Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Father’s Day wasn’t a day Harold enjoyed. Harold Hutchins sat on his bed, staring at the card he’d made in his lap, the empty space inside glaring back at him. It had been years since the divorce, years since his father had packed up and left for Nevada. And while he didn’t have many memories of him, Harold thought that maybe, over time, the sting of it would fade, but today, it may have gotten worse.

His mom had tried her best to make the day feel normal every year, even sometimes taking him out to see a movie or for some ice cream, but Harold could tell she was hurting too. She’d given him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes when she asked if he wanted to call his dad. Harold had just shrugged, saying he wasn’t in the mood, like every year, and that had been the end of the conversation.

He sighed, running his fingers over the card. The idea of calling his dad, of pretending that he actually wanted to talk to him , felt exhausting. He wasn’t sure that he necessarily hated his dad, he just couldn’t, but he couldn’t help but with he was around for just a bit longer, just so he could get some more happy memories, maybe even doing the thing his mother would, like take him out and teach him how to draw. But he knew why he had to leave. The yelling, the slamming doors, the constant arguments—it had all been too much. He knew they just weren’t a good fit for each other anymore. Now that he was gone, Harold thought he’d feel relief. And in some ways, he did. But there was something else, too. An emptiness, a strange sadness that lingered in the space his father had left behind.

Harold closed the card and stood up, looking around his room. On his desk, a pile of unfinished comics stared back at him, mocking his usual escape. He spent most of his day drawing comics, of maybe what he thought his dad would’ve been like, a hero named “super dad man” and his sidekick, “super son boy” they could even defeat a villain together! And George could come to, but ever time he would make one, it ended up turning into something like captain underpants. He knew George would notice when he would eventually read the comics, but he didn’t feel like explaining—not right now, anyway.

Then his eyes landed on something—a small, silly thought he hadn’t entertained before.

Captain Underpants.

It sounded ridiculous at first. But Captain Underpants had always been there for them. Always. Whenever things went wrong, whenever they needed someone to save the day, it was him. Captain Underpants was goofy, sure, but he was also brave, strong, and, in a weird way, protective. For a kid like Harold, whose dad hadn’t been there when it really mattered, Captain Underpants had somehow filled that gap, even if him and George had never said it out loud.

Harold made a quick decision. He picked up the card, grabbed a pen, and scribbled a quick message inside. It wasn’t much—just a small thank you, a way to express what he’d been feeling but didn’t know how to say.

He stuffed the card in his backpack and headed out. He and George had planned to meet up at the treehouse, probably to start working on their next comic or talk about school, but Harold had another plan in mind. When they found Mr. Krupp, he’d make sure Captain Underpants got the card.

---

It didn’t take long for Harold and George to find Mr. Krupp, who was sitting in the teacher’s lounge at school, looking as grumpy as ever. He was drinking his usual bitter coffee, glaring at a stack of confiscated items on his desk—no doubt things he’d taken from students over the past week. Among them was one of the many comics Harold and George had drawn. Harold could see the edge of the bright, ridiculous cover poking out from the pile.

George gave Harold a nudge. “You sure about this, dude? It’s Father’s Day. You know he’s not exactly... ‘dad material,’ right?”

Harold shrugged, clutching the card tightly in his hand. “It’s not for *him* exactly. It’s for Captain Underpants. I... I don’t know. It just feels right.”

George looked at him curiously but didn’t push further. Harold’s quiet mood had been obvious all day, and though George didn’t fully understand it, he respected it. They’d been through enough together for George to know when to give Harold space.

Mr. Krupp looked up just as Harold approached. His beady eyes narrowed suspiciously behind his thick glasses. “What do you two want?” he barked, his voice as rough as ever.

Harold swallowed, trying to ignore the sudden wave of nervousness that washed over him. “Um, we—uh, I mean, I wanted to give you something.”

Mr. Krupp raised an eyebrow, clearly confused. “What? Another comic I need to confiscate?”

Harold shook his head, pulling the card from his backpack. “No... it’s for Captain Underpants.”

George quickly snapped his fingers, making Mr Krupp fling his shirt and pants off, even his socks, thankfully nobody else was in the room.
Harold gave the card and they all got ready for their next adventure.

Chapter Text

A few hours later, after a typical adventure with Captain Underpants saving the day—defeating a villain involving exploding sand castles—Harold and George watched as their hero got hit with a splash of water (that always seem to apear at the end of their battles). They had quickly run off, laughing, just before the grumpy principal regained his senses.

Later that evening, back in the teacher’s lounge, Mr. Krupp was finishing up some paperwork when he noticed the card sitting on his desk. He frowned, staring at it for a moment. He didn’t remember anyone giving him a card. Curious—and still not realizing he was Captain Underpants—he picked it up and opened it, assuming it was another one of George and Harold’s silly comic ideas.

But what he read wasn’t what he expected.
In messy handwriting (which explained why George was the writer) it said:
“To Captain Underpants—
Thank you for always being there when we need you. You make things better, even when it feels like nothing else is going right. I guess what I’m trying to say is, you’re kind of like a dad to me. I don’t really know how to explain it, but you’ve helped me a lot, even if you don’t know it. So... Happy Father’s Day.
—Harold.”

Mr. Krupp blinked, the usual scowl fading from his face.
“He does know that the guy isn’t real? Right?”
He mumbled to himself.
His first thought was that it was just another one of those goofy stories Harold and George always made up. But something about the card felt... different. It wasn’t written like their usual jokes. It felt personal. Real.

He stared at the words for a long moment. “Like a dad to me.”

Mr. Krupp furrowed his brow, confused. Harold had always been a troublemaker, making those comics and never paying attention in class. But the words in the card struck a chord with him, even though he didn’t fully understand why. The idea of Harold seeing Captain Underpants, a “fictional character” as a father figure felt strange, almost familiar. But there was something else there too, something Mr. Krupp couldn’t quite put his finger on.

He didn’t know the full story of Harold’s home life—didn’t know about the divorce or the strained relationship Harold had with his father—but for the first time, Mr. Krupp thought about the kid in a way he hadn’t before. He thought about Harolds friendship with George, and how hard he tried a bit harder to stay out of trouble, despite always being part of every scheme him and George dreamed up.

Mr. Krupp sat down heavily in his chair, still holding the card. A part of him wanted to dismiss it as some childish nonsense, but another part of him couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it. The words lingered in his mind “you’ve helped me a lot, even if you don’t know it.”
“This is just a silly part of their comic that fell out when I confiscated it, it’s probably just part of the story”
Krupp thought, his brain skipping over the fact that Harold wrote this so it couldn’t be a part of it.
“Well not all of there stories are…silly I guess”
He thought back to the time when he stayed up all night reading the dog man series he confiscated, even tearing up a little at the end.

As he closed the card and placed it back on his desk, Mr. Krupp thought that maybe, just maybe, there was more to these kids than he’d given them credit for.

Chapter Text

The days following Father’s Day were strange, and not just for Harold and George, but for Mr. Krupp too. Something had shifted in the grumpy principal, though no one could quite put their finger on it. He still barked orders at the staff and grumbled at the students as they passed his office, but every now and then, there was a pause—a hesitation in the way he’d snap at someone, as if the biting words weren’t quite coming as easily as they used to.

Harold and George, of course, didn’t notice this right away. They were too busy thinking about their next big comic, excitedly scribbling down sketches and ideas during class. But there was one moment that stood out to both of them. It happened in the hallway, just a couple of days after the usual chaos of Captain Underpants saving the school yet again.

George had just finished sketching out the villain for their next comic—an evil giant ice cream with rocket boosters, naturally—when Mr. Krupp rounded the corner. Both boys froze, expecting the usual scowl and lecture about how they should be focusing on their schoolwork. They even braced for him to confiscate the comic and tear it up in front of them, as he often did.

