Your Girlfriend Calls Me Daddy

"It is now," I said, gesturing for her to join me.

She set her tray down carefully, like she was defusing a bomb. "People are talking about what happened at that store."

"People are always talking." I bit into my sandwich. "Let them."

"The NEA takes unregistered abilities very seriously."

"Good thing I’m registered, then."

She leaned forward, lowering her voice. "Are you? Because what I saw on that video doesn’t match any adaptive-type I’ve ever heard of."

"Maybe you haven’t heard of all of them." I met her eyes. "Why are you sitting with me, Aurora? I thought friends didn’t spend lunch together at this school."

Her cheeks flushed again. "I wanted to make sure you’re okay. After everything."

"Everything? You mean the vigilante thing, or the you-kissing-me thing?"

"Both. Neither." She fiddled with her fork. "I don’t know why I did that."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I—"

"Yes," I cut her off. "You do. You kissed me because you wanted to. Because there’s something between us that doesn’t make sense on paper but feels right when we’re together. Like now."

Her eyes widened, and I could see her Essentia responding to my words, little crystalline motes of light flickering just beneath her skin. The drain between us stirred awake, reaching for that connection even without physical touch.

"We can’t do this," she whispered. "I have—"

"A boyfriend who doesn’t even hold your hand?" I finished for her. "Keep telling yourself that."

She stood abruptly, grabbing her tray. "I shouldn’t have come over here. This was a mistake."

"Sit down, Aurora."

"No, I—"

"Please," I softened my voice. "Just finish your lunch."

Something in my tone made her pause. Slowly, she lowered herself back into her seat. We ate in silence for a minute before she spoke again.

"What are you going to do about the NEA?"

"Nothing," I shrugged. "My father’s people will handle it."

"And Reeves? I heard she called you to her office this morning."

News traveled fast in this school. "She had some questions about my abilities."

"And?"

"And nothing. We talked. I left." I smirked. "Why, you worried about me?"

"No! I just—" She stopped herself, taking a deep breath. "Yes. Fine. I’m worried. You’re my friend, remember?"

"Friends," I repeated, tasting the lie. "Right."

We finished eating without further conversation. When the bell rang, Aurora stood to leave but hesitated.

"Good luck in the semifinals," she said finally. "Noel is tough, but your team works well together."

"Thanks." I gathered my trash. "Maybe I’ll see you there?"

"Maybe." She gave me a small smile before walking away.

I watched her go, appreciating the subtle sway of her hips and the way her uniform fit her athletic frame. Aurora was different from Mera and Cheon. Not better or worse, just different. Where Mera was bold and Cheon was proper, Aurora was genuine—sometimes painfully so. She couldn’t hide what she felt, no matter how hard she tried.

And right now, what she felt was confusion. I could work with that.

The rest of the day passed quickly. Teachers pretended not to notice the whispers that followed me, and students tried to catch my eye in the hallways. By the time three-thirty rolled around, I was exhausted from the attention and nowhere near ready to face Noel’s interrogation.

But ready or not, here it came. I pushed open the door to conference room 2-B at exactly four o’clock and found Noel already seated, her portfolio open and color-coded tabs visible along the edges.

"You’re on time," she said, sounding almost disappointed. "I expected you to be late."

"Sorry to disappoint." I dropped into the chair across from her. "Let’s get this over with."

She pulled out a typed list of questions. "I’ve compiled a comprehensive—"

"No."

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

"No lists. No structured interrogation. Ask me what you really want to know, Noel."

Her fingers tightened on the paper. "Fine. What are you?"

Direct and to the point. I respected that.

"I’m exactly what my registration says. An adaptive-type with multiple manifestations."

"Bullshit." She leaned forward. "Adaptive-types respond to external stimuli. They develop abilities based on environmental factors and threats. They don’t just have three different powers on standby."

"Mine does."

"That’s not possible."

"And yet," I spread my hands, "here we are."

Her grey eyes narrowed. "I saw you open a gate. Just like Mera does. Same color, same energy signature."

"Maybe we have similar frequencies."

"And I saw you use gravity manipulation. And elasticity. And super-strength during the trials." She slapped her hand on the table. "That’s not adaptation. That’s copying."

I kept my face carefully neutral. "Sounds like a theory."

"It’s not a theory. It’s the only explanation that makes sense." She pulled out another document, this one showing energy readings from what looked like our Battle Trial. "I had sensors planted in the arena. They picked up distinct frequency patterns when you used each ability. They didn’t blend or modify. They were separate, discrete powers."

Well, shit. She’d done her homework.

"That’s quite the investigation, Short Stack," I said, trying to sound casual. "Didn’t realize I was so interesting to you."

"Stop deflecting. And stop calling me that!" Her cheeks flushed pink again. "Answer the question. Are you a copy-type?" 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶

"No."

"Then what—"

"I’m a drain-type."

The words hung between us like a bomb about to detonate. I hadn’t planned to say it, but something about her intensity, her relentless pursuit of the truth, made me want to see what would happen if I threw some of it her way.

Her face went pale. "Drain-types don’t exist anymore. They died out seventy years ago."

"And yet," I repeated, "here we are."

"You’re lying."

"Am I?" I held out my hand, palm up. "Want to find out?"

She stared at my hand like it might bite her. "What would happen if I touched you?"

"I’d drain some of your Essentia. Not enough to harm you. Just enough to feel it."

"And then what?"

"Then I’d know what you taste like."

Her eyes shot up to mine. "Taste?"

"Each person’s Essentia has a flavor. Mera tastes like cinnamon and smoke. Cheon tastes like honey and lightning."

"That’s..." She swallowed hard. "You’re trying to distract me."

"No, I’m answering your question." My hand remained extended. "You asked what I am. I’m telling you."

A long silence stretched between us. Then, slowly, she reached across the table. Her fingers hovered above mine, trembling slightly.

"If you’re lying to me," she whispered, "I will end you."

"I don’t doubt it."