointed at the enormous glass sliding door sitting between massive windows. Esme, Kuro, and Dione pelted the masked Israel with dirty looks. They hadn’t forgotten last night, and were hungry for an explanation.

Soji, meanwhile, sighed when he realized who was left.

“Angelo Ricci, Penny Bara, Alex Fischer, and Soji are the last team. Go wait in the upstairs living room. Try to get to know each other better,” Tamara giggled.

“Tam-Tam, you are all over the place, you didn’t even tell them what we’re doing here.” Oliver shook his head as the groups dispersed according to the dean’s instructions.

“Eh, let them stew in it. Start with the second group. I’m curious to know what Kuro’s thinking.” True to her usual antics, she disappeared with a multicolored glitching in the air.

Oliver sighed, then followed Kuro’s group onto the grass just outside the residence building. A gentle breeze kissed their skins, and urged them to relax in the soft green growth.

“Nice to meet you all, I’m excited to get to know what I’m working with today. My job is to create an M.I.I. regulation uniform, tailored to complement your techniques and abilities. My passion is designing a piece that’s a reflection of who you are as a maestro and as a person. So today’s activity is all about gathering information so I can seamlessly blend the two.”

The soft embrace of an invisible warm blanket weighed down on the newly appointed maestros, while the aroma of fresh cookies created an intangible barrier of tranquility.

“We’ll start simple. Why did you join the M.I.I.?”

“I wanted to see if I could do it. I…really like a challenge,” Dione was the first to answer, deep in the bliss of this sudden sensation. Interesting…

“And now that you’ve done it? What’s next?”

“I’m gonna make my mom proud… I’m gonna be the best!”

“Blooms…blooms…blooms,” Israel muttered, barely cognizant of the situation.

“Justice…yo quiero ser la justicia,” Esme sighed longingly. There was a building coziness in her stomach that forced a grin onto her face.

“Justice? For whom, dear?”

“Everyone that’s been wronged. Voy a ser su justicia.”

“I like this one…” Oliver mused, writing illegible notes on a clipboard he produced from his portfolio.

“I…what are you…what is…?” Kuro stumbled over himself.

“You can relax,” Oliver replied, “this is just my technique. It puts people at ease, makes them more open, honest. Tell me…why did you join the M.I.I.?”

“It’s been a while since someone could resist this…”

“I…wanna help my friend. He’s like my brother…I’m so worried about him…and my dad…I gotta find my dad…”

“Which matters to you more? Finding your dad or helping your friend?”

“Soji. I already know him and love him. My dad could be the worst. Who…knows?” His words were strung together like he kept forgetting that he was talking.

“Hm…why are you worried about your friend?”

“Someone hurt him, and there are people that want to hurt him again. It’s slow, but he's becoming angry and vengeful…he’s burning up.”

“Marvelous…” Oliver muttered as his pen drunkenly raced across paper.

“And your dad…what’s the story there?”

“He’s a maestro, and left me an Instrument. I need his help to learn how it works.”

“An Instrument, huh?” the man mumbled, “What is it?”

“A short sword, I think. The sheath is straight but I have no idea what the blade looks like. It won’t open.”

“Ooh, now this is what I was looking for. I’m having ideas already. This next question is a little more sensitive, but bear in mind that as teammates, you should know what each other can do. Describe your technique to me, with as much detail as you can manage,” he turned a page, then pointed at Dione.

“My technique…it’s Atlas Alchemy…I can make anything that my atma touches heavier or lighter. My atma is converted into synthetic mass, and real mass is converted into atma respectively. I usually use projectiles to affect my target…I can divide its mass by up to 100,000, and multiply it by up to 10,000. And my reinforcement isn’t very strong compared to other maestros, so I use Naga to add weight to my punches if I need to. Although I prefer to—”

“What’s Naga?”

“My snake…she’s sleeping.”

“You use a living organism as an Instrument?”

“Mhmm…”

“That’s…unusual…”

“And unethical. Still, that puts you somewhere between a Bodily or Instrumental type of technique. Intriguing.”

“It’s okay, she likes it…”

“I see…you mentioned projectiles. What do you use?”

“For people, a slingshot. For blooms, a bow and arrow. In theory…I’ve practiced, but I didn’t bring my bow…”

“Hmmm, okay. Mr. Blooms,” Oliver scribbled some more, engrossed in the inspiration flowing from his fingertips.

“They’re called Style Benders. My atma turns into this metallic string and shapes itself into hands. I can make up to four of them, each as strong as me.”