But instead of the sharp reprimand they were used to, Mr. Krupp simply frowned at them for a moment. His eyes flickered down to the comic George was holding, then back up to their faces. For a second, it looked like he was about to yell... but then he just shook his head and grumbled, “Get to class,” before walking away without so much as a glance at the comic.

George and Harold exchanged a confused look.

“Uh... what just happened?” George whispered, staring after Mr. Krupp as he walked away.

“I have no idea,” Harold replied, equally puzzled. “Did he just... let us off the hook?”

It didn’t make any sense. Mr. Krupp never passed up a chance to confiscate their comics or send them to detention. But today, he had just walked away. No shouting, no threats, nothing.

The boys shrugged it off for the moment, assuming maybe he was just having an off day. But it wasn’t just a one-time thing. Over the next few weeks, little changes started to happen. They were subtle—barely noticeable at first—but they were there.

Mr. Krupp’s usual “evil” comments grew less frequent. He still made his rounds through the halls, barking at students to get to class or stop running, but the intensity seemed to fade. Harold and George even caught him once or twice pausing in the middle of his grumbling, as if he’d lost the energy to care as much as he used to.

And then there was the card.

Harold didn’t know it, but Mr. Krupp had kept the Father’s Day card—the one meant for Captain Underpants. It had ended up in a drawer in his office, but every now and then, Mr. Krupp found himself pulling it out and reading it again. He never admitted it to himself, but the words stuck with him.

“You’ve helped me a lot, even if you don’t know it.”

There was something about that line, in particular, that bothered him. Mr. Krupp had always saw George and Harold as troublemakers—kids who were out to disrupt the school and make his life harder. But the card suggested something else. It suggested that maybe, in their strange, chaotic way, the boys didn’t see him as an enemy. Maybe they saw him—or at least Captain Underpants—as something more.

Every time Mr. Krupp read the card, he felt a strange pang of... what was it? Guilt? No, that couldn’t be it. Mr. Krupp wasn’t going soft. He was just... tired. Tired of the constant antics, the chaos that George and Harold brought into his life. That was all. It wasn’t because he felt bad for the boys. It couldn’t be.

But then there was that day in the cafeteria.

Harold had been sitting alone, quietly picking at his lunch. George was sick that day, and it was between letting Harold also get sick from hanging around George all day or having a sick kid come to school, neither of there parents wanted those options so Harold was forced to have a day of boredom and misery. Mr. Krupp had been making his usual rounds, watching for any signs of trouble, when he noticed Harold. The kid looked... sad, lost in thought.

Normally, Mr. Krupp would have barked at him to “sit up straight” or “stop daydreaming.” But something made him stop. He stood there, just watching Harold for a moment, before turning away. He didn’t say a word, just walked out of the cafeteria.

And later that afternoon, after another routine confiscation of George and Harold’s latest comic (he told himself he’d stop but he kinda wanted to know what would happen next in the new issue of dog man), Mr. Krupp sat down at his desk, the comic in one hand and the Father’s Day card in the other. He stared at both for a long time, trying to make sense of the strange feeling gnawing at him.

He hated their comics. Hated how the boys made fun of him, always turning him into some villain. But the card... it was different. It wasn’t mocking or sarcastic. It was sincere, and every time he read it, Mr. Krupp couldn’t help but feel like maybe—just maybe—the boys weren’t as bad as he’d always thought.

Maybe they saw something in him that he hadn’t seen in himself.

He didn’t know why he kept rereading the card. Maybe it was just curiosity. Maybe it was something deeper, something he refused to acknowledge. But whatever it was, it was starting to change the way he saw Harold and George.

Of course, Mr. Krupp would never admit it—not even to himself—but over time, he found himself yelling at them a little less, letting them off the hook a little more. He still confiscated their comics, still scowled at them in the halls, but there was less fire behind it. Less anger.

And when Harold passed by his office that day, a quiet, thoughtful expression on his face, Mr. Krupp didn’t call him in for a lecture or give him detention for no reason. Instead, he just watched as Harold walked by, the Father’s Day card still tucked away in his desk drawer.

Maybe he wasn’t going soft. Maybe he was just... tired. Or maybe—just maybe—Harold and George weren’t the worst kids after all.

Chapter Text

The next day, the rain had cleared, but the exhaustion lingered. Harold shuffled through the halls of Jerome Horwitz Elementary, his backpack heavy on his shoulders. George was at home, sick in bed after last night’s chaos with Captain Underpants. It had been one of their toughest nights yet, chasing down a villain through rain-soaked streets, dodging lightning, and trying to keep up with the ever-energetic Captain Underpants.

Harold hadn’t slept much after that. His thoughts were tangled, and without George by his side, everything felt off. George always had the ideas, the spark. He was the one who could turn their crazy nights into something fun. But today, it was just Harold, dragging his feet through the school day, barely keeping his eyes open.

By lunchtime, Harold couldn’t handle it anymore. The idea of sitting through another class, trying to focus while his eyelids grew heavier, was unbearable. He slipped away from the cafeteria, making sure no one noticed, and made his way toward the abandoned art room at the end of the hall.

The art room had been left unused for years, ever since the school’s budget cuts. It was dusty, with cracked windows and faded murals on the walls. But to Harold, it was a quiet refuge. He and George had snuck in here before, using it as a secret hideout to draw their comics when they needed peace. Now, Harold needed that peace more than ever.

He pulled out his sketchbook and a pencil, sitting at an old wooden desk by the window. With George home sick, Harold felt like he had to do something—create something. Maybe another issue of *Captain Underpants* would make things feel normal again.

But as he started sketching, his hands felt clumsy. Every stroke of the pencil felt wrong, every line jagged and out of place. He ripped the first page out and crumpled it into a ball, tossing it onto the floor. Then another. And another.

His mind was too foggy, his body too tired. No matter how hard he tried, nothing came out right. It wasn’t just the drawing—it was everything. The lack of sleep, the constant battles, the thoughts like “what if we don’t beat the next villain?”. Harold felt a knot tighten in his chest. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was exhausted—mentally, physically, everything.

He slumped forward, his forehead resting on his arms. He stared at the half-drawn figure of Captain Underpants on the page in front of him, but it just made him feel worse. It was sloppy, rushed, nothing like what he and George would normally come up with together. Without George, the magic was gone.

Before he knew it, Harold’s eyelids grew too heavy to keep open. His pencil slipped from his fingers, and his breathing slowed. The exhaustion, the sleepless nights, and the weight of trying to keep up with everything finally caught up with him. He drifted off, slumped over his sketchbook, surrounded by crumpled papers and half-finished drawings.

---

Meanwhile, in the principal’s office, Mr. Krupp was in his usual grumpy state. His morning had been filled with paperwork, detention slips, and dealing with unruly students. But when one of Harold’s teachers called the office to report that Harold hadn’t shown up to class, something in the back of Mr. Krupp’s mind stirred.

It wasn’t like Harold to skip class. Well— not when George wasn’t around, they never felt the need to do any of there crazy plans without one another.

Mr. Krupp sighed and stood up from his desk, grumbling to himself as he made his way through the halls. His first thought was to check the playground, but after a quick look, there was no sign of Harold. Next, he headed toward the library, but it was empty too.

As he walked past the abandoned art room, a flicker of movement caught his eye through the cracked glass window in the door. Mr. Krupp frowned and peered inside. There, slumped over a desk, was Harold Hutchins, sound asleep, surrounded by crumpled papers.

Mr. Krupp’s immediate instinct was to burst in, demand an explanation, and give Harold detention for skipping class. But something made him stop. He stood there for a moment, watching Harold, who was clearly exhausted. His head rested on his sketchbook, and his face looked pale, his brow creased even in sleep.

