(PU) SOPHIA HESS

Two weeks before the story began… The school was supposed to be empty. No students, no teachers, no scuffed sneakers squeaking against the t

Two weeks before the story began…

The school was supposed to be empty.

No students, no teachers, no scuffed sneakers squeaking against the tile floors, or conversations in the classrooms. Just the faint and constant bzzt of overhead lights and the occasional, distant rattle of a janitor’s cart trudging down one of the long corridors.

And yet, here was Sophia Hess, crouched in a hallway, and surrounded by a litter of overturned garbage bins and the sour reek of rot clinging to the walls.

Her hoodie was grimy with grime and dried gunk, her hands scraped raw where she’d fallen. Her breathing was ragged, and her eyes darted toward every noise, pupils too wide.

She’d lost track of time.

The plan had been simple: dump a few trash bins into Hebert’s locker, maybe scatter a couple down the hall for good measure. Play it like an accident, so no one would suspect what she had done to one of the lockers. So no one could stop her from showing Hebert her place.

But something had gone wrong. 

The garbage inside had fermented in the heat, leaking sour sludge that made her gag. And when she'd tried to bail, slip into her breaker state and phase through the wall like she had a hundred times before, it hadn't gone accordingly.

For some reason, she had stalled halfway through the concrete.

It had taken her ten long seconds in blinding agony. Ten seconds of panic where her body had refused to obey before she tore herself free and collapsed, gasping, bleeding from her nose and lip where she’d hit the wall.

Now she stood hunched over the mess, blood still smeared on her chin, heart thundering in her chest, as the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoed down the hall.

Too light to be the janitor. Too relaxed to be faculty.

Sophia spun toward the noise, hands rising into a defensive stance. Fight first, run if needed.

A figure strolled into view.

Barefoot.

Wearing a stupid Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts. One hand tucked in his pockets, the other holding a half-eaten protein bar to his mouth.

He blinked once at the sight before him, then he smiled. Easily. Like he'd walked in on someone picking a wedgie instead of a potential felony.

“Evenin’, Sophia, yeah?” he said, voice light. “Bit late for spring cleaning.”

Her breath hitched. He knew her name?

She straightened, tense. “I’m handling it.”

He squatted down near one of the spilled bins, poking at a wad of what looked like a decaying sandwich with a finger. He sniffed and made a face. “Y’know, you really oughta wear gloves for this kind of thing. Toxic buildup is no joke.”

She glared. “Who the hell are you, and why are you here?”

He stood, brushing his hands off. “Naruto. I’m new.”

A pause.

“And same as you,” he added, glancing at the mess. “Staying late. Cleaning up.”

There was still a smile on his face, but it wasn’t soft anymore. It was sharp now, knowing, and something beneath it made Sophia feel… seen. Too seen. As if when he looked at her, he didn't look over her, or past her, but through her.

He didn’t seem like a joke in a beach shirt anymore, and that change made her skin crawl.

“You gonna report this?” she snapped. “Go ahead. See what happens.”

Naruto angled his head, studying her, not with judgment, not even surprise. Just quiet recognition. Like he’d already heard this threat before. Maybe not in those exact words, but something similar, and from someone like her, it seemed. 

“No,” he said finally. “I’m not.”

Sophia blinked.

She’d expected a fight. An ultimatum. Some lecture about consequences and school policy and how lucky she was that someone like him had caught her and not Blackwell.

Instead, he just… refused.

And that shook her more than she liked.

Her arms stayed folded across her chest, a wall she’d learned to keep up since before the Wards, before Winslow, before even her trigger. But she felt the edges fray a little.

“…Why?” she asked, voice low, suspicious.

He walked past her, nudged one of the bins upright with his foot, then crouched beside it again with a sigh. “Y’know, everyone’s got something weighing them down. Guilt, anger, fear—sometimes all three. But you…”

He glanced back at her.

“You’re carrying poison.”

Her hands clenched into fists. “You don’t know me.”

