Life is a game of chess

Sally watched as her father—the man she'd looked up to all her life—picked up the pen and signed her ISH exam permission slip. His hand didn't even hesitate.

Then, with a grim expression, he stood, handed it back to her, and said coldly, "Now leave."

Just like that.

No hug. No encouragement. No "I'm proud of you."

Just: Leave.

She hadn't even reacted at the time—just stood there, clutching the paper like it was her last breath. Her brain had gone numb, her limbs frozen. She'd stumbled out of his perfect suburban house like a ghost.

That scene replayed in her mind for days.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to punch something—or maybe someone.

Instead, she trained. Because the entrance exams were in two days, and she didn't have time to fall apart.

But training with a clear head? Yeah, right. She was furious.

Furious at her mom, for being an egotistical maniac. Furious at her dad, for giving up on her like she was a broken toy. Furious at Emma, the Stepford Step-Mom from Hell who had the audacity to hug her. Furious at the whole damn world.

And when Sally got mad... her quirk liked to join the party.

Her palms started to glow, heat radiating from under her skin. She clenched her fists, trying to cool down. She didn't even realize the smoke until the pain hit.

"Fuck... I burnt myself."

She looked down. Blisters were already forming across her hands. Skin raw and red. Her own heat had betrayed her.

Again.

Memories she tried to bury surged back—her younger self, screaming during a meltdown, lava pouring through the living room like it belonged there. And then... falling. Right into it.

Most kids broke a toy during tantrums. Sally melted the floor.

Sure, her quirk gave her some resistance to heat. But even volcanoes have limits. The burns across her back never fully healed. The scars never stopped hurting.

She exhaled shakily. "I need a break."

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

After a long, hot shower—one she was pretty sure used up every drop of hot water in the mansion—Sally flopped into her gaming chair. Her skin still tingled from the heat, but it wasn't unbearable.

Controller in hand, she stretched and grinned.

"Let's kick some ass."

People would never guess it. With her explosive personality, resting-bitch-face, and walking-ball-of-trauma energy, gaming didn't exactly seem like her vibe.

But in the gaming world? You could destroy everything and not get grounded. No rules. No parents. No disappointment.

Just chaos.

Nine hours later—yeah, nine—a blinking red digital clock caught her eye.

She stared at it for a second.

Then screamed.

"FUCK! I NEED TO TRAIN!"

Panic mode engaged.

She threw on a sports bra, some shorts, didn't even bother with shoes, and bolted down the stairs to their private gym. Because apparently, trauma + rich parents = personal weight room.

She trained like her life depended on it.

Punches. Kicks. Heat bursts. Lava control. Balance drills. Endurance.

She trained until her limbs trembled, her breaths came in ragged gasps, and she couldn't lift her legs anymore.

Dragging herself back upstairs, she spared her gaming console one last longing glance.

Then collapsed.

On the floor.

Out cold.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Today was the day.

ISH entrance exam.

The beginning of her journey to prove she was better than her mother. Worth more than what her father gave her credit for.

She pulled on forest green leggings and a matching sports bra, topped with a faded T-shirt. 

She arrived at the exam location and looked up.

The building was massive. Glass and steel and modern architecture that screamed "you do not belong here unless you're a future legend."

"Holy fu—"

"Could you please refrain from using such vulgar language?" a prim, crisp voice cut in.

Sally blinked and turned.

A girl stood beside her—green eyes, brunette hair pulled into a sleek bun. But it wasn't just her face that stood out. It was her clothes. She wore a Victorian-inspired outfit, updated with a modern twist—lace-trimmed sleeves, a high collar, and tailored pants tucked into polished boots. It was equal parts elegant and insane.

How the hell was she going to fight in that?

"My name is Ellen. Ellen Palaye," she said, extending a gloved hand.

Sally hesitated. Then shook it.

"Sally Snider."

Recognition flickered in Ellen's eyes. She didn't say anything, but Sally saw it—the name meant something.

That's when Sally knew: this girl was going to be a problem... or a friend.

Maybe both.

"Want to stick together in this hectic hell of a mess?" Ellen asked casually.

Sally raised a brow. "Sure. Why not. What's your quirk?"

There was a beat of hesitation.

"Time travel."

Sally's mouth dropped open. "What?!"

"Well, I can't travel into the future—only the past," Ellen clarified, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I struggle with the near past. Bigger jumps are easier. And you?"

"Lava."

"Wow. Really good at explaining your quirk," Ellen deadpanned, sarcasm thick.

Sally rolled her eyes. "The name kind of says it all."

Ellen just smirked. Then, without warning, the gates swung open.

The crowd surged forward.

And just like that, they were running—toward the exam, toward the future, toward whatever kind of hell ISH had planned for them.

YAY! Chapter 2 down! 

Out of context, but my homophobic mom is going around singing pink pony club...

She doesn't know what the song is about...

Any who bye!

Remember, any feedback would be nice, or really any questions about the story! I'm going to be posting every Friday ~

         ~Grey