Mr. Krupp slowly opened the door and stepped inside, careful not to wake Harold. He glanced down at the drawings scattered across the floor, frowning at the half-finished sketches of Captain Underpants. There were mistakes in every drawing—smudges, crossed-out lines, signs of frustration.

For some reason, instead of anger, Mr. Krupp felt a strange sense of... understanding. He could see how tired Harold was, and not just from lack of sleep. The kid looked worn out, like he was carrying something too heavy for him to handle on his own.

Mr. Krupp’s eyes fell on the open sketchbook in front of Harold. The drawing of Captain Underpants was rough, incomplete, but it was obvious what it was supposed to be. Mr. Krupp stood there for a long moment, staring at the messy drawing and the crumpled papers scattered around.

He felt that familiar tug in his chest—the same one he’d felt when he read Harold’s Father’s Day card.

With a sigh, Mr. Krupp gently placed his hand on the back of Harold’s chair. “Hutchins,” he muttered gruffly, shaking the chair lightly.

Harold stirred, his eyes blinking open slowly. For a moment, he looked confused, disoriented, until he realized where he was. He sat up quickly, rubbing his eyes, his heart racing as he saw Mr. Krupp standing over him.

“I—uh—” Harold stammered, trying to come up with an excuse for being in the art room, for skipping class. But Mr. Krupp just held up a hand, silencing him.

“Save it,” Mr. Krupp muttered. “You’re supposed to be in class.”

Harold looked down, his face turning red. “I’m sorry. I just- are you gonna call my mom? I seriously won’t do it again!”

Mr. Krupp looked at him for a long moment, his usual scowl softening ever so slightly. “You’re not the only one who needs a break sometimes,” he said quietly, almost as if he were talking to himself.

Harold glanced up, surprised by the tone in Mr. Krupp’s voice. He wasn’t yelling. He wasn’t threatening detention. He just seemed... tired, like he understood in a way Harold hadn’t expected.

Mr. Krupp glanced down at the crumpled drawings on the floor. “You’re never going to get anywhere if you keep throwing away every mistake.”

Harold blinked, unsure of how to respond. Mr. Krupp’s words didn’t have their usual bite. They almost sounded... kind. In his own gruff way.

With another grumble, Mr. Krupp turned toward the door. “Get back to class when you’re ready, Hutchins. And clean up this mess before someone else finds it.”

As he left the room, Harold sat there for a moment, still processing what had just happened. Mr. Krupp had found him, scolded him—sort of—but had also... understood him? It didn’t make sense.

Harold looked down at the messy drawing in front of him. For the first time in a long time, it didn’t seem so terrible after all.

Maybe it wasn’t perfect, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t worth something.

Chapter Text

Harold trudged back to class, his body still heavy with exhaustion. His legs felt like lead as he shuffled through the hallway, his head throbbing. It was all he could do to keep his eyes open. The interaction with Mr. Krupp in the art room had been weird, to say the least. He wasn’t sure what to make of it—why hadn’t Krupp yelled at him or sent him to detention? It wasn’t like him to just… let things slide.

As Harold finally slid into his desk, trying his best to sit up straight, his teacher, Mrs. Ribble, was already starting the lesson. But Harold couldn’t focus. His eyelids drooped, and before long, his head started to nod forward.

Just when he thought he might actually fall asleep in the middle of class, the intercom buzzed.

“Harold Hutchins, please report to the principal’s office,” the voice crackled.

Harold’s heart sank. Oh no, he thought. This was it. Mr. Krupp had changed his mind and was probably going to punish him for sneaking into the art room after all. He sighed, gathering his things and dragging himself out of the classroom, half-expecting the worst.

When he reached the principal’s office, Harold stood outside for a moment, taking a deep breath. He prepared himself for the usual storm of anger and threats, reminding himself that this was Mr. Krupp, after all—there was no way he was going to get off easy twice in one day.

He knocked on the door and heard the gruff, familiar voice from inside. “Come in, Hutchins.”

Harold stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Mr. Krupp was sitting at his desk, as always, looking over some papers. He barely glanced up at Harold before speaking.

“Sit down.”

Harold did as he was told, fidgeting nervously in the chair. He was already coming up with apologies in his head for sneaking into the art room, ready to make up an excuse about soek monster. But instead of the expected tirade, Mr. Krupp simply leaned back in his chair and studied Harold for a moment.

“You look terrible,” Mr. Krupp said bluntly.

Harold blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… I—what?”

“You heard me,” Krupp grumbled. “This entire day you’ve looked like a zombie, half asleep.”

Harold was about to protest, but he knew it was true. He was exhausted. But this was Mr. Krupp—why did he care? Surely, if anything, Krupp would be happy to see him suffer through the day, right?

“Listen,” Mr. Krupp said, his voice a bit lower now, almost as if he were trying not to sound too concerned. “I’ve seen you stumbling around like some zombie all morning. You’re no good to anyone in this state.”

Harold furrowed his brow. “But… why am I here? You’re not giving me detention for skipping class earlier?”

Mr. Krupp shook his head, rolling his eyes. “No, I’m not giving you detention. Honestly, you should be lucky I’m not in the mood today.”

Harold was more confused than ever. This wasn’t the Mr. Krupp he knew—the one who delighted in making his life difficult, the one who always seemed to take some twisted pleasure in keeping him and George in line. Harold was so used to thinking of Krupp as the villain, the bad guy in their story. But this? This was different.

“I’m sending you home,” Mr. Krupp said finally, his voice gruff but not unkind.

Harold blinked, certain he’d misheard. “You… what?”

“You heard me. Go home, Hutchins. Get some rest.” Krupp leaned forward slightly, his face stern but lacking its usual hostility. “You’re no use to anyone when you’re falling asleep in class. And trust me, I’d rather not deal with you like this.”

Harold stared at him for a long moment, trying to process what was happening. Krupp was letting him go home early? Not just letting him off the hook, but actually sending him home? The idea seemed absurd. Harold couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t adding up.

“Why?” Harold asked, genuinely puzzled. “Why are you doing this?”

Mr. Krupp shifted uncomfortably in his chair, clearly not liking the question. He grumbled under his breath before answering. “Look, don’t go reading into this, Hutchins, I just know what it’s like to be tired. And trust me, I’m tired of dealing with you and your friend always causing trouble around here.”

Harold wasn’t convinced. He narrowed his eyes, still trying to figure out Krupp’s angle. “You really don’t want me to stay here and be miserable? You’re… okay with me going home?”

Mr. Krupp sighed heavily, running a hand over his face. “Look, you’re annoying enough when you’re awake. I don’t need you sleepwalking through the day on top of that.” He hesitated for a moment, then added, almost reluctantly, “Besides… everyone needs a break sometimes.”

Harold was stunned. He’d never heard Mr. Krupp speak like this before. It wasn’t the usual barking orders or empty threats. It was… almost human.

For the first time, Harold saw a hint of something different in Mr. Krupp—a tiny crack in the tough, mean exterior he always showed. Maybe Krupp was just tired too. Maybe, just like Harold, he was feeling the weight of everything, the exhaustion of always having to be “the bad guy.”

Harold didn’t know what to say. He just nodded slowly. “Thanks, I guess.”

Mr. Krupp grunted. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. You’re still coming back tomorrow, and if I catch you dozing off again, I won’t be this nice.”

Harold stood up to leave, still a bit in disbelief. As he turned to go, Mr. Krupp’s voice stopped him.

“And Hutchins,” he called after him. Harold turned back, half expecting a snide remark or some parting jab. But instead, Mr. Krupp just waved him off with a gruff, “Next time it’s a detention”

Harold smiled faintly. It was weird—really weird—but for the first time, he didn’t feel like Mr. Krupp was just the villain in their story. Maybe he wasn’t just the grumpy principal. Maybe there was more to him than Harold had thought.

