Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I woke up not really knowing where I was… or when I was.

The last thing I remembered was lying in my bed, scrolling through TikTok videos about The Incredibles lore, crazy theories, and fanart. What the hell happened? Am I dreaming? Was I kidnapped?

I jumped to my feet. The room I was in was narrow, with faded floral wallpaper and a yellowed lampshade that barely lit up the space. Everything had a retro air about it… 40s? 50s? 60s? I didn’t know, but it was definitely too old to be my room.

Instinctively, I reached for my phone—checked my pockets, the bed, even the floor… nothing. The emptiness in my hand made me swallow hard. Panic surged in my chest: how was I supposed to call for help now?

Okay, Y/N, don’t panic. Breathe. Step one: figure out where the hell I am.

I started to carefully search the room, as if someone might barge in and catch me at any second. There were clocks, a few forgotten bags, some food… nothing unusual. But then my eyes landed on a small, old-fashioned TV, and beside it, a pile of newspapers scattered across the table.

I picked one up, and nearly dropped it.

“Mr. Incredible saves 14 children from a bus about to fall.”
“Elastigirl sends famous bank robber to prison.”
“Telescopio and Frozone stop a supervillain before he destroys a residential building.”
“Gamma Jack captures a serial killer.”

I froze.

No.

No way.

NO. WAY.

 Am I reading this right?

I looked more closely at the date in the corner of the paper: September 1957.

My blood ran cold. I was right in the middle of the golden age of the Supers, that era when they were still celebrated as icons. If my memory was correct, it would only be a few years before public opinion turned against them and made them illegal.

With trembling legs, I collapsed onto the sofa in front of the TV. The rough upholstery and the smell of old fabric hit me like a slap of reality. I wanted to think, to get my head straight, but then my eyes fell on the remote. It was big, heavy, with metallic buttons that looked like something from an industrial machine. I almost laughed at how archaic it looked—until curiosity won me over.

I pressed the button, and the screen came to life after a few seconds of static and a sharp buzzing sound. The newscaster’s solemn voice filled the air:

 “In other news, Elastigirl saved a derailed train thanks to her incredible elasticity.”

My heart skipped a beat. These weren’t made-up headlines. They weren’t forum rumors. I was watching real news about the Supers.

I swallowed hard and forced myself to keep exploring the place. Every corner confirmed my suspicion: this was my house. Framed photographs of me smiling in moments I didn’t remember, letters with my name written in elegant cursive, clothes neatly folded in a wardrobe that smelled of old lavender. I lived alone. I was twenty years old. And, according to some crumpled papers in a drawer, unemployed.

I didn’t want to waste any time. I grabbed a hardbound notebook and, with a trembling hand, began jotting down everything I remembered about the original lore—the canon I knew from my world.

I wrote: Operation Kronos.

Notes that made my skin crawl followed: Syndrome’s secret project, the systematic extermination of Supers to perfect his damned Omnidroids, all fueled by his obsessive hatred for Mr. Incredible.

My pencil scratched furiously across the page as I made a chronological list of those who would die one by one:

Universal Man. Psychwave. Everseer. Macroburst. Phylange. Blazestone. Downburst. Hypershock. Apogee. Blitzerman. Tradewind. Vectress. Gazerbeam. Stormicide. Gamma Jack.

And at the end, inevitably—though everyone knows he survives—Mr. Incredible.

I stared at that row of names as if they were tombstones written in advance. Below them all, I scrawled my objective in big letters, almost like a desperate scream:

Save them all.

But then reality hit me: how?

Had Mr. Incredible already screwed everything up with Buddy? Or was there still time?

No, something more urgent: how the hell was I supposed to approach the Supers without sounding insane?

I couldn’t just show up and say: “Hi! My name’s Y/N, I come from a universe where you’re all fictional characters, and by the way, you’re all doomed to die at the hands of Mr. Incredible’s number one toxic fanboy!”

I let out a groan and dropped my head against the back of the chair.

Yeah. Even I wouldn’t believe me.

I was lost in thought, my notebook still open on the table, when a sharp knock on the door made me jump. The sound echoed down the apartment hallway, mingling with distant voices and the smell of food drifting from other units.

I froze, holding my breath. A few seconds of silence passed, and then came another knock, this one softer, almost like a patient reminder.

I cautiously got up and approached the door. I hesitated for a moment with my hand on the knob, then cracked it open just enough to peek outside.

On the other side stood a young blond man, mid-twenties. He held a grocery bag against his chest and wore an easy smile that disarmed suspicion. His clothes were simple: a light button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled, neatly pressed pants, polished shoes that echoed faintly on the waxed floor of the hallway.

“Hi?” I asked, trying to sound firm, though my voice came out more cautious than anything. “What do you need?”

The blond blinked, surprised by my cold tone, and raised the grocery bag like an improvised shield.

“Wow…” he said with a half-smile, tilting his head. “And here I thought, after a couple of hallway chats, I’d at least earned a ‘Hi, Jack.’”

For an instant, I froze. My mind played a cruel trick: a fleeting image flickered across my head—me, or rather her, greeting him in the laundry room, joking about how slow the building’s elevator was. I blinked, dizzy, and the memory dissolved like smoke, leaving behind the sensation of something borrowed, not mine.

Heat rushed to my cheeks. I had seen him before… hadn’t I? Yes, in the hallway, loosening his tie after a long shift, maybe even sharing a trivial comment. But I wasn’t sure if those memories were really mine—or if they were bleeding into my head from the life of the other Y/N.

He leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, pretending to be wounded in his pride.

“I guess I’m not as good a neighbor as I thought,” he added, dramatic, though there was a playful spark in his eyes.

I frowned, caught between discomfort and a nervous laugh I couldn’t tell was mine or hers.

“It’s not that,” I mumbled. “I just… wasn’t expecting visitors.”

I let the door swing a little wider, relaxing now that I realized I did know him—at least in some way. I took the bag with a quiet “thanks.” An awkward, heavy silence followed.

“Well… I’ll let you go, then. Thanks again for the food,” I murmured, already starting to close the door.

“Wait!” he exclaimed, blurting it out before he could stop himself. His expression gave him away.

“What is it?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jack scratched the back of his neck and gave me a half-sheepish, half-charming smile.

“I was just thinking… would you be interested in a job where I work?”

I eyed him with suspicion. From what few memories I had, our conversations had never gone beyond a casual “good morning.”

“And… what is it you do, again?”

“I’m a scientist,” he said with the ease of someone saying he sold coffee. “Physics, mostly. And I also teach part-time at a couple of universities.”

“Uh-huh…” I frowned. “Well, thanks for the offer, but I’m not really a science person. I’m terrible at that stuff.”

Jack clicked his tongue and propped an arm against the doorframe.

“You could be my assistant. Secretary, maybe? Come on, I’d pay you well. —” His smile widened, his tone slipping into blatant arrogance. “It’s no secret I’m the best in my field, and the best get paid accordingly.”

I opened my mouth to refuse, but just then the power cut out in the apartment. Darkness swallowed the room, and when I looked down, I noticed several overdue bills had been slipped under the door. A knot of frustration twisted in my stomach. What was I supposed to do here? Back in my world I’d barely started university… I had no experience in anything.

Jack leaned in a little, peeking inside. He noticed the blackout, then the bills. His gaze returned to mine, now gleaming with confidence.

“Come on,” he said with a sincere smile, though it carried that same confidence. “I’d feel awful leaving a lady in such a… bleak situation. Let me help you.”

I looked at him doubtfully, but realizing I really didn’t have many options, I decided to accept. After all, if I wanted to save the Supers, I first had to make sure I didn’t starve to death.

“Well, fine. I’ll do it,” I said after a pause. Crossing my arms, I sighed. “When do I start?”

Jack snapped his fingers enthusiastically.

“Tomorrow! I’ll have my lawyer draw up a contract for you. —” He shot me a proud smile, like he’d just won something. “See you around, neighbor.”

And with that, he turned on his heel with almost insulting ease, as if everything had gone exactly the way he planned.

I lingered in the doorway, watching his silhouette disappear down the hall. This had all been so strange. Nothing here had that cartoonish Pixar feel; he looked as real, as tangible as I did, and this world didn’t feel like a movie—it felt like flesh and bone.

Still standing in the doorway, I sighed. Glancing down, I remembered the bill I’d seen on the floor minutes before. I frowned, bent to pick it up… and froze.

It was gone.

The spot where the envelope had been was completely empty, as if it had never existed.

A shiver ran down my spine. When had it disappeared?

I let out a frustrated groan, though deep down what gnawed at me was the uncomfortable certainty that this world was toying with me at every step.

Chapter Text

When I woke up this morning, I was surprised to find that the electricity had come back… and so had the water, which had gone out just a few minutes after my encounter with Jack. I took it as yet another coincidence and didn’t think much of it. I sighed in gratitude for the “miracle” and hurriedly got dressed.

The afternoon before, someone had slipped a note under my door. The paper, neatly folded, had the address of the university where Jack worked written on it. According to the note, I was supposed to find him directly there.

I rushed as much as I could, though I was already running late. Not because I had overslept, but because I’d decided to prepare a mochaccino for Jack as a thank-you for giving me a job. Besides, let’s admit it: it was the perfect excuse to make a memorable first impression. And if mochaccinos didn’t exist in this time yet… well, maybe I was about to become the mastermind who would revolutionize coffee.

If my memory serves me right, this drink only started becoming popular in the ’80s and ’90s, which, in this world, would effectively make me a pioneer.

Should I profit from this?

Wow… golden idea.

Enough, Y/N, don’t get distracted.

I reached Jack’s office and knocked gently on the door. No one answered. I figured he must be teaching, so, a bit timidly, I decided to go in.

The office was plain, with shelves full of bound books and piles of papers spread across the desk. I placed the thermos with the coffee in a corner of the table and, unable to resist, took a quick glance at the documents resting there. Nothing in depth—the last thing I wanted was for Jack to suddenly appear and catch me snooping through his things.

I sat down in one of the chairs across from the desk, ready to wait. I looked out the window and, in the distance, I could make out what looked like a battle: Frozone and Mr. Incredible fighting someone I could barely see between the flashes of ice and the blows kicking up clouds of dust. If I’d had a little more courage—and a little less regard for my life—I might have tried to approach them after the fight to make contact. Instead, I limited myself to watching from the safety of the glass, as if it were a live-action TV episode.

I checked the clock for the fifth time. Jack was at least twenty minutes late. I sighed, though I wasn’t too bothered. I was used to it: at my old university, professors were rarely in their offices during office hours. Last-minute meetings, unforeseen commitments… once I even waited for a professor for an hour and a half.

Suddenly, the floor shook beneath my feet. An earthquake.

“What the hell…?” I muttered with a shiver. “Where are we, Chile? Why the hell is there an earthquake this big in the United States?”

Dust began to fall from the ceiling, and cracks opened above my head. I didn’t think twice: I grabbed the mochaccino thermos (it had cost me too much to let it die) and, almost instinctively, stacked as many documents from Jack’s desk into my arms as I could.

I ran to the door just as a block of rubble crashed down onto the chair where I had been sitting seconds earlier.

The ceiling collapsed with a deafening crash, and from among the debris burst forth an imposing figure.

Mr. Incredible.

I froze, clutching the papers and the thermos to my chest. I stared at him, paralyzed, unable to believe he was standing right in front of me.

“Why are you still here?!” his voice thundered, rough and charged with adrenaline. “The entire building has already evacuated! Go!”

I looked around in desperation and realized that, indeed, there was no one else. I was alone. Completely alone.
When had the alarm gone off? How had I not noticed anything?

Mr. Incredible seemed about to keep yelling at me, but then another figure descended through the same hole in the ceiling, landing with a pose that looked far too rehearsed.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Incredible!” cried Gamma Jack, his voice arrogant and his smile dazzling. “I’ll get this beautiful lady to safety! You take care of Quake!”

The air was thick with dust, and every blow from Quake made the building tremble as if it were splitting in two. The noise was deafening; my lungs burned from inhaling so much dirt. Amid that chaos, Mr. Incredible shot me a look that mixed frustration with urgency.

“Gamma Jack!” he roared, dodging a slab that crashed down right beside him. “Your place is here! You’re a key part of the plan!”

I could barely process anything. A plan? A superhero plan against a villain? Me stuck right in the middle of it? This felt like some bizarre crossover between a Pixar movie and my worst nightmares.

Gamma Jack landed beside me with theatrical confidence, brushing the dust off his shoulders as if nothing had happened. His smile gleamed, arrogant, as though he were posing for the cover of a magazine instead of standing under a collapsing roof.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Incredible,” he replied with a broad, almost mocking gesture. “I’ve already weakened him enough. You can finish him off.”

Weakened? From the vibrations rattling my bones, he seemed stronger than ever.

Bob snorted, clearly losing patience.

“That wasn’t the deal! I need your power here!”

Gamma Jack raised a finger, like a noble delivering a verdict.

“No, no, no. How could I, a gentleman, leave this lady defenseless in the face of such danger?”

