Chapter 38:
The audience in the large, extravagant hall was in stitches, their faces twisted in joy as laughter echoed through the building. But the source of this infectious mirth wasn't just any ordinary comedian—it was Jon Stewart. His performance was something else entirely, a chaotic blend of sharp wit, unpredictable antics, and an uncanny ability to poke fun at everything and anything, all while wearing a suit that was so extravagantly mismatched it could have belonged to a circus performer. Bright, multicolored fabrics adorned his suit, each piece clashing with the next, yet somehow, Jon made it work.
His reputation was legendary—Jon Stewart wasn't just any comedian. Rumors swirled that he didn't perform for the money, but for the joy of making people laugh, to brighten their lives. He wasn't driven by fame, nor was he interested in the typical comedian's paycheck. No, for Jon, it was all about creating joy, breaking boundaries, and making people feel something real. His comedic style wasn't robotic or rehearsed. It wasn't the dry, predictable humor that so many relied on. It was pure, unfiltered chaos—honest, raw, and ever-evolving.
On stage, Jon adjusted the microphone and looked out at the laughing crowd, his eyes twinkling with mischief. He smirked, feigning a serious expression. The laughter began to die down, but it wasn't for long. Jon had a way of drawing the crowd back in with a single word, a single gesture.
Jon Stewart leaned into the mic with a knowing smile.
"Alright, let's talk about cooking, because I've discovered a life truth: I'm not a chef. I'm what you call a 'food enthusiast who's one kitchen accident away from being on a cooking show called Help! I'm on Fire!'"
The crowd chuckled.
"So the other day, I decide I'm gonna make spaghetti. Simple, right? Wrong. I open the pasta box, and I'm like, 'How the hell does this work? Is there a secret pasta-creating ritual I don't know about? Do I chant at it, throw salt over my shoulder?'"
Jon paused, raising his hand dramatically.
"And the sauce—don't even get me started on the sauce. I thought it was a can of marinara. Nope. It was 'pasta sauce'—with flavor crystals. Flavor crystals? What am I, a wizard? 'Hold on, let me add a pinch of flavor crystals to this sauce and summon dinner.'"
The crowd started laughing.
"And then it gets worse. I'm stirring the pasta, right? I look away for a second, and BAM! I've created something that looks like it should be in a science experiment, not a dinner plate. 'Is this pasta or is this an alien life form?'"
Jon shrugged and smiled.
"Honestly, cooking is just a series of bad decisions followed by a 45-minute clean-up. But hey, at least I didn't burn the house down. Yet."
The crowd roared with laughter as Jon gave an exaggerated sigh.
"Why are you laughing?" Jon asked with mock sternness, folding his arms across his chest. "Don't you know what happens when you laugh too much? Hmmm? Hmm-hmm-hmm."
The audience grew silent in curiosity, hanging onto every word.
"I'll tell you what happens!" Jon continued, his face softening into a playful grin. "I'm just a regular guy, folks. You know, like everyone else. But today... today, I encountered something I never thought possible. The love of my life! That's right, folks, the one who brightens my days, the one who fills me with... with... I mean, what can I even say about her?"
The crowd was hanging on his every word now, their anticipation growing. They knew something wild was coming.
"My love of my life," Jon continued, his voice dramatic, "the one who makes my heart race... the one who—"
He paused, and then in a sudden shift,he burst into a full-bodied impersonation of a love-struck man, clasping his hands to his chest. "The one who drives me crazy... but not in the 'I'm gonna stalk you and write love poems on napkins' kind of way! No, no. I'm talking about the kind of crazy where you get so frustrated that you forget where you put your car keys—"
Laughter erupted again, this time with even more intensity. Jon paced the stage, weaving in and out of jokes and storytelling as though he were the most energetic human alive, jumping from topic to topic.
"And let's not forget," Jon said, now looking somber, "that she makes me forget everything. Like, everything. I had a coffee this morning, right? And she's sitting there, looking at me, and I think to myself, 'Wow, this is the greatest coffee I've ever had.' You know why? Because she smiled. She smiled, and suddenly the coffee was the most magnificent thing in the universe. I mean, who needs caffeine when you have that kind of magic?"
He struck a pose, as if he were ready to deliver the punchline of a grand finale. "But then... then—I spilled the coffee. And she looked at me, and she said, 'Jon, why are you so clumsy?'"
The audience was already howling, but Jon didn't stop. He leaned into the microphone, grinning like a madman. "And I said, 'Because I'm in love, darling! And love makes you lose control! It makes you forget how to hold a cup, how to tie your shoes... and at times, how to even breathe properly!'"
Jon took a dramatic pause, letting the laughter flow like a river. And then, in his signature style, he dropped the next bombshell.