As Harold left the office, Mr. Krupp leaned back in his chair, staring at the door after Harold left. He grumbled to himself, rubbing his temples. “I’m not going soft,” he muttered, though there was no one around to hear him. “Definitely not.”

But even as he tried to convince himself, something nagged at the back of his mind. Maybe those two boys weren’t so bad after all.

Harold, on the other hand, walked home feeling lighter, despite his exhaustion. He’d expected a scolding, a punishment, something to make his day worse. Instead, he’d gotten a strange, almost decent conversation with Mr. Krupp. It was weird, sure, but Harold couldn’t help but feel like maybe—just maybe—things were starting to change.

And as he lay in bed that afternoon, drifting off to much-needed sleep, Harold’s last thought was that maybe tomorrow wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Harold and George sat together in the school cafeteria, their trays of half-eaten food between them. George, back from being sick, was in a foul mood, poking at his lunch with his fork while grumbling under his breath.

“It’s so unfair!” George muttered, glaring across the cafeteria toward the principal’s office. “Just because I was sick for one day, now Krupp’s making me do all the makeup work. And a quiz! Can you believe that? I have to make up a quiz today, and I wasn’t even here!”

Harold nodded sympathetically but was only half-listening. He wasn’t as quick to jump on the anti-Krupp train this morning. George had no idea what had happened yesterday—how weirdly decent Mr. Krupp had been. Harold couldn’t quite shake the feeling that there was something more to their principal than the villain George always made him out to be.

“Yeah, it sucks,” Harold agreed quietly, stirring his pudding absentmindedly. “But… I dunno, maybe he’s not all bad.”

George raised an eyebrow at him, looking incredulous. “Not all bad? Did you hit your head when I was gone? Krupp’s the worst! You know that.”

Harold shrugged. “I don’t know, George. Yesterday, when you were home, he didn’t yell at me or anything. He actually let me go home early because I was tired. It was weird. I mean, sure, he’s still Mr. Krupp, but… maybe he’s not as bad as we think.”

George frowned, leaning back in his chair. “You’re telling me Krupp let you off the hook? No detention? No yelling?”

Harold shook his head. “Nope. He didn’t even punish me for sneaking into the art room.”

George looked skeptical. “Well, maybe he’s getting old and lazy. That doesn’t mean he’s not evil.”

Harold chuckled a little but didn’t push it. He could tell George wasn’t convinced, and honestly, he wasn’t entirely sure himself. But there had been something different about Krupp lately. Maybe it was worth paying attention to.

Trying to lighten the mood, Harold pulled out a piece of paper and a couple of pencils from his backpack. “Come on, let’s make a new Captain Underpants comic. That’ll cheer you up.”

George’s face lit up immediately, all thoughts of Mr. Krupp forgotten for the moment. “Now you’re talking!” he said, grabbing one of the pencils. “We haven’t done a new one in forever. I’ve got some ideas.”

The two of them bent over the paper, scribbling furiously, their laughter bubbling up as they worked together. They were back in their element, crafting another ridiculous adventure for their superhero. George did most of the dialogue, coming up with the funniest lines, while Harold focused on the drawings, feeling more energized than he had in days.

It was like things were back to normal again. George was happy, Harold felt creative, and they had their little world of comics to escape into.

But just as they were finishing up the last page, a shadow fell over their table.

Harold’s heart sank as he looked up to see Mr. Krupp standing there, arms crossed, his usual scowl fixed firmly on his face. “What’s this?” Krupp growled, his eyes narrowing as he reached for the comic.

George groaned, leaning back in his chair. “Oh, come on! We’re almost done!”

Harold tensed, expecting the worst. Krupp never missed an opportunity to confiscate their comics, especially when they were at their most creative. He could already picture the comic being ripped apart or tossed into the trash.

But then, something unexpected happened. As Mr. Krupp’s hand hovered over the comic, he caught sight of Harold’s face. Harold wasn’t angry like George—he was upset, almost resigned. He’d worked so hard on the drawings, and for once, he wasn’t trying to cause trouble. It was just supposed to be fun.

Mr. Krupp hesitated, his scowl softening ever so slightly as he met Harold’s eyes.

For a long moment, there was silence. George was still grumbling under his breath, completely unaware of the tension, but Harold and Krupp just looked at each other. And then, something shifted.

Krupp pulled his hand back, his expression unreadable. “Finish it on your own time,” he muttered gruffly, turning on his heel and walking away without another word.

Harold blinked, surprised. “Wait… what just happened?”

George sat up, confused. “Did… did Krupp just not take our comic?”

Harold nodded slowly, still processing what had just occurred. “Yeah. He didn’t.”

George looked stunned. “I don’t believe it. I mean, he was right there, about to snatch it. And then… nothing.”

Harold smiled faintly, staring after Mr. Krupp as he disappeared down the hall. “Told you. Maybe he’s not all bad.”

George scoffed, though a grin was spreading across his face. “Well, I’m not complaining. Maybe we can get away with more stuff if he’s going soft.”

Harold didn’t respond, but his smile lingered. He wasn’t sure what had just happened

Chapter Text

The annual parent-teacher conferences were in full swing at Jerome Horwitz Elementary, and the hallways buzzed with parents chatting and teachers shuffling between classrooms. George and Harold were used to this—every year, Mr. Krupp called their parents in to tell them all the reasons why their sons were a “menace to the school.” Usually, they left with grounded weekends or extra chores. But this time, as they waited outside Mr. Krupp’s office, both boys felt a weird sort of tension in the air, like something was off.

Finally, George’s parents went in first. Mr. Krupp greeted them with his usual gruff tone, quickly launching into a list of their son’s misdeeds—pranks, comic books, the occasional cafeteria chaos. He told them that George needed to learn respect for authority, that he was always getting into trouble with Harold. Mr. Krupp made a point of emphasizing every prank and escapade, and George’s parents frowned, nodding as they took notes.

But then Mr. Krupp paused, looking down at his desk as if choosing his next words carefully.

“Look,” he said, with a bit less bite in his tone. “I’ve been… noticing a few changes in George. He’s still the troublemaker, no doubt about it,” he added quickly, like he didn’t want to seem too soft. “But he’s been trying… sometimes. They’re both trying. It’s something.”

George’s parents exchanged surprised glances, and before they could ask for clarification, Mr. Krupp dismissed them, clearing his throat and shuffling his papers like he hadn’t just given their son a sliver of praise.

Next, it was Harold’s turn. His mom walked into the office, her face a mix of nerves and anticipation. Mr. Krupp launched into a similar speech—talking about the boys’ antics, their endless creativity, and their knack for finding trouble. But as he talked about Harold specifically, he stopped, as if something caught in his throat.

“Harold… he’s got a knack for drawing. I found some of his stuff lying around the school,” Mr. Krupp paused for a moment, almost like he was hesitant to go on. Harold’s mom watched him, a little confused but patiently waiting for him to continue.

Mr. Krupp cleared his throat, his usual gruffness softening just a bit. “I found one of his drawings in the art room the other day. I’d confiscated it, of course—kids aren’t supposed to be in there unsupervised. But…” He hesitated, looking down at the drawing he’d been holding onto, folded and a little crumpled.

“It’s, well… not terrible.” He gave it an awkward pat, like he was embarrassed to even be holding it. “Anyway, I thought you might want to see it.”

He handed the drawing to Harold’s mom, avoiding her gaze as he did so. She took it, looking down at Harold’s sketch of Captain Underpants in mid-action, fighting a silly villain with a dramatic, over-the-top flair. It was obvious how much effort he had put into it. She smiled, glancing back at Mr. Krupp.

“You know, he spends a lot of time working on these. Drawing really means a lot to him,” she said warmly.

