The afterglow of claiming Chloe was a constant, humming warmth in my veins. Practice wasn't just practice anymore; it was a display of ownership. I’d call a routine, and Chloe’s eyes would snap to mine, her movements sharper, more precise, as if trying to please me on a level even she didn’t understand.

But the Megazord required balance. A foundation of legs was vital, but I needed striking power. I needed an arm. I needed Hannah.

Hannah was our flyer, our grenadier. Compact, powerful, with a kinetic energy that was all springs and explosions. Where Chloe was smooth and fluid, Hannah was sharp and sudden. I asked her to lunch, just the two of us, at a quiet cafe off campus.

She was surprised but agreed, her usual explosive energy tempered with a flicker of curiosity. Over salads and iced tea, I guided the conversation away from routines and rallies and into deeper waters. I learned about her strict parents, her hidden love for violent comic books, her secret dream of being a stuntwoman.

“I just… I want to hit things, you know?” she confessed, stabbing a cherry tomato with her fork. “Not like, in a bad way. But with purpose. With impact.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” I said, leaning forward, my voice low and conspiratorial. “It’s about control. Channeling all that power. Making it yours.”

Her eyes widened, and she nodded slowly, a connection sparking between us that had nothing to do with cheerleading. It was a recognition of a similar hunger. I paid the bill, my hand resting on hers for a moment too long. She didn’t pull away. A blush crept up her neck. The claiming had begun long before the monster arrived.

It arrived that evening, a grotesque thing made of cracked mirrors and distorted glass, its minions shrieking about “body positivity through critical self-reflection!” It shot beams that tried to warp our self-image. We fought, our movements slightly off, dodging not just attacks but our own funhouse mirror reflections.

We finally shattered its core with a well-aimed, combined kick from Chloe and Zoe, and it began its inevitable growth into a towering, glitching prism of insecurity.

The belt snapped into place. Time stopped.

My gaze locked onto Hannah. Yellow. She floated toward me, her expression not dazed like the others, but focused, intense, …