Chapter 1: The Miracle Pill

My name is Professor Walker, Head Mentor of Silver Peak Academy.

My office smells like old leather and cafeteria pizza, with football trophies stacked along the shelves and faded Polaroids of science fairs pinned beside blue-and-gold pennants that have outlasted three generations of students. Silver Peak is an odd beacon in this Pennsylvania steel town—a haven for brilliant misfits, burned-out dreamers, and the rare legend in the making.

Adam Carter, my oldest student, once pulled a little boy from a burning church at the edge of town.

That night, smoke hung heavy in the air, and sirens screamed until sunrise. Folks still bring it up at every Fourth of July barbecue—how Adam sprinted through the flames, coughing, half-blind, clutching a sobbing kid. That child would change Silver Peak forever—and maybe more than that.

Adam said he was the “kid with the heart of a lion and the eyes of an eagle”—like he was destined for something huge.

I still remember Adam’s voice, reverent and hushed. Around here, we love animal metaphors: eagles for vision, lions for guts. It felt like naming that kid was staking a claim on the future—making him more than a survivor, maybe even a symbol.

I gave him a rare supplement—something that could change everything—and watched over his journey myself.

This wasn’t some Flintstones vitamin. It was the kind of thing you lock up, only bring out for the wildcards. I’d gotten it from a contact who owed me—no one else at the Academy even knew it existed. Was I doing the right thing? Even now, I couldn’t shake the doubt.

Quinn Lane didn’t react like the others. He stiffened as he swallowed, face twisting like he’d just eaten a live slug.

Most kids would’ve grinned, texted their parents, maybe posted a cryptic Snap. Not Quinn. He looked like he’d bitten into something rotten—the kind of taste that goes deeper than your tongue. I made a mental note: watch this one.

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His reaction stuck with me.

It gnawed at me as I drove home, radio humming, Main Street’s neon flickering past. I’d seen kids light up for far less. That supplement was a golden ticket, and he’d grimaced. Hell, it was unsettling.

That pill? Even senators and CEOs can’t get their hands on it. Anyone else would be on their knees with gratitude.

The world doesn’t hand out miracles. I’ve seen grown men claw for less than what I gave Quinn Lane. Even the city councilman’s daughter never got close.

After he left, I kept tabs—watching from afar.

I didn’t hover, but I checked the security feeds. Silver Peak’s old, but our cameras are new, and secrets always find their way back to me.

I watched as Quinn returned to his dorm, forced himself to throw up, crushed the pill, and dumped the remains into the basement furnace—making sure it was destroyed.

It was late—well past midnight—when I saw it on the grainy feed. He moved with purpose, like he’d done it before. After he cleaned up, he didn’t look back. That kind of resolve is rare.

My hands shook a little.

Not much rattles me anymore. But this did. I poured myself a whiskey and sat in the dark. What did he know that I didn’t?

Could this kid have figured out the truth about the world...?

Maybe he saw through it. Maybe he understood the risks—the real cost. Or maybe he was just smarter than the rest.

I realized he was different.

Not just another prodigy or troublemaker. Different—like a chess player seeing ten moves ahead while everyone else is still figuring out the rules. Unease settled in my chest, the kind that comes before a storm.

But after so many years, I’ve watched too many bright sparks fizzle out.

It’s easy to get cynical. I’ve seen prodigies burn out, geniuses collapse, supposed heroes take shortcuts. I learned to guard my hopes.

Everyone calls it a “miracle pill,” but it’s really just a sugar-coated insect egg.

Most of the staff buy the hype. But if you dig into the real science, you’ll find smoke and mirrors. The pill’s a ticket—with fine print nobody reads until it’s too late.

Even though he spit it out, the challenge of building a foundation can’t be dodged.

Take the bait or not, you still have to play by the rules. At Silver Peak, everyone has to find their own way. No shortcuts. No magic fixes.

If he takes the “miracle pill,” he’s one of us.

It’s a rite of passage. Once you’re in, you’re marked—a Silver Peak success, for better or worse.

If he doesn’t, he can’t stay at the Academy.

That’s the deal. You don’t get to linger if you won’t buy in. The Academy’s a machine, every gear with its place.

So, I wasn’t in a rush to act.

I let things play out. There’s value in patience—waiting to see which way the river runs before building a dam. I kept my cards close, watching Quinn’s next move.

I wanted to see how he’d get out of this mess.

That’s the real test—not what they do when things go right, but how they weather the storm. I settled in for the long game, ready for whatever came next.