The Unremarkable

The morning Kai Ashen received his acceptance letter to Vertex Academy, his grandmother wept. Not from pride—though she tried to disguise it as such—but from the particular sorrow that comes with watching someone you love march hopefully toward inevitable disappointment.

"You don't have to go," she said, her weathered hands fidgeting with the edge of her apron. The small kitchen of their apartment smelled of ginger and steamed rice, comforts that had sustained them through harder times than this. "There are good technical schools that would take you. Your math scores were always excellent."

Kai folded the holographic letter carefully along its creases. The emblem of Vertex Academy—a stylized insect wing inside a hexagon—shimmered as it caught the morning light streaming through the window. Outside, the sprawling megalopolis of New Chimera stretched toward the horizon, its skyline interrupted by the unmistakable silhouette of the Academy's towers in the distance.

"I qualified, Gran," he said softly, tucking the letter into his pocket. "That means I belong there as much as anyone else."

His grandmother's expression suggested she thought otherwise, but she held her tongue. They both knew what "qualified" meant in his case. The bare minimum genetic markers required for admission. A technicality. A courtesy extended to thousands of borderline cases each year, most of whom washed out before their first semester ended.

Kai had scored in the lowest percentile of the Hybrid Aptitude Test. His genetic analysis showed a peculiar splicing of bombardier beetle and firefly DNA, but the expression of these traits was so minimal that the evaluators had almost classified him as a non-manifestor.

"They're calling in all the borderline cases early," Kai continued, glancing at his watch. "Preliminary assessments begin today."

"Then you should eat something proper before you go." His grandmother busied herself at the stove, a practiced distraction.

Kai watched her back as she worked, noting how her shoulders seemed more hunched than they had been a year ago. Since the Chimera asteroid had struck Earth eight years prior, transforming a portion of humanity and wildlife into hybrid beings, the world had split into those with remarkable abilities and those without. His grandmother belonged firmly to the latter category, a fact she had always considered a blessing rather than a curse.

Until her grandson had shown signs of being caught in between.

Kai's manifestation had begun subtly three years ago. A persistent tickle in his throat when he grew nervous or excited. Then, one unremarkable Tuesday afternoon, he had been cornered by neighborhood boys who had developed impressive physical transformations—chitinous armor, enhanced strength, compound eyes. As their taunts escalated to shoves, something inside Kai had shifted. A thin wisp of gray smoke had escaped his lips, dissipating almost instantly in the air.

The bullies had laughed harder then. "Look, he's a chimney! A human smoke stack!" The nickname had stuck, though it had eventually shortened to just "Stack," following him through his final years of regular schooling.

Subsequent tests had revealed that Kai could indeed produce small amounts of smoke from microscopic pores in his skin, primarily concentrated around his mouth and throat. The smoke itself was harmless—no toxicity, no particular odor, just ordinary carbon particles suspended in hot air. The ability to ignite it or manipulate it in any meaningful way seemed completely absent.

A hybrid ability so minimal it was barely worth recording.

His grandmother set a bowl of congee before him, topped with pickled vegetables and a soft-boiled egg. "Eat," she insisted, and Kai complied, understanding the comfort she derived from providing for him in ways she still could.

After breakfast, he shouldered his backpack, which contained everything he'd need for the next six months. Vertex Academy was primarily a boarding school, allowing only occasional weekend visits home for first-year students.

"I'll call you tonight," he promised, embracing his grandmother. She felt small in his arms, fragile in a way that tightened his throat. "After the assessment."

"Just remember," she said, pulling back to look into his eyes, "whatever happens there, whatever they say—you are more than what they measure."

Kai nodded, though they both knew such sentiments held little currency in the new world order. You were what you could do, and Kai could do very little.

---

The hyperrail deposited him at Vertex Station along with hundreds of other incoming students. Unlike regular arrival days, where upperclassmen shepherded newcomers through ornate welcome ceremonies, today's early orientation for borderline cases had a more clinical atmosphere. Medical staff in white uniforms outnumbered academy representatives, and the air buzzed with nervous energy.

Kai joined a queue of similarly anxious-looking teens being funneled toward a series of assessment stations. Everyone around him seemed to be trying too hard—flexing minimal abilities, comparing notes on their manifestations, attempting to appear more confident than they felt. A girl ahead of him could make her fingertips glow faintly. A boy behind him kept clearing his throat, occasionally producing a sound that vibrated at an unusual frequency.

Small talents. Borderline cases. The nearly-normal.

When Kai reached the front of his line, a tired-looking technician gestured him toward a scanning platform. "Name and manifestation type?" she asked without looking up from her tablet.