Mr. Krupp huffed, crossing his arms. “Well, he should focus that effort on his studies, but…” He stopped, clearly struggling to get the next words out. “He’s… talented. I’ll give him that.”

Harold’s mom chuckled, sensing there was a lot more going on with Mr. Krupp than he’d ever admit out loud. She thanked him, holding the drawing close, and with a nod, she headed out, leaving Mr. Krupp sitting alone in his office, staring at his desk like he was deep in thought.

That evening, Harold and George met up in their treehouse, each of them with stories from their conference. George sprawled out on the floor, munching on a snack as he recounted Mr. Krupp’s lecture.

“He kept going on about how we’re ‘menaces to society’ or whatever,” George said, rolling his eyes. “But then he said something weird. He was like, ‘Sometimes I see them trying.’ Like he actually noticed us doing something good!”

Harold nodded slowly, pulling out the drawing his mom had given him. “Yeah, he did the same with my mom. He even gave her back this drawing I’d left in the art room.” He held it up, still in a bit of disbelief. “And he kind of… admitted he didn’t hate it.”

George sat up, wide-eyed. “Wait, Krupp said that? Like, our Krupp?”

Harold laughed, nodding. “I know, it’s weird, right? I don’t know what’s going on, but he wasn’t as mean as usual. Like, he still complained, but there was something else there.”

George leaned back, thinking it over. “I mean, maybe he’s finally realized how awesome we are,” he joked, grinning. But deep down, he seemed just as confused as Harold.

The two sat there, both lost in thought, realizing that maybe, just maybe, Mr. Krupp wasn’t the villain they’d always thought. Maybe, under all that grumpiness, there was a tiny spark of something… not entirely bad. For the first time, they both felt a strange sense of possibility—like, who knew? Maybe things at Jerome Horwitz Elementary could be different.

Chapter Text

Mr. Krupp rubbed his temples as he trudged through the hallways of Jerome Horwitz Elementary. He couldn’t shake the exhaustion that had settled in lately. His mornings started with aches and bruises he couldn’t explain, and his nights felt like a hazy blur. What unsettled him even more was noticing that George and Harold—the school’s usual troublemakers—were looking just as worn down. They were quieter, less reckless, and constantly yawning in class. Something was definitely off.

That morning, when Harold walked into class with a giant purple bruise peeking out from under his sleeve, Krupp froze. Normally, he’d brush it off, assuming it was from some ridiculous prank gone wrong, but today, he felt an unfamiliar tug of worry.

“Harold,” Krupp called out, his voice gruff but less harsh than usual. “Come here.”

Harold shuffled over, glancing nervously at George, who followed him up to the desk.

“What’s that on your arm?” Krupp asked, pointing at the bruise.

Harold instinctively pulled his sleeve down further. “It’s nothing,” he mumbled.

“It doesn’t look like nothing,” Krupp snapped, though there was genuine concern in his tone. “Go to the nurse’s office. Now. And you’re taking George with you.”

George raised an eyebrow. “Why do I have to go? I feel fine.”

“Because I said so!” Krupp barked, but his scowl lacked its usual venom. “And don’t even think about arguing, or you’ll get double homework tonight.”

The boys exchanged confused glances but obediently shuffled off toward the nurse’s office. As they left, Krupp leaned back in his chair, staring after them. Something about this whole situation didn’t sit right. Bruises, exhaustion, less troublemaking… it was like they were trying to hide something.

————————

Later that day, during recess, Krupp found Harold waiting for George to stop getting lectured by a teacher for something he didn’t even do, like always.

“What’s going on with you two?” Krupp demanded, crossing his arms.

Harold stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve both been acting weird lately,” Krupp said, narrowing his eyes. “Tired all the time, looking like you’ve been through a war zone. And don’t think I didn’t notice that bruise.” He leaned in slightly. “Is there something I should know?” The first few times he saw the smaller injuries in the both of them assumed it was some sort of bully…and well he didn’t like the thought of something going on at home he always had to watch out. But now he had a different opinion,

Harold glanced around, avoiding Krupp’s gaze. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammered.

Krupp squinted at him, suspicion bubbling to the surface. Harold’s nervous fidgeting only made him more convinced that the boy was hiding something. “Uh-huh,” Krupp muttered. “We’ll see.”

—————

The next day, Krupp “accidentally” left the abandoned art room door slightly open , very unintentionally, because he definitely didn’t think the boys would go in there, and he definitely didn’t want them taking a slight break, and he most definitely didn’t want them falling asleep! Because he wasn’t worried. Sure enough, he caught them inside after the third bell, hunched over a new comic they were working on. He watched silently from the doorway, his usual urge to barge in and confiscate everything unexpectedly absent.

The boys looked exhausted—Harold especially, with dark circles under his eyes. He kept rubbing his face as if trying to stay awake, but before long, both boys had slumped over their papers, sound asleep.

Krupp sighed, running a hand over his face. “What are you two even doing?” he muttered under his breath. He didn’t have the energy to yell or wake them up. Instead, he retreated to his office, collapsing into his chair.

He was asleep in seconds.

———————

Hours later, Krupp jolted awake to the sound of rain pounding against metal. He blinked groggily, realizing he wasn’t in his office. He was… on the roof of the school?

“What the—?!” He stumbled to his feet, only to realize he was clad in nothing but his underwear.

His confusion only deepened when he spotted George and Harold on a nearby rooftop, holding what appeared to be a bizarre, oversized cheese ray aimed at a peculiar figure—a villain with a blocky, cheddar-shaped head and a cape covered in Swiss cheese holes.

“Cheesy McFart Pants?!” Krupp found himself yelling, though he had no idea how he knew the villain’s name.

The boys turned, their faces pale when they spotted him.

“Oh no, he’s awake!” Harold shouted.

“Uh, Captain Underpants! You’re up just in time!” George called nervously, clearly trying to keep him calm.

Captain Underpants? Krupp thought, his brain struggling to process. What’s going on? Why am I on the roof? Who is this guy trying to kill fourth graders?!

Before he could ask another question, Cheesy McFart Pants unleashed a wave of rancid-smelling cheese gas in their direction. Instinctively, Krupp dove into action, leaping toward the boys and shielding them with his body.

“Hold on!” he barked. “What is going on here?!”

Harold and George exchanged guilty glances, the cheese ray humming in their hands. “Don’t you remember? You were fighting him and he knocked you out- oh no” Harold froze.
“What?” George said,
“Uh George”
“Cmon spit it out we’re about to die over here!”
“It’s raining!”
“So wha- oh no-“

Krupp gritted his teeth as the villain approached, his bizarre form illuminated by the flickering light of a nearby billboard. “You two are explaining everything when this is over!”

For now, though, he had a more immediate concern: keeping these kids alive.

Chapter Text

Rain pounded against the school as Mr. Krupp ushered George and Harold inside, shutting the door firmly behind them. His heart was pounding—not just from the chaos outside, but from the nagging worry that something was very wrong with this entire situation. He took a second to look the boys over, noting their soaked clothes, scrapes, and the exhaustion etched into their faces.

“Are you two hurt?” he asked sharply, his usual gruffness laced with an unfamiliar tone—concern.

George shook his head, though he looked pale. “We’re fine, but—”

“Good.” Krupp cut him off, but instead of launching into his usual tirade, he took a deep breath, running a hand through his damp hair. “Now tell me. What on earth is going on? Why were you two on the roof, and who is that lunatic out there throwing cheese at the building?”

The boys hesitated, glancing at each other as if silently deciding how much to tell him.

“It’s… hard to explain,” Harold began, his voice small.

“Try me!” Krupp barked, though it came out more frustrated than angry. “Because from where I’m standing, this looks like the dumbest prank you’ve ever pulled—and that’s saying something!”