Then he took my arm with such exaggerated gentleness it felt like part of a stage play. I, meanwhile, was frozen, still clutching the coffee thermos in my other hand, thinking: Seriously? Right now?

“Don’t insist,” he added solemnly. No one had insisted, of course. His tone dropped slightly, turning flirtatious, as if all the chaos around us was nothing more than a stage set. “I’ll take her to safety. My Lady.”

WHAT?

My brain short-circuited. In one corner, Mr. Incredible was wrestling with Quake—a giant in metal armor straight out of a nightmare: a helmet with shifting plates, reinforced gauntlets, each blow of his shaking the ground like an earthquake of magnitude eight—and here was Gamma Jack, devoting his heroism to me, a complete stranger.

I swallowed hard, unsure whether to feel flattered or terrified. Am I really witnessing this? The NSA files had claimed Gamma Jack prioritized attractive women… but experiencing it firsthand was something else entirely.

Bob clenched his fists so hard I heard his knuckles crack even through the chaos.

Gamma Jack, ignoring Mr. Incredible’s furious shouts, swept me into his arms in one fluid motion. He lifted me as if I weighed no more than a feather, holding me firmly.

“You’d better hold on tight, sweetheart,” he said in a playful, almost teasing tone. “Flying can be a dangerous thing.”

I looked at the thermos in one hand and my boss’s papers in the other. How am I supposed to hold on with all this? Ugh! If only I’d thought to save my bag too…

He seemed to notice my full hands and, without thinking, took the papers from me. For a second, I thought he was going to keep them safe… until I saw him readying his arm to toss them away.

“Wait!” I cried, almost pleading. “That’s important paperwork! Or at least I think it is… Anyway, it’s my boss’s and it’s my first day at work, you can’t just throw it out!”

Gamma Jack gave me an unreadable look. He glanced at me, then at the papers, then back at me. And, maintaining eye contact, he let them fall as if they were trash. The documents scattered everywhere, carried off by the wind blowing through the shattered ceiling.

“A true man always prioritizes the well-being of his lady,” he declared solemnly.

I could only watch in horror as my hopes of keeping my job on my very first day flew away with the pages. Perfect. Just perfect.

“Now, hold on,” he added.

With my free hand I clung to his neck as if my life depended on it, while with the other I guarded the thermos like a treasure.

And then, in less than a blink, we were airborne. My stomach dropped, the icy wind whipped my face, and I squeezed my eyes shut. Heights had never terrified me so much… until now.

“And tell me, darling, where do you live? Allow me to escort you home.”

Where do I live? Oh no, I don’t even know my address… But I remember the way I came; maybe I could recognize it visually.

Carefully, I tried opening my eyes, but the vertigo hit me immediately. Everything seemed to sway beneath me, the streets reduced to thin lines, the people tiny blotches. I clung tighter to Gamma Jack’s neck, still cradling the thermos in my other hand like my life depended on that coffee.

“Oh God…” I whispered to myself as I shut my eyes again and held on even tighter to the hero to avoid falling. “Could you fly a little lower? I’m afraid of heights.”

The cold air cut into my face, and every second in the sky was torture. I kept repeating in my head that I wasn’t going to die, that everything would be fine, though the vertigo screamed otherwise.

Then, a brutal jolt knocked him off balance. I felt my body tilt dangerously toward the void, and a scream ripped from my throat.

“Oh God, don’t you dare drop me!” I shrieked, panic clawing up my voice.

Gamma Jack adjusted his grip, firm as steel. He glanced at me with a confident, almost arrogant smile.

“Drop you?” he whispered in a seductive tone. “Only a fool would drop a girl like you.”

My face burned in the freezing wind. What kind of cheap romance-novel line was that?

I squeezed my eyes shut, my heart pounding in my chest. And then, I felt us plummeting downward. Instinctively, I opened them again—only to realize we weren’t heading for the street… but straight for my building.

“No, no, no, no…!” I whimpered, watching the balcony rush toward me at an alarming speed.

Gamma Jack twisted his body in an unnecessarily elegant pirouette and, at the very last second, landed softly on the concrete. He did it as if he were on stage: one knee bent, the other extended, and me still in his arms, like he had just rescued me from a dragon.

The impact rattled me to the core. I found myself gasping on my own balcony, legs shaking, the wind still whistling in my ears. The thermos was still pressed against my chest, my fingers numb from clutching it so tightly.

He set me down with a delicacy so overdone it was almost insulting, as though he believed we had just starred in the most romantic moment in history. I, on the other hand, could barely stand: my knees were trembling, my hands cramped around the thermos, and my heart pounding as if it wanted to escape my chest.

Gamma Jack bowed with a flawless smile—borderline arrogant, but cloaked in gallantry.

“It has been an honor, My Lady,” he said, inclining his head like a knight bidding farewell to his princess.

I stared at him, pale, still in shock, my breathing ragged. The only thought in my head was: What kind of fanfic cliché did I just live through?

It didn’t even occur to me to wonder how the hell he knew where I lived. I was far too busy trembling, trying to convince myself I was still alive.

I staggered into the apartment and, with clumsy movements, set the thermos down on the kitchen table, as if it weighed a ton after holding it for so long. Then I went straight to the closet, pulled out a thick blanket, and wrapped myself in it like a shield against the world.

I collapsed onto the couch, seeking warmth, seeking calm. I turned on the TV without even checking the channel. The murmur of the news filled the silence of the room as I burrowed deeper into the blanket, adrenaline still burning in my veins and the certainty that I had been one second away from dying.

By the time I realized it was the news channel, my soul nearly left my body at the images on the screen.

There it was: a shaky reporter’s camera showing the chaos I had just lived through. Collapsed columns, dust covering the streets, sirens wailing in the distance. Through the smoke, two silhouettes could be seen fighting the metal brute Quake: Mr. Incredible and Frozone, side by side, striking and blasting ice to hold him back.

I swallowed hard as the camera panned quickly. I couldn’t stop a groan of pure embarrassment from escaping me.

“Oh, no… no, no, no.”

There I was. Me, in Gamma Jack’s arms, being lifted through the sky like a princess rescued in some cheap cliché. The news broadcast even slowed the footage down to emphasize the “bravery” with which he carried me to safety.

“…A woman was brought to safety thanks to the timely intervention of the superhero Gamma Jack,” the solemn voice of the anchor intoned.

I buried my face in the blanket up to my ears, wishing the floor would swallow me whole.

Several minutes passed. I barely had the strength to process anything, so I just curled up tighter with a cup of ice cream I’d found among the groceries Jack had left me the day before. Spoonful after spoonful, I kept telling myself the cold would help calm my nerves. In reality, all it did was push down the knot in my stomach.

The noises from the street blended with the images on the TV. The anchor’s voice kept talking about the destruction, the bravery of the Supers, the threat of Quake. All I could think was that I had been there. I had felt the tremors in my bones, swallowed that dust into my lungs. This wasn’t fiction, this wasn’t some cartoon world. It was real.

A knock at the door made me jump, the ice cream nearly slipping from my lap. I held my breath, waiting. Nothing. Another knock. I hesitated, but silence fell over the apartment again.

Then, the click of the lock.

“Hello?” —a male voice, familiar, called from the entryway.

My heart skipped a beat.

Jack Anderson.

He stepped in with firm strides, his face etched with genuine concern. His hair was a bit tousled, his shirt sleeves still dust-stained, as if he’d been running through the city.

“Sorry for coming in without permission,” he said as soon as he saw me curled up on the couch. “I knocked, but no one answered. And… well, I heard on the news you didn’t make it out during the evacuation. I saw when you…” —he paused, carefully choosing his words— “…when you were carried out of the building.”

His gaze softened.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Me, still with a spoonful of ice cream halfway to my mouth, could only mumble:

“This is… surreal.”

The TV still showed footage of Gamma Jack carrying “a young citizen” while the crowd below cheered. I swallowed hard and tugged the blanket down a little, unable to meet Jack’s eyes.

“Can I sit with you?” he asked, gesturing toward the empty spot on the couch.

I waved him over. The cushions dipped slightly under his weight, and for a moment the only sound was the low hum of the television. I noticed how he looked at me, serious, with a concern that stirred something deep in my chest.

“So…” he said slowly, “how are you? Are you feeling okay?”

I opened my mouth to give the automatic “yes,” but nothing came out. The knot in my throat tightened, my eyes burned. I couldn’t fake it.

“The truth is… I feel awful,” I admitted softly, trying to keep myself together. But the moment I said it, something broke and the words came tumbling out. “It was my first day at work and I almost died.”

I let out a bitter laugh. And then, I completely unraveled.

“How is this even possible? How can I have such bad luck? I was so excited, so happy to start! I even made you a coffee as a thank-you, and I ended up clinging to that damn thermos like it was a lifeline while everything collapsed around me!” My voice sped up, frantic, barely pausing to breathe. “And as if that wasn’t enough, Gamma Jack showed up, scooped me up like a sack of potatoes, and the first thing he did was toss your desk paperwork into the air! Paperwork that I, like an idiot, had grabbed thinking that would make me look responsible on my first day! And what happened? Blown to pieces, like confetti!”

I could hear myself speaking faster and faster, the words chaining together without control, as if my mouth was trying to dump an entire day’s worth of trauma in a single breath.

“And there I was, hugging the coffee, praying at least that would survive because of course! If I’m going to ruin my first day, let it not also be by wasting the only decent thing I actually did right,” I finished in a rush, my voice breaking between anger, fear, and desperation.

Jack blinked a couple of times, as though processing the verbal avalanche I’d just unloaded on him. Finally, he raised his hands in a calming gesture.

“Wait, wait…” he said with a crooked smile, as if trying to pull me out of the spiral. “Are you telling me that… you made me a coffee?”

I stared at him, cheeks burning, fully aware I had just vomited half a day of trauma on him in under a minute.

“I… yes. Well, a mochaccino,” I stammered, clutching the blanket tightly. “It was to thank you for giving me the job. I carried it with me all day—through rubble, tremors, near-death flights, and scattered paperwork—and it’s still intact in the kitchen. Cold, but intact.”

Jack blinked again, processing everything I’d just blurted out, then let out a short, almost incredulous laugh. It wasn’t mocking; it felt more like he was trying to lighten the mood without making me feel ridiculous.

“Let me get this straight,” he said, leaning toward me a little. “You were in the middle of a collapsing building, with a supervillain shaking the place like a real earthquake… and you risked your life for a pile of office papers?”

I shrugged, my cheeks still burning.

“They were yours. And… I didn’t want to start my first day on the job by throwing everything away.” I paused, lowering my gaze to the blanket I was clutching in my hands. “Well… aside from my bag. I left it there, in the middle of the mess. It was a nice one, you know?”

A knot tightened in my throat again. I could hear myself and knew I sounded ridiculous, but after everything that had happened, losing my bag felt like the last drop spilling over the edge.

Jack studied me in silence a few seconds longer than I expected, his lips curved in the faintest smile. Nothing like the grandiose, theatrical poses of Gamma Jack on the news; this was subtler, almost intimate.

“You know…” he finally said, his tone softer, sounding more human than arrogant scientist, “papers can be redone. Bags can be bought again.” He paused briefly and held my gaze. “But you… can’t.”

My stomach flipped. My face must have been as red as a tomato, because I immediately looked away, retreating into the flickering TV that still showed images of the chaos: Frozone hurling streaks of ice, Mr. Incredible holding up a wall to keep it from falling, and of course, Gamma Jack front and center carrying “a defenseless civilian.” Me.

I covered my face with my hands and let out a sigh.

“Perfect. Now half the country’s going to think I’m some damsel in distress with attachment issues to a thermos.”

I tried to sound sarcastic, but the bitterness leaked through every word.

Jack chuckled softly—low, deep, the kind of laugh he seemed to save for rare moments. It wasn’t mocking; it was the kind of sound that, for some reason, sent a shiver down my skin.

“I don’t see anything wrong with that,” he replied. He said it lightly, like a joke, but the glint in his eyes made me think there was something more behind it—something I preferred not to analyze too much.

He leaned slightly to the side and, as if suddenly remembering, opened the briefcase he had with him. I hadn’t even noticed he was carrying it. Between papers and folders, he pulled out a neatly folded sheet and handed it to me.

“By the way… I suppose the original got lost in the office disaster, but it doesn’t matter. I went ahead and prepared a copy. Here’s your contract.”

I took it cautiously, half-expecting it to disintegrate in my hands like the paperwork Gamma Jack had tossed to the wind hours earlier. Adjusting the blanket over my lap, I read it carefully, line by line. It wasn’t complicated: administrative duties, schedules, meetings, organizing documents. Nothing that sounded like nuclear science. And the pay… well, the pay was surprisingly generous.

How much does this man make? I thought, a shiver of disbelief running through me. It didn’t matter. For me, right now, it was a win-win.

I signed with a steady hand, more determined than I ever expected of myself.

Jack took the contract back and nodded with a satisfied smile.

