Six years ago

16 OCT 27AE

Therapy was a waste of time. At least, it was in Camilla's case.

Even though everyone said her abilities were amazing and powerful, Camilla had a hard time believing that for herself, and she needed to practice to meet their heightened expectations. So while she could've spent her time training and honing her abilities, she was forced to spend two hours a week answering questions about her feelings, and apparently her answers were always wrong.

No, she wasn't wrong; her answers were just not what the Org wanted to hear.

"You had a training mission the other day, right?" the doctor asked, even though he probably already had her Academy schedule scribbled into his notes. "How did that go?"

"The mission was sat," Camilla replied simply. "We patrolled the store, got video evidence of the shoplifting, and apprehended the suspects. We were back before lunch."

The doctor hummed thoughtfully; Camilla must've answered wrong again.

"Your team leader says that it was less of a 'we' and more of a 'you,'" he said, as if he was making a profound revelation.

Camilla shrugged. "I was just completing the mission."

Truthfully, she thought she had done a sloppy job, but she didn't bother mentioning that.

"And you did," the doctor agreed. "But Camilla, remember what we've talked about before? These missions are team exercises."

"You talked about it; I just listened," Camilla corrected. "And it could be a team exercise if my team could actually do their jobs."

"Not everyone can be as strong as you," the doctor said, and Camilla detected a hint of well-masked cynicism in his voice.

"But they can be stronger than they are." And so could she. "At the end of this year, I'll be out, and then they're supposed to be the strongest ones in the Academy. How embarrassing is that? There are third years who are already stronger than some of them."

"I'll admit that we have suffered in manpower after... the incident," the doctor said. "But people can get stronger over time. You of all people can attest to that."

"And look what I won for that," Camilla muttered bitterly, frowning in disgust at the doctor's office.

"You can't blame the others for not being as strong as you, Camilla," the doctor continued, ignoring her comment.

"I'm not blaming them," Camilla said. How could she, when she was gifted with her own abilities and she still couldn't use them to their full capacity? "I'm just not going to tone down my strength just to make life easier for them.

"They have to train? Well, so do I. A real enemy isn't going to go easy on me if they end up being stronger. And making me talk with you just because you don't like how I think isn't going to get either of us anywhere."

"Then what will?"

"Haven't I made that obvious? Don't expect me to play nice if it gets in the way of me fulfilling my job. I've played nice for the first, what, seventeen years of my life? All that got me was a one-way ticket out of the Academy and the most pathetic homecoming ever.

"I'm done with that. I know you guys love my power—you couldn't have brought me back here any faster than you did once you found out what I could do. And now you're trying to change how I think? Please, you've been trying for two years already. If you want to keep me, stop wasting your time and mine, and just deal with the consequences."

Camilla's phone alarm suddenly rang obnoxiously from her bag—their second hour for the week was finally over.

"It wasn't nice talking to you," Camilla said as she slung her backpack over her shoulder and left the office without waiting for a dismissal.

Camilla rushed off to the mess hall, hoping that not all the good food had been taken. She supposed that flying would've been faster, but she wasn't that much of a show-off that she would fly around on campus. Only underclassmen with the need for validation did that. Granted, she did fall into that category as well, but she didn't want other students to realize that. And not only was Camilla the most senior student at the Academy by default, but everyone already expected her to be the strongest as well. She had nothing to prove, not anymore. At least, not to them.

At least her reputation preceded her, and the underclassmen made way for her as she rushed through the hallways. Camilla knew that they would talk about her as soon as she passed, but she was used to it. They did that before and they still did that now; the only thing that changed was the gossip went from how powerless she was to how powerful she became.

Most of the upperclassmen had already finished their lunches, so the mess hall was mostly filled with younger adolescents who looked to her with awe, rather than frustration, as she joined the lunch line. The main dish was a decent looking meatloaf, and while it got a lot of hate from the other students, Camilla thought it was delicious. Maybe she just had low standards when it came to food, but she thought any meal tasted a lot better when it was made by someone else.

When Camilla moved to the dessert section, she was secretly thrilled that the soft serve machine had a sorbet as one of the options. Usually she had to pass over the machine and the dairy that they served, so the sorbet was a pleasant surprise that was a balm on her irritation from her mandated therapy.

Except, when she pulled the machine lever, nothing came out. She tried again unsuccessfully, then placed a hand on the side of the machine to feel what was inside. Past the outer body and internal mechanics, and ignoring the refrigerant and condensation, Camilla could feel a residual amount of sorbet left in the machine. It was barely enough for one serving, but not enough for it to make it out of the machine.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" a voice said from beside her. It was a scrawny little boy with a worried expression on his face. "I—I think I took the last of it."

On his lunch tray was a bowl with a meager amount of raspberry sorbet in it. Still, the boy was acting like he had drained the entire dispenser.

"Don't worry about it," Camilla said, ready to just find a seat and eat her lunch. She was tempted to coax the rest of the dessert out of the machine, but that seemed too desperate in front of too many witnesses.

"No, no, here," the boy said, holding out his bowl to Camilla. "Take it."

"It's really fine," Camilla said, stepping away from it.

"No, please, take it," the boy insisted. "I didn't really want it anyway."

That was probably a lie, but Camilla wasn't going to point that out.

"Thanks, but you keep it," Camilla said.

She picked up her tray and turned to leave, but the boy made to go after her. As he stepped forward though, he bumped into his lunch tray that was on the counter, sending the contents falling towards the ground.

The boy yelped in surprise, but Camilla reacted instinctively. She held onto her own tray with one hand and extended the other towards the boy's lunch, and she stopped the mixture of solids and liquids in midair. When Camilla returned the contents to the tray, it looked a little worse for wear, but at least everything was accounted for.

"Nothing got on you, I hope," Camilla asked, setting her tray back down beside the boy's.

"I don't think so," the boy replied, quickly patting down his uniform with one hand, his other still stubbornly clenching onto the bowl of sorbet.

Camilla looked at the pitiful bowl and sighed. She had already showed-off her powers once for the day. What was a little more if she could benefit from it too? So she placed one hand on the soft serve machine and pulled the lever with the other and coaxed the remainder of the sorbet out. Half of it she put into a bowl for herself, and she nodded the boy over to put the rest in his.

"Thank you," he said, staring at her in awe.

"Don't mention it," she muttered, and began to head off to find a seat.

"Did—did you want to sit with us?" the boy offered with a hint of both nerves and excitement in his voice.

The proposition stopped Camilla short. She had only tried to be polite. She hadn't meant to be friendly—she didn't need friends. Friends were a luxury with a price of trust that she couldn't afford. Sure, these kids were probably just a bunch of overeager first years now, but soon they'll learn how to use other people to get what they want. Especially the people that trust them.

"No," Camilla replied, plainly and coldly, and she left the boy standing there in shock to go find her own seat, alone, and with her eyes watching everyone else.

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