George took a step forward, his expression serious. “It’s not a prank, Mr. Krupp. It’s real. That guy out there? Cheesy McFart Pants? He’s a villain, and he’s dangerous.”

Krupp blinked, his jaw tightening. “A villain? What is this, some kind of comic book?”

“No, it’s real!” Harold insisted, his voice trembling slightly. “He’s trying to take over the city, and we’ve been stopping guys like him for a while now. But we can’t do it alone.”

Krupp stared at them, his skepticism warring with the memory of waking up on the roof in nothing but his underwear. “And what does that have to do with me?” he asked, though he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.

The boys hesitated again before Harold said softly, “Because you’re Captain Underpants.”

Krupp froze, his mind reeling. “Excuse me?”

“You’re Captain Underpants,” George repeated firmly. “It’s like… a split personality or something. When we snap our fingers, you turn into him. You’re a superhero.”

Krupp let out a sharp laugh, but it quickly faltered. “You’re kidding me, right? You’re saying I’m this… this Captain Underpants character? A superhero? Do I look like a superhero to you?”

George and Harold exchanged nervous glances. “We know it sounds crazy,” George said, his voice steady, “but it’s the truth. Every time we snap our fingers, you turn into Captain Underpants. You don’t remember it afterward, but we’ve seen it happen over and over.”

“And you’re good at it,” Harold added. “Like, really good. You’ve saved the city a bunch of times.”

Krupp blinked, his scowl softening ever so slightly. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Is it?” Harold asked hesitantly. “You woke up on the roof today, right? In your underpants?”

Krupp opened his mouth to retort but stopped. The memory of standing on the roof in the rain, confused and half-dressed, hit him like a ton of bricks. “That doesn’t mean anything,” he muttered defensively. “Maybe I… sleepwalked or something.”

George stepped closer, his expression earnest. “You didn’t. You were fighting Cheesy McFart Pants with us. You were throwing giant chunks of cheese back at him and dodging stink gas. You’re a hero, Mr. Krupp. Whether you believe it or not.”

Krupp stared at the boys, his chest tightening. It was absurd. Completely absurd. And yet… the pieces were starting to fall into place. The exhaustion. The strange injuries. The gaps in his memory.

Outside, the villain’s laughter echoed, followed by another loud crash. The police weren’t winning this fight.

Harold looked up at him, his eyes wide and pleading. “Please, Mr. Krupp. We need Captain Underpants. You’re the only one who can stop him.”

Krupp clenched his fists, his jaw working as he tried to process everything. This wasn’t just about their usual pranks or troublemaking. The boys were genuinely scared.

“You’re telling me that if I let you snap your fingers, I’ll turn into some… ridiculous superhero?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

“Yes,” George said. “And you’ll save everyone out there.”

For a long moment, Krupp said nothing. He hated feeling like he wasn’t in control, hated the idea of letting these two run the show. But something about the desperation in their voices—and the chaos outside—made him hesitate.

Finally, he sighed, running a hand over his face. “Fine,” he said gruffly. “But if this turns out to be some kind of prank…”

“It’s not,” Harold said quickly. “We promise.”

Krupp nodded, squaring his shoulders. “Do it, then.”

George took a deep breath and snapped his fingers.

The Transformation

The change was instantaneous. Krupp’s usual grumpy scowl melted into a wide, gleeful grin as he struck a heroic pose. “Tra-la-laaa!” he cried, standing tall in his underpants.

“Captain Underpants!” Harold exclaimed with relief. “We need you to stop Cheesy McFart Pants! He’s trying to destroy the school!”

Captain Underpants saluted dramatically. “Never fear, my friends! Evil shall be vanquished, and justice will prevail!”

Without another word, he sprinted out of the classroom, leaping through the hallway with impressive agility.

George and Harold exchanged a relieved look. “Let’s hope this works,” George muttered.

The Showdown

Outside, Captain Underpants charged into battle, dodging stink gas and cheese wheels with ease. “You, sir, are an insult to fine dairy products everywhere!” he declared, grabbing a stray trash can lid to use as a shield.

Cheesy McFart Pants sneered. “You’re no match for my cheddary might!”

The fight was chaotic, with Captain Underpants using everything at his disposal—from cafeteria trays to a fire hose—to outwit the villain. At one point, he even balanced on a stack of desks to avoid a flood of melted cheese.

George and Harold watched from a window, cheering him on. “He’s got this,” Harold said, a small smile forming.

Finally, with a perfectly timed swing of a cafeteria tray, Captain Underpants sent Cheesy McFart Pants flying into his own vat of melted cheese. The villain let out a defeated groan as the police moved in to arrest him.

Back inside, George and Harold helped Captain Underpants back to the classroom. With a snap of their fingers, he transformed back into Mr. Krupp, who stumbled slightly, looking disoriented.

“What… what just happened?” Krupp muttered, holding his head.

“You, uh… saved the day,” Harold said awkwardly.

“Saved the day?” Krupp repeated, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t play games with me!”

“We’re not,” George said, his tone unusually calm. “You did a good thing out there, Mr. Krupp.”

Krupp blinked at them, his frown deepening. “If I find out you two had anything to do with this mess, you’re both scrubbing gum off the desks for a year.”

But as they left, Harold glanced back to see Krupp staring at his desk, a strange, almost thoughtful expression on his face.

“Do you think he’s starting to believe us?” Harold whispered as they walked down the hall.

“Maybe,” George said. “But let’s not push our luck.”

Chapter Text

Mr. Krupp sat in his office, rubbing his temples as the muffled hum of the school day carried on around him. On the corner of his desk sat a newspaper with a headline that read: “Flying Underpants Hero Saves the Day—Again!” There, front and center, was a blurry photo of a man who looked disturbingly like him, cape flapping as he fought off a villain with some sort of cheese contraption.

It couldn’t be true.

“Ridiculous,” he muttered to himself, shoving the paper into a drawer. “This is just another one of their stupid stunts.”

But then again, what about the night before? How could he explain that? No matter how much he tried to dismiss it, the nagging thought wouldn’t leave him alone. Strange injuries. Missing hours. That absurd card Harold had written. And now, this. It was all too much. He needed to clear his head.

Krupp stood, straightened his tie, and decided to take a walk through the school.

In the classroom, Harold stared blankly at his math worksheet. The numbers blurred together as his mind wandered to last night’s fight. What if they hadn’t been able to stop Cheesy McFart Pants? What if the next villain was worse? What if Mr. Krupp finally put the pieces together?

His chest felt tight, and he squeezed his pencil so hard it snapped in half.

“You okay, Harold?” George whispered from the desk next to him.

Harold nodded quickly, not trusting himself to speak. He raised his hand. “Can I go to the bathroom?”

The teacher nodded without looking up, and Harold slipped out of the room. But instead of heading for the restroom, he made his way to the abandoned art room.

The familiar smell of paper and dried paint hit him as he stepped inside. He grabbed a sketchpad and sat at the dusty table, trying to lose himself in the flow of his pencil on the page. But no matter what he drew, the images wouldn’t come together. His hands trembled, and frustration bubbled up inside him.

“Why can’t I get anything right?” he muttered, slamming the pencil down. He dropped his head into his hands, taking deep breaths to steady himself.

As Krupp wandered the hallways, his mind drifted to his own frustrations. What was he doing with his life? How had he ended up here, surrounded by chaos? And why couldn’t he shake the feeling that those two boys—George and Harold—knew something he didn’t?

He turned a corner and stopped short. Through the cracked door of the abandoned art room, he saw Harold sitting alone, his head in his hands.

Krupp frowned. Harold wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to be skipping class.

For a moment, Krupp debated barging in and scolding him, but something held him back. The boy looked… defeated. This wasn’t the mischievous, energetic Harold he was used to seeing.