“Good…” he said, tucking the paper into his briefcase. “You’re officially hired.”

I don’t know why, but those words pulled a sigh out of me that had been stuck in my chest for hours. Officially. As if, after all the chaos, at least something in my life finally had structure.

We stayed talking for a while, meaningless small talk. The murmur of the television filled the gaps of silence, and for moments, the normality almost convinced me that the afternoon had just been a bad dream.

Until Jack leaned toward me, curiosity shining in his eyes.

“So…” he began, “how did it feel?”

I looked at him, puzzled.

“How did what feel?”

He raised a brow, almost amused.

“Having the Supers so close. Seeing them in action.”

The excitement in his voice caught me off guard. It didn’t sound like the question of a bored academic, but of someone genuinely eager for my answer.

I frowned, recalling the tremors, the dust, the ceiling collapsing around me. Clearly, it hadn’t been pleasant at all. But at the same time… I was alive.

“Do you want me to be completely honest?” I asked, weighing my words.

Jack nodded, expectant.

“The truth is… it wasn’t that great.”

I saw surprise flash in his eyes, and before he could say anything, I went on:

“They’re more careless than I thought. When it comes to catching villains, they seem to forget there are entire buildings and innocent people around. Look at the University: I could have literally died.”

I paused, taking a deep breath. To my surprise, my voice sounded calm, almost analytical.

“On the other hand… I’m still here, alive and kicking.” I shrugged, recalling the flight to my balcony. “And even though Gamma Jack acted like an insufferable show-off… I suppose, at the end of the day, he’s somewhat competent.”

I let the words hang in the air, certain my point was clear. The murmur of the TV filled the silence, showing images of smoke and rubble while the anchor repeated the names of Supers and villains.

I glanced up, expecting maybe a light laugh from Jack or a sarcastic remark. Instead, I found him looking at me strangely: his brows slightly raised, lips parted as if he’d lost his reply for a moment. It was the kind of expression you see on someone hearing an unexpected comment and not quite knowing how to take it.

He cleared his throat awkwardly and shifted his gaze to the contract still lying on the table, as if he needed some random object to ground his composure. His usual easy smile took a moment to return, and when it did, it seemed tighter, more deliberate.

I, for my part, couldn’t really understand why he reacted that way. After all, I had only given my opinion: Gamma Jack might be a complete show-off, but in the end, he had done his job and saved me. Why would it bother Jack Anderson so much to hear that?

Chapter Text

After last night’s chaotic conversation, Jack was left intrigued by only one thing: my “mochaccino.” Yes, out of everything I blurted between yelling, trauma, and flying paperwork, what caught his attention most was the coffee. I guess everyone processes disasters in their own way.

So today, I decided to make him another one. Why? Well, because apparently my revolutionary coffee might compete with the supers in terms of historical impact… and also because I don’t want to lose my new job on my second day.

The problem is that the university is still closed: cracked columns, collapsed roofs, and half the campus turned into a disaster zone thanks to yesterday’s fight. Not exactly the best environment to sit down and organize documents.

Luckily, Jack told me he had managed to secure a private study room in the library. A couple of hours, just the two of us, without the risk of some supervillain bringing the ceiling down on our heads… I hope.

So here I go, thermos under my arm and the absurd feeling that I’ve just become a black-market coffee dealer in the middle of the ’50s.

When I arrived, I found him already settled in the private room. On the table lay a mountain of papers and books with dog-eared corners and covered in dust, as if they had survived three world wars. A portable radio rested to the side, playing the news at a moderate volume, just enough to fill the silence.

“Good morning,” I greeted as I closed the door behind me. I raised a brow, pointing at the device. “Aren’t we going to get in trouble for having the radio on?”

Jack looked up and gave me a smile.

“Good morning!” he replied cheerfully. “Nah, as long as the noise doesn’t leave these four walls, nobody will complain.”

His attention immediately shifted to the thermos in my hands.

“So… is that the famous coffee you kept talking about yesterday?”

I nodded, a knot of nerves tightening in my stomach.

“Yes. It’s called a mochaccino,” I said, placing it in front of him as if I were handing over an invaluable relic. “Enjoy, boss.”

Jack arched a brow and made a dismissive gesture with his hand, almost amused.

“Don’t call me ‘boss.’ It sounds weird. Just call me like you always do.”

I bit my lip, painfully aware that “like I always do” barely meant a couple of awkward hallway greetings and now this. But I nodded, trying not to show how nervous I was about his reaction.

Jack took the thermos with both hands, opened it, and inhaled the aroma that escaped in a puff of warm steam.

“Wow…” he murmured, surprised. “It smells different from any coffee I’ve ever tried.”

I shifted in my seat, palms damp with sweat. What if he didn’t like it? What if he thought it was too sweet, too strange for the time? I was literally about to introduce the mochaccino into history thirty years early, and my first guinea pig was a handsome scientist.

Jack took a slow sip. For a second he didn’t say anything, and that silence drilled into my chest like a verdict.

“Well…?” I finally asked, unable to stand it.

“You know, I hate coffee,” he said, almost like a confession. “I’ve always found it way too bitter for my taste. When you said yesterday that you had made me one, the first thing I thought was that you were trying to poison me.” He chuckled softly, in that low tone that seemed reserved only for moments like this.

I stared at him wide-eyed, about to protest, but he lifted a finger to go on.

“But…” he paused briefly, looking at me with a hint of mischief, “the name you gave it caught my attention. Mochaccino. I was curious, and that’s why I asked you to make me another one today.”

He took another sip, slower this time, as if he wanted to savor every detail. He set the thermos down and nodded with satisfaction.

“Honestly? It’s exquisite. Sweet, creamy… nothing like the bitter poison they always tried to sell me as coffee.”

A smile crept onto my lips as I mentally thanked the universe that he liked it. He, on the other hand, took another sip, as if he had just discovered a new vice.

“Please, don’t exaggerate. It’s just coffee with chocolate.”

Jack rested the thermos on the table and leaned toward me, that mischievous spark in his eyes impossible to put out.

“Trust me, miss…” his voice dropped a notch, almost conspiratorial, “it’s not just coffee. If anyone else tried this, you could have half the country lining up outside your door.”

My gaze drifted to the table. On top of it was a pile of battered papers and books, torn pages taped back together, wrinkled sheets covered in dust. Some books had lost their covers, others were barely held together by crooked staples. There was something sad in that mess: documents that once must have been pristine, now turned into survivors of a collapse.

Jack followed the direction of my eyes and, with a brief sigh, commented:

“These are the things I managed to salvage from my office… or rather, from what was left of it.”

He said it in a light, almost careless tone, but quickly added:

“I went by what was left of the office this morning… it was a depressing sight.” He made a gesture with his hand, brushing it off, though his gaze darkened for an instant. “Between the dust and the rubble, this was all I could save.”

I stayed quiet. For a second, I pictured him moving among the fallen debris, gathering torn pages and crushed books, with the echo of the disaster still fresh on the walls.
Jack fell silent for a few moments, as if debating whether to say more. Finally, he looked at me with an expression I had rarely seen on him.

“By the way…” he said slowly, “I saw your bag among the rubble. It didn’t survive, sorry.”

I blinked, surprised. I had been telling myself it was just an object, but hearing that he had seen it torn to pieces hurt like having the death of an old friend confirmed. (Though technically, I had only met the bag yesterday, the original memories of this body about it were varied; apparently, it had been a gift from Y/N’s mother in this world.)

“It was pretty,” I murmured, lowering my gaze to my hands. “I guess… it doesn’t matter anymore.”

Amid the chaos of battered papers and books, something caught my eye: an envelope folded in the corner of the table. I recognized it immediately. It was identical to the overdue bill envelopes that had been slipped under my door on the first day.

I opened it carefully, expecting to find a stack of debts. But what I saw froze me in place: the receipts were stamped “PAID,” each with its date.

“What…?” I stammered, bewildered. “You… paid these?”

Jack looked up, and his expression shifted for an instant. It wasn’t his usual smile or confidence. He scratched the back of his neck, uneasy, as if he’d just been caught in something he hadn’t meant to admit.

For a moment I saw him hesitate, as if he wanted to deny it, as if he would rather distract me with anything else. His fingers toyed with the thermos lid, spinning it over and over, like a nervous tic. Then he ran a hand over his neck, scratching awkwardly before letting out a sigh.

“It’s not a big deal,” he finally said with a shrug. He tried to sound casual, but his gaze couldn’t quite meet mine. “I just thought it was unfair for you to worry about bills right now, when you’ve only just started working with me. It was going to be a while before you got your first paycheck… and I didn’t want you carrying that burden.”

I stayed silent, the receipts trembling between my fingers. Part of me wanted to thank him immediately; another part wanted to scold him for meddling in something so personal without even asking me.

Jack lowered his eyes to the radio, which was still murmuring news in the background, and began to fidget with the ring on one of his fingers, as if searching for an escape from the discomfort.

“I didn’t do it to brag, or to make you owe me anything,” he added, his voice lower this time, almost a whisper. “I just… thought it was the right thing to do.”

I swallowed hard, unsure what to feel. On one hand, relief; on the other, discomfort. And in between, a strange knot in my stomach, hard to explain. I was lost in my thoughts when the radio’s voice suddenly rose in tone.

“Breaking news: a clash between Supers and a villain has erupted near downtown. Witnesses claim Elastigirl, Gazerbeam, and Mr. Incredible are on site, trying to contain the damage caused by a yet unidentified subject. Authorities advise avoiding the area until further notice.”

The transmitter’s hum filled the silence, followed by the nervous chatter of reporters describing collapsed columns, shattered glass, and paralyzed traffic on several streets.

Jack’s head snapped up. His features shifted the moment he heard it: his jaw tightened, his eyes narrowed briefly, and then he blinked as if remembering I was there, watching him.

“Damn it…” he muttered, more to himself than to me. Then he straightened his back and forced a smile, though his voice was far too rushed to be convincing. “We’d better get out of here. If the Supers are fighting this close, this area isn’t safe.”

I blinked, confused.

“This close?” I asked, my heart racing. “Do you really think the damage could reach us?”

Jack was already gathering some papers, shoving them into his briefcase any which way, as if he didn’t want to waste time.

“Trust me, it wouldn’t be the first time a fight got out of control.” He glanced at me sideways, serious. “I’d rather you weren’t caught in the middle when that happens.”

I frowned. There was something strange about the certainty in his voice, as if he knew all too well what it was like to be caught in the middle of a superhuman disaster.

“And how do you know that?” I asked, raising a brow. “Have you actually been in the middle of a Supers fight before?”

Jack blinked, just a second of hesitation, before forcing a light smile.

“Let’s just say… I’ve had the bad luck of being in the wrong place at the worst possible time.” He shrugged, brushing it off, and quickly added, “Either way, we should evacuate.”

I nodded and helped him pack the papers into his briefcase. We walked together to the library’s lobby, where several people were already rushing toward the exit. Just before we reached the main doors, Jack suddenly stopped, as if something had just come to mind.

“Wait,” he said, hurriedly adjusting his sleeves. “I left some documents at the lending desk. I need to grab them before someone misplaces them.”

“Now?” I asked incredulously, watching the crowd pushing toward the doors.

Jack gave me a quick, almost reassuring smile.

“I won’t be long. You head for the street—I’ll catch up right away.”

He didn’t give me the chance to argue: he turned around and disappeared between the side shelves with firm steps.

I stood staring at the exit door for a minute or two, torn, until a crash jolted me into motion. Outside, sirens blared loudly, and in the distance, metallic roars and pounding blows echoed against the buildings. Someone shouted that entire streets were being evacuated because the fight was moving into this area.

I ran with the others toward the street, my heart hammering in my chest. Smoke was starting to seep from the corners of buildings, and in the sky I could see orange flashes drawing closer and closer, as if an entire fire were walking in our direction.

The first thing I saw was an orange glow lighting up the street as if a transformer had exploded. But no, it wasn’t electricity—it was fire. A tall figure, wrapped in a skintight suit with details that looked like glowing plates, walked down the avenue with terrifying calm. Every step left behind a trail of flames on the asphalt.

“It’s Ignis!” someone in the crowd shouted, dragging their child to the opposite sidewalk.

The villain raised his hands and, with a flick, unleashed a fireblast that slammed into the front of an office building. The windows blew outward, and the whole structure shuddered under the heat. Flames started racing up the floors with inhuman speed.

Before I could scream, an elastic arm stretched out and struck the base of the structure, diverting part of the collapse. Elastigirl elongated desperately, holding up chunks of concrete that were about to fall on a group of civilians.

“Keep running, don’t stop!” she commanded, her voice reverberating through the smoke.

Mr. Incredible, meanwhile, charged straight at Ignis, trying to grab him before he could launch another blast. The clash was brutal, and the wave of heat forced me to cover my face. Bob tried to drag him away from the center, but Ignis shoved him back with bursts of fire that scorched the ground beneath his feet.

A few meters away, Gazerbeam used his beams to punch holes through the walls, creating improvised exits so the police could evacuate civilians faster.

