The scene unfolds with a series of knocks on the door, followed by a familiar voice calling out, "Honey, it's almost time for school. Get ready." In the room, a kid lies in bed, acknowledging the call with a simple "OK, mom" as he reaches over to silence his alarm.
As he prepares to start his day, his mother's voice drifts in from the kitchen, "I'm getting dinner ready for you, honey " With a hint of exasperation.
Amidst the vibrant chaos, a Adamus emerges from his slumber, his tousled hair a testament to a night spent immersed in dreams of heroism.
With dark brown skin and hazel eyes that sparkle with determination, Adamus lies beneath his blankets, his small Afro a soft crown of sleepy rebellion. A loud yawn escapes him as he lazily scratches his head, finally stirring from his cocoon of warmth.
He pushes himself upright, blinking at his reflection in the mirror across the room. Then, with a sudden burst of energy, he erupts from bed a tempest of motion. Punches and kicks slice through the air as his room becomes a battleground, imaginary foes falling before him.
"Watch out! Watch out!" he shouts, adrenaline fueling his morning ritual.
Adamus's room is a sanctuary adorned with posters of superheroes adorning every inch of its walls. Miniature figurines of these legendary figures line the shelves, creating a kaleidoscope of colors and action-packed scenes.
In Adamus room, amidst the vibrant display of superhero memorabilia, there are also trophies proudly showcased, a testament to his achievements in mixed martial arts. Each trophy gleams with polished metal and engraved plaques, marking the milestones of his journey through the world of combat sports.
The shelves are adorned with an array of trophies, ranging from gleaming gold cups to sleek silver statuettes, each a victory won through dedication and discipline. Some trophies are larger, signifying championships and major tournaments, while others are smaller, commemorating individual matches and accomplishments.
With clothes hastily donned, he hurtles down the stairs, each step a leap toward destiny. The morning light filtered in through the window, casting a soft glow on the worn carpet. His mother, Almasa, stood at the bottom of the stairs, her apron tied securely around her waist. Her long black hair cascades down her back like a waterfall of midnight silk, framing her face with a frame of lustrous darkness. Bright brown eyes sparkle with warmth and wisdom, mirroring the depth of her soul and the love she holds for her son, Adamus.
The scent of warm toast and coffee drifted from the kitchen, filling the small house with a familiar comfort. The walls were lined with photos, all of them of Adamus and his mother. No one else. Just the two of them.
"Adamus," Almasa called, her voice gentle but firm. "You can't leave yet. I haven't made breakfast."
He paused at the door, one hand on the knob, his backpack heavy on his shoulder. He glanced back at her.
"Mom," he said apologetically, "I gotta go. The bus won't wait."
She stepped closer and brushed his cheek, her touch warm. "Be safe out there," she whispered. "And remember, you're my light."
Adamus turned fully toward her, a faint smile playing on his lips, equal parts affection and resolve.
"Mom, the world should be worrying about me," he said calmly. "I'm not easy to break."
She started fussing, and he gently nudged her hands away. "Relax. I've got this."
With a playful grin, he threw a few quick shadow punches before backing toward the waiting bus.
"No more fights, okay?" Almasa called after him.
She watched as he left, pride and worry twisting together in her chest. Then, softly, to herself, she murmured,
"He's just like his father."
But as he ran down the path toward the waiting bus, Adamus clenched his fists, muscles taut with quiet resolve.
He hopped onto the bus and moved down the aisle.
The school bus was a rolling kaleidoscope of personalities and powers, a world of its own. Some kids burned with flickering flames that danced harmlessly across their skin. Others were perfectly ordinary humans, chatting and laughing. One boy strolled upside down along the ceiling, defying gravity as if it were a game. A girl shimmered into partial invisibility, her laughter echoing from nowhere in particular.
As Adamus made his way to the back, greetings rang out from all directions. "Hi, Adamus!" they called in unison, their voices weaving together into a warm chorus that felt like a net of belonging. He dropped into his seat, a small smile tugging at his lips.
When the bus finally rolled to a stop, Adamus stepped off with purposeful strides toward the school entrance. But before his hand could reach the door handle, a sudden commotion nearby pulled his attention something was happening.
There, just outside the school gates, a troubling scene unfolded before his eyes. A group of bullies had cornered a lone figure, their aggressive taunts and actions betraying their intentions. Without hesitation, Adamus sprang into action, his instincts overriding any thought of self-preservation.