Instead, Krupp quietly pushed the door open and stepped inside.
“What are you doing here, Hutchins?”

Chapter Text

Harold’s head shot up at the sound of Krupp’s voice. His eyes widened, and his face flushed. “M-Mr. Krupp! I was just… I mean, I was drawing, but I’ll go back to class now!” He hastily shoved his sketchpad away, fumbling as he tried to stand.

“Sit down, Hutchins,” Krupp said, blocking the door with his broad frame. His stern tone wasn’t as biting as usual, but it was enough to make Harold freeze in place. “You’re not going anywhere until you explain what you’re doing in here instead of math class.”

Harold sat back down reluctantly, avoiding Krupp’s gaze. “I just needed a break, okay?”

Krupp narrowed his eyes. “A break? From what? Coloring inside the lines?”

Harold’s shoulders tensed. “It’s nothing,” he mumbled. “I’ll go back to class.”

“No, you won’t,” Krupp said, crossing his arms. “Something’s up, Hutchins. You’ve been acting off for weeks—both you and George. And now I find you hiding in here, looking like the world’s ending? Spill it.”

Harold fidgeted in his seat, his fingers gripping the edge of the table. His heart pounded in his chest as he debated what to say. Krupp was the last person he wanted to talk to about this—he was grouchy, mean, and didn’t understand them at all. But the longer Krupp stood there, staring him down, the more Harold felt the weight of everything pressing on him.

“I-I’m fine,” Harold said weakly, but his voice cracked.

Krupp’s eyes softened ever so slightly. “You don’t look fine,” he said, his tone quieter now. “You look like you haven’t slept in weeks. You’re jumpy, distracted, and clearly hiding something. Out with it.”

Harold bit his lip, his hands trembling. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me,” Krupp said firmly.

Harold hesitated for a long moment, then took a deep breath. “It’s… it’s the fights.”

Krupp blinked. “Fights? What fights?”

Harold looked away, his voice barely above a whisper. “The villains. The monsters. All the crazy stuff that keeps happening. George and I… we’re… we’re kind of in the middle of it. Every time something bad happens, we’re the ones trying to stop it.”

Krupp’s brow furrowed deeply. “What are you talking about? You’re in the fourth grade. You’re supposed to be worried about spelling tests, not fighting… monsters.”

Harold gave a small, humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly sign up for it.” His voice cracked again, and he wiped at his eyes. “It’s just… it’s a lot, okay? Trying to keep everyone safe, keeping secrets, making sure you don’t figure out what’s really going on… I can’t even draw anymore without messing it up.”

Krupp stood there, stunned. For the first time, he didn’t have a sharp retort. Harold’s words hit him harder than he expected.

“You’re serious,” Krupp said after a moment, his voice softer now.

Harold nodded, his hands gripping his knees. “Why would I make this up?”

Krupp rubbed the back of his neck, his mind reeling. “Frankly, I thought you were just playing some weird prank on me, and honestly, I’m still confused about what happened yesterday,” he said, his gruff tone faltering. “I’ve seen first hand how bad these…monsters can be, you’re going to get seriously injured one of these days.”

Harold looked up at him, his eyes red. “You think I don’t know that? But we don’t have a choice. Someone has to do it.”

Krupp swallowed hard, a strange mix of anger and concern bubbling up inside him. He didn’t know what to say—how could he? This wasn’t just another prank or comic book plot. This was real, and it was too much for any kid to handle.

“Listen,” Krupp said, his voice more gentle than Harold had ever heard it. “Whatever this is… it’s not okay for you to be dealing with it alone. You and George shouldn’t have to…” He trailed off, struggling to find the right words. “You shouldn’t be this stressed, Hutchins. No kid should.”

Harold stared at him, surprised by the unexpected concern in Krupp’s voice. For once, the principal didn’t seem mean or angry—just… human.

Krupp sighed and rubbed his face. “If you ever need to have a break, come to my office.”

Harold nodded slowly, his chest feeling a little lighter. As he left the room, Krupp stayed behind, staring at the empty chair. Something about Harold’s words lingered in his mind, stirring memories he’d rather forget.

“No kid should be that stressed,” he muttered to himself, wondering why those words hit so close to home.

Chapter Text

Mr. Krupp had always considered his office a sanctuary—a place where he could shut out the noise of kids, complaints, and chaos. But over the past few weeks, it had become something else entirely.

At least twice a week, Harold Hutchins would show up, knocking softly on the door before peeking in with that sheepish grin.

“Got a minute?” Harold would ask, holding a notebook or a sketchpad under his arm.

Krupp would grumble, waving him in, but he didn’t mind as much as he pretended to. Somehow, Harold had gone from being a thorn in his side to a surprisingly decent companion.

They talked about all sorts of things—school, books, movies. Harold occasionally showed him his drawings, and Krupp, much to his own disbelief, started looking forward to seeing them. He wasn’t much for art, but Harold’s stories had a spark that was hard to ignore.

One afternoon, as Harold was getting up to leave, Krupp noticed him hesitating by the door.

“Something you’re not saying, Hutchins?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

Harold scratched the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah. So, I was wondering… if it’s okay with you, could George come next time? You know, since we’ve both been… uh, dealing with a lot of stuff.”

Krupp raised an eyebrow. “You mean you want to double the chaos in my office?”

Harold shrugged with a small smile. “Maybe. But George could probably use it too. He doesn’t say much, but… he’s been stressed too.”

Krupp sighed, rubbing his temple. “Fine. But if either of you touch my stapler, you’re out.”

From that day on, George occasionally joined Harold in Krupp’s office. Their visits were a strange mix of chaos and calm.

Sometimes they’d talk about their latest prank ideas (which Krupp quickly shut down). Other times they’d just sit and doodle, spreading loose papers and crayons across his desk while Krupp pretended not to notice.

“Mr. Krupp, how come you don’t have a TV in here?” George asked one day, munching on a bag of chips he’d somehow smuggled in.

“Because it’s an office, not a movie theater,” Krupp grumbled, though he barely batted an eye when Harold added a sketch of Captain Underpants saving the day to the growing pile of papers on his desk.

Surprisingly, Krupp didn’t mind their antics as much as he thought he would. Sure, they were noisy, and their snacks left crumbs everywhere, but there was something… nice about the routine.

As the weeks went on, the dynamic between the boys and their principal began to shift. Krupp found himself less annoyed by their presence and more curious about their lives.

One afternoon, as Harold and George debated over the plot of their latest comic, Krupp caught himself smiling. It wasn’t a big smile—just a small, barely noticeable curve of his lips. But it was there.

“Don’t you two have homework to do?” he asked gruffly, though his tone lacked its usual bite.

George smirked. “Probably. But this is way more fun.”

Harold laughed, adding another detail to his drawing. Krupp shook his head, hiding his own small chuckle behind a sip of coffee.

For the first time in a long while, the office didn’t feel so lonely.

Chapter Text

Mr. Krupp was sipping his coffee, staring at the stack of disciplinary forms on his desk, when the familiar knock echoed on his office door. It was earlier than usual for Harold to show up.

“Come in,” he called, already prepared to hear about some elaborate new prank or see another stack of comics they’d left lying around.

Harold stepped inside, but something was different. His usual lighthearted demeanor was absent, replaced by a tense expression and slouched shoulders. He clutched his sketchpad tightly against his chest, his knuckles pale.

Krupp set his coffee mug down and leaned forward, his brow furrowing. “What’s with the face, Hutchins? Did your pen run out of ink or something?”

Harold offered a shaky laugh but didn’t respond. Instead, he hovered awkwardly near the door, shifting on his feet.

Krupp raised an eyebrow. “Well, are you coming in or what? You’re letting all the noise in.”

Harold nodded, closed the door and slid into the chair across from the desk. But even then, he didn’t speak, his gaze glued to the sketchpad in his lap.

