Peter's hands rested on the podium as he let the wind carry away his first breath. For a moment, he didn't say anything. He just looked out at the crowd — the faces of people who had lost homes, friends, sometimes entire pieces of themselves — all standing together again in front of something new. Something alive.
"Hi, everyone," he began, his voice steady but warm. "I'll be honest — speeches were never really my thing. I usually do better when I can keep my head down and just… help where I can."
A soft ripple of laughter spread through the audience, easing the moment.
"But today's different," Peter continued, his smile faint but genuine. "Because this —" he gestured around them, "—this isn't about me. It's about all of you. About what we can build together."
He turned slightly, looking toward the gleaming letters behind him — FEAST shining proudly in the daylight. "Aunt May used to say that when the world falls apart, you don't start by fixing the big things. You start by fixing breakfast. You feed the hungry. You listen to someone who's hurting. You give one person hope — and that's how the world starts to heal."
May smiled faintly from where she stood beside Lumia, her eyes misty but bright.
Peter gestured toward her. "This place exists because of her. Because she believed that compassion isn't weakness — it's strength. That even when things seem impossible, a warm meal or a helping hand can remind someone that they still matter."
He paused for a moment, his throat tightening slightly. "I used to think making a difference meant doing something… big. Something loud. But standing here now, I realize this—" he motioned toward the people working, the kids laughing, the volunteers smiling "—this is what truly matters. The quiet kind of good that changes lives one person at a time."
The crowd was silent, listening closely.
"FEAST isn't just a building," Peter said. "It's a promise — that no one gets left behind. That no matter how broken things get, we can rebuild. Not just our city, but each other. Together."
He smiled faintly, stepping back from the mic. "So, on behalf of everyone here… welcome home."
The applause came like a wave — rising, rolling, heartfelt. People cheered, some even crying. The sound filled the plaza and spilled into the streets beyond.
Aunt May wiped a tear from her eye and whispered, "That's my boy."
Lumia stepped forward, wrapping an arm around Peter's shoulders as the others joined them near the stage. Reporters snapped pictures; kids waved small FEAST flags. For a moment, it really did feel like hope had taken shape — solid, warm, alive.
"Nice work, Mr. Modest," Rize teased, nudging Peter's side.
He laughed. "You're never gonna let me live that down, huh?"
"Not a chance," she said with a grin.
A few minutes later, the ribbon was cut — Lumia, May, and Peter standing together as the crowd counted down. When the scissors closed, the cheers rose again, echoing through the city's steel towers.
Inside, the FEAST Center buzzed with life. Volunteers hurried to their stations — setting up kitchens, distributing clothes, running medical checks. Holographic guides shimmered on the walls, showing routes for food supply and emergency housing.
Malaika coordinated the aid stations, her calm voice cutting through the bustle. "Keep line three moving — we've got families waiting on the east block."
Mu Qing, alongside Lan Xue, managed the infirmary section. "Pressure bandages here. Warm packs there. Move them gently — they've been walking all night," Lan Xue instructed, her tone calm but firm.
Gwen, with her usual energy, was calibrating one of Stark's donated drones. "Okay, little buddy, try not to explode this time," she muttered. The drone beeped cheerfully. "Good. Progress."
Max, meanwhile, was in the kitchen — by choice, not assignment. He moved with quiet efficiency, helping Lumia stack crates of food and prepare trays for distribution. The scent of cooking, the hum of conversation — it all felt… peaceful.
"You're actually helping instead of brooding," Lumia remarked, sliding a bowl his way.
He smirked. "Don't get used to it. Might ruin my reputation."
She laughed softly. "You could use a little ruining."
Aunt May passed by just then, catching the exchange. "Good. He's learning," she said with a wink. "Now make sure everyone eats before noon — no skipping meals, heroes or not."
"Yes, ma'am," Lumia and Max said in unison.
Outside, the line of people waiting to enter stretched around the block. Food was served, stories were shared, and slowly, the city began to feel like a community again.
As the sun climbed higher, Peter found himself standing beside Max near the entrance, watching the crowd filter in and out.
"Hard to believe, huh?" Peter said quietly. "All those years trying to make a difference… and now this feels like the real victory."
Max nodded. "Because it is."
Peter looked at him, a smile flickering across his face. "You thinking of staying put this time?"
Max hesitated, then shrugged. "For a while. Maybe long enough to remember what staying feels like."
Lumia called out from behind them, "Max! Stop philosophizing and get back to work!"
He grinned. "Guess that answers your question."
Peter laughed. "Yeah, it does."
As the day stretched on, the hum of voices, laughter, and life filled every corner of the center.
When evening came, the crowd thinned, but the warmth remained — in the glow of the lights across the glass walls, in the scent of soup still simmering, in the faint sound of children playing outside.
Aunt May stood by the door, watching the sunset reflect on the FEAST sign. Lumia joined her, their silhouettes framed by the golden light.
"She'd be proud," Lumia said softly.
May smiled. "We're proud, dear. All of us."
Inside, Max wiped his hands on a towel, glancing out at the skyline. The city shimmered — repaired, scarred, alive.
He murmured under his breath, "Another world fixed… maybe it's time to rest before the next one."
But somewhere in his eyes, that familiar spark of curiosity lingered — faint, playful.
"Pokémon, huh…" he whispered to himself with a smirk. "Yeah. Maybe after this one."
***
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