Shift's done, day's done. Time to head home and play me some Switch on the big screen. Its screen is too small when it's not docked, so I can't read a third of the text. I blame that for why I don't see that my heals are duds until it's too late.

Both my jobs are in the metropolitan area, but my place is in the suburbs. My broke ass can't afford a car, so I catch the bus either way. Theoretically, I could Light Speed to work and be there in a literal flash, which I have done before, whenever I'm heavy into a new game and don't want to break from it to go stock shelves or deal with whoever the dipshit of the day is. The problem is, like you might've noticed when I helped out that lady with the two bratty kids, I still move at a normal speed from my perspective, and thank goodness. You think I have the reaction time to sidestep every bakery, lamppost, and stolen bicycle? Hell to the no. Be great if I did. But I don't. So, the bus it is for me.

Still have to walk from the bus stop to my apartment, though. Winter makes it a bitch, but during the spring, like now, it ain't so bad.

“Eeeeeeeeeeeee!!”

That sounded bad. A girl screaming, coming from yonder direction. Kids scream all the time, but that scream had 67% more genuine terror than what's normal. It might be a surprise birthday party, but doesn't hurt to check it out. Activating Light Speed, I jog over to the source of the scream.

And find a literal monster attacking a teenage girl.

Wowzers, that's, um...That's a surprise, all right. Just glad I'm not late to the party.

The girl's fallen to the ground, sheer horror all over her face, and who could blame her? That thing's pretty horrifying. Like that abomination from Made In Abyss, that one spiky bro that really messed up whatsherface.

Been a while since I’ve seen one of these things. These guys just don't know the definition of give up, do they? You wipe out the entire invasion force, but they still wanna roam around, munching on whoever looks like a tasty treat.

Sorry, buddy, but no snacking for you. You're fat enough as you are. I think a diet's in order. So I'll just be relocating this girl so that you can't get to her.

My left arm goes under her leg, and my right arm supports her back. Keep my back straight, lift with my knees. The princess carry—I've always wanted to hold a girl in my arms like this. Too bad the girl in my arms is an actual girl as opposed to a woman. Also, I'm quite upset that I can only literally pick up girls.

I set her down at what seems like a good distance. The Orb Piercer knockoff will have to burn a few calories to get to her, but he has to get through me before that, and I have no plans on letting that happen.

I eye the horizon. The sun's just set, so I don't have much juice to use my Light Speed for longer than a minute in my time. Figures he'd attack right when my powers start waning, but maybe I can cheese this fight.

“Eeeee—Huh?! Wha?!”

Apparently, the girl was primed for a second scream before I came in. I wonder what's more terrifying: about to be chowed down on or suddenly teleporting away.

“Get out of here,” I warn her. I'm 99.8% confident I can take down this beast no problem, but never hurts to play it safe.

“A...superhero?”

That's a sharp mind on her. Put that edge to good use and GTFO out of here, girly.

The monster whipped its head side to side after I deactivated Light Speed, confused that its prey teleported twenty-odd yards away, and now it roars and bears its teeth at me. Least, I think those are its teeth. Kinda hard to tell when there's barely any light and that thing's just one huge shadow, anyway.

“Come on, you Chinese knockoff. You know you want some of this.” And I want you to come over here and try and headbutt me. Go ahead. Give me your best shot.

It spins around, and coming at me is his tail, which is much more massive than it was a second ago. Looks like it could smash apart a concrete wall, so what's that say about my odds?

Extremely good, since I can go Light Speed and duck beneath it.

Come on, work with me, buddy. There's a certain move I want him to pull, and I stand still to coax him into doing it. When he arcs his tail right at me is when I reactivate my Light Speed for my match-winning play.

I hop on his tail.

Seems like I’m handing him the W, but trust me when I say I know what I'm doing. Mostly.

Back in normal speed, seeing that I've magically and tauntingly appeared on top of his tail—which is surprisingly soft, by the way—he deals with me by launching me skyward. But little does he know that's exactly what I wanted him to do.

The Chinese knockoff hurtles me into the air, and what a hurtle it is. I can see my house from here. Literally, that's where I live, over that way direction. But it's not my home I should be looking at. Behind me is the western sky, and even though the ground is pretty dark, that doesn't mean the sun's entirely gone. I reach the height of my leap, and there it is—the sun, looking so good for the first sunset that it's doing it twice. Not much light coming off it, but it's just enough to charge me up. Yeah, you heard me right. I'm solar-powered. Can't do jack at night, but when it's daytime, bad guys better watch out.