“Alright, kid,” Krupp said, leaning back in his chair. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s going on?”

For a moment, Harold didn’t answer. His fingers traced the edges of his sketchpad, his shoulders tense. Finally, he let out a shaky breath and looked up.

“Can we talk? Like… really talk?”

Krupp blinked, surprised by the seriousness in Harold’s tone. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”

Harold hesitated, glancing around the room as if searching for the right words. “It’s… it’s just… everything feels wrong lately. The fights, the villains, all of it. It’s been… a lot.”

Krupp frowned, his gruff demeanor softening. “You’re a kid, Harold. You shouldn’t be worrying about stuff like that.”

Harold’s voice cracked as he replied, “But I have to! George and I—we have to fight, or people will get hurt. And now… now someone did.”

Krupp’s eyes widened slightly. “What do you mean?”

Harold swallowed hard, his grip on the sketchpad tightening. “During the last fight… one of the bystanders got hurt really bad. I don’t know if they’re okay. And it’s my fault, Mr. Krupp. We didn’t stop the monster fast enough.”

The weight of Harold’s words hit Krupp like a punch to the gut. He didn’t know all the details of what Harold and George were doing—he wasn’t sure he wanted to—but the idea of kids feeling responsible for that kind of danger? It made his stomach twist.

“Kid,” Krupp said after a moment, his voice quieter than usual. “Listen to me. None of this is your fault. You’re… what, nine? Ten? You shouldn’t even be dealing with this kind of thing.”

“But we are,” Harold shot back, his voice cracking again. “We have to, or worse things will happen. It’s like… it’s like no matter what we do, it’s never enough. And now someone’s hurt because of us.”

Krupp let out a long sigh, rubbing his face with one hand. This wasn’t what he’d signed up for when he took the principal job. He was supposed to hand out detentions, confiscate comics, and yell at kids for running in the halls—not have heart-to-hearts with fourth-graders about life-or-death situations.

“Harold,” he said after a moment, his tone unusually gentle. “I don’t know how you and George got mixed up in this… mess. But this isn’t something you should be carrying on your own. Have the Police seriously not noticed the two fourth graders running around while almost dying?!”

Harold shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “But if we don’t do it, who will? Nobody else can stop them.”

Krupp stared at him, his chest tightening. Harold wasn’t just a troublemaker or a prankster. He was a kid carrying a weight no one his age should have to bear.

Krupp had enough of this, “I’m putting an end to this.”
Harold looked up at him, surprise flickering in his tired eyes. “What?”

Krupp got up. “You heard me, I don’t know why I’ve been a bystander to this, I’m not letting you or George keep fighting these…things anymore! You guys are going to get seriously hurt on day.” Harold hadn’t seen Krupp this heated about something that wasn’t him or George in a minute.

For the first time since he walked in, Harold managed a small smile. “Thanks, Mr. Krupp. That means a lot.”

As Harold relaxed slightly, Krupp found himself thinking: No kid should be this stressed—not Harold, not George. He didn’t know what to do, but one thing was clear: these boys needed someone to help .

And for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, Krupp decided he’d try to be that someone.

Chapter Text

The city was in chaos.

George and Harold sprinted through the streets, dodging debris as screams and car alarms echoed in the distance. A new villain—a hulking, armored menace calling himself The trillion-Ton Terror—was stomping through town, tossing parked cars like they were toys.

“Where is he?!” George yelled over the destruction, frantically snapping his fingers.

“Come on, come on—this is the worst possible time for him to disappear!” Harold muttered, snapping his fingers just as desperately.

But Captain Underpants was nowhere to be seen.

The two boys exchanged a panicked look.

“…We’re gonna have to do this ourselves, aren’t we?” George sighed.

Harold swallowed hard but nodded. “Looks like it.”

Bracing themselves, they turned toward the massive villain—only for a powerful gust of wind to nearly knock them off their feet.

And then, in a blur of red and white, they were gone.

Before they could even process what was happening, George and Harold found themselves safely set down inside an empty classroom. The windows rattled from the sheer force of whatever—or whoever—had just moved them.

“What—?” George began, but his question was cut off by a deafening crash outside.

The boys scrambled to the window, pressing their faces against the glass just in time to see the Ten-Ton Terror—one of the biggest, toughest villains they’d ever encountered—go flying backward like he’d been hit by a speeding truck.

And standing there, completely unharmed, was Captain Underpants.

But something was different.

Usually, their ridiculous underwear-clad hero fought with wild energy, sometimes fumbling through battles with sheer luck and enthusiasm. But this time? His movements were sharp. Precise. Every punch, every dodge, every attack was calculated. He wasn’t just winning—he was dominating.

It took less than a minute for him to take the villain down.

George and Harold stood in stunned silence, watching as Captain Underpants dusted off his hands and flew back toward the school.

“What—” Harold started.

“—was that?” George finished, his voice barely above a whisper.

A few seconds later, the classroom door burst open, and Captain Underpants stepped inside. He didn’t look exhausted, or dazed, or confused like he usually did after a fight. Instead, he stood there with his arms crossed, looking almost… composed.

“Uh… hi?” Harold offered weakly.

George didn’t waste time. “What just happened?!” he blurted out. “That was—you were—what was that?!”

Captain Underpants let out a nervous laugh . “I promised I wouldn’t tell…but you guys are my best buds so I’ll tell you anyways!”

Harold and George exchanged another look, their confusion growing.

“…promised not to tell us what?” Harold said cautiously.

Captain Underpants clapped his hands. “Oh it’s story time! So it all started when…”

Chapter Text

Captain Underpants looked proud

“Well,” he began, flipping his cape like he was doing a hair toss, “this all started a few weeks ago, when Mr. Krupp, found a little note on his desk.” He had a cheeky smile.

George and Harold looked at eachother, then looked back at him.

“A… note?” Harold asked.

Captain Underpants nodded. “I thought it would be silly! You know, fun. I kept hearing the two of you talk about how mean and lonely Mr. Krupp was—and how much better Captain Underpants was—so I wanted to be his friend and maybe if he had a friend he could be nice!”

“You wrote him a note?” George said, baffled.

Captain Underpants let out a big laugh. “Well of course not! I wrote him multiple!‘why are you so lonely?,’ or ‘Captain Underpants says hi!’ or ‘please stop confiscating the comics! Harold draws nice abs on me!.’”

Harold’s ran a hand through his giant hair. “You… pranked yourself?”

“I communicated with myself, thank you very much,” Captain Underpants said with a huff, then sighed. “The odd thing is, Mr Krupp did think it was a prank! Poor Krupp, he even went to the doctor!”

George started to laugh. “Wait, seriously?”

“Twice,” Captain Underpants corrected. “The doctor said he was very stressed, and that maybe someone was messing with him. Gave him little paper thingies on workplace ‘fatigue’ and recommended yoga.”

Harold also started a laugh, but his eyes were wide. “So… you and Mr. Krupp know about each other now?”

“Yes!,” Captain Underpants puffed his chest out. “He doesn’t love the ‘underpants’ part, but he must get used to it! How else would I use my waistband power!?”

George raised an eyebrow. “That still doesn’t explain the crazy strength. That was, like, next-level superhero stuff. You had muscles!”

Captain Underpants grinned, and spoke like he was at a slumber party sharing gossip “Well…don’t tell him i said this…but I think he’s been…out working…”

“You mean…” Harold started.

“Working out?!” George’s jaw dropped

“Working out!” Captain Underpants confirmed.

“Why?! I didn’t even know he could lift something heavier than that book of made up rules?!”

Captain underpants let out a tiny giggle. “I think he’s wants to make a…”
He leaned in and whispered
“A lady friend!”

Harold didn’t know what to say. Neither did George.

“I….really doubt that.”