“And these…Style Benders…can you unravel them?”

Israel nodded.

“Alright, alright, your turn, little miss justice.”

“Mine isn’t very special…it’s just friction. I can decrease or increase the forces of friction on myself, someone else, or a surface. It’s an Environmental technique.”

“What makes you think your technique isn’t special?” The man asked. Aside from his own technique, he had round brown eyes that reminded Esme of Alex, and lowered her guard.

“I just…I don’t have very much atma, so I can’t use it for long. Especially against people who’ve got more than me.”

“That makes it even more special. If you can keep up with others without relying on your technique, that’s something to be proud of,” Oliver smiled briefly then turned his attention to Kuro. He raised his eyebrows at the boy.

“Oh, mine. I use blades to temporarily erase space. Depending on how I cut it, I can shift the placement of things when the space repairs itself.”

“Expand on that for me. What do you mean shift the placement?”

“I mean, if I were to use Rend on the space between you and I, I could either move closer to you, or bring you closer to me. I think there’s a weight limit though. I don’t think I could bring a building or a tree to me. Although…” Kuro trailed off, chasing the idea of making such a thing possible.

“What about cutting something tangible? What does your Rend do then?”

“I…” The boy saw flashes of the pit. Dismembered blooms were their breadcrumbs in that labyrinthian hellscape.

“I’ve seen one of two things happen. The pieces, minus what was cut, either snap back together forcefully, or are irrevocably severed. But I can’t control which one happens, if either happens at all.”

“Curious…what’s your stance on killing? If you had to, could you take a life?”

“Why?”

Oliver sighed.

“When it comes to types of techniques, there are tools, and there are weapons. What I’m asking is—”

“Am I willing to use mine as a weapon? I…don’t know. I know what I want to accomplish here, but I… I can’t kill someone. Not intentionally.”

The man paused and stared intensely at Kuro.

“You’d be the first anomaly I know who isn’t fucking insane, but…”

“I thought as much,” Oliver chuckled with a shrug, “I don’t see any of you here as killers.” He deactivated his technique.

“Hey, I can totally kill someone,” Dione protested.

“Girl. No you can’t. You carry a separate weapon for people, presumably to avoid seriously injuring anyone.”

“Hmph,” she pouted.

“Slingshots can kill,” Dione thought.

“More importantly,” Oliver stood up, popping his knobby knees in the process, “You have no idea what it means to kill someone. It’s not a game. Remember that.”

He made his way to the residence building.

“Oh, and one more question…”

~

Monika was bored senseless, flicking tiny little sparks of her atma into the air with a repetitive fzzt. Tamara had confiscated her phone before the Orchestra for ‘security reasons’.

“When was the last time I went this long without it?”

“Can you stop that?” Niko spat, still seated on a couch in the room’s corner.

The younger Rose dramatically flipped her off with both hands, and loosed a lightshow of sparks. Anish stifled a snort. Otta paid no attention to any of their antics and stood at one end of the foosball table, four tentacles spread out to play against herself.

The sound of the sliding door stopped Niko from launching a winged pillow at her cousin. Oliver stepped through, and was followed by a comforting sensation of blankets.

“Come come,” he set his portfolio down on the dining table across the kitchen, “Let’s begin!”

~

“What a technique!” Esme exclaimed as she laid back in the grass.

“I agree…I haven’t been that relaxed in a long time,” Kuro nodded.

“I can imagine. I spoke with Soji yesterday…you guys have been through it. And what you said about him burning up… I thought the same thing…”

“Yeah. It might have been a bit better if he had a different relationship with his parents…”

“What, you mean like if he wasn’t close to them?”

“Not quite. Soji…hated his parents. They were cruel at times. But with our culture there’s a certain obligation that comes with dealing with them. We have no choice but to be grateful for putting a roof over our heads and all that, no matter what happens. They own us, really. He’s always had to stuff everything down, and had limited autonomy. I think now that they’re gone, he’s a wild dog, ready to unleash his rage at the woman that made him into this. He’s free to rage at anybody.”

“He reminds me of Angelo, in a way. Angie has so much anger pent up, and every time we’ve had to deal with blooms, he’s…brutal.”

“Yeah…his obsession with Soji is gonna be a problem. I have no idea what Tamara was thinking, putting them on the same team.”

“He’ll work through it,” Esme shrugged.

“Angelo? Or Soji?”

The girl looked up at Kuro.

“Both,” she smiled.

“Whaaa,” Dione exclaimed, “tell them what you told me!”

Esme sat up, curious. Israel knelt before her and Kuro, sweating out of embarrassment.

“I’m sorry about yesterday. Basically, I’m really self conscious about my acne, and I thought I could make a Bond to get over it but, I messed up. Now, whenever I take off the mask, I’m like a totally different person…”

“Uh huh. What’s a Bond?”

“Ha, noob,” Dione laughed.

“It’s like a Contract, except it’s made with yourself instead of with another party. You give up something in exchange for something else of equal value,” Esme explained.

“How does that work? How do you determine equal value?”

“Well, because it’s with yourself, your atma knows if you’re being genuine about if you think what you’re giving up is equal value to what you want.”

“Wait, so if, for example, I wanted an indestructible blade, and I deemed my arm an adequate trade-off, what would happen? How do I initiate this…transaction?”

“A Bond cannot grant you absolutes. Unbreakable swords, immortality, unstoppable punches. That’s just how it is. As for making one, it’s a little different for everybody, but there are two things that are a must. Uttering the word ‘bond’, and an intense desire. From there, it’s like making a wish with a very pedantic genie.”

“So I have to be specific?”

“Specific is an understatement. Even if you think of every loophole imaginable, the results of a Bond are never quite what you imagine. That’s why most maestros never make one. What were the terms of yours?” The girl shifted her attention to Israel.

“I thought I could game the system. Dealing with my acne situation meant a lot to me, so I knew the price would be steep. So, I thought, in exchange for wearing a mask for half of the time, I’d be confident without one. Looking back, that was really stupid…”

“Yeah, dude, that’s terrible wording. You could’ve just wished your acne away, or something.” Dione said

“No!” Esme exclaimed, startling the kids.

“Sorry, just, no. Making any sort of Bond to change your body is probably one of the worst things you can do with your atma. The results can be…bizarre. I had a professor who turned himself into a monkey.”

Dione snickered.

“You think I’m joking? It was—”

“But,” Kuro interjected, “if it’s a trade I make with myself, why is it so unpredictable?”

“There are theories…it’s still a relatively unexplored field of atma, after all. But some say it’s because of human nature, that we’ve got too many thoughts swirling around to perfect a Bond. Others think it’s because we’re meddling with God’s creation, and provoke His ire in the pursuit of Bonds.”

“There it is again…God…” Kuro thought back to the first time Miguel mentioned a God Dream on the farm.

“What role does God play in all this atma stuff?”

“Depends on who you ask…for me, even though I left the church, I still believe He exists. I think atma is a form of God. Bonds…are something like prayers, but when it comes to their volatility, I have no idea. That’s the part where Catholics everywhere cry ‘it’s not for us to understand’, and ‘He works in mysterious ways’.” Esme crossed her arms, the soft breeze sharpening slightly by memories of her mother uttering those very words.

“Well,” Dione mimicked Esme’s crossed arms, “I don’t think atma has anything to do with any deity. My mom used to tell me that it’s born from the soul, controlled by the mind, to protect the body. Mastering atma means mastering all three. Maybe that’s why Bonds are like that; nobody’s mastered all three.”

“Your mother’s a classicist. I respect that,” Esme nodded in agreement.

“What do you mean nobody has mastered atma? What about people like Tamara, or the Elders?” Kuro asked.

“In atma theory, there’s a very ancient belief that to achieve true mastery is to abandon atma as we know it altogether. This proficiency is sort of a triangular journey to free our sense of self from the mind and body,” Israel answered.

“What?”

“Okay, think of it like this. The mind, body, and soul are three points on a triangle. The soul, our starting point, is at the top and connects to the body, and the body connects to the mind. Now imagine that there is no line connecting the soul to the mind on this triangle. Can you picture it?”

“Yeah…it’s like a chevron…”

“Exactly. Next, I want you to picture atma running across the lines that are there, starting from the soul…for regular people, it stops at the body. For maestros, it stops when it reaches the mind. To transcend atma is to make the mind ‘aware’ of the soul. Bit by bit, we weave that bridge between them. That’s what it means to get stronger, to achieve mastery…”

“But how is that done? Practically?”

“Self knowledge,” Esme replied, “Atma comes from the Sanskrit word atman, a concept in Hinduism that refers to the self. The true self, without ego, mind, or body. To ‘transcend’ atma or liberate yourself, you must learn more about your true self.”

“Oh!” Kuro exclaimed, “That’s why it’s called an Illusion! If our techniques are based on the perception we have about ourselves, then to evolve is to break that Illusion through self-discovery, right?”

“That’s exactly it,” Israel nodded.

“So I need to break my Illusion…but how?”

~

Oliver sat at the head of a rectangular pinewood table, rubbing his temple in frustration as he glanced outside, ignoring the Rose girls’ bickering. As he watched the first group laugh and converse with one another, he sighed internally.

“I thought that boy resisted my technique because he was an anomaly, but it’s not doing shit for these Roses. Maybe I’m getting old. This whole group is too much…the Talia and Niko at least gave a good description of their techniques, but I don’t know anything about Monika or this Otta girl. At least the whole octopus bit is interesting…”

“Will you two please shut up!?” He finally exclaimed. He was rewarded with a temporary silence before the girls started pelting him with attitude.

“Excuse me? And who are you?” Niko asked sarcastically.

“Yeah, who are you telling to shut up?” Her cousin added, sparks fizzling around the fingertip pointed right at him.

“I should’ve let Krish deal with this,” Oliver muttered under his breath.

“Who the hell is Krish? Don’t try and bow out now, old man.”

“He’s my husband. And I’m seriously wishing I turned Tamara down and let him come instead. But no, she said she needed my ‘flair’. My flair? He’s the Talia…”

“You’re married to a Talia?” Monika’s curiosity piqued.

“You’re gay?” Anish’s face scrunched up in disgust. A winged spoon and tiny explosion of sparks shot at the boy, who winced and protected himself with quickly woven reinforcements.

“Don’t be rude!” Niko spat. Otta just shrugged, back in her odd child-like form.

“It’s fine,” Oliver yawned, “The thing is, nobody remembers my choice of lovers when they’re on the floor of an abandoned building-turned-domain, coughing up blood, and my self-repairing Talian-thread M.I.I. uniform is helping them hold their organs in.”

“Damn” Niko muttered. Anish cleared his throat, and looked down awkwardly.

“So, now that it seems like I have your attention, let’s continue, shall we?”

~

Pleased with the results of his discussion with the second group, Oliver hummed to himself happily.

“Those two girls have a lot in common…designing their uniforms will be fun. Anish, he may have different beliefs but he’s sweet. He’s one of the lucky few who can choose whether their technique is a tool or a weapon, and he seems to lean towards tools. But that octopus…”

Indeed, Penny Otta’s molluscoid existence was quite perplexing, and without the ability to speak, she had no means to communicate how it came to be. But, considering his familiarity with the strangeness of maestro society, Oliver was dissuaded from overthinking it. As he made his way to the residence’s upstairs living room, he soon realized that his technique may once again, do no good.

It was so quiet that the man could hear his own heartbeat. The room was much smaller than its ground floor counterpart; it had only three couches, all a deep red suede. One sat in the middle, backed up against a wall, while the other two, armchairs complemented the corners of the room. Very little light entered the room, but even in the dimness, Oliver could see group three’s disdain for one another. The parlor was divided into two, with Penny and Soji on one side, and Angelo and Alex on the other.

“Jesus, Tamara, what are these matchups?”

~

Oliver left the room, defeated. While not nearly as raucous as the Rose girls, the tension between Soji and Angelo made for an uncomfortable session. It would be difficult to represent them with the uniform design past what he could surmise from their terse replies to his questions. Alex, at least, was pleasant, albeit quiet. He spoke a few words, but let Angelo translate for him when his voice tired out. The one that weirded him out the most, however, was Penny. Out of all twelve children that he met today, she was the only one he could say for sure would have zero qualms with killing another human being. Of course, he’d met plenty of youth like that, but it was always more daunting when they were new to the Institute.

Tamara appeared behind him.

“Sheesh, what’s with those guys?” She shook her head. Oliver jumped.

“J— you’re the one that put them together. One hates blooms so much he left his cushy life behind to hunt them down, and the other is a bloom.”

“Yeah, well, it’ll toughen him up,” she assured.

“Hm. Since I did this favor for you, are you gonna tell me why you’re going through all this trouble for the bloom boy? I mean, you disappeared for years and suddenly you’re calling every favor you’re owed to become dean, you get the kid into the Institute, you’re paying out of pocket for these non-standard uniforms among other things. To what end?”

“Scorched earth,” Tamara almost replied.

“If I let you and Krish use my jet for a month, will you stop asking questions?”

Oliver paused, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

“One month, every year for the next five years,” he countered.

“One month this year, one week for the next three years.”

“Deal…you’re definitely up to no good,” he chuckled.

“I’m nothing but good. When can I expect these uniforms?”

“With what I have in mind? About a week if Krish and I work overtime. Since you barged into our shop a month ago, we already have an outline for Soji’s and Monika’s. And for the rest, only a couple need something beyond basic reinforced threads.”

“That’ll work. Thanks again.”

Oliver nodded. The wiry man left the residence building with haste, eager to get to work, and perhaps put great distance between Tamara’s obvious machinations and himself. The woman in question watched him scamper off and disappeared with a smirk.

~

July 12, 2022 - 9:55am

E.C. Archives, Eden City, New Eden

Tamara appeared just outside an archaic limestone building, tucked neatly into the city’s surrounding towers. She marveled at its gorgeous, colorful courtyard before she slipped into the library’s massive wooden doors. Her heels clicked against white marble, alerting the librarian whose desk was just to the right of the entrance. The elderly woman raised her eyes in disbelief.

“Has age caught up to me, or am I looking at Tamara Cain?”

She sighed.

“What was this woman’s name again?”

“Nope, it’s me, Miss…I’d like to have a maestro’s file sealed, and check out some mission reports,” Tamara breezed past the formalities.

“You still don’t bother with niceties, I see.” The woman replied. As she turned to the wheezing computer next to her, Tamara caught a glimpse of the gold name tag with faded lettering, pinned onto her brown abaya.

“That’s right, it was Agatha.”

“Sorry, I’m in a bit of a rush. I left the kids on campus with no instructions,” she said.

“Ah, yes, I heard you’re the dean for the city’s new campus. How nice of you to start taking responsibility again.”

“Whatever that means,” the young woman scoffed. This was why she hated spending time with maestros, especially old ones. Everybody was obsessed with what she ought to be doing. On that note, it’d be impossible to do much for her plans while under so much scrutiny.

“Hopefully, the noise that’ll come from sealing his file will be enough to muffle the steps my kiddies take.”

Agatha cleared her throat.

“Before I restrict this file, I am obliged to tell you that it may still be accessed by anybody with Elder-level clearance. Do you understand and agree to this arrangement?”

“I do.”

“Then I’ll go ahead and lock it up for you, dear. Name of the maestro?

“Sorry, Kuro…” A blurry memory floated to the forefront of Tamara’s mind. A young Doc, completely clad in black, cowering behind a crate from a man’s approaching shadow. A bloodied young man lay between her and Doc, convulsing. His neck had been reduced to sinew and bits of spine, the rest shot away by something. Even in the recollection, she could feel a presence next to her. A presence she wouldn’t bring herself to turn to and see. She was content with it remaining a blur of brown and purple in the corner of her eye. The Cain exhaled as she shook the foggy memory away.

“Isio Adesanya.”

The woman clicked away at a yellowed mechanical keyboard, the only thing audible in the cavernous and desolate library besides a whirring desktop clinging to life.

“Ooh, looks like his file is already inaccessible to any computer outside the city. You’ll be wanting to restrict it further, then?”

Tamara nodded.

“And the subject?” Agatha continued.

“Anything pertaining to his abilities, activities, and…his death.”

~

With Oliver and Tamara gone, the freshmen gathered unanimously in the ground floor lounge. They’d split into their usual groups, with the older students on one side, and the younger, on the other.

“Seriously, it was so awkward,” Penny lamented about her session with Oliver. Kuro’s group had the most fun, getting to know more about one another without any conflict. Monika was a close second, although she had no interest in getting closer to anybody she’d been grouped with. Soji just sighed, tired of Angelo’s hateful energy permeating his already scant peace of mind.

“How is he even up and about so soon? “

“Do maestros even heal that fast?” He blurted.

“Don’t interrupt me!” Penny wagged her finger in the boy’s face. He smacked it away with equal irritation.

“What do you mean?” Monika asked.

“That Angelo guy…I shattered his ribs yesterday. Maybe his back, too. Can maestros really heal that quickly?”

“Not really. Atma only accelerates the body’s healing for things it can naturally heal on its own. A cut takes a day to heal and scar as opposed to ten for non-maestros. Something like a rib fracture should take…”

“Twelve weeks for the regulars, about a week or two for maestros,” Penny interrupted. She had to stop herself from pouting at her story being derailed from this line of questioning.

Monika nodded in agreement.

“Wait, so instant healing with atma is not a thing?” Soji clarified.

“Not unless it’s a function of someone’s technique, or an Instrument.” she replied.

“Huh.”

At that moment, Tamara graced the children with the rare occasion of walking into the room. She wore a wicked grin that her adopted trio knew to mean something obnoxious was on the horizon.

