The city was in chaos.
Screams echoed through the shattered streets of downtown Toronto as a towering blue-skinned monster rampaged through buildings, its roar shaking glass and steel. Civilians scattered like ants, trying to escape the creature's wrath. Cars flipped, sirens wailed, and smoke blanketed the skyline.
In the midst of it all, a boy — maybe fourteen — tripped and fell. Dust coated his face as he looked up, paralyzed by fear. The monster turned, its glowing red eyes locking onto him.
Step by step, it approached.
Cracks followed in its wake.
Its mouth opened, wide and jagged, ready to devour him whole.
And then—
BOOM.
A golden blur crashed into the monster with the force of a meteor. The creature was launched backward, smashing through a skyscraper, glass raining down like sharp snow.
The boy blinked through the dust. A man stood in front of him — tall, cloaked in aura, his fist still glowing from the impact.
He looked over his shoulder and smiled.
"Don't worry, kid."
He raised a single finger and pointed.
"I'm The Strongest Fist. And you?" He faced the monster again.
"You're about to be judged."
With a roar that split the air, he dashed forward and launched a punch that detonated on contact.
BOOOOM!
The monster exploded in a shockwave of blue fire. The city went silent for a moment — and then cheers erupted. People clapped, whistled, screamed his name.
The boy stared in awe.
He wanted to be him.
He would be him.
---
RIIIIING. RIIIIING.
Virat sat up, rubbing his eyes as the alarm screamed beside him.
He looked around at his tiny, messy bedroom.
"…Just a dream?" he muttered, deflating. "Aw, man…"
Then he looked at the clock.
7:30 AM.
"OH CRAP, I'M LATE!!"
He jumped out of bed, scrambled to throw on his school uniform, and nearly tripped over his own shoes.
From the kitchen, a voice called out.
"Virat! Sweetheart, why are you rushing like that?"
"I'm late for school, Mom!!" he shouted, yanking his backpack over his shoulder.
"No need to hurry, it's just result day!"
He froze.
"…Really?"
A slow grin spread across his face. "YEAAAAHHH!!"
At he assembly of Virat's school :-
The school courtyard buzzed with excitement. Hundreds of students sat in neatly arranged rows under the morning sun as the principal stepped up to the microphone, clearing his throat.
"Today, we celebrate academic excellence," he began. "And the first position achiever this year is none other than…"
A pause.
"…Virat Singh — with a score of 97.65%!"
Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd.
Virat's eyes widened. "Wait, what?"
"Go, son! That's my boy!" his mother cheered from the back, waving her handkerchief proudly.
Blushing, Virat awkwardly made his way to the stage as a few polite claps followed. He shook the principal's hand and was handed a small certificate, though most of the students were either shocked, confused, or just uninterested.
---
Later, after the assembly…
Virat walked alone toward the school gate, the certificate tucked safely in his bag, a shy smile still on his face.
That's when he heard footsteps behind him.
"Well, look who made it to the top," said a deep voice, dripping with sarcasm.
Virat turned.
Salman — tall, broad-shouldered, his right arm still glowing faintly with heat — stepped in front of him.
Beside him stood Shinjuro, aka Shin, hands in his pockets, shadows dancing faintly around his feet like mist.
Virat's smile faded.
"97.65% huh?" Shin smirked. "Too bad brains don't make you a hero."
"Yeah," Salman chuckled. "You can't even stop a baseball. And you want to stop villains?"
He leaned in close. "It's like a mute guy saying he wants to be a singer. Makes zero sense."
Virat stayed silent.
They walked past him, bumping his shoulder hard. His bag fell to the ground, books spilling out onto the concrete.
Shin looked over his shoulder. "Dream big all you want, nerd. But remember — you're not built for this world."
Salman grinned. "At least not our world."
Their laughter faded as they walked off.
Virat crouched down quietly, picking up his books one by one. Dust clung to the edges. His certificate had a fresh crease in it now.
He slung the bag over his shoulder.
Then called out, not loudly — but just enough for them to hear.
"I wish you luck… with your dream of becoming heroes."
He didn't say it with sarcasm.
He said it with sincerity.
Even after everything.
They didn't turn around.
But Virat did. And he walked away — holding tight to the one thing they couldn't shake:
his dream.