The heat was unbearable. Ignis swept his hands and a tongue of fire shot across the street, melting a parked car as if it were made of wax. Mr. Incredible lunged forward to block another blaze, shielding himself with a chunk of concrete as an improvised barrier.

And just when it seemed he was about to be reduced to ashes, a jet of ice cut through the air, extinguishing the flames with a violent hiss. The clash of heat and cold filled the street with steam.

“Why didn’t you call me sooner?!” Frozone’s voice rang through the haze as he advanced with steady steps, sliding over a sheet of ice beneath his feet. “It’s Ignis!”

Mr. Incredible growled, dodging another blast of fire.

“I didn’t have time! The idiot showed up out of nowhere in the middle of the city!”

Frozone raised a brow, incredulous, as he formed an ice wall to shield the fleeing civilians.

“You always have to make time to call me when it comes to fire, brother. Always.”

Ignis roared, the flames around his body flaring higher, as if the taunt fueled him.

Then, above the steam and the roar of the fire, a new voice cut through the air with arrogant flair:

“Fear no more, citizens! Your salvation has arrived.”

A silhouette descended from the sky wrapped in smoke and heat. The landing was, of course, perfectly theatrical. His cape billowed with absurd drama as Gamma Jack straightened with a confident smile, as if the whole stage had been set just for him.

The crowd erupted in cheers, and I only let out a resigned sigh. As much as he was one of my favorite Supers—despite the fandom only ever getting crumbs of him—it was a whole other thing to meet him in person.

I watched the fight for a few seconds, debating whether to leave or find a safer spot to watch from, since sooner or later I’d have to find a way to get close to them—and unfortunately, all of their appearances happened during battles, so getting close to danger was inevitable.

I glanced back at the library, where Jack still hadn’t come out, and I couldn’t help worrying. But that thought was quickly interrupted by the uproar.

So I made up my mind.

I hid behind a half-collapsed wall, the smoke stinging my eyes and the heat burning against my skin like embers. The spectacle was as fascinating as it was terrifying.

Then, a voice—unmistakable, arrogant, and perfectly placed—sounded behind me:

“We meet again, My Lady.”

My skin prickled. I turned slightly, no need to confirm who it was.

“Hello, Gamma Jack,” I murmured, without taking my eyes off the chaos in front of us.

He leaned toward me just a bit, as if sharing a secret.

“And what is a lady like you still doing in the middle of this hell? Don’t tell me…” he grinned shamelessly, “you came to see me in action again?”

I glanced at him sideways, caught between exasperation and nerves, my heart still pounding more from fear than from his perfect smile.

“Trust me,” I said, keeping my eyes on the fire devouring the street, “if I were here because of you… then I’d already be starting to doubt my judgment.”

The silence that followed was brief, but enough to feel it. Gamma Jack blinked, his smile frozen halfway, thrown off. For the first time, it seemed someone had dumped a bucket of cold water on his theatrics.

I, on the other hand, was no longer paying him attention. My eyes scanned the chaos around us: fire crawling up the walls, smoke covering the street, the crowd evacuating as best they could… and then I saw it. A yellow fire hydrant, untouched among the rubble, gleaming under the heat like an obvious solution nobody was using.

I sprinted toward the hydrant, dodging chunks of concrete. A metal bar lay on the ground—maybe part of a traffic sign bent by the heat. I grabbed it with both hands and smashed it against the hydrant, again and again. The metal vibrated in my arms, the sound blending with Ignis’s roars, but the hydrant barely dented.

“Come on, damn thing, open!” I muttered desperately.

A burst of heat forced me back a step: Ignis had thrown another fireblast, and Mr. Incredible barely managed to shield himself with a chunk of concrete. The building behind him was seconds from giving way. There was no time.

I turned toward the chaos, mustering courage and shouting at the top of my lungs while waving my arms wildly so they’d notice me:

“Hey! The hydrant! Open the hydrant and use the water against him!”

My voice was lost amid sirens, screams, and the roar of fire. Elastigirl was too busy holding up an entire front wall, Frozone focused on protecting civilians, Gazerbeam carving another escape route. Nobody heard me. Nobody, except him.

Gamma Jack appeared at my side, wearing that insufferably confident smile.

“Watch and learn, gorgeous,” he said, striking hard.

The impact rang like a hammer blow, the metal shuddered… but the hydrant only dented slightly. A pathetic little trickle of water spurted out, dying in the air. Gamma Jack stepped back, shaking his hand discreetly and forcing a smile as if everything were under control.

“Ahem… tougher than it looks.”

I was tempted to laugh at the situation, but a massive shadow fell over us. Mr. Incredible landed with a heavy thud, and without ceremony, slammed his fist into the hydrant’s base. The metal gave instantly, and a torrent of water burst out violently, flooding the street with such force it pushed even the closest bystanders back.

“That’s how it’s done,” Bob growled, directing the stream toward Ignis.

The water slammed into Ignis with brutal force, extinguishing much of the flames that cloaked his body. The villain roared, staggering as the incandescent plates of his suit hissed and crackled under the torrent. Steam engulfed the street, wrapping us in a burning fog that made it nearly impossible to see more than a few feet ahead.

“Fall back!” Gazerbeam shouted, guiding the last civilians through an improvised exit in a building wall.

Elastigirl, still stretched like a living net to hold up part of the front wall, glanced over with relief as Ignis weakened.

“Good job! Keep the pressure on!”

Mr. Incredible growled, driving his fist deeper into the hydrant to redirect the stream. The water gushed like a raging river, and with every hit on Ignis, the flames shrank a little more.

Beside me, Gamma Jack puffed out his chest shamelessly, raising his voice as though he were on stage:

“Exactly as I planned!” he declared, pointing at me with theatrical flair. “This brilliant lady came up with the idea!”

A few heads in the crowd turned toward me, as if suddenly I were part of the battle. I felt my cheeks burn, unsure if it was from embarrassment or fury. He’d said it with an arrogant smile, but at the same time, he’d given me credit in front of everyone.

Gamma Jack winked confidently.

“Not all heroes wear capes, huh?”

I frowned at him, ready to snap back with a sarcastic retort, but Ignis suddenly roared with one final burst of flames. Fire rose like a dying sun, lighting the thick smoke, and the Supers braced for the final strike.

Ignis let out one last roar, his body engulfed in unstable flames that sputtered like embers on the verge of going out. Mr. Incredible gave him no chance: he lunged, grabbing him around the waist with an iron grip. Frozone extended his arms and unleashed a spiral of freezing current, trapping Ignis in a sheet of ice that spread and cracked until it encased him completely.

The silence that followed was almost unreal. Only the crackle of dying flames and the hiss of fading steam remained. Police rushed in at once, surrounding the immobilized villain. One officer nodded at Bob and Frozone before giving his men the order:

“Secure him, now!”

The agents began working with reinforced chains, securing the block of ice that held Ignis. The crowd, still shaken, started applauding. Some shouted the Supers’ names, others simply cried with relief.

Still panting, I dropped the metal bar and wiped my sweat-soaked face. I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or faint.

Elastigirl was the first to approach. Her figure returned to normal as she retracted the arms that moments earlier had held up tons of rubble.

“Are you insane?” she snapped, though her voice carried as much exhaustion as concern. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed!”

I opened my mouth to defend myself, but before I could speak, Gazerbeam intervened:

“But her idea worked.” He looked at me seriously, as if evaluating me. “Without it, Ignis would’ve burned half the city.”

Mr. Incredible nodded, his brow still furrowed.

“You’ve got guts, that’s for sure. But next time, listen: leave this kind of thing to the Supers.” His tone was stern, paternal—more a lesson than a compliment.

Frozone, on the other hand, just smirked faintly as he adjusted his frozen suit.

“Gotta admit, it’s not every day someone gives this big guy a useful idea.” He patted Bob on the shoulder, earning a grunt in response.

I nodded, swallowing hard, unsure what to say. Part of me wanted to shout that I knew exactly what I was doing, that I wasn’t just another civilian. But the other part—the one still trembling with fear—only managed to mutter:

“Guess I just got lucky.”

That was when Gamma Jack stepped forward, wearing that radiant, irritating smile that looked made for the cameras.

“Luck, yes… but also intelligence.” He turned to the other Supers and raised his voice to make sure they all heard. “You don’t always find people this brilliant.”

A few heads in the crowd turned toward me again. I felt a strange heat rising to my cheeks, more uncomfortable than Ignis’s fire. Gamma Jack gave me a cheeky wink before turning to the people, waving as if he were in a parade. He walked toward them as if this were his greatest moment, brushing the dust off his cape.

“All right, citizens, everything is under control.”

I clenched my fists, fighting the urge to hurl the metal bar still lying on the ground at him.

I couldn’t believe it. What exactly was he so proud of? He had literally shown up just to make an appearance—he hadn’t even been part of the battle.

I left Gamma Jack to his personal parade and turned my eyes to the real heroes of the day.

They looked so real it was hard to process. They weren’t the flawless, shiny heroes I remembered from Pixar movies, nothing like the fanart from my world. They were human. Truly human.

Elastigirl’s suit was scorched in several spots, sweat gluing her hair to her forehead as she held up an entire front wall like her arms were cables pulled to their limit. Mr. Incredible’s skin was smeared with soot, his jaw tight. Gazerbeam was barely standing after using his beams. Frozone’s skin glistened with sweat beneath the frost he conjured just to try and cool the air left behind.

There was nothing glamorous about it. Only effort, exhaustion, sweat-soaked bodies and eyes filled with pure determination. Flesh and bone fighting against fire and steel.

And seeing them this close chilled me to the bone. They were my heroes, yes… but no longer perfect cartoons on a screen. They were people who could bleed, get tired… and die.

Die…

Inevitably, Operation Kronos came back to mind.

I couldn’t stop myself from looking at Gazerbeam and Gamma Jack with anguish, my chest tightening as I remembered their fates—remembered the fan-made audio theories about how they had died…

A small knot formed in my throat as my eyes lingered on the two heroes, while everything I knew about the original plot replayed in my head over and over.

The people saw them as invincible superheroes, like gods.

But I was the only one here who knew the tragic fate awaiting them if I didn’t act in time. I knew that right now, the lives of these Supers depended on me…

“Hey, are you okay?” Elastigirl asked, gently placing a hand on my shoulder.

That pulled me out of my thoughts. I looked at her and realized there were tears running down my cheeks—I hadn’t even noticed. I wiped them away quickly and tried to rearrange my expression.

“Yeah, yeah… it’s just, well, a lot to take in.” I tried to excuse myself.

I noticed Elastigirl’s eyes on me, as if she were analyzing me, as if her instincts were telling her I was lying.

I know Helen isn’t stupid; both she and Bob usually have great instincts, and if I wasn’t careful, I could get myself into serious trouble.

Some fans and reporters were heading our way, and the last thing I wanted was to end up on the front page again. So I slipped away from the Supers as quickly as I could without even stopping to say goodbye, walking as fast as my legs would carry me.

I had just turned the corner, trying to disappear into the dispersing crowd, when a shadow blocked my path. I didn’t even have time to react: Gamma Jack was already there, as if he’d been waiting for me, wearing that arrogant smile that seemed impervious to disaster.

“Did you really think you could escape without your escort, My Lady?” he asked, bowing with unbearable theatrics.

I felt a childish urge to scream at him to leave me alone. Instead, I frowned at him, my cheeks still damp.

“I can walk back on my own,” I replied, my voice shakier than I wanted.

He arched a brow, amused.

“I don’t doubt it…” he said, and before I could step aside, he had already scooped me up as if I weighed less than a forgotten notebook.

I swallowed hard, my protest stuck in my throat. I remembered all too well what yesterday’s flight had been like: the wind slamming against my face, vertigo stabbing at my stomach, fear crackling through me like electricity. I tensed, bracing for the same. But no.

This time the ascent was different. No brutal vertigo, no gusts cutting off my breath. We flew low, just above the rooftops, the city spreading out beneath my feet in a panorama I hadn’t been able to take in before. Streets lit by flickering lights, smoke columns rising like black scars in the sky, people still running even in the farthest corners.

“I didn’t want to scare you again,” he murmured, in a tone so soft it barely sounded like him.

I stayed quiet, lips pressed together. Part of me wanted to thank him for the gesture, to acknowledge that he’d paid attention to how I’d felt yesterday. Another part wanted to shout at him that he couldn’t just grab people and fly off with them without their consent. And between the two, only silence remained.

I held onto his uniform, feeling the lingering warmth radiating from it, and let my thoughts take over. This time, I allowed myself to enjoy the view. Amid all the chaos in the city, there was a certain beauty to it. Never in my life had I imagined I’d see something like this from such a perspective.

And before I realized it, we had already reached my apartment.

Gamma Jack landed softly and set me down with the same care he’d used to land. This time there were no unnecessary flips or theatrical gestures. To my surprise, I wasn’t looking at the usual showman.

“Thank you…” I said, because I had to admit he’d been far more considerate than the last time. I crossed my arms right away. “But you can’t just lift someone into the sky without asking first.”