Mr. Knockoff had especially better watch out. Actually, don't watch out. Stand there and don't do anything. I love an easy target.

I point my finger down at him, and the tip starts glowing. Focusing the energy from that sunlight I'm taking in. Charging up.

You know. It's funny that I was joking about that monster being a knockoff, because this next attack is a knockoff itself. I couldn't even be bothered to come up with an original name for it.

Solar Beam!

Just like the grass-type attack, sunlight gathers at my fingertip, and once it's fully charged, it lets loose. A bright yellow blasts down at the monster.

Maybe I'm just the type to admire his own handiwork, but it's glorious seeing that thing vaporize into nothing. One second it's there, the next its molecular structure is being torn apart, and the second after that it's no more. Like it was never there. You can't have a more beautiful end to a fight.

I land on the street from way up to where I was, but I hardly feel a thing. A bonus perk of being a superhero. You need to be tough stuff or the slightest knick will snap your arm or blow a hole in your gut.

The girl's still present, right where I left her. I thought she would've booked it, but I guess she was that paralyzed with fear? I'd better check on her, make sure she hasn't wet herself and can get home without passing out.

“Are you okay?” I ask once I'm in talking distance. I don't see any wounds or anything on her, so that thing only just appeared. She's one lucky gal that I decided not to hit up the toilet before leaving work. I was indecisive on whether I had to go or not.

“...You're—You're a superhero...!” The first words out of her mouth. Usually, it's “Thank you so much! Please, take my hand in marriage!” Nahh, JK. That's just a baseless daydream of mine.

Congratulations, sweetpea. You figured me out. I can move at the speed of light, fire lasers from my fingertips, and take traumatic blunts like a champ. Those sorts of things do tend to make a person pretty super.

But no. She wasn't supposed to see any of that. She was supposed to run and cry in horror, you know, as people tend to do when they're in trouble.

“I'm not. I'm just some nobody who happened to be passing by when he found a teenage girl passed out on the street.”

“Don't treat me like I'm dumb! I know what I saw! There was some...shadowy beast attacking me, and then you showed up out of nowhere, and then you were in the sky, and you shot this huge blast of energy from your hand, and, and, and it vaporized that thing, and—”

“You sure it wasn't some other guy who killed that—Whatever it is you saw?”

“And now you're lying to me about doing all that!” She scrunches up her face into the angriest expression she's got, which needs some work if she's trying to intimidate people with it. It's like a puppy's glaring at me. Oooooo, scary. “If you're trying to keep your identity a secret, I promise to! I won't tell a soul! Cross my heart and hope to die! I'll take this secret to my grave!”

Says everybody right before they turn to the person on their immediate left and blab.

I wouldn't trade my power for another, but sometimes it would be convenient to have a versatile set of powers to tap into. Like right now, I could wipe this girl's memory and this conversation would end with her escorting her tiny hiney home. Teleportation would also be great. Rather than turning that monster to dust, I could've snapped my fingers and dumped him in the Mariana Trench or the exosphere. No fuss, no muss. Of course, other people got dibs on those powers, so...

“It's not a secret, per se, but it's also not something I go sharing with everybody,” I say to her. “Fame seems great and all, but I'd rather not have every other person on the street accosting me for an autograph or handshake.”

“I totally understand! Sometimes when I go to the mall for the bookstore or Auntie Anne's, random guys will come up and talk to me. Most of them are nice, but it's like, 'I'm just here for pretzels. Can I go now?'”

Is she serious? She's bragging to me about how she's got boys lining up, asking for her phone number, yet women ditch before I get the chance to ask for theirs? It's times like these when I wish I was a woman. Because then I wouldn't need to sit through an infinite cycle of rejections. My SO would find me, and that'd be our happily ever after.

“Um. You got it. Totally feel me. Soooo, what say we go our separate ways and forget this night ever happened, yeah?”

“Forget it ever happened? Forget it ever happened?!?” She makes that repeat with such force that it stands her up on her feet. Nifty talent. “How could I ever forget the night when I met—”

Oh no...

