R.O.S.'s black sedan had an old-fashioned fish fin on the top. Back when he was young, every car had one. Now, his sedan was the sole fish in the current of vehicles. Despite the age, the inside of the car was much better than most others. The leather on the seats was smooth without a scuff. A faint scent of cologne kept a tranquil freshness within.

Granted, it was all ruined when Loter repainted the back row with his bloody clothes. The old hero could only watch.

"Uh, you don't mind, right?"

R.O.S. took a silent deep breath, then smiled gently with his artificial serenity. "No, it's fine." He fastened his seatbelt and stepped on the gas pedal. Even as oblivious as Loter could tell, he was not fine.

The city part of HueCam Academy's campus was surrounded by gothic fencing. Every few equal meters, a stone newel was built between the fencing. Atop these newels was the name "HueCam," spelled repeatedly and successively with one 3D letter on each newel.

R.O.S.'s black sedan speeded past it to the old clinic across the road. A hospital of seven floors and a slightly shorter superhero agency were neighboring the clinic, forming a narrow gap above the two-story clinic.

The sedan was parked a sidewalk away from the front door. The aged, dark-skinned driver exited the car and strolled into the building with his usual weariness. The young, light-skinned passenger dashed into the front door without closing the car door. He certainly did not want anybody to see himself.

Sighing, the driver went back to do it himself.

"It's, it's, uh," Loter swung his sight between his bloody clothes and the pink-haired man behind the tall counter. "I'm with Mr. Ros." He pointed out the glass gate.

"Take it easy, li'l bro. Have a seat," the man consoled him with a smiling visage and opened the counter hatch as R.O.S. came in.

"Like I told you, just testing superpower. I want it quick," said R.O.S. He glanced at Loter, who was sitting on a banquette.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," the pinkhead yawned and called lazily, "Amy, you heard it." He lowered his voice. "R., I need a word with you."

While the two men went into the chamber behind the counter, the door beside the banquette was opened. A woman stuck her head out.

"You're the patient?" she asked quickly.

Standing up, Loter answered even more frantically, "Yeah." The entire situation had him nervous.

The room behind the counter was a staff lounge. Two sets of wooden cabinets were placed beside the door. The old pendant light flickered twice when turned on, turning darkness into dimness. Across the room were the two empty beds against the wall. The pinkhead sat on one of them. Both his legs and arms were crossed. R.O.S. just leaned against the cabinets. He shoved his hands into his leather pocket.

After some silence, the pinkhead took a deep breath and said, "R., that boy you brought here…" His sentence faded midway for the other to spit whatever he had to explain.

"He's the fated one." R.O.S. avoided the pinkhead's eyes with his brows slightly knitted. The deep wrinkles on his forehead puckered accordingly. Nobody could notice his old age without these folds.

"Come on, R. It's four years already. Now, the person you have been yapping about is finally here, and you still don't want to tell me a thing?"

"Just trust me, he's the one…" His voice was subdued.

"No." The pinkhead eyed away and turned back, switching his talking point. "What are you thinking? He's just a high schooler. You are ripping his life from him."

The change of topic put some strength in R.O.S.'s voice. He countered, "His girlfriend cheated on him, and he's bullied in the school. I'm saving him from that—"

"And signing him up for death row."

"No—"

"Yes! Yes, the mortality rate of heroes has been skyrocketing since four years ago. You know how different the industry and those fanboys' imaginations are."

"I told you! He's the fated one! He won't—"

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"What does that even mean?" After the shout, the pinkhead spotted the golden radiance emitting out of R.O.S.'s ivory bracelet and the water dripping off it. His sight swayed between the bracelet and the old hero's fierce, disturbed visage. Eventually, he sighed and said. "Fine, I will confirm him of possessing superpowers."

"Just trust me this time."

"Ah———!"

Following the loud shout, the two grown men rushed into Amy's office. R.O.S. shoved the door open, and the pinkhead peeked over his shoulder. They saw Loter curling and groaning beside a stool and Amy in a lab coat holding a crop whip. R.O.S. quickly went to Loter's side as the pinkhead yelled, "What the fuck did you just do?"

"Just look!" Amy, tossing the whip away, pointed at Loter's face. "There is not a trace of injury on it. His ability at least involves some types of self-healing."

Crouching next to Loter, R.O.S. tapped him on the arm as Loter disclosed his intact face.