“Yesterday was an emergency, your life was in danger,” he defended himself, throwing his hands in an exaggerated gesture as if narrating a feat on stage. “Today… think of it as an apology for scaring you yesterday.” He winked as he gave a mock bow, ready to leave in dramatic fashion.

“Wait!” I stopped him. He turned toward me, and that mischievous smile instantly reappeared, as automatic as a reflex.

“Oh, darling, if what you wanted was to spend more time with me, you only had to say so,” he joked, taking a couple of steps toward me, his cape still rippling from the flight.

“That’s not it,” I shot back, raising a hand to stop him. “There’s something that came to mind yesterday, and I think now’s a good time to clear it up.”

His arched brow and playful sparkle shifted for a second into genuine expectation.

“How the hell did you know where I live?”

For a millisecond, his smile cracked. Just a blink, but enough for me to notice. He straightened up, puffed out his chest, and slid back into theatrics as if putting on armor.

“You told me,” he replied with feigned ease, adding a sweeping hand gesture as if the memory were so obvious it wasn’t worth discussing.

I shook my head, locking my eyes on his.

“No, I didn’t.” My voice was firm.

Gamma Jack tilted his head, still smiling, though his eyes held a sharper glint. He raised a hand, as if reasoning out loud.

“Of course you did, sweetheart. Yesterday, in the middle of all the chaos, you mentioned it. Said something about your building, your balcony… Don’t you remember?” His tone was light, almost playful, but the cadence was dangerous, like someone trying to twist reality with words.

I watched him in silence. The glimmer in his eyes said I’m messing with you, but his wide smile and confident tone were designed to plant doubt. For anyone else, it might have worked.

This bastard is trying to gaslight me.

“No,” I repeated, arms crossed. “I didn’t say it.”

I probably would’ve let that detail slide if he hadn’t brought me home again today. Or at least if he had dropped me on the street, in front of the building. But no—twice now, he’d left me on the exact floor, the exact balcony.

And something about that didn’t add up.

Gamma Jack tilted his head as if he’d just picked up on something in the air. He frowned slightly, then touched his ear in a dramatic gesture, like he was listening to an invisible call.

“Do you hear that?” he asked in a grave tone, though the shadow of a smile still played on his lips. Then he straightened, puffed out his chest, and announced with ridiculous solemnity: “People in danger. Duty calls. Being a superhero is a full-time job.”

Before I could say a word, he stepped back and shot into the sky at incredible speed, leaving behind only a swirl of hot air.

“WHERE ARE YOU GOING?! THIS CONVERSATION ISN’T OVER!” I shouted, my voice fading into the sky as I watched him vanish like lightning.

I stayed on the balcony, arms tense at my sides and heart pounding in my chest. He could run away behind any excuse he wanted, but I knew the truth: Gamma Jack was hiding something from me.

Chapter Text

Annotation #1

Today marks one week since I woke up in this world. Honestly, I think I’ve been handling it pretty well. I mean, it’s been a little hard to adapt—especially considering the lack of technology—but it hasn’t been as difficult as I thought it would be.

Now the important part, a recap of what’s happened so far:

Day 2: I got caught up in the incident with Terremoto. If Gamma Jack hadn’t pulled me out of there, I might not be here to tell the tale.

Day 3: Incident with Ignis. I came up with the griffin idea—it worked. I managed to get a small opening with the Supers, though I suspect Elastigirl is suspicious of me. I have to be careful.

Day 4: Nothing interesting to report, just paperwork.

Day 5: Same as Day 4.

Day 6: I researched more about the Y/N native to this world. Apparently, she’s estranged from her family. She was close to her mother, but her mother died. She doesn’t get along with her father—they hate each other. She has no siblings. She’s only been living alone for a year. Apparently, she’s 21 years old—the same age I was in my world. She’s had several part-time jobs, but got fired from all of them.

I still haven’t seen Gamma Jack since the incident with Ignis, when he brought me back to my apartment for the second time. But I still wonder: how did he know where I lived? I suspect that maybe the original Y/N knows him in his civilian identity. But who is he?

Possible suspects:

• J̶a̶c̶k̶ ̶A̶n̶d̶e̶r̶s̶o̶n̶. No, it can’t be him, they’re too different. Gamma Jack is far too egocentric, theatrical, arrogant. Jack Anderson, on the other hand, is a calm academic. And while he is somewhat egotistical, it’s nothing unusual—he is the best in his field (from what I’ve seen with my own eyes so far). Besides, he’s a very kind gentleman—he paid my bills and gave me a job.

• Note: Not completely ruled out, but unlikely.

• The neighbor on the ninth floor: I’ve only seen him a few times, but physically they look a lot alike. Plus, I always see him coming into the building with a new girl. In my opinion, that’s very suspicious (especially considering Gamma Jack’s reputation).

• Note: This neighbor always greets me in an overly friendly way.

• The guy who works in the building across the street: From what little I’ve gathered, he seems to be the son of a successful company CEO. Physically, they resemble each other. The few encounters I’ve had with him have been very unpleasant (at least for me). He’s a 100% nepo baby. He’s tried to flirt with me at every single encounter. Coincidence? I don’t think so. Still, I don’t have much proof.

In other news, for some reason there are constant power outages in my apartment. Why? The bills are already paid. I need to check what’s going on.

Regarding Operation Kronos, I haven’t made much progress. I haven’t been able to meet with either Bob or Helen, much less Lucius or Simon. But honestly, what would I even say if I ran into them? “Hi, I know you’re Supers, please don’t panic and just listen to what I have to say.” They’d probably just tell that idiot—what was his name? Dicker? Ricker? I don’t even remember the name of that lawyer who wipes people’s memories anymore.

Speaking of that, there’s something that worries me a lot. I’ve tried to write down everything I remember, but the more days go by, the more details I forget. That’s not good. But as long as I have this notebook, I suppose I shouldn’t worry too much.

I thought of something I’m not proud of. Maybe I should cut the problem with Buddy at the root. I mean, as long as Mr. Incredible has already ruined things with his “#1 Fan.” But that would only land me in jail—and besides, technically, he hasn’t done anything wrong yet. He’s still just a kid.

God, what kind of monstrosity am I even thinking about? Just imagining myself doing that terrifies me…
But then again, one life in exchange for fifteen… on the surface it seems logical, doesn’t it?

I discovered that the Y/N from this world has a weapon. I seriously considered using it against him, but I just can’t. It doesn’t feel right.

As for the other Supers who are (or will be) involved in Operation Kronos, I still haven’t found them. At the very least, I need to find out their civilian identities so I can make sure to keep them under surveillance.

I thought about reaching out to Edna Mode, but I immediately dismissed the idea. I don’t think she’d even give me the time of day.

I was quietly writing the first entry in my notebook when suddenly I heard someone knocking at the door. I closed the notebook, left it on the table, got up from the couch, and went to see who it was.

When I opened the door, I was surprised to find Jack standing there. What was he doing here? It was the weekend. Honestly, he was the last person I expected to see on a Saturday.

“It’s the weekend, right? My contract didn’t say anything about working Saturdays,” I joked, raising an eyebrow.

He smiled, and that brief, almost stifled laugh caught me off guard; it sounded more nervous than amused. He adjusted his jacket before speaking:

“I know, I know. I just came to drop this off,” he said, pulling out an envelope that he held onto for a second too long, as if hesitating to hand it over. Then he passed it to me with a smile that was far too formal for such a personal gesture. “It’s a small advance on your salary.”

I opened the envelope and saw a stack of bills, a decent amount. I stared at it in silence, not knowing what to say, but Jack spoke first, as if he had already anticipated my reaction.

“Included in that advance is a bonus for ‘damage compensation.’” His tone was casual, like he was explaining some routine procedure. “I filed a report about the Terremoto incident, and the insurance covered it.” While he talked, I noticed his fingers drumming lightly against the doorframe, a subtle, almost anxious gesture. “So, with that extra money, I suggest you use it to replace that beautiful handbag.”

He made me smile. There was something satisfied in his eyes, as if he enjoyed having surprised me.

“Yes, I’ll definitely do that,” I replied, feeling my words come out warmer than I’d intended. Extra money is always welcome, and if it came from insurance, what objection could I have? Still, I couldn’t stop thinking about how quickly he had managed everything.

Jack nodded, but didn’t step away from the door. He ran a hand through his hair, as if searching for the right words.

“And, well… since we’re talking about work,” he said in a casual tone, though his fingers drummed against the empty envelope, “there’s a dinner with some colleagues tonight.”

I eyed him suspiciously.

“A work dinner on the weekend?”

“Yes. And since you’re officially my assistant, you should come.” He raised an eyebrow, smiling with that self-satisfied air that got on my nerves. “It’s important that you meet the rest of the team, so you can integrate better.”

I crossed my arms.

“So now, on top of paperwork, I have mandatory dinners too?” I asked, half joking, half serious.

“Think of it as part of your training.” He shrugged with the kind of calm he used whenever he’d already decided something for me. “Besides, there’s no better way to understand how a group works than by seeing them outside office hours.”

He said it so naturally that it seemed perfectly logical. I sighed, resigned. After all, what did I have to lose? Meeting his colleagues sounded boring, but it was also the perfect chance to expand my network of contacts… and maybe learn a little more about this academic world that still felt so foreign to me.

Jack looked about to turn and leave, but stopped, as if suddenly remembering something important.

“By the way…” He gave me a once-over, not bothering too much to hide it, though that polite smile of his kept it from feeling outright shameless. “Do you have something suitable to wear tonight?”

I stared at him, incredulous.

“Excuse me? Now there’s a dress code too?”

“Of course, it’s a work dinner,” he replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s not like they expect formal gowns, but it’s good to make a nice impression.”

He lifted a small black card and twirled it between his fingers.

“And if you don’t have anything appropriate, we can fix that. Use the credit card the University provided me.”

Jack held up the card and showed it to me. I took it carefully, recognizing the discreet university logo.

“The university pays for its employees’ clothes now?” I asked, half surprised, half skeptical.

Jack smiled, leaning slightly closer, as if sharing a secret.

“Let’s just say there are certain funds set aside for… ‘representation.’ Nobody’s going to complain about a dress.”

Just as I was about to put the card away, Jack snatched it back, spun it between his fingers like some cheap magic trick, and said:

“Well, technically it’s under my name…” His voice was dangerously calm. “So I’ll have to go with you.”

He said it so smoothly, and before I could reply, he had already slipped the card into his jacket pocket.

“And you’ll be watching me so I don’t overspend?” I asked, arching an eyebrow.

His smile widened suspiciously.

“On the contrary. I’ll be making sure you do overspend. Trust me, nothing infuriates those bureaucrats more than watching us use their ‘institutional funds’ on silk dresses.” He paused, letting out a small laugh, and from his expression, it seemed like he was picturing a truly amusing scenario. “There’s nothing I enjoy more than imagining their faces when they go over the expense reports.”

I stared at him, dumbfounded.

“Won’t you get into trouble?” I paused, more alarmed than I meant to sound. “Wait… you’re not going to get me into trouble, are you?”

Jack let out a low, carefree laugh and shrugged.

“Don’t worry. Any problems the higher-ups cause, I’ll handle. You don’t need to lose sleep over such small things.”

He said it with such confidence, as if he really could handle any consequences, that for a moment I almost believed him. Of course, most likely he was dragging me into trouble up to my neck and I hadn’t even realized it yet.

Since when do universities have black cards with unlimited funds? Something didn’t add up… but I wasn’t about to turn down a new dress just to start philosophizing.

We stood in silence at the door, staring at each other for a few seconds. Jack seemed torn between holding back or blurting out something that amused him far too much. In the end, he spoke:

“Well? What are you waiting for?” he asked, tilting his head impatiently.

I frowned, confused.

“What do you mean?”

A spark of excitement flickered in his eyes, impossible to hide. The smile he’d been trying to suppress finally broke free.

“What do you mean, what do I mean?” he said, his voice carrying an almost childlike gleam. “We’re going to max out that damn credit card!”

Before I could reply, he was already gently pushing me out, closing the door to my apartment behind me as if everything had been decided.

“Wait!” I protested, though my voice sounded more amused than annoyed. “Right now?”

“Of course,” he answered, in a tone as casual as if he’d said, ‘let’s grab a coffee.’ “The best shopping trips are always the ones you don’t have time to think about.”

He offered me his arm with elegance, like a gentleman from another era.

Oh, wait.

This is another era.

Yes, it definitely made sense for him to act so chivalrous—these refined gestures toward ladies still existed in these years.

When he saw I was frozen in place, just staring at him in confusion, he took my hand without asking and placed it on his arm, as if he’d already decided he was going to escort me to the city’s shops. A satisfied smile spread across his face, as though everything had just fallen neatly into place.

“Come, My Lady,” he said as he started down the hall. I was barely able to process what was happening.

I couldn’t help but eye him suspiciously when he said that.

Why did that tone sound so familiar?