She's about to say something. A very specific thing I don't want her saying, or yelling, rather, since that's exactly what she's doing. Yelling something I don't want her yelling, and I don't have the juice left in me to rush over and slap my hand over her mouth. I realize what she's saying, and all I can do is stand here and listen to her say it.

“—the man who saved the world!!”

“...............”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Silence in the night. Like the whole world shut up just so it could hear that passionate declaration of hers.

Could you have said that any louder? I don't think the people on the other side of town heard you. Maybe they want in on the secret, too.

Ugh. Of course the girl I saved is trouble. Why'd it have to be an alien monster attacking her? Why couldn't it have been, like, a dog pissing on her? Then I would've had no obligation to save her.

“What'd I just say about keeping this a secret?” It's too little, too late, but I step forward and slap my hand over her mouth. Prevention in case she feels the need to repeat her shout, 10x louder this time.

She nods her head like she understands, and then removes my hand to say, “Sorry! It's just—I couldn't contain myself! I mean...Whoever would've guessed I'd get to meet the Dawnbringer?”

Ugh. Why'd she have to go and spit out my superhero name like that? Dawnbringer, ick! Sounds like the name of a holy weapon from some generic RPG Maker title. If I'd had my way, I would've called myself Photon, but the news spun some narrative about how I was the “dawn after dusk,” and Dawnbringer came about from that. Despite my best efforts, Photon didn't stick. It was always Dawnbringer this and Dawnbringer that. Sometimes, they even shortened it to just Dawn. Cut me a break. Dawn's a girl's name.

“Aha. So that's your real face,” she says, peering around me with her hand on her chin like she's some witty private eye.

“Not as great as you were expecting, huh?”

She shakes her head and says with a smile, “You look just fine to me.”

Only “just fine”? The polite thing would be to tell me that I at least look “good,” that way I know I'm within the positive threshold for looks.

Oh, who am I kidding? That's the nicest thing a girl's ever said to me. Best compliment I've ever received. I'll be up half the night giddy about it.

Skipping back to her statement before that hurtful comment, about this being my “real face,” I can explain.

Most superheroes were up front about their true identities, but there were a few, myself included, who pulled the traditional trick and made our identities secret. I felt like a lame cosplayer wearing a mask, but it did the trick.

But most superheroes had different powers. A few shared powers, but for the most part, they differed from hero to hero. I was the only one able to manipulate light, and when some random Joe pops up before you and starts shooting laser beams out his fingertips, it doesn't take resurrecting Einstein to figure out that that random Joe is the one and only Dawnbringer.

“But—I thought you were dead!”

Though that's the one hiccup in the equation.

To put it simply, I feigned my death. If Dawnbringer was dead, the paparazzi wouldn't be sniffing you out like a bloodhound.

The girl's face contorts between numerous expressions of confusion. Putting all the pieces together, I can tell.

Dawnbringer's before her, but Dawnbringer's dead, but the government program to create superheroes ended after the alien invasion, so no heroes with a duplicate of my power were created, so either her tripping on the good stuff or me faking my death are the most plausible theories. I'm hoping she picks the former.

“Why did you fake your own death?”

Never mind. There's not a hope left in the world for me.

*

“Dawnbringer's walking me home! The man who saved the world is walking me home!”

Walking beside me is a skipping high school girl, singing. Those monsters—they're called Karraker, by the by—pop up only one at a time anymore, but I'll only sleep with a light conscience knowing that she got home safely, so I'm escorting her. Not that I'll be able to do anything now that my power's sapped till the sun comes up, but I can at least stuff her in a trash can and make myself bait to lure any baddies away.

“What's a young thing like you doing out this late anyway? After school club?” Probably a stupid question, since she's carrying a tennis racket-shaped case in her hand. Great. That old fart rubbed off on me.

“Uh-huh. I'm in the tennis club, as you can tell, and practice ran late, so I stopped somewhere for dinner but ended up out later than I meant to.” She said “as you can tell,” but there's no venom to her response whatsoever. I have deep respect for that. Compared to me, this girl's an angel.

I would say that a young, innocent thing like her ought to know better than being out this late by her lonesome, but even if she was packing a stun gun, no way that little static shock would subdue a full-blown Karraker.