"That's it?" the pinkhead questioned, perching on Amy's desk.

"He also said he can kick through bones. I'd say it's certainly not an ordering power."

"It is." R.O.S.'s words followed directly after her.

"Seriously? Me? Ordering power? Yay!" Loter bolted upright from the floor, pointing at himself. The excitement on his face beamed, illuminating the entire room. "Yes! Yes!" He pumped his fists and threw his arms up repeatedly.

"You're so excited. Are you really 17?" Amy giggled, giving Loter a hand.

As he reached his hand toward Amy, R.O.S. grabbed the hand and tugged him back on his feet. "Yes, you. You do have an ordering power," R.O.S. said with a short chuckle. Loter's exhilaration had thoroughly bailed R.O.S. out of providing explanations.

To be fair, Loter's reaction was somewhat reasonable. After all, ordering powers were the strongest type of superpowers. They could be summarized into a gerund, yet the possibility of the actual power built on the gerund was infinite. Strikelet's "PUNCHING" gave them the ability to punch with more force than bombs and faster than bullets.

"But what about the vision? Don't ordering powers manifest with visions of their names?" Loter asked, still bouncing on the floor.

In response, R.O.S. passionately lied about that happening later down the line. The pinkhead and Amy looked at him with disapproval.

"Anyway, I can count on you for the doctor's note, Murdev?" R.O.S. continued with his badly played passion.

Giving off an intense exhalation, the pinkhead doctor nodded. "Yeah, whatever."

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The Spawman family's house occupied the right side of a double-floored duplex. Their garage was identical to the neighboring one, just like their entire unit. The noon sun shone directly overhead, distributing equal light to every unit in the district.

Nothing was out of place. No neighbor had quirky decorations on their house or an unusually luxurious vehicle. Not a single lawn displayed a weird flag, nor was there a dog or a cat, obviously.

However, there was this one sedan that had a silvery fish fin on top. It parked before Spawman's side of the duplex.

Loter stepped out from the back row with a brand-new gray khaki and a white hooded T-shirt. He stopped before the driver's seat, not entering his home. There was a specific thing he had to ask. He was prepared to ask and determined to ask, but first, he had to show his politeness as he was taught.

Rolling down the window, R.O.S. cleaned his impatience. "What's up?"

"I just want to say thank you," Loter said softly, lightly clinging to the car door.

"Alright," R.O.S. replied instantly. A frown flashed through his brows. "No sweat."

"I can't imagine if someone else was there." Loter burst into a short laughter after the sentence as he thought about the situation. That said, the imagination never went far since that question he had not asked was much more important.

"It's alright… I'm a hero. It's just my job."

"Still, I doubt other heroes can be as understanding as you." The compliment did not come from the politeness he learned but from the sincerity in his heart. Such kindness from a stranger was nothing common in his life.

Loter could suspect the old hero of malicious intention, yet he chose not to. He did not want to doubt the one who spent an entire morning just to help him. He wanted to believe R.O.S. was a good person. It was his conscious decision.

Leaning away, R.O.S. rolled up the window. "Take care and remember to tell your parents—"

"Wait!" Loter blocked the closing of the window as he recalled the question he had been holding. "What happened to Strikelet? Like, like you were there when he died. How did it happen?"

"..."

What's wrong? Why isn't he answering? Did the question cross the line? Maybe I shouldn't have asked.

"Mr. Ros, I—"

"I will tell you, Loter. I will tell you what happened to them. One day, I will," R.O.S. stated with firmness in his voice. The casual indolence was gone. What lay between his brows was not a scowl. Instead, it was a determined assertion. The two's sight met through the half-closed window. Although seldom, Loter sensed an unfeigned dejection.

Loter was stunned to see the man so resolute for the first time. His hand fell off the window, and R.O.S. stomped on the gas pedal. As the sedan whizzed away before him, Loter spotted the aged, dark-skinned hero's contorted face.

Oh, why did I ask that? He looks so sad. It must be a traumatic thing for him! He never tells anyone about it in the first place. What are you thinking, Loter? But he said he would tell me in the future. So, I guess that means I am special? I do have an ordering ability. That must be it! My ordering ability!

Loter strode across the lawn to the stoop without himself noticing. The door opened, and his mother shouted, "Hey, Loter! What are you doing out there? Why are you home so early?"

The father added, "Come inside and tell us about your day."