We walked quickly, eager to leave the building, and it seemed Jack was genuinely excited about spending that money. Something told me he didn’t care much for his bosses… Every now and then I could still hear his voice echoing in my head with those two words: “My Lady.” It unsettled me. I’d heard it before… not in a classroom, not in an office, but under very different circumstances. Circumstances I was trying hard not to remember. Dangerously familiar ones.

I slowed half a step. That voice… that arrogant, playful lilt… I’d heard it before. Not here, not with him, but in another setting. It was the same tone Gamma Jack used when he shouted his theatrical lines in the middle of a fight.

I shook my head at once, forcing a smile to cover it up. Ridiculous, I told myself. Jack Anderson was a calm, serious academic. There was no reason he should remind me of… him.

Or was there?

I mean, I am inside this world—anything could be possible.

No, no, no, no. Don’t think such nonsense, Y/N.

Maybe I was just being overly paranoid.

When we reached the street, Jack raised his hand in a near-theatrical gesture and flagged down a taxi, as if he had rehearsed the scene a thousand times. He opened the door with the same ease someone else might hold open a book, and waited for me to climb in with that triumphant smile that seemed to say, “everything is under control.”

“I can’t believe this…” I muttered, half laughing, half resigned, once I was settled into the back seat.

“Believe it,” he replied lightly, though his eyes glinted with a dangerous spark.

We spent most of the day shopping, and I have to admit the experience was… peculiar. At first, I thought I would pick out my own dress—something nice but simple, nothing extravagant. But every time I chose something, Jack looked at it with clear disapproval, as though cheapness gave him hives. Eventually I realized his plan wasn’t to dress me well, but to spend as much as possible just to spite his bosses. So I ended up with an impeccable ensemble: dress, shoes, purse, and jewelry that looked like they belonged in a magazine. On top of that, he added silk gloves, a feathered fan, and a veiled hat that, honestly, I am never going to wear.

Fortunately, he let me choose some clothes I actually liked afterwards. I took advantage of it to grab some practical, discreet pieces—everyday wear I truly needed to survive in this world. That part I genuinely enjoyed, because at least it felt like I was making some choices for myself.

He, on the other hand, went wild. Shirts and suits made sense, sure, but then he got attached to absurd things: an ivory cane, a top hat completely out of fashion, an outrageously expensive portable typewriter (even though he already had one at the university)…

Wait, now that I think about it… is his typewriter still in good condition? I only know it exists because he mentioned it in passing, but I have no idea whether it survived the Terremoto incident.

…

Well, maybe that was a justified purchase.

But besides that, he even threw in a globe with golden detailing that, according to him, was indispensable for “research.”

How on earth was that indispensable for his research?

He’s a scientist specialized in Physics with a minor in Chemistry! He’s not a History or Geography professor!

That purchase made no sense…

As if that weren’t enough, he added a set of silver-plated fountain pens and a pair of hand-embroidered Italian socks.

By the time we were done, the back seat of the taxi looked more like a curiosity shop than a pile of shopping bags—we barely had room to sit. I stared at the bags and could only wonder how he planned to justify such extravagance. Well… I suppose, as always, Jack already had some answer ready.

“You…” I said, staring at him while glancing at the bags piled up around us and remembering the other mountain of them crammed into the trunk. “Are you trying to get yourself fired?”

I asked with an incredulous tone, almost laughing at how absurd the situation was. Jack, on the other hand, burst out laughing so loudly that the taxi driver shot us a look of annoyance in the rearview mirror, as if begging us to shut up already.

“Fired?” he repeated between laughs, shamelessly settling into the bags as if they were a throne. “Even if they wanted to, they can’t. I’m the best in my field. No, wait…” He raised a finger, like he was giving an impromptu lecture. “I’m the only one specialized in the damn research area that university brags so much about.”

He leaned back against the seat with a smug smile, completely pleased with himself.

“So no,” he added calmly, savoring every word. “They won’t fire me. They’re doomed to put up with me for the rest of their lives.”

The ride felt surprisingly short; before I knew it, we were already back at the building. Jack helped me carry up the bags that were mine and drop them off in my apartment, with the same casualness as if he were leaving a package on the table, as though we hadn’t just spent hours combing through shops. He told me we had about two hours before dinner and that it would be best if I started getting ready calmly. He also mentioned that a driver would be sent to pick us up, and that he’d come by my door so we could head down together to the car.

I was left alone in the apartment, surrounded by bags and opened boxes, like a tornado had swept through my living room. For a moment I thought about ignoring everything and staying in pajamas—after all, what was the worst that could happen? But the sight of the dress hanging on its hanger made me sigh. It was impossible not to look at it.

The outfit Jack had chosen was gorgeous, far too much for me. The dress fell with an almost offensive elegance, paired with shoes and a purse that matched as if they’d been designed as a set. The jewelry glimmered discreetly, but just enough to remind me they probably cost more than I had ever spent on clothing in my entire life. And there they were too: the silk gloves and that damned feather fan, staring at me from the table as a reminder of how ridiculous the whole day had been.

Jack had told me to wear the fan and gloves tonight as well, but I really won’t. That would be far too ostentatious.

I looked at myself in the mirror and, for a second, hesitated. Was that really me? With the improvised makeup I managed, the dress fitting perfectly, and the hairstyle I barely tamed, I struggled to recognize myself. I looked like someone else—someone who belonged at elegant dinners, in intellectual conversations, in a world that wasn’t mine.

And yet… a part of me enjoyed seeing myself like this. A part of me smiled conspiratorially, though I immediately scolded myself for it.

No, I mustn’t let this world seduce me so easily. I mustn’t forget who I am or what’s at stake.

A knock at the door pulled me out of my thoughts. It was surely Jack. I opened it, and when I saw him, my heart skipped a beat for a moment.

He usually kept a semi-formal air: always well-dressed, always with his hair immaculate. But this time was different. He was wearing one of the ridiculously expensive suits he’d bought during our shopping spree—I think he mentioned it was Italian—and suddenly I understood why he had insisted so much on splurging. The suit looked tailored to him, highlighting every ounce of his natural self-assurance.

He looked handsome. Very handsome.

I noticed he, too, froze, staring at me for a couple of seconds. It wasn’t the usual calculated gaze or the elegant gestures I was used to. His eyes widened just a little, glimmering with genuine surprise, as if what he saw had truly left him speechless. It wasn’t awkward surprise, but something different… warmer. There was a flicker of admiration in his expression, like he was seeing something he hadn’t expected to find there. And then I noticed it: the faint blush tinting his cheeks, a crack in Jack Anderson’s perfect, composed façade. For the first time, I felt like I had disarmed him.

We both stayed silent, holding each other’s gaze for what felt like an eternity. The air seemed to grow dense, until at last he broke the moment.

“Well…” he murmured, without looking away. His voice was slightly lower than usual, as if he wasn’t used to saying it aloud. “You’re already beautiful as it is, but in that outfit… you look truly stunning.”

I blushed at his compliment, unable to meet his eyes for too long.

“You’re not so bad yourself…” I murmured, with a clumsy smile that tried to hide how hard it was for me to say it. “That suit looks like it was made for you.”

Jack arched an eyebrow, amused, and the self-satisfied glint in his eyes returned, as if my comment had given him back control of the situation.

“It is,” he replied, with a half-smile brimming with confidence.

He leaned slightly toward me, extending his arm with a natural ease, as though he’d rehearsed the gesture all his life. I hesitated only for a moment before resting my arm on his, feeling the warmth of his presence uncomfortably close.

“So, ready?” he asked softly, but with that tone of his that made every word sound like part of a performance.

I nodded, and together we headed out. Outside, the car was already waiting.

═══════ ≫ ♡ ≪ ════════

We arrived at the restaurant in the car assigned by the University. The moment we stepped out, the first impression hit me hard: the place exuded luxury. Large windows with velvet curtains, crystal chandeliers bathing the entrance hall in warm light, and the constant murmur of elegant conversations mingled with the clinking of glasses.

Jack walked in as if he owned the place. With his upright posture and that natural air of self-assurance, he strode toward the stand where a suited man—the one in charge of reservations, I assumed—waited with a ledger and a rehearsed smile.

“I have a reservation in the VIP area, under the name Jack Anderson,” he announced with the same confidence others might use to order a coffee. Then, unbothered, he added as if it were a trivial detail: “Oh, and bring one more seat. I brought a guest.”

The man lifted his eyes slightly, surprised by the clarification. I felt the glances of several people waiting in the lobby shift toward us; the word VIP had that immediate effect, as if it placed us on an invisible stage I had no business being on.

“Of course, Mr. Anderson,” the host replied quickly, bowing his head and jotting something down in the ledger. His tone was servile, but I caught a faint unease in it, as though an unexpected guest wasn’t exactly ideal in that kind of reservation.

I, on the other hand, went stiff, struck by the strange feeling of having been pushed into a place I didn’t belong. VIP area. I had never set foot in something like that. I wondered if my dress—so luxurious and elegant, yet still foreign to me—would be enough to disguise just how out of place I was.

Jack, meanwhile, showed not the slightest trace of doubt. On the contrary, he seemed to revel in the background murmur, as though the attention of the entire lobby were just another accessory to his Italian suit. Once again, he offered me his arm with a calculated smile, and I took it almost by reflex, letting him guide me toward the host who was ready to lead us to the private section of the restaurant.

He moved with the certainty of someone exactly where he was meant to be. I, by contrast, felt goosebumps under the fabric of my dress. I could feel the stares from the hall piercing me like invisible pins. It wasn’t the first time I had endured that kind of scrutiny, but there was something different about this collective observation—raw, as if everyone had silently agreed to evaluate me down to the last detail. Jack set the pace without hesitation and forced me to follow, and with my hand resting on his arm I had the bizarre sensation of parading down an improvised runway. Ridiculous, yes… but impossible not to be swept along by his aura.

The waiter led us through a discreet archway that separated the main dining hall from a more intimate section. There, the noise softened, the tables were fewer, and the atmosphere was crafted for important conversations far from curious ears.

And there they were.

A long table, impeccably set beneath the warm glow of a hanging lamp. The first thing I noticed were the place cards: “Sylvia Donovan,” “Evelyn Hart,” “Frank Doyle,” “Edgar Price”… and a little further up, “Jack Anderson.” To his left, an extra chair. The card before that seat was blank, a visible reminder that I didn’t belong in this choreography.

At the head, the name “Simon Eckhart.” The man was already there, sitting with his back perfectly straight, his suit without a single crease, and a face carved from stone. He didn’t need to speak; his presence alone was enough to impose authority. I guessed immediately: he must have been someone of considerable weight at the University, perhaps a director or a council member.

That’s when I realized: we were late. The half-empty wine glasses, unfolded napkins, and the murmur that stopped dead as soon as we entered all gave it away. The silence that followed was thick, almost tangible, like a heavy fabric draped over everything.

By reflex, I gripped Jack’s arm a little tighter, as if that could anchor me in the middle of the discomfort. He noticed right away and, with calculated calm, covered my hand with his own. The gesture gave me some relief—though only a little.

Evelyn Hart, the redhead with sophisticated poise, studied me with a playful glint in her eyes, as though she found all this highly entertaining. Sylvia Donovan, the quick-moving blonde, smiled in disbelief, clearly amused by the surprise. Frank Doyle merely snorted, his jaw tightening as if chewing on his annoyance. Edgar Price never lifted his eyes from the tablecloth, adjusting his napkin with manic precision, though out of the corner of his eye he sent me a look brimming with disapproval, as if my very existence had disrupted his carefully ordered universe.

Jack, true to form, didn’t just gesture toward my seat. With a smooth motion, he pulled out the improvised chair and held it for me, waiting as though it were part of some elegant ritual. The table’s attention was already on me, and that detail only intensified the stares.

I sat carefully, trying not to trip over the dress while he, with irritating composure, slid the chair forward to settle me in. Then he took his own seat as if it had all been a flawlessly rehearsed entrance.

To me it felt excessive, a gesture too showy in an atmosphere already heavy enough. But Jack seemed to enjoy it; the half-smile on his face made it clear he was delighted to underline my presence as something impossible to ignore.

In front of me, the perfectly printed cards seemed to watch with silent judgment. They had their places planned out. I was the mistake.

Even so, I straightened my back, forced a slight smile, and let my mask of serenity cover my face. No one needed to know how uncomfortable I was there. Jack, on the other hand, settled in with the irritating calm of someone who seemed to have been born to be there. Not a hint of doubt in his posture. Not a shadow of discomfort in his smile. On the contrary: he seemed to enjoy every second as if everything had gone exactly according to plan.

Chapter Text

Jack Anderson/Gamma Jack POV.

This is cinema, pure cinema.

I’ve never seen that bastard Eckhart look this uncomfortable before.

Does the NSA really think they can force me into a university, surround me with boring academics, monitor my every move… and that I’d just accept it like nothing?

HA!

No. If they want to play with me, then I’ll play better.