"Kai Ashen. Smoke production."

This earned him a brief glance. "Combustive?"

"No. Just... smoke."

She made a note. "Step onto the platform and demonstrate when prompted."

The circular platform hummed beneath his feet as he stepped onto it. Transparent barriers rose around him, standard protocol for unknown manifestations that might prove unexpectedly hazardous. A mechanical voice instructed: "Please demonstrate your hybrid ability now."

Kai closed his eyes, concentrating on the sensation he had come to recognize over the past three years—a slight warming beneath his skin, a pressure building in his chest and throat. He exhaled slowly, and a thin wisp of gray smoke curled from his lips, dissipating quickly against the barrier.

"Again, with maximum output," the voice instructed.

Kai reached into his pocket and withdrew a crumpled pack of cigarettes. The technician raised an eyebrow but said nothing as he lit one with slightly trembling fingers. Three deep drags later, he concentrated again, this time producing a more substantial cloud that billowed from his mouth and nostrils, with faint wisps escaping from the pores of his neck and face.

The smoke hung in the air for a moment before slowly dissipating. It wasn't impressive by any standard—just ordinary gray smoke, no special properties or behaviors.

"Consumption of combustible materials enhances output," the technician noted, not bothering to hide her lack of interest. "Categorization: Emission Type, Non-Combat, Level One, Minimal Expression." She tapped her screen a few more times. "Assessment complete. Proceed to Registration Station C for dormitory assignment and orientation materials."

Kai stepped off the platform, the cigarette still burning between his fingers. He moved to take another drag, but a sharp voice cut through the busy hall.

"Smoking is only permitted in designated areas or during official ability demonstrations, freshman."

He turned to find a senior student regarding him with cool disdain. Her uniform bore the gold and emerald insignia of a Level Three hybrid, and something about the predatory tilt of her head suggested an arachnid manifestation. Her name badge identified her as "Liang, S. - Student Liaison."

"Sorry," Kai muttered, crushing the cigarette against his palm. A small advantage of his minimal hybrid nature—slightly enhanced resistance to heat, just enough to perform this particular trick without injury. The crushed cigarette disappeared into his pocket.

The senior student's eyes narrowed slightly at this small display. "Registration is that way," she said, pointing. Then, with calculated precision, she added, "Stack."

The nickname hit harder than it should have. Somehow, the fact that it had preceded him to Vertex made the academy seem less like an escape and more like an extension of the world he'd hoped to leave behind.

Kai nodded stiffly and moved in the indicated direction, his shoulders hunched against the weight of eyes he could feel following him. He'd known this wouldn't be easy, but the familiar sting of dismissal so soon after arrival still cut deep.

---

Dormitory assignments reflected the academy's rigid hierarchy. The main residence halls, with their spacious rooms and advanced training facilities, were reserved for students with significant manifestations. As Kai followed the electronic map on his student tablet, he found himself directed progressively away from these central buildings, through increasingly modest accommodations, until he reached the furthest edge of campus.

Building E-7 was euphemistically listed as "Specialized Residence for Developmental Candidates." The concrete structure looked decades older than the gleaming central campus, with none of the architectural flourishes that characterized Vertex Academy in recruitment materials.

"Developmental, my ass," muttered a voice beside him. "Should just call it what it is—the dorm for the almost-norms."

Kai turned to find a lanky boy with unruly red hair eyeing the building with the same resignation he felt. The boy extended a hand. "Tamir Flores. I can make my sweat slightly acidic. Not enough to burn anything, just enough to make my clothes deteriorate faster than they should. You?"

"Kai Ashen. I exhale smoke."

"Combustive?"

"No. Just smoke."

Tamir grinned. "Well, between your smoke and my useless acid sweat, we're practically Avengers material."

Despite himself, Kai felt a small smile tugging at his lips. There was something refreshing about Tamir's blunt assessment of their situation.

They entered the building together to find a sparse lobby where a harried resident advisor was assigning rooms. The RA, a third-year student with faintly luminescent skin—likely some kind of deep-sea creature hybrid—barely looked up as they approached.

"Names?"

"Flores, Tamir."

"Ashen, Kai."

He consulted his tablet. "Room 312. You're roommates." He handed them each an access card. "Orientation for Developmental Candidates is at 0700 tomorrow. Professor Mantis, east training field. Don't be late."

"Professor Mantis?" Tamir asked as they headed for the elevators. "I've never heard of him."

"Me neither," Kai replied, though this wasn't surprising. The academy's famous instructors—those whose exploits filled recruitment videos and news reports—wouldn't be wasting their time on borderline cases.

