The school day continued, and soon it was time for English class. James, Scott, and Stiles took their seats, exchanging quick smiles when they realized they shared the same first period. Their teacher, Mr. Curtis, abruptly began speaking, offering no formal introduction.
"As you all know," Mr. Curtis began, his voice stern, "a body was indeed found in the woods last night."
James exchanged glances with Stiles and Scott, their smiles quickly fading as they sensed the lecture was about to take an unpleasant turn.
"However," Mr. Curtis continued sharply, "I don't want anyone—and I mean anyone—starting conspiracies in my class. This class is strictly for learning and improving your grammar. Do not—I repeat, do not—bring up these theories here. Use all that newfound energy to familiarize yourself with this semester's syllabus. We'll begin taking notes immediately after everyone turns in their signed syllabi."
James, Scott, and Stiles looked at each other with shared dread, already regretting attending school that day.
Just as James reluctantly began jotting notes, his hearing suddenly intensified. He could discern distant car horns clearly, each honk sharp yet strangely soothing. It wasn't painful, but rather intriguing—as if his ears yearned for more.
James frowned, lost in thought. It was confusing—Dire had mentioned he was only partially werewolf, yet his hearing seemed far superior to any werewolf's senses he'd imagined. His mind began racing with possibilities. Could he be something else entirely? A hybrid from another reality? Perhaps he had introduced something new into this world upon reincarnation.
[Dire, am I part Kryptonian?] James mentally asked, half-jokingly.
Dire chuckled in his mind. "Nope. Definitely not. Trust me, considering your love for DC, I'd have figured that out immediately."
James sighed internally. [Guess that theory's out. I'll need to research extensively about supernatural beings and myths in this world. Maybe someone knowledgeable can help me.]
"Dude, James, you alive? Class is already over." Stiles snapped his fingers in front of James, who blinked, snapping back to reality.
"Yeah, I'm good," James replied, slightly dazed. "Just thinking about last night. Scott and I both got bitten, but not killed. Why would a wolf do that? It makes no sense—it felt intentional."
Scott chuckled nervously. "James, come on. A wolf with a motive sounds even crazier than Stiles' tooth-fairy theory."
Stiles huffed indignantly. "Hey! The tooth-fairy thing makes sense if you think about it. It's just a guy with a really creepy teeth obsession."
James laughed. "Yeah, that's still hilarious. But seriously, Scott, think about it. The wolf could've easily finished us off, but it didn't."
Internally, James knew exactly why they'd been bitten without being killed, but he wanted to subtly push them towards considering the supernatural as real. Of course, knowing his friends, Stiles would likely be the first to catch on.
"Whatever," Stiles grumbled. "Don't dismiss my theories."
James chuckled, shaking his head. "Right, right. Anyway, wonder what other classes we share this year."
"Yeah, it'd be convenient if they just handed out everyone's schedule," Scott added.
Stiles nodded, packing his bag. "Guess we'll find out soon enough. We've got some free time—let's check out our lockers."
The trio headed to their new lockers, coincidentally next to each other. James noticed Scott's gaze locked onto Allison, the new girl.
Harley joined them suddenly, noticing the same thing. "Can someone tell me why the new girl's been here for five seconds and already joined Lydia's group?"
"Because she's hot," Stiles replied matter-of-factly. "Beautiful people stick together."
James smirked, nudging him playfully. "Speak for yourself, Stiles—I think I'm pretty damn beautiful."
James snapped his fingers teasingly in Scott's face. "Scott, buddy, you in there? You're practically drooling."
Scott shook himself back to reality. "Yeah, I'm fine. But James—since the bite, have you been hearing weird things? Things you shouldn't be able to?"
"You mean like hearing distant conversations clearly?" James replied quietly.
"Exactly," Scott whispered.
James nodded slowly. "Yeah, my senses have been dialed up to eleven since last night. It's actually kind of overwhelming."
The bell interrupted their conversation, signaling the end of their free time. The friends exchanged quick goodbyes before heading off to their respective classes.
Lacrosse Field
Later that afternoon, James, Scott, and Stiles faced their greatest school-year dread: lacrosse tryouts. Every year they'd attempt to secure a spot on the first line, yet inevitably ended up benched. They approached the field together, mentally preparing for another year of potential disappointment.
"Think we'll finally make the first line this year?" James asked Scott hopefully.
"Honestly, man, I don't know," Scott admitted with a sigh. "It depends if we've really improved enough."
Stiles groaned dramatically. "Great, and if you guys somehow make it, I'll be all alone on the bench. Would you really abandon your best friend—your practically-from-birth best friend—to the loneliness of the sidelines?"
James laughed, clapping Stiles on the back reassuringly. "Relax, Stiles. We're all in this together—first line or bench, we stick together."
Before they could settle in, Coach Finstock shouted, "McCall! You're up—defense!"
Scott looked startled. "Coach, I've never played defense before."
"Exactly," Coach retorted, unfazed. "That'll give the team a confidence boost."
Scott nervously stepped onto the field, glancing at James and Stiles with uncertainty. The whistle blew, and the moment the opposing player charged, Scott's instincts kicked in. He darted forward with blinding speed, intercepting the pass mid-air and pivoting so smoothly it looked choreographed. The crowd went silent in awe, watching him dodge another player with ease, his reflexes animalistic. Even Coach Finstock's eyes widened as Scott stole the ball and cleared it to the far side of the field.
James raised an eyebrow, impressed. That definitely wasn't normal.
"Hall! Let's see what you've got! Offense!" Coach barked next.
James grinned as he stepped onto the field. The coach tossed him a stick and pointed him toward Scott.
"McCall! You're in goal. Let's see if you can block your buddy."
Scott jogged over hesitantly, still riding the high of what just happened. James lined up, rolling his shoulders.
The whistle blew.
James charged, planting his foot hard and launching the ball with monstrous force. The lacrosse ball blasted into the net, tearing right through the mesh like tissue paper. Scott staggered backward from the shock.
A hush fell over the field.
"Holy crap," Stiles muttered from the sideline.
James blinked, lowering his stick. "Okay... so I might be a little stronger than a beta."
"Those are my friends!" Stiles shouted proudly from the sidelines, raising both arms as if he'd just won a trophy.
A few students started murmuring in awe, but the loudest reaction came from Lydia, who clapped and called out with a smirk, "Nice shot, James!"
Jackson, standing nearby, shot Lydia a look that could kill, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. Lydia turned to meet his gaze and simply smiled smugly, clearly enjoying every second of his reaction.
Later That Afternoon – The Preserve
The sun was still up, casting long golden shadows as James, Stiles, and Scott walked through the woods. Birds chirped overhead, and the underbrush crackled beneath their feet.
"Okay, seriously," Stiles said, glancing between his two friends. "How the hell did you guys do what you did out there on the field today? Scott, you were like a ninja linebacker, and James... you tore through the net like it was made of string."
Scott frowned. "I don't know. I just moved without thinking. It's like... my body already knew what to do."
James nodded slowly. "Same here. It's like my muscles were just waiting for the right moment. I wasn't even thinking about the goal—I just did it."
"That's not normal," Stiles muttered. "Not that I'm complaining. I mean, those are my best friends doing superhuman stuff... but seriously, something's definitely going on."
As they walked deeper into the woods, the conversation continued.
"I don't—I don't know what it was," Scott said, still trying to make sense of it all. "It was like I had all the time in the world to catch the ball. And that's not the only weird thing. I can hear stuff I shouldn't be able to. Smell things."
"Smell things? Like what?" Stiles asked.
"Like the mint-mojito gum in your pocket," Scott replied.
Stiles frowned, patting his pockets. "I don't even have any mint-mojito—" He paused, eyes wide. "So all this started with a bite."
"What if it's like an infection?" Scott suggested. "Like, my body's flooding with adrenaline before I go into shock or something."
"You know what? I actually think I've heard of this. It's a specific kind of infection," Stiles said with a completely serious expression.
"Are you serious?" Scott asked.
"Yeah. I think it's called... lycanthropy."
"What's that? Is that bad?"
"Oh yeah, it's the worst. But only once a month."
"Once a month?"
"Mmm-hmm. On the night of the full moon," Stiles said, then howled playfully.
James snorted out a laugh. "You're such an idiot, bro."
"Hey, you guys are the ones hearing howling," Stiles shot back.
"Hey, there could be something seriously wrong with me," Scott added.
"I know! You guys are werewolves!" Stiles exclaimed dramatically. "Rrr! Okay, obviously I'm kidding. But if you see me in shop class melting all the silver I can find, it's 'cause Friday's a full moon."
Scott stopped walking, squinting at the ground. "No, I—I could've sworn this was it. I saw the body, the deer came running... I dropped my inhaler."
They started looking around until Stiles suddenly stopped. He narrowed his eyes and whispered, "We're not alone."
From the trees, a tall figure stepped out—cool, quiet, and intense. Derek Hale.
"You guys lost?" Derek asked, eyeing them suspiciously.
Scott stepped forward cautiously. "I, uh, dropped my inhaler last night. We came to look for it."
Derek reached into his pocket, pulled out the inhaler, and without a word, tossed it toward Scott.
Scott caught it effortlessly, his reflexes startling even himself.
Derek studied the three of them for a moment longer. "This is private property. You shouldn't be out here."
Without another word, he turned and walked away, vanishing back into the woods as mysteriously as he'd arrived.
James glanced at Scott and Stiles. "Okay... that was kinda intense."
[Dire, you think Derek might know something about my ancestry?] James asked mentally.
"Honestly? If anyone around here might have a clue, it's probably him. The guy gives off major 'knows-too-much' energy," Dire replied.
Scott and Stiles began walking back toward the Jeep.
"You guys heading out?" James asked.
"Yeah," Stiles replied. "We came in the Jeep. Catch you later, dude."
"Later," Scott added with a nod.
James waved them off, watching as they climbed into the Jeep and peeled out of the lot. Once they were gone, he quietly slipped into his Camaro, started it, and let it idle for a few moments before shutting it off. The engine clicked softly as it cooled down.
He stepped out, glanced around the now-empty preserve, and made his way back into the woods.
"Derek!" he called out, his voice echoing through the trees. "I need to talk to you! I think you might be able to help me... please!"
He waited, his eyes scanning the tree line, hoping the mysterious man would return with answers.
"Derek Hale! I need your help!" James shouted louder, more firmly this time, his voice echoing deeper into the preserve.
Branches rustled.
From the shadows, Derek stepped out slowly, eyes focused, expression unreadable.
James stood his ground.