There he is in front of me: Simon Eckhart, back so stiff it’s like he’s got a steel rod jammed into his spine, pretending serenity. But I see it. That blink just a fraction too long, that tiny clench of the jaw. He’s dying to ask what the hell a civilian is doing here, but he can’t. Not in front of everyone. And that impotence is what disarms him.

The rest of the table is a painting worth millions. Psycwave, with that restrained little smile, savoring the discomfort like fine wine. Blazestone biting her lip to keep from bursting out laughing. Hypershock looking about to snap his fork in half with his teeth from how hard he’s clenching. And Everseer… ah, Everseer. He’s been fussing over the same damn napkin for five minutes, probably calculating how many bacteria contaminated it on its journey from the kitchen.

And then there’s her. My little surprise bomb. Sitting to my left, with that perfect composure hiding just how nervous she really is. No one expected her, and that’s why she’s delicious. She’s not a mistake: she’s the masterstroke that knocks them all off balance.

Watching them swallow their discomfort, watching Eckhart lose control of the scene without being able to adjust every detail… that, gentlemen, is a show. That is art.

“So, Jack…” Psycwave breaks the silence with her glass in hand, lips curved in that half-smile that always betrays amusement at someone else’s expense. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your guest?”

“Oh, what a terrible oversight on my part!” I exclaim dramatically, placing a hand on my chest as if I truly felt guilty. “Allow me to amend my bad manners.”

I place a hand on Y/N’s back; she answers with a serene smile, so convincing that anyone would swear she’s perfectly in her element. No one would suspect she probably wishes she could vanish under the table.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” I continue, with ceremonious tone “this is Y/N, my secretary and assistant.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” she replies calmly and elegantly. Not a single tremor in her voice. Brilliant.

I, of course, keep the performance rolling.

“Evelyn Hart” I gesture theatrically toward Psycwave, as if presenting an actress on stage “distinguished psychologist on our campus.” Her sparkling gaze confirms the obvious: she’s enjoying every second of this chaos.

“Edgar Price” I turn to Everseer, still giving microscopic attention to that napkin “fellow psychologist with a specialization in psychiatry, and Evelyn’s supervisor.” He barely looks up to gift me one of those looks dripping with disapproval. Sublime.

“Frank Doyle” I nod toward the grumpy Hypershock, who looks about to shatter the fork with his jaw “in charge of infrastructure supervision. Thanks to him the campus hasn’t collapsed yet… although, judging by that face, I suspect he’s considering starting today.”

“Sylvia Donovan” I motion toward Blazestone. The blonde waves at Y/N like an excited child at a parade, grin stretching wide.

“Hi!” she chirps, as if we were at a picnic and not at an official dinner.

“She’s the assistant professor in Applied Chemistry. Personal advice, Y/N: if you walk through her lab, better wear a helmet. Something’s always exploding.” I drop the comment like a playful whisper to her, just enough to spark a hint of complicity.

And finally, with all the calm in the world, I extend my hand toward the far end of the table.

“And this is Simon Eckhart. Don’t worry, he’s not important, just the vice-chancellor.”

I say it with such lightness I could be talking about a flowerpot in the corner. And seeing him twitch just a little… ah, that’s priceless.

The hostile stares don’t take long to arrive. Everseer, Hypershock, and—of course—Eckhart fix us with glares like we’ve desecrated their private temple. I, for my part, simply return the most gallant smile I’ve got in my repertoire, as if their disapproval slid right off me.

But then I look at her. Her face is flawless, worthy of a statue: serene, elegant, not a single gesture out of place. Yet I notice what the others don’t. Under the table, her hands clasp and unclasp, playing with her fingers, and every so often she squeezes the fabric of her dress as if she needs something solid to hold onto. It’s obvious the atmosphere makes her uncomfortable, and in that instant I feel a little guilty. I knew this would happen. I knew bringing her here was like throwing her to the wolves.

Maybe that’s why I let my hand drop beneath the tablecloth until I find hers. I cover it gently, barely a gesture, and stroke it with my thumb. A minimal contact, invisible to everyone but her. And it works. The tension in her fingers eases, her shoulders relax just a fraction. A tiny detail, but enough.

Despite everything, I don’t regret bringing her. Yes, I knew the atmosphere would be hostile and that more than one person would try to kill her with a look, but I also knew it would give me the perfect excuse to keep her close. And with her at my side, everything is worth it.

When I saw her in that outfit before we left… wow. I thought I was going to have a heart attack right there. I’m not exaggerating. I’d never looked so ridiculous in front of someone, my mind blank simply because she appeared in the doorway.

How the hell can she be that beautiful? And the worst —or the best— is that she doesn’t even seem to notice.

Simon clears his throat, that dry gesture a bureaucrat makes when he thinks he can straighten the world.

“Alright,” he says, voice firm but with a poorly disguised hint of irritation. “Now that we’re all here, I think it’s best to begin. This meeting has a clear purpose: to evaluate the progress and integration of our… distinguished collaborators into academic life.”

Poor man. He says it as if he doesn’t realize the room no longer belongs to him.

Psycwave completely ignores Simon, places her glass on the table with a calculated movement, eyes shining as if about to pounce, lips curved in that half-smile that you never know if it’s cordial or poisonous.

“And tell me, dear?” she leans toward Y/N, that playful gleam in her eyes. “What is it like to work with Jack? It must be… intense.”

There it is. I feel it in the air even before the sentence finishes. That subtle tug in the invisible current, that minimal pressure on Y/N’s mind. Psycwave probes, pushes the door just enough to see if it will open. And of course it can: I noticed it; I know Psycwave well enough to recognize when she’s using her powers, but I’m sure Y/N didn’t notice. She thinks it’s just an innocent question.

I’m about to intervene, to fix Evelyn with a look that tells her I won’t tolerate her messing with her… but someone gets there first.

Everseer.

He lifts his gaze for the first time all evening, halting his napkin ritual.

“Evelyn,” his voice cuts through the air like a scalpel, “make sure you keep the conversation within appropriate boundaries.”

The whole table tenses.

Psycwave, of course, doesn’t flinch. She gives a light, musical laugh that is pure provocation.

“Oh, Edgar…” she replies, in that tone of annoying innocence. “Sometimes a question is just a question.”

Ha. Lie. I know it. She knows it. And Everseer knows it better than anyone. That’s why he’s here — to keep her in check. To remind her she can’t use her tricks freely.

“It comforts me to know Edgar closely supervises Evelyn’s work on campus,” I say as I cut a piece of steak with the calm of someone commenting on the weather. “It’s always useful to have someone ensuring there are no… bad habits.”

I don’t raise my voice, don’t change my tone, but my eyes rest on her one second longer than necessary. Evelyn keeps the flawless smile, the glass still halfway to her lips, but the spark in her gaze sharpens. She doesn’t like being reminded someone is holding the reins. Least of all in public.

Inside, I smile. Psycwave is brilliant, yes, but also addicted to crossing limits. And I won’t let her cross them with Y/N. Not while she’s sitting by my side. If she wants to play, she can find another prey.

However, her smile sharpens. She sets her glass down gently on the table and, without losing her composure, returns the blow.

“How considerate of you to worry about my habits, Jack,” her voice drips honey, but every word carries poison. “But I suppose we all have… distractions. Some more obvious than others.”

Her gaze slides briefly toward Y/N, a movement so small anyone would miss it. But I don’t. She knows what she’s doing. She wants to unsettle her. She wants to unsettle me.

No one misses the subtle barb. Her eyes lock on Y/N for an instant, and I feel the blood heat in my veins. Evelyn has always known where to press to make people uncomfortable. But this time I’m not going to give her the field.

Before she can open her mouth, Simon Eckhart clears his throat forcefully, cutting the tension like a knife.

“Alright,” he says, with that measured voice that pretends to sound neutral, yet carries the weight of an order. “I think it’s time we focus on what brings us together tonight. The state of the campus and the progress of your respective departments.”

He pauses briefly, just long enough for the tension to settle in the air, and then fixes his eyes on Psycwave. The smile he puts on is proper, diplomatic, but there’s a blade hidden in it.

“Since you seem so eager to converse, Evelyn,” he says slowly, evaluating her as though each word were part of a report. “Why don’t you share with us how this past month has been? I trust there haven’t been… incidents beyond what was expected.”

The words fall soft, almost elegant, but everyone at the table understands the subtext: have you been using your powers where you shouldn’t?

Psycwave doesn’t blink. She tilts her head just slightly, sketching a confident smile.

“Of course, Mr. Eckhart. My activities have been impeccable. The campus has received all my effort and dedication… without shocks or distractions,” she replies, modulating her voice with such perfect calm it almost feels like defiance.

That smile isn’t surrender—it’s wounded pride dressed as courtesy. Psycwave hates having her control questioned.

Eckhart, however, doesn’t look satisfied. His gaze slides slowly toward Everseer.

“Price,” he says, with a subtle emphasis, but enough to make clear who he trusts more. “As supervisor, would you care to corroborate her statement?”

Everseer finally sets the napkin aside, adjusts his gloves with meticulous care, and raises his voice with the coldness of a scalpel.

“Evelyn has fulfilled her duties within the established parameters,” he says, each word precise, stripped of embellishment. “Although… as always, she requires constant supervision.”

The air tightened immediately; I noticed Psycwave’s smile falter, but she quickly composed herself again.

Eckhart ignores it. His gaze now shifts to Hypershock.

“Frank, how is the progress with the campus repairs?” he asks, in a tone that sounded more like a demand than genuine interest.

I couldn’t help but notice: Hypershock was already on his fourth… fifth glass? I lost count. At any moment he’d stop asking for glasses and demand the whole bottle.

He snorted, setting the glass on the table with a sharp thud, and muttered in a rough voice:

“The damage caused by Quake wasn’t as bad as we expected. A couple of collapsed roofs, some cracked walls, but nothing that compromised the main structure.” He paused, leaning back with a weary gesture. “If no other damn incident happens, by next week everything should be functioning normally.”

His tone was gruff, as if it annoyed him to have to explain anything. And yet, beneath his growl, the experience was obvious: he knew what he was doing, even if he spoke like he carried the world on his shoulders.

I had to hold back a smile. Hypocrisy at its purest: the man who can cause six-point earthquakes on the Richter scale, supervising the rubble left behind by another who does the exact same thing. If that’s not irony, I don’t know what is.

Blazestone wastes no time jumping in, as if she couldn’t stand being quiet for even a second.

“Well, let’s not exaggerate!” she bursts out, with that impossible-to-contain energy of hers. Her grin is wide. “In my lab, more things have exploded in the past few months than I can even count—what Quake caused is nothing in comparison! And we’re all still here!”

Some clear their throats, others shift uncomfortably in their seats. Blazestone, however, doesn’t care: she keeps talking, gesturing rapidly with her hands, her voice keeping pace, like fireworks that must go off before they explode inside her.

“The infrastructure holds, Frank. And if it can withstand my combustion trials, believe me, the damage Quake caused will be forgotten by tomorrow.”

Y/N POV

I don’t think I’ve ever tried this hard to keep my expression as calm as possible despite the clearly hostile atmosphere.

As I watched everyone argue, I couldn’t help but feel like there was something I was missing.

I noticed how Mr. Eckhart kept shooting stern looks at both Jack and Evelyn, as if weighing their every move. Frank was already finishing off another glass of wine—he gave the impression that alcohol was his way of coping. Edgar, for his part, dropped remarks aimed at Evelyn that sounded loaded with some double meaning I couldn’t quite decipher. And Sylvia… well, she seemed to live on an entirely different track: jumping from one subject to another at breakneck speed, talking as if time were too short for everything she wanted to say.

“And what do you think, Y/N?” Sylvia suddenly fired at me, hands waving with the same excitement as before.

I looked at her a little confused. She had spoken so fast I hadn’t understood a single word, just a jumble of sounds that slipped right past me.

“Sylvia,” Evelyn intervened in a calm voice, twirling her glass between her fingers as if everything was just a game to her. “Slow down. I’m sure nobody here understood what you said.”

The blonde blinked, bit her lip as if just realizing, and let out a nervous giggle.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” She leaned toward me with that inexhaustible energy of hers that seemed impossible to stop. “I was asking what impression the campus gave you the first time you walked in. I’m always intrigued by what newcomers think!”

“Ah…” I nodded, grateful that the sentence finally made sense.

Before I could answer, Evelyn let out an exaggerated sigh, wearing a flawless smile that made it impossible to tell whether she was joking or stabbing.

“Are you seriously asking her that, Sylvia? Please, I’m tired of talking about work.” She lifted her gaze toward me, as if the entire conversation had just shifted to include me. “Let’s talk about something more pleasant.”

And then she gave me a compliment I wasn’t expecting.

“Darling, I have to say: I love your dress.” Her eyes swept me from head to toe, evaluating every detail with an interest that seemed genuine. “Where did you get it?”

For a moment I didn’t know what to say. Between Sylvia’s effusiveness and Evelyn’s calculated tone, it was hard to tell if she was truly being kind or if there was something hidden behind her words. Even so, I managed to hold the smile. Maybe that was all it was: two very different women, one who couldn’t stop talking and one who knew exactly when and how to speak.

“Well…” I said, hesitating a little over whether I should answer or not.

I glanced at Jack, looking for approval on whether I should reveal where the dress came from, but he seemed far too entertained teasing Mr. Eckhart. Though for a moment I thought I caught a fleeting look from him, as if to say, I’m paying attention to you, but I won’t step in just yet.

Seriously—how can he treat the Vice-Chancellor like that and not even flinch?

In my world, he’d already be so fired.

“It was a gift,” I finally said, turning my gaze back to Evelyn with a smile on my face.

Evelyn seemed to be studying me, and suddenly a mischievous smile spread across her face. She glanced at Jack, then at me, and smiled even wider, as if she had just uncovered some juicy gossip and was thrilled about it.

“No way!” she said, bringing both hands to her mouth. “Did Jack give it to you?” she asked, almost in a whisper.

Before I could answer, Jack let out a low chuckle—the kind that makes you fear what’s coming next.

“Yes,” he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “It was a gift. And not just any gift.” He leaned forward slightly, modulating his voice so that everyone could hear. “Y/N’s dress is made from the finest materials: pure silk, hand embroidery, flawless stitching. The very best.”

He paused briefly, as if savoring the weight of his words.

“And of course, I wasn’t about to let my companion shine alone.” He smoothed his jacket with a deliberate gesture. “This Italian suit came from the same idea: if we were going to attend, we had to do it in style.”

Evelyn smiled as though she were savoring the provocation and replied with calculated sweetness:

“That sounds wonderful. But tell me, Jack… how much did it cost, and where did you get it? If Y/N doesn’t mind, I’d love to have a dress like that. It’s simply divine.”

Jack didn’t waste a second. He slipped a hand into his inner pocket, pulled out the card, lifted it with complete nonchalance, and set it on the table with a soft tap that somehow echoed louder than it should have.

“Oh, Evelyn…” he sighed, with that playful tone of his. “Between the dress and the suit, it came to… about eight thousand dollars. Maybe a little more.” He smiled with brazen ease, letting his gaze drift across the table before adding, “And the best part is that the University knows how to appreciate those who represent it.”

A murmur rippled through the table, followed by a few laughs I didn’t fully understand. Sylvia burst out with a laugh that was far too loud, Evelyn hid her smile behind her glass, and Frank let out something like a rough chuckle as he swirled his wine. Even Edgar, who up until then had done nothing but adjust his napkin and gloves, clenched his jaw as if he found the whole thing intolerable.

I, on the other hand, stayed still, forcing a smile. I couldn’t tell what was supposed to be funny: the obscene price? The way Jack had flaunted the card in front of everyone? Or something else I was missing?

The only thing that was perfectly clear was Eckhart’s expression. His jaw tightened so much I thought for a second he might grind his teeth. He didn’t say a word, but one look at him was enough to know that Jack’s little gesture had landed like a public slap in the face.

Eckhart stood up abruptly, adjusting his jacket with that rigid air of authority he never let go of.

“Well,” he said, his voice dry, “tonight’s dinner was… interesting.” He paused briefly, sweeping his gaze over each of us with the same severe expression as always. “But I’m afraid this meeting ends here. We’ll see each other again next month. And if anyone decides to bring a guest…” his eyes fixed on me—or rather, on Jack. “Please inform us in advance.”

The silence was broken by Jack’s voice, loud and clear, almost overly cheerful.

“Since you mention it, let me make something clear!” he said, without standing but raising his glass as if in a mocking toast. “Y/N will be attending all future meetings. I can’t possibly come to these dinners without my secretary. Thank you very much!”

Eckhart’s face hardened, though he said nothing else. He turned on his heel and left with firm, deliberate steps, never looking back.

Evelyn was the first to break the tension. She rose gracefully and flashed me a smile that was equal parts mischievous and courteous.

“Well, Y/N, it was a pleasure. If you’d like to stop by my office once the campus is fixed, you know… in case Jack becomes unbearable, you’re welcome.” She gave me a shameless wink as she picked up her purse. “In fact, we should go out one day: Sylvia, you, and me. This place could use more female company.”

“Yes!” Sylvia practically jumped on the idea, her energy as unstoppable as ever. “That would be so much fun! Seriously, I really like you.” She waved at me enthusiastically as she walked off. “Bye!”

“Have a good evening, miss,” Edgar said, inclining his head slightly from his seat. Then he turned to Jack, his tone clipped, as if eager to be done. “Goodbye, Jack.” And he left with measured steps, adjusting his gloves once more.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Frank grumbled, shoving his chair back with a screech. He lifted his empty glass as if to toast by himself. “Goodbye.” And he stormed out, leaving the echo of his bad mood in the room.

═══════ ≫ ♡ ≪ ════════

We were back in the car with the same driver who had taken us to the restaurant. The city drifted slowly past the window when I decided to let out the question I’d been holding since dinner.

“Why did everyone laugh when you showed the card, when Evelyn asked about my dress?” I asked suddenly.

Jack chuckled, tilting his head toward me.

“Did you think I was the only one with a loose hand?” he said in a conspiratorial tone.

He pulled the card out of his pocket and spun it between his fingers like a poker deck.

“Frank, for example. I’m sure you saw he was already on his fourth glass. Well… he doesn’t pay out of pocket. That bottle of wine, and many more, are all charged to the card.”

When Jack mentioned Frank, I couldn’t help recalling how, over the course of the dinner, he had probably gone through two or three bottles of wine in total.
I wasn’t sure whether I should be worried about him or feel sorry for the guy…

“Evelyn… don’t even get me started.” Jack laughed a little louder. “Let’s just say her makeup, hair, and dresses don’t exactly come out of her university paycheck. And believe me, she spends way more than I do.”

The image of Evelyn came to mind; after her behavior today, I wouldn’t be surprised if what Jack said was true.

“Sylvia, on the other hand…” Jack let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “I’m not entirely sure, but the last I heard, she showed up with a brand-new car. Wouldn’t surprise me in the least if she charged it to this same account.”

My eyes widened a little in surprise. Sylvia? The same energetic, friendly girl I’d met today?

He shrugged, like someone sharing a harmless secret.

“As for Edgar…” his tone dropped, almost into an amused murmur. “That one’s incorruptible. He wouldn’t dare buy so much as an eraser with the card. I respect him for it, of course, but… he misses out on the fun.”

He lifted the card one last time, letting it glint under the car’s dim light.

“So you see, it wasn’t just me showing off. Everyone got the joke because, sooner or later, we’ve all used it like a personal ATM. Only today, I did it big—right in front of Eckhart.”

I was about to change the subject when I noticed Jack’s expression turn serious—so different from his usual playful tone that it put me on edge.

“By the way…” he said, with a calmness that left no room for jokes, “I know I shouldn’t meddle in your personal life, but I think it’s best if you keep your distance from Evelyn. At least, not unless I or Edgar are around.”

I frowned slightly.
“Is it that bad?”

Jack shook his head slowly, as if carefully choosing his words.

“It’s not that she’s a bad person, don’t take it that way. It’s just… sometimes she crosses certain lines. And trust me, you don’t want to be around when that happens.”

I fell silent, thinking back to the tension at dinner, the way Evelyn had jabbed at him with poisoned smiles. Maybe they weren’t enemies, but his warning carried weight.

“And Sylvia?” I asked, almost without thinking.

That earned a smile from him.

“With her, no problem. Feel free to spend time with her if you want, I promise nothing will happen to you. Just… don’t believe everything she says. Sometimes her mouth moves faster than her brain.”

I nodded slowly. There was more to this than he was willing to explain, and I understood. If he was warning me with that kind of seriousness, he must have had his reasons. So I didn’t press further. I kept the thought to myself, with the certainty that if I had to be careful with Evelyn, I would be.

“I also wanted to apologize,” he said suddenly, his tone dropping a couple of notes. “As you must have noticed, the atmosphere was… hostile. It’s not that I dislike my colleagues—I respect them a lot—but Eckhart… he gets under my skin. The meeting was supposed to be confidential and… I brought you along just to annoy him. I’m sorry for putting you in that situation.”

“Oh…” was all I managed to say.

A sharp pang went through my chest. I already knew Jack hated his bosses and loved to make them uncomfortable, but hearing that that had been “the reason” left a bitter taste in my mouth. As if, suddenly, my presence there had been nothing more than a pawn in his game.

My disappointment must have shown on my face, because Jack’s usual confidence crumbled in seconds.

“Wait—don’t misunderstand me!” he blurted out, almost stumbling over his words, like he was afraid of losing me right then and there. “Yes, of course, that was one reason… but not the only one.”

He looked at me with intensity, as if he needed me to believe him.

“I wanted you to start connecting with them, for them to see you in that environment. I think it’s important.” He swallowed hard and went on. “And also… I wanted to spend time with you. Get to know you a little better outside office hours. I know how smart you are, and I trusted you could handle it.”

I’d never seen him talk so fast, with that nervous urgency spilling out of him. It was the first time Jack’s perfect mask of confidence cracked in front of me.

And I couldn’t help wondering: why does he care so much about me? What is it that I’m not seeing?

There has to be a reason I don’t know behind his behavior. From the very first day I woke up in this world, he bought me groceries, offered me a job, stayed close to me—and now he’s just admitted, without hesitation, that he wanted to spend more time with me. Too much interest for someone who, in theory, should barely know me.

The problem is that the memories I have of the original owner of this body are so few… and they appear slowly, in fragments, as if something were keeping me from accessing the full film of her life. It’s like watching a story halfway through, missing all the crucial chapters.

And in that void, the doubt lingers: what if Jack is part of what I don’t remember? What if asking ends up confirming something I don’t even want to know right now?

No. Better not. Forget it.

What truly terrifies me is another possibility: what if, by digging too much, Jack starts to suspect I’m not the original Y/N he once knew?

It may sound far-fetched, but I can’t afford to dismiss it. I must always consider the worst-case scenario. I have to avoid raising suspicion at all costs; in this world, any wrong move could put me in danger.

The few flashes I have of him from before my awakening are nothing more than hallway greetings, disjointed memories that don’t mean much. But even there, the Y/N of this world tensed up, felt uncomfortable in his presence. That discomfort, that strange current under the skin… it’s the same thing I feel now, sitting beside him in this car.

What if there are more memories of Jack Anderson that still haven’t come back to me? What if what I’m beginning to feel now isn’t something new, but an echo of what already existed before?

And as if all that weren’t enough, there’s another problem: little by little, I’m starting to forget things from my original world. And that silent loss scares me more than any hidden memory.

Without realizing it, the car had already stopped in front of the building. Jack was the first to get out, and as always, exaggerated his courtesy a bit by opening the door for me and offering his hand. He walked me to the entrance of my apartment, at my side, in a silence that felt charged with something I couldn’t quite decipher.

“Thank you,” I murmured, not knowing what else to say.

“No, thank you,” he replied right away, with an easy smile, though I noticed he seemed to hesitate for just a second.

He scratched the back of his neck, tilting his head toward me with that air of his that always seemed halfway between joking and serious.

“Hey… maybe someday we could do this again.” He paused briefly and, as if he didn’t want to leave any room for doubt, added with a mischievous gleam in his eyes: “but this time, just you and me.”

My eyes widened slightly; his invitation had taken me by surprise.

I’m not stupid—I know his invitation carries… romantic intentions. I can see it in his eyes.

But… is that really a good idea?

First of all, he’s my boss. How sensible would it be to get romantically involved with him? I can only imagine fatal outcomes.

Second, I can’t afford distractions. I still haven’t made any progress with Operation Kronos: I haven’t found Mr. Incredible, Elastigirl, Frozone, or Gazerbeam in their civilian lives; I haven’t gotten closer to the Supers; I haven’t discovered what’s going on with Buddy…

Logically, everything screams at me that saying yes could only end badly—that it would be a mistake.

And yet, to my own surprise, I couldn’t reject him. Something inside me stopped me.

“I’ll think about it.” I smiled before stepping toward the door. “Good night, Jack.”

I closed it softly, though my heart was pounding hard, as if I had just crossed an invisible line.

Chapter Text

Annotation #2

Every word I write here is an attempt to hold on to what my mind seems intent on erasing.

The memories of my original world are slipping away little by little, like water through my fingers. Nothing guarantees that I’ll keep remembering the important details of the movie’s plot, so this notebook is my lifeline.

Since the plan to stop Operation Kronos is stalled for now, I thought maybe the most sensible thing would be to start with something more concrete: saving the Supers who died because of their capes. If I can change even one of those deaths, it will already have been worth it.

Today is September 26, 1957. It’s been only twelve days since I arrived here. I still have time to change some destinies.

• Thunderhead: dies on November 15, 1958. His cape got caught on a… missile? rocket? I can’t recall clearly. What matters is that he’s still alive.

• Stratogale: sadly, already dead as of April this year. But something doesn’t add up… I know she appears at Bob and Helen’s wedding. