Fez walked down the narrow path back toward town, the grass brushing against his jeans.
Those words kept circling in his head, over and over—
I stopped being a superhero.
Each time, they felt heavier, as if they were meant for him too.
I stopped being a superhero.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to focus on the sound of his own footsteps instead.
But no matter how far he walked, he couldn't shake the way she'd said it—quiet, almost like she was confessing a crime.
"You stopped, huh…" Fez mumbled under his breath, barely loud enough for anyone to hear.
Stopped what?
ZEF's voice slithered in, curious and dry.
"I'm…not talking to you," Fez snapped, his shoulders hunching as he walked faster.
Then, out of nowhere, a loose sheet of paper smacked him square in the face, carried by the wind.
He spluttered, coughing and pawing it away.
The Global Selection Test.
Fez hacked a little, trying to clear his throat.
What, did you catch a cold? ZEF sneered, sounding almost entertained.
Fez ignored him, flattening the paper against his chest. His voice dropped into an exaggerated deep pitch as he read aloud:
Are you brave enough? Do you have a hidden strength waiting to be discovered? or you have a talent already?
Do you dream of joining the Elite? Sign up for the contest today—yes, only today!"
Then, drifting up the street, he heard the noise of a crowd—voices overlapping in a restless chorus:
"The contest is soon!""The contest will start!""Hurry up—get your number!"
Fez stared at the paper in his hands, heart thudding.
"…The least thing I can do is sign up," he whispered to himself.
He looked down the road where the banners fluttered in the wind, bright against the rooftops.
"It…might be my redemption."
ZEF didn't answer..... The silence felt heavier than any insult.
Fez stepped through the glass doors into the building, the air inside bright and humming with voices.
He glanced around at the lines of people and the long tables stacked with forms.
"They said this is the government building…" he muttered under his breath. "Will it be a paper contest? I'm…terrible at them."
Yeah, ZEF replied quietly, voice dry as old paper.
We'd better hope it is paperwork. Because you don't have any power to perform.
…You ain't a thing. You're a useless piece of trash.
Fez stopped dead in the middle of the lobby, fists tightening at his sides.
"Aha—you're teasing me at this time exactly?" he hissed under his breath, voice pitching higher.
"WELL, YOU KNOW WHAT? I WILL JUST IGNORE IT."
He stomped forward in a straight line, determined, and started singing under his breath—loud, ridiculous nonsense—just to drown ZEF out.
People turned to stare as he passed, but he didn't care.
As Fez stepped deeper into the building, the echo of his footsteps bounced off the high walls.
He stopped short.
The hall was almost completely empty—no lines of hopeful contestants, no government clerks rushing around.
Only one man sat behind a long metal table near the far wall.
He looked up slowly, an empty expression on his face. His eyes were red-rimmed and tired, like he hadn't slept in days.
His skin looked older than it should—creased and pale, though he couldn't have been much past his thirties.
For a moment, he just stared at Fez in silence, as if trying to remember why he was there at all.
The man blinked a few times, as if waking up from a dream.
"Ohh…oah…oh—yes."
His voice creaked like an old door.
"What's your name, young one?"
"I'm…Fez," he said carefully.
The man's gaze drifted off, and he mumbled under his breath, almost too soft to catch:
"What's the purpose of names…"
Then, louder, without looking him in the eye:
"So…what's your power, boy? What do you see special in you?"
He tilted his head, studying Fez from head to toe. All he seemed to see was a skinny boy with brown hair and too-big eyes.
Fez felt his brain grind like a baby trying to shove the wrong block in the wrong hole.
"…Hmmm…"
He squinted, thinking way too hard.
"…Oh—I got it!"
He yanked down the collar of his shirt just enough to reveal the dark wound spreading across his chest.
"Is this enough? Heehee…"
What an idiot, ZEF muttered flatly.
The man didn't react at all. He just kept staring, his eyes half-lidded.
"Hmmm…hmmmmm…OK. You can go, boy"
"YAAAAAAY!"
Fez practically exploded into motion, sprinting across the hall like a kid released for recess.
"Stop, kid—you forgot something."
He skidded to a halt, nearly slipping on the smooth floor.
The man held out a thin slip of paper between two fingers, blinking slowly.
"Your number."
Fez took it and squinted at the text, reading every word like it might vanish if he blinked:
Contester—Male No. 10Name: FezPrinted at 14:24:37
You didn't even give him your full name, ZEF taunted,
Fez ignored him—mostly—and clutched the ticket to his chest like it was a golden ticket
He walked toward the giant door at the far end of the hall, each step echoing like he was marching into something bigger than he could understand.
He could feel the man's tired eyes still on his back.
Just as he reached for the handle, that dry, flat voice drifted across the empty space:
"…Neat."
As Fez stood in front of the massive gate, waiting for it to creak open, he looked down at the slip of paper again.
"…What a lucky number…" he murmured, voice low.
Same as Milenda's hospital room door.
His fingers tightened around the edges, and before he could stop himself, he lifted the ticket to his face and sniffed it—like the faint smell of fresh ink might calm the jitter in his chest.
When the door finally creaked open, Fez stepped into a place that hardly felt real.
he door finally creaked open, and Fez stepped into a place that hardly felt real.
The space beyond was enormous—a vast arena with towering walls and rows upon rows of seats climbing up like a coliseum.
Hundreds of people were already filling the audience stands, their voices echoing in a restless, electric hum.
Down on the polished floor, men and women in brilliant uniforms moved among each other, capes trailing behind them, badges catching the floodlights.
Superheroes—dozens of them—gathered in tense clusters or standing alone, arms folded as they scanned the crowd.
Fez's jaw dropped.
"WOOW!!"
The word tumbled out before he could stop it. For a second, he felt like he'd walked straight into a comic book.
Damn it, he thought, chest tight. This is…surreal.
Tch, ZEF scoffed in his skull, disgust curling every syllable. Easy targets. If I was in my body, I'd wipe this place clean.
Fez swallowed, trying to find someplace to look that didn't make his heart pound.
But before he could move, he felt it—a stare, heavy as a hand on his shoulder.
A brown-skinned boy about his age stood across the room, arms folded tight against his chest.
His eyes were locked on Fez in an unwavering frown, sharp and unblinking—like he was already deciding the fastest way to take him down.