"Hey!" a spirited young girl shouted, her finger jabbing sharply in the direction of the two boys huddled in the shadowy corner of the schoolyard. They were looming over a more petite boy, who appeared half-concealed by the unforgiving gloom. With an unmistakable sense of purpose, she stepped forward, a heroic grin illuminating her face as sunlight burst behind her like a theatrical spotlight. In that single moment, she transformed from a mere ten-year-old into the embodiment of a comic-book champion, ready to confront any darkness.
"Stop that!" she commanded, her voice ringing with defiance.
The bullies merely chuckled, their laughter echoing around them like a taunting wind. The one on the right aimed a swift kick at the boy on the ground's stomach. Oddly enough, the boy didn't flinch or cry out; instead, he remained still, almost serene. The twins reflected a rehearsed menace as they cracked their knuckles together, their synchronized movements amplifying the tension in the air.
"What are you going to do about it, Debbie?" one twin sneered, stepping out from the shadows into the bright light.
The twins, mirror images of each other with matching glares and identical, sneering expressions, advanced side by side, creating a wall of intimidation. The bolder twin barked, "Stay out of this, Debbie! Or we'll beat you up! That's what my bro says!" His brother, the larger of the duo, raised his fists awkwardly, mimicking a semblance of a boxing stance that lacked any real conviction.
Debbie cracked her own knuckles with a sharp confidence. Tiny spirals of black-red lightning danced around her fingers, hissing like angry serpents poised to strike. Yet her grin remained unwavering, even as a palpable weight settled over the alley, an electric charge that made the air thicken.
The twins shivered at the sight.
The boy on the ground, however, felt a wave of warmth envelop him, a shield against the impending storm.
"I'm gonna be a hero!" Debbie declared, her eyes twinkling with fierce determination. "And heroes save people! No matter what!"
With that, she launched herself forward. For a ten-year-old, her speed was astonishing—almost supernatural. Even an adult would have found it terrifying. The larger twin's bravado evaporated as she closed the distance, paralyzed by a grip of sheer fear that struck him harder than any punch ever could.
Debbie halted her fist mere millimeters from his face.
In an instant, both twins crumpled to the ground, as if the very air had been knocked from their lungs.
"Scram!" she barked, her voice a fierce command. "And don't let me catch you doing villain stuff ever again!"
The twins gulped, terror etching their faces, one already tearing up. With a shared glance of understanding, they scrambled away, their feet pounding the ground in frantic retreat.
Debbie turned her attention to the more petite boy, offering her hand with a gentle smile. "Bailey, right?"
He nodded, taking her hand as she pulled him into the sunlight.
"Anytime you need help, call me!" she said proudly, the spark of heroism burning bright within her. "Because I'm a hero!"
Dusting off her hands, she continued to feel the faint buzz of leftover sparks flickering in the air.
"Are you okay?" she asked, leaning down to inspect him closely. "They were really going at you."
Bailey simply grinned, beaming wide with an almost disarming brightness. "Yep! They were helping me train!"
Debbie blinked in disbelief. "…Train?"
"For hero stuff!" he chimed, his enthusiasm overflowing as if it were a simple, universally understood concept. "Real heroes gotta know how to take a punch, right?"
She stared at him, her confident grin faltering into a look of puzzled disbelief. "You were letting them hit you?"
Bailey shrugged, brushing dirt from his knees nonchalantly. "They needed practice, too. Bullies never hit properly. It barely stung."
He demonstrated with an exaggerated mimed punch and shook his head in disapproval. "See? No technique."
Debbie opened her mouth to respond, closed it, then opened it again. "That… didn't really look like training," she said slowly, processing the absurdity of his logic. "It looked like you needed help."
Bailey blinked back at her, the confusion clear in his innocent gaze.
Debbie squinted slightly, gaining a better understanding of this curious boy before her. "So… you're trying to be a hero too?"
"Of course!" he proclaimed with pure, unshakeable certainty. "Isn't everyone?"
Debbie hesitated, confusion knitting her brow. Everyone she knew seemed wrapped up in dreams of fame, strength, and being cool. Yet Bailey spoke of heroism as though it were the simplest, most ordinary path, an expectation sewn into the fabric of their lives.
As if the thought freed him, Bailey stepped past her, his arms swinging freely at his sides, exuding an infectious excitement.
"We're gonna be great heroe team one day," he said over his shoulder, his voice brimming with eagerness and conviction. "You and me!"
Debbie straightened up, the familiar sparks of power swirling faintly around her clenched fists once more. "Wait… me?" she blurted, caught off guard.
"You shouldn't slack off on your training!" Bailey called back, already marching toward the schoolyard exit, nearly glowing with determination that radiated like a beacon. "Heroes have to work hard!"
Debbie stood there, her mouth half-open, as Bailey skipped away, his spirit undeterred by the world around him. A beat passed, and then she found herself smiling, the warmth of his sincerity spreading through her. "…Weirdo."
────────── ◇ How to be a Hero ◇ ──────────
Barbra gasped as she looked at her son. She knew that he was being bullied at school. The school was useless in dealing with these matters. Especially since the kids she suspected of bullying her son were children of supers.
There wasn't much she could do since there were rumours of the parents being involved in some not so savoury activities.
"Its okay mum!" Bailey grinned out as he assumed a superhero pose, the cuts and bruises sinking to the shadows as his smile lit up the room. He took off his shoes and placed his ruined bag on. He walked over to her and patted her thigh. "Those punches didn't even hurt"
Barbra dropped to her knees and hugged her child. Mapping out all the cuts that had been a result of a beating, she was a nurse and knew that all this damage would have to hurt a lot.
"Those thugs can't get me to cry" Bailey chuckled as he patted her back as he leant into the hug. "Even if they have powers!"
Barbra stopped hugging him, hands resting on his shoulders as she looked into his eyes. Where she could truly tell if he was hurting. Those green orbs shone brightly like emeralds, no hint of pain or malice inside of them.
"My boy" She moved her left hand from his shoulder to cup his cheek. Even now he refused to stop shining. She watched as he extended a hand and wiped a tear from her face, one she didn't know she had shed.
"Don't cry mum!" He chuckled again, as if he were some sort of comic book hero. "It was only training to be a hero, its better that I get hurt now rather than when my life is at stake!"
Barbra opened her mouth to scold him, to remind him that getting hurt was neither training nor normal behavior, but just then, a loud, derisive snort echoed from the dimly lit hallway, interrupting her thought.
A figure leaned lazily in the doorway, silhouetted by the fading afternoon light. It was Bailey's older brother, Evan. His messy black hair, wild and unruly, likely hadn't seen a brush in days, and the chipped black nail polish on his fingers hinted at a distracted creativity. He wore a faded band tee of some obscure metal group, the kind that would turn heads in the right crowd, and his expression oozed an exaggerated nonchalance—completely "too cool for this family," yet stuck with them forever.
With his arms folded and a lopsided smirk tugging at his lips, he delivered his judgment. "You're such a dumbass," he drawled, the words dripping with contempt.
Bailey turned around, his grin unwavering as he exclaimed, "Hey, Evan!" His enthusiasm was infectious, even if it was met with eye rolls from his brother.
Evan rolled his eyes with such exaggerated drama that it seemed painful. "You let them punch you? On purpose?" He scoffed, disbelief etched across his features. "That's not 'hero training.' That's just you being… you."
Bailey, unfazed, puffed out his chest in defiance. "Heroes gotta learn how to take hits! Debbie agreed!" His voice carried the conviction of a true believer, sincere in his skewed logic.
Evan snorted again, this time a little more incredulous. "Yeah, well, Debbie's also ten and thinks her sparkly hands make her a god." He leaned against the doorframe, his posture relaxed yet exuding an air of exasperation.
Bailey huffed back, "They do look cool!"
Barbra shot Evan a warning look, but he merely shrugged it off in the classic, dismissive manner of an older brother, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his ripped jeans and letting the matter rest.
"Look," Evan muttered, his voice flattening, taken down a notch closer to genuine concern, "next time someone throws a punch at you, maybe don't just… stand there and tank it like an NPC."
Bailey blinked, genuinely confused. "What's an NPC?"
"Exactly." Evan jabbed a finger at him, as if he'd struck gold in the argument. "You."
Bailey just grinned wider, completely unbothered.
Evan stared at him for an extended moment, brow furrowing as if he were trying to decode his brother's apparent invincibility, then sighed—the heavy, dramatic sigh perfected by teenagers everywhere.
"…Whatever"
With that, he pushed off the doorframe and sauntered away, muttering something under his breath about idiots and superhero brain damage that faded into the distance.
Bailey watched his brother go, still glowing with a sense of pride that seemed impervious to Evan's sarcasm.
Barbra exhaled a soft, weary laugh, a mixture of affection and concern swirling within her. Despite the biting sarcasm, the derisive snorts, and the playful insults, she noticed the way Evan's gaze had lingered on the bruises that marked Bailey's arms, the tightening of his jaw betraying a more profound worry than he let on. He cared, in his own dysfunctional way.
"See, Mum? Even Evan thinks I'm doing hero training!" Bailey beamed up at her, innocence radiating from him like a beacon.
Barbra placed a hand over her face, a soft smile tugging at her lips. "…That's not what he meant, sweetheart."
But before she could elaborate, Bailey was already racing after Evan, calling out excitedly about practicing evasive rolls in the living room, his laughter echoing off the walls.
────────── ◇ How to be a Hero ◇ ──────────
Bailey sat cross-legged on the hardwood floor of his dimly lit room, the only illumination coming from the flickering TV across from him, casting a soft blue hue on his face. His battered backpack, frayed and dust-covered, lay discarded against the wall, but Bailey didn't seem to mind. His momentary escape into this world felt brighter than any of the bruises speckling his skin.
The broadcast transitioned into a live news segment, the anchor's voice filling the air with urgency.
"We return to coverage of the Brave Brigade's heroic response in downtown Los Angeles. Moments ago, Mecha Man Astral evacuated the last remaining civilians from beneath the rubble… more footage coming in now."
Bailey leaned forward, his emerald eyes shimmering with anticipation.
On screen, Mecha Man Astral; a gigantic armoured figure shimmering with intricate blue-white circuitry, effortlessly lifted a twisted steel beam, its heft no more significant than a feather. Dust billowed around him as he moved with precision, expertly shielding a group of frightened civilians huddled together. With a powerful burst of thrusters, he soared high into the air, guiding the rescued civilians across the fractured street below, the chaos of the disaster receding beneath him.
"Whoa…" Bailey breathed, practically vibrating with excitement.
Every detail commanded his attention. Every powerful movement, every heroic gesture.
Scattered across the carpet around him were dozens of sheets of paper, each a glimpse into his imaginative world. Some were crumpled from frustration, while others were meticulously preserved, showcasing drawings in various stages of completion: sketches of a stylised hero suit featuring oversized, expressive eyes and sleek metallic lines, jet thrusters mounted on the back, and reinforced gauntlets that glimmered with energy.
Right now, Bailey was focused on the newest page, his tongue poking out slightly in concentration as he expertly wielded his pencil. He meticulously added jagged, lightning-like patterns spiralling down the arms of his creation envisioning them pulsing with raw power just like Astral's. He sketched mechanical vents on the boots, picturing himself rocketing into the sky above the chaos. He shaded the chest emblem, mirroring Astral's starburst design, but with a personal twist. His version featured a smiling face beaming at the centre.
After all, that was the essence of a hero.
The news replayed another clip. Mecha Man Astral landed powerfully from a massive leap, the ground trembling beneath his metallic feet, shattering the pavement as sirens wailed in the background.
Bailey's grin widened, and he tapped his pencil thoughtfully against his cheek. "Mecha Man Astral never flinched," he murmured to himself, his admiration palpable. "Even when a whole building almost fell on him…"
His gaze drifted to the bruises dotting his arms but he shrugged them off as if they were as inconsequential as the dust settling on his drawings.
"That's how heroes are," he said proudly, his voice filled with determination. "Strong! Brave! They protect everyone!"
With renewed focus, he turned back to his drawing and added a flowing cape, only to scribble it out in a fit of practicality immediately. "No capes," he muttered. "Capes get caught in stuff."
His mind raced back to the dazzling sparks Debbie had created earlier, and he added vibrant streaks of energy around the gloves, imagining the rush of power surging through them.
On the TV, the reporter continued, her tone brimming with admiration, "Mecha Man Astral is credited with saving twenty-three civilians today. The Brave Brigade spokesperson states that the operation was a complete success."
Bailey set his pencil down for a moment, his gaze fixed reverently on the screen, his heart swelling with hope. "…I'm gonna be on TV someday too," he whispered to himself, his voice full of ambition. "And save even more."