“No,” he said, like that should’ve been obvious. “But I knew someone who was just like you, my closest friend. He carried with him a rage so deep it felt like the only thing keeping him moving. Like if he stopped hating, he’ll collapse.”

Something cold twisted in her gut, and she looked away, toward the lockers, and the cracked tiles. Anything that wasn’t his face.

“I don’t need your therapy,” she said flatly.

Naruto just shrugged, still crouched among the refuse. “Didn’t say you did. But you stalled, didn’t you? Just now, trying to run. Got caught between the concrete.”

Her blood ran cold. “How—?”

“Powers get weird when you’re off-balance,” he said quietly. “My presence doesn't help either.”

Sophia narrowed her eyes. He wasn’t wrong. The longer she remained around him, the longer she felt… off. Not just annoyed or agitated, but physically unsteady. Like her instincts were glitching out every time she was near him.

He stood again and dusted his hands off, facing her fully.

“You won’t get far like this,” he said simply. “You think pain makes you strong. And it does, for a while. But if that’s all you’ve got—if hate is the only thing keeping you together—then eventually, you start breaking everything else just to feel whole.”

Sophia didn’t respond. Couldn’t. Her jaw clenched so hard it ached, muscles locking into place like her whole body was bracing for a blow she couldn’t see coming. She hated that his words echoed within her. Hated that they hit somewhere real. Somewhere raw.

Naruto smiled, soft this time, but tired. Like someone who’d seen this scene play out too many times to count.

““That compulsion?” he said. “The one that says if you’re not hunting, you’re weak? If you’re not angry, you’re vulnerable?”

He gestured to the mess around them: the bins, the reek of rot, the silence of the abandoned school hallway.

“That will eat you alive. And worse? It will only feed the cycle of hatred.”

She still couldn't look at him. No one talked to her like this. Not even Armsmaster. Not even Piggot.

They gave orders. Ultimatums. Schedules.

Not this.

Not a mirror to her deepest insecurities and fears.

A door creaked open at the far end of the hallway, and Sophia’s head snapped up, instinct flaring, the tension in her spine sharpening. Principal Blackwell’s heels clicked on the tiles, and the Vice Principal followed, faces set in hard lines.

That spelled trouble. 

But Naruto didn’t seem deterred by their abrupt appearance. He stepped forward, hands up like he’d been expecting them.

“Evening,” he said brightly. “Didn’t mean to cause a stir. Saw the mess, figured I’d help clean it up. Ran into one of Gladly’s students, she’d stumbled on the trash and was about to report it. Thought I’d step in before the janitors saw it and blamed her.”

Blackwell frowned. “That is vandalism. There will be consequences—”

Naruto cut in, steel behind his smile now.

“She didn’t vandalize anything. Looked more like someone else made a mess and she tried to fix it. Right, Sophia?”

He turned to Sophia, and repeated, “…Right?” 

Sophia stared at him, throat tight. The out hung there, suspended in the air.

“…Yeah,” she said finally. “Was just… trying to clean up.”

Blackwell frowned, clearly unconvinced. “Someone will still be held accountable.”

Naruto didn’t back down. “Then hold me. I’m the adult here.”

“I’ll handle the mess,” he repeated, “but she's Gladly’s student.”

Blackwell’s lips thinned. But after a moment, she gave a tight nod and turned on her heel, suitcase swinging. The VP trailed after her.

Silence settled.

Naruto turned back to Sophia, expression thoughtful.

“I’m not here to judge you,” he said. “But, sooner or later, the world gives you a choice: keep feeding the poison, or try something different. Up to you which one you’d choose.”

Then, just as easily as he’d shown up, he turned and started down the hallway. No final lecture. No parting words. Nothing to show he had potentially saved her from a disciplinary action that would’ve ended more than just her track and field involvement in the school.

Sophia stood frozen, arms crossed tight over her chest, and mouth pressed into a thin line.

She didn’t trust him.

Didn’t understand him.

But he’d helped her without asking for anything in return, and even spoke to her in a way no one had before. That, more than anything, scared her more than any punishment ever could.