Their room was exactly what Kai had expected—utilitarian to the point of austerity. Two narrow beds, two desks, two dressers. The window overlooked a maintenance yard rather than the impressive training grounds visible from central campus. The walls were bare except for a single poster detailing emergency protocols.

Tamir threw himself onto one of the beds. "Home sweet home, I guess."

Kai set his bag on the other bed and moved to the window. From this angle, he could just glimpse the top of the Academy's central spire, where a glass observatory housed the administration offices. Somewhere up there, decisions were being made about which students were worth investing resources in, which abilities were worth developing, which hybrids would become the next generation of defenders.

He placed his palm against the cool glass, and a thin wisp of smoke escaped between his fingers, dissipating quickly in the air.

"I didn't come here to wash out," he said quietly, more to himself than to Tamir.

"None of us did, smoke-boy." Tamir sat up, his expression suddenly serious. "But I heard less than twenty percent of Developmental Candidates make it past first semester. They're just waiting for us to fail."

Kai turned from the window. "Then I guess we'll have to surprise them."

A knock at their open door interrupted them. Both boys turned to find an imposing figure filling the doorway—broad-shouldered, at least two meters tall, with the distinctive amber eyes of a Level Three hybrid. Kai recognized him immediately from recruitment materials and news reports.

Jin Stormfist, the Academy's rising star. His hornet hybrid abilities had made him a campus legend by his second year.

And, impossibly, he was smiling directly at Kai.

"There you are," Jin said, stepping into the room. "I've been looking all over for you, Kai."

Tamir's jaw literally dropped. "You know Jin Stormfist?"

Jin's smile widened, revealing teeth slightly too sharp to be fully human. "Know him? This skinny smoke-stack taught me how to ride a bike when we were six." He crossed the room in two strides and pulled Kai into a bone-crushing hug. "Didn't think you'd actually come," he said more quietly. "You should have told me you were applying."

As Jin released him, Kai found himself momentarily speechless. It had been nearly four years since they'd seen each other, their families having moved to different districts after elementary school. They'd kept in sporadic contact, but as Jin's abilities had developed and his star had risen, their communications had grown increasingly infrequent.

"I didn't want special treatment," Kai finally managed, aware of Tamir watching this exchange with undisguised awe.

Jin laughed. "As if I could get you any. The old man runs a tight ship." The "old man" being Director Feng, the Academy's notoriously strict administrator. "But I can at least show you around, introduce you to people. Make sure no one gives you too much grief while you're finding your footing."

The offer was kind, but Kai felt a familiar tension building in his chest. The last thing he needed was to be known as Jin Stormfist's charity project—the weak friend the star felt obligated to protect.

"I appreciate it," he said carefully, "but I should probably figure things out for myself."

Something flickered in Jin's amber eyes—hurt, perhaps, or confusion—but he recovered quickly. "Sure, sure. Independent as always." He clapped Kai on the shoulder, the force of it nearly buckling his knees. "But my offer stands. You need anything, you come find me."

He turned to leave, then paused at the door. "And Kai? Don't let them tell you what you can't do. This place..." He gestured vaguely at the modest room, the distant view. "It's not always good at seeing potential when it doesn't fit their expectations."

With that cryptic advice, he was gone, leaving behind a puzzled Kai and an openly star-struck Tamir.

"Dude," Tamir breathed. "You know Jin Stormfist. Personally. And you didn't lead with that information?"

Kai sank onto his bed. "We were friends a long time ago. Before..." He didn't need to finish the sentence. Before the asteroid. Before manifestations. Before the world divided people into categories of worth based on genetic lottery.

Tamir shook his head in disbelief. "Well, that's one way to start at Vertex. The weakest student with the strongest friend." He grinned. "Maybe we'll survive this place after all."

Kai wasn't so sure. Jin's friendship, while genuine, was also a complication. A reminder of the distance he would have to travel just to be considered worthy of standing on the same campus.

He reached into his pocket and fingered the crushed cigarette, feeling the familiar urge to light it, to feel the warm smoke filling his lungs, to exhale the evidence of his minimal hybrid nature. Instead, he set it on his desk as a reminder.

Tomorrow, orientation would begin. Tomorrow, the real assessment would start. Tomorrow, he would discover whether there was anything more to Kai Ashen than wisps of meaningless smoke.

Outside their window, the sun began to set over Vertex Academy, casting long shadows across the campus. In the failing light, the central spire gleamed like a beacon—distant, imposing, and seemingly unreachable from where Kai stood.

But he had made it this far. And something in him, something as ephemeral yet persistent as the smoke he produced, refused to dissipate just yet.