"You know," Jon said, his voice suddenly deep and serious, "I never thought I'd find someone who could make me forget about everything else. But now, I'm starting to wonder... if it wasn't for that coffee, maybe I wouldn't have realized that the real joke is me. I'm the punchline to my own life story! What a twist, right?"
The crowd roared again, many clutching their stomachs from laughing too hard. Jon wasn't just telling jokes anymore; he was weaving an entire narrative of chaos and truth, making them laugh not just at the absurdities of life, but at themselves too.
"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen," Jon said, his voice light, "for reminding me that laughter is what keeps us sane in a world that's constantly trying to make us crazy. Keep laughing, keep living... and never trust a coffee cup you didn't hold yourself."
Jon stepped off the stage, heading toward the back hallway of the venue. He wanted to tell more jokes, to soak in the laughter a bit longer—but something else had come up. A message had reached him just seconds ago, one he couldn't ignore.
"Well... Jon Stewart's role is over for now," he muttered with a wistful grin.
From his pocket, he pulled out a small, glowing white orb. With a whisper, he crushed it in his palm. Light burst from the fragments, engulfing his entire body. In an instant, everything changed.
His blonde hair turned a radiant silver-white. His casual patched suit was replaced by a sleek costume —skin-tight, aerodynamic, built for speed—it was pure white with striking gold lines pulsing like energy across his arms and legs. He wore no helmet or headgear—his face remained visible, framed by his now-white hair and glowing golden eyes.
And then he vanished.
A sharp gust of wind whipped through the air as he accelerated. No one inside the building even noticed until moments later.
"Mom... did someone just pass by?" a young girl asked, tugging on her mother's hand as a light breeze brushed her cheeks.
Her mother glanced around and shook her head. "No, sweetheart. You must've missed him. But don't worry... he'll be back. He always comes back."
They were speaking of Jon—a man of laughter... and legend.
While the echoes of his jokes still lingered inside the comedy hall, outside was a very different story. Chaos reigned.
A battlefield stretched out across the streets. Nearly twenty heroes were locked in a desperate struggle, trying to hold back an endless horde of monstrous creatures. The odds were bad. The numbers worse.
"Yhaaaah!" a man roared, lightning dancing along the dagger in his hand as he slashed through a beast's limb. But before he could press the advantage, pain exploded in his leg. A monster's claw had pierced him, and a second strike brought him to the ground, screaming.
The creature raised its jagged claw, ready to end him—
—and then, the hero vanished.
The monster blinked, confused. It sniffed the air, growled, looked around. Nothing.
Not just him. All the heroes were gone.
The wounded hero opened his eyes and found himself lying in a hospital bed. Clean bandages wrapped around his injuries. He sat up, eyes darting. The room was empty.
"Was I... dreaming?" he muttered.
Elsewhere, other heroes found themselves waking in clinics, sitting in cozy restaurants with hot meals already in front of them. Confused, dazed. How did they get here?
Then, each of them noticed the same message—written on napkins, displayed on walls, carved into the wood of the tables:
"Make sure to smile."
Silence settled... until realization dawned.
There was only one hero known for that catchphrase.
In dozens of places, voices echoed the name in awe.
"Light Runner."
Back on the battlefield, Light Runner stood alone, facing the monstrous horde.
He cracked his knuckles confidently—then snap—"Ow!" He had broken his own finger.
He tried a push-up… made it to ten… then groaned and clutched his back.
He stood and chuckled awkwardly, rubbing his head. "Okay, okay... tough crowd."
The monsters only grew more agitated, their snarls rising like thunder.
"Oh, right," Light Runner said, expression softening. "You don't have emotions. No wonder you don't understand what it means to smile."
Then his voice shifted—calm and cold, in stark contrast to the gentle smile on his face.
"If that's the case... then don't you dare try to take smiles from those who have them."
He bent low into a stance—arms wide like a dancer, one hand pointing forward, the other behind, knees bent as if poised to launch from a slingshot. Golden sparks danced beneath his boots.
"Light-Speed Dash!"
With those words, he launched forward.
Not a blur—no, even a blur would've been jealous. He vanished from view entirely, moving so fast that time itself seemed to hold its breath. The monsters swiped at empty air, confused and disoriented.
Then—SPLASH!
Light Runner reappeared in the very heart of the horde. Around him, everything moved in slow motion. The monsters looked frozen mid-lunge, their snarls stuck in their throats.
He brought his palms together.
"Sonic Boom."
BOOOOOOM!
A shockwave exploded from him, flattening everything in its radius. The monsters were obliterated, reduced to dust in seconds.
And there stood Light Runner—unscathed, not a single wrinkle in his suit—casually munching on a slice of pizza.
He looked at the destruction and gave a thoughtful smile.
"I swear," he mumbled between bites, "nothing hits like a battle-warmed, overcooked pizza. Tastes like victory… and burnt regret."
Then he froze. Panic widened his eyes.
"…Wait. I forgot my next joke."
To be continued…