“Who wants to meet their instructors?” She asked excitedly. Nobody stirred. The woman frowned.

“Whatever. Get out here, guys,” she called out. One by one, in order of height, Miguel, Money and Doc trudged into the room, with the last two as deflated as the students. Shocked, Niko choked on her saliva. Kuro, Monika, and Soji, however, sat up straight, just now registering that Miguel’s hellish tutelage followed them to New Eden. They were even more surprised by the fact that he was wearing real clothes; jeans and a t-shirt as opposed to his usual offensively short shorts and bare chest.

“Buenos días, lechones. I’m Hana Miguel, but you can call me Coach. For the next three years, I will mold you into something useful. As maestros, to rely solely on atma is death. My job is to teach you to master your bodies, and increase your chances of living another day.”

“That’s a dramatic way to say gym teacher,” Soji whispered to Kuro.

“Thirty push-ups!” The man pointed at Soji without looking in his direction. Because he knew better than to disobey, the boy frowned as he complied.

“Combat training and physical training will be drilled into you by force. If you ever feel like complaining, you’re welcome to challenge me for rights.”

Esme smirked, sizing up the man. She’d come to meet many maestros like him, and reveled in any opportunity to humble them. Before she could raise her hand, Niko stopped her, and shook her head. The girl’s fair complexion paled further at the sight of the brutish farmers mere feet away from her.

“That’s the one I told you about. The one that broke my mom’s reinforcement with a single hit.”

“You’re doing a bad job of convincing me not to fight him,” Esme chuckled, but stopped when she saw the terror in her beloved’s eyes. She nodded.

Money sighed as he stepped in front of his brother, clearing his throat to speak up. He’d cut his long, wiry hair, and wore a fitted t-shirt and baggy sweatpants, emphasizing the closeness in age he bore to his new students.

“My name’s Money. I’ll be doing atma training, both fundamentals and technique work. Let’s all get along.”

“You guys can call me Doc. I’m your teacher for all your other subjects; history, politics, basic medicine, and atma theory. Everything you need to be out in the field. I’m also the on-campus doctor, but I’m extremely busy. I don’t want to sew any limbs back on so be careful.”

“Why don’t we have any other subjects like math, or science, or something?” Soji asked, finishing his push-ups.

“The…traditional curriculum is designed around the idea that you’ll be a maestro indefinitely,” Tamara replied.

“That tracks…”

“Aaand, that’s it for today, kiddies. Disperse! Go do whatever it is you brats do. Keep in mind that Esme, Angelo, Niko, and Alex are team leaders. None of you may leave campus without a team leader with you. And nobody can leave the city at all. If you do, I’ll expel you.” She made a heart with her hands.

“Booo!” Soji yelled, throwing a cushion. Dione joined in on the jeering.

“Don’t make me schedule training for tomorrow,” Tamara warned, “You, Kuro, and Monika, follow me, let’s catch up.”

The kids followed, along with Money, Miguel, and the Doc. It seemed that they were in business already.

~

July 12, 2022 - ?:??pm

Unknown, Unknown, Unknown

With unkempt graying hair, fingerprint-coated glasses, and stained lab coat, a middle-aged man briskly walked down a dark, concrete, hallway, clutching a tablet closely to his chest. He winced each time he passed a window peeking into one of several pristine, white labs. He eventually stopped when he reached a wooden door, just opposite of one of these windows, and took a deep breath. He knocked.

“Jìn rù,” A gruff voice invited him inside. There, a man in a plain black suit was nose deep in meticulously ordered documents.

“Sir, I was watching the Institute’s Orchestra,” the scientist huffed in broken Mandarin.

“Not on company time, I hope…”

“Méi yǒu xiān sheng,” the scientist shook his head no, as he placed the tablet before his superior.

“English. Your Mandarin angers me.”

The two watched footage of the Orchestra’s first round, eyes glued on a young girl who repeatedly popped in and out of shadows.

“That’s experiment I-268!” The older man observed.

“Yes, sir.”

“To think she’d have the gall to reappear on a world stage,” he chuckled.

“But she’s with the Institute now. It won’t be easy to retrieve her.”

“Don’t tell me things I already know, American. I’ll alert my contacts. We only need to wait until the girl goes on assignment outside New Eden. We’ll hire a team to collect her then. Retrieving I-268 is not as important as ensuring this doesn’t lead back to our government in any way.”

“Understood.”

“Good. I want that girl here by the end of the month.”