“Try and not stay out so late from now on. That was probably a once-in-a-lifetime encounter you just had, but still, those things sprout up like weeds without warning, and they're relegated to the night anymore. Next time you see your club adviser, be like, 'Hey. I almost became Karraker chow last night. Maybe we shouldn't have practice so late.' It might help protect your clubmates, too.”

“Of course! Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.”

I don't think that's how that saying's supposed to be used, but so long as she gets it.

“I can't get over how lucky I was! Getting saved, and not just by anybody, but the Dawnbringer! The Dawnbringer! I rolled the dice and won the lottery twice!”

She making up sayings now? She's not wrong, though. Not just getting saved but getting saved by the guy the media made such a hubbub about? The only thing that's more unlikely is me finding a woman who'll say yes to a date, which would explain why this happened first.

“What have you been up to all this time? How come you avoided the public spotlight after destroying the Katie Meteor?” Some seriousness enters her voice as she asks. It's not a heavy question she's asking, but it feels heavy because it reminds me of the reality I'm living in.

“Avoiding the spotlight's part of it.” I wanted to be left alone. And also, “I had no desire to, what with life hitting me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Bills and such. Saving people doesn't keep the lights on.” Or pay the rent. Or put food in your fridge. Or keep the tap running. Or make you attractive to members of the opposite sex, apparently.

“You don't get paid to be a superhero?!” She's agape. An expression of unadulterated disgust. That's probably the same face I make every time I look at my finances.

“I do get something of a monthly pension from the government.” Takes care of my phone and internet bill, at least. Until the funding's up and Congress hems and haws on whether or not it's worth it to pay the people who literally saved the world.

“That's so messed up! No! Hold on!” She stops in her tracks and puts on her thinking cap. She must be one of those types who can't write a text without coming to a complete stop. I can't stand those assholes. Like, if you're gonna do that, step to the side, pal. I got places to be, things to do. Nobody wants to be held up because the size of your brain is too small to multitask.

“Whatever you're thinking, the typical retort is, 'Saving lives is reward enough.'” That's often how the legislators on Capitol Hill justified shortchanging us when it came to spending bills.

“No, it's not!” She exclaims with a stomp. “Saving people on its own is admirable, but what you're doing is providing an essential service to the people! Therefore, you should be compensated appropriately!”

Look out, we got a little capitalist on our hands. She either picked up those lines from her economics teacher or one of those online business gurus. Maybe her economics teacher is a business guru. Teachers gotta make that dough, too. Us superheroes aren't the only ones getting dicked over by the system.

“So, what, should I demand payment for saving them?” Hello, sir or madam, I see that bullet is about to hit you. Before I move you out of its path, I should let you know that I charge an upfront consultation fee. Do you accept this charge? Great! Here's my Paypal address to forward the money to.

I remember something like this from history class. Back in ancient Rome, there was this rich guy who had a firefighting service, but if the homeowner couldn't pay the fee, he and his team would up and fuck off. Total dickbag.

“Know what?” I hold up my hand, palm up, and gesture for her to put something there. “I saved your life, didn't I? How about you pay me for it?”

She tenses up. “U-Uhm...W-Well...A—Ah...”

Exactly as I thought. She thinks I should be paid, but as soon as I ask for payment, she's against the idea. Typical capitalist. Practically faint at the horror of parting with a few bucks.

“I'm just messing with you.” Mostly. “People did try to pay me for helping them, but I didn't feel right taking their money, so I always declined.” More like ducked out. Some folks were real insistent that I shut up and take their money. Keeping the economy rolling. Those are the true capitalists.

She smiles and nudges me as she walks past. “Spoken like a true hero.”

“...”

Is that what I am? 'Cause I sure as hell don't feel like a true hero when I'm sweeping up broken glass or killing time playing JRPGs. Playing as the hero of a game sure is fun, but it sure isn't fun being a hero in real life.

*

I get her home, thank goodness. She wouldn't stop probing me for questions into my personal life, and at some point she whipped out her phone and kept glancing at it. Either she was taking notes or she had a long list of questions prepared in the event she ever met me or another superhero.

“Thank you for walking me home, Mr. Dawnbringer.”

Woah, woah there, little missy, that's a double no-no! First off, don't call me Dawnbringer. Second off, don't call me Mr. Don't call me Ms., either, or Mrs. And definitely don't call me sir.