With swift precision, he launched himself into the fray, his well-practiced sidekick catching one of the attackers off guard. As the assailant stumbled backward, Adamus couldn't help but grin at the familiar face beneath the hood. "Is that you, Dylan?" he exclaimed, a mixture of relief and amusement coloring his voice. "These guys picking on you again?"
Dylan, still recovering from the shock of the sudden intervention, nodded weakly from his position on the ground. "Yeah," he admitted, his voice tinged with gratitude. "Thanks for the
help again, bro.'' Dylan stood at 5 foot 7, his frame slender yet with a hint of wiry strength beneath his clothes. His short blonde hair was neatly styled, framing his face in soft waves. Behind a pair of square-rimmed glasses, his eyes, a shade of vibrant blue, held a spark of intelligence and warmth. Freckles sprinkled across his cheeks and nose, adding a youthful charm to his features. Despite his confident stance, there was a subtle awkwardness to his movements, as if he was still growing into his own skin. And when he spoke, his words flowed with a gentle lisp, giving his voice a unique cadence that set him apart.
The two kids exchanged bewildered glances, their expressions a mix of confusion and pain as they tried to make sense of what had just transpired. One of them, his face bearing a giant boot mark from the unexpected blow, spoke up first, his voice tinged with incredulity. "Who the hell just kicked me in the face?" he exclaimed, his words laced with both anger and bewilderment.
Their eyes followed the direction of the kick, and they froze when they saw Adamus standing over them, a presence that radiated quiet intimidation.
Shaken, they stumbled over their words.
"We're sorry, Adamus," one of them blurted out, voice cracking. "I… I forgot my lunch money. We figured we'd just take his. He's rich. He's an A-rank citizen. He's got more money than all of us."
Adamus studied them in silence, his gaze sharp and unyielding. Then his expression shifted, not to sympathy, but understanding.
"Taking someone's money isn't the answer," he said evenly. "Especially not like this."
He glanced at Dylan, then back at them.
"One of the MMA gyms I used to train at is hiring," Adamus continued. "You can work there. Earn money the right way. That's a lot better than stealing from someone who didn't do anything to you."
The two exchanged looks and shook their heads.
"We won't mess with him anymore," one of them said quickly. "But… no. We're not going to your MMA gym."
Adamus exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. He reached down and pulled the kid on the ground to his feet.
"Then you're done here," he said firmly. "All of you. Leave."
They didn't argue. After one last nervous glance, the two hurried off into the school building, their footsteps echoing down the corridor as they disappeared.
Turning his attention to Dylan, Adamus studied him with a blend of curiosity and skepticism as they continued toward the school entrance. "Dylan," Adamus began, his tone curious but probing, "why are you even going to this school? It's a C-ranked school in a C-ranked district."
Dylan adjusted his glasses with a calculated motion, his eyes briefly distant, as though weighing the world in his mind. "Yeah, I know," he admitted, a faint smile playing on his lips. "I'm an A-ranked citizen, sure. But this school? It's strategic." His voice carried a quiet but undeniable confidence. "Being here gives me a better shot at topping my class and getting better grades. That means a better shot at an S-ranked university. I've cracked the code to success."
Adamus raised an eyebrow, his skepticism deepening as Dylan tapped his glasses for emphasis, as if they were the source of his logic. "And let's face it," Dylan added with a wry chuckle, "S-ranked citizens aren't exactly known for their hospitality especially toward someone like me. No blue skin? Yeah, that's a social disadvantage I'd rather avoid."
Adamus couldn't help but smirk at Dylan's blunt honesty. "So, you're playing the long game," Adamus mused.
Dylan's gaze sharpened, and he adjusted his glasses once more, a quiet determination radiating from him. "Exactly."
Dylan simply chuckled in response, a lightness in his demeanor that belied the seriousness of his ambitions. "You need to learn how to fight, bro," Adamus insisted, his concern for his friend's well-being evident in his words.
But Dylan waved off his concerns with a dismissive gesture, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "No, that's why I have you," And with that, the two friends shared a laugh, they stepped through the school doors.
Dylan and Adamus found seats next to each other in the classroom, their attention drawn to the front as the teacher, a wild-haired scientist with an eccentric demeanor, began to address the class, Professor Reed. His energy was palpable, a whirlwind of excitement and enthusiasm that filled the room.