“Just Grant is fine.”

“Grant? So that's your name!” She throws her hands over her mouth like I just revealed something shocking to her, like that my mother's actually a horse. Don't tell my mother I said that, please.

“Yeah. That's my name. Grant.”

“Grant. Grant the Superhero. Grant the Dawnbringer. Grant the Granter of Life!”

Okay, you're going overboard now. I gave you my name, so can I go? I've got a one-eyed monster I need to beat.

“Mr. Grant, uh, if it's okay to ask...” She peers to the sides. “What's your last name?” she asks like she's asking me for a deeply personal secret, which she kinda technically is, but with how secretively she's acting, you'd think she was leaning in to ask me how big my cock is.

I'd tell you, but then I'd have the FBI on my ass, so. “Peart.”

“You mean like John Peart?”

No idea who that is.

“Hi, Mr. Grant Peart. It's nice to formally make your acquaintance. I'm Elsa Rademaker. But if you want, you can call me El,” she says, holding out her hand for a shake. Ick. I never did like shaking hands. You never know if the person washed their hands the last time they hit the john.

But she's put in this awkward position where I have to shake it or else she'll cry to her friends and her family that the Dawnbringer snubbed her, and that won't make good headlines. Begrudgingly, very begrudgingly, I shake her hand.

“Same to you. Your name's pretty, by the way.” Her parents have refined tastes.

Her cheeks glow red at my compliment. “Th—Thanks...” She lets go of my hand and tries to pretend she isn't embarrassed. Add in some fidgeting and I would fear she was replicating anime. Endearing as their gestures are, stuff like that doesn't survive the jump to the third dimension.

“All right. Good night, and stay outta trouble.” I've fulfilled my duty as superhero. Time to treat myself to the reward I've earned.

“Um! Mr. Peart, I—”

What is it now? It's late, probably past your bedtime, and nighttime doesn't last forever. I'd like to have some gaming time before I hit the hay. And what'd I tell you about calling me Mr.? And why the last name? Do I look like your school teacher? Am I wearing a tie and standing in front of a white board teaching you science equations that'll be on the next test?

“Sorry, but I really ought to get going now.” That should hint to her to make this quick.

“I'll make this quick.”

She clears her throat and looks me straight in the eye. It's not quite a stern look, as there is some gentleness in it, but it's the sort of gaze that dives into your pupils and descends into the heart of your soul.

“Thank you for saving the world.”

Nothing I haven't heard before. Was a Twitter trend for about ninety-seven seconds. #ThankYouDawnbringer.

“Sure. Thanks.”

“I mean it. If it wasn't for you, none of this would be here.” She holds her arms, tennis racket still in the one hand, out to encompass what amounts to her front porch, but I know she means the world. “Even if the government doesn't thank you and most people just pass you on the street and you have to flip burgers or stock shelves, you deserve more than the world could ever give you. All of the superheroes who risked their lives or lost their lives.”

“...”

I'm actually speechless at what she's saying. People have thanked me before for saving their lives and saving the world, but the emotions behind their gratitude are passion or celebration. Never anything so genuine as she's putting it. Not to call past thanks fake, but...

I find it hard accepting her gratitude and maintaining eye contact. Like I said. It's a look that gazes straight into your soul.

“Don't mention it.” Seriously. Don't.

“Good night, Mr. Peart.” I'm not looking at her, but I hear the smile in her voice.

“Yeah. Good night.” I walk away.

*

I'm quiet the rest of my walk home. I mean, I'm always quiet. Not like I'm walking down the street singing Two Door Cinema Club or wailing like a banshee. But my mind's gone quiet as well. Something about that girl just makes me...I don't know. Think, but differently. Differently how, it's hard to pin down. I want to call her odd, but is she? I'm the guy who saved the world, working two dead-end jobs to pay the landlord. Can you get odder than that?

But the way she talks, she—

It's teenage talk. That wide-eyed, sparkly-eyed speech about the world being your oyster, and the weight's on you to harvest whatever pearls you're eyeing. Whatever my mannerisms now, I used to talk that way myself.

Yeah.

It was quite a while ago, but not all that long ago, just the same.

It was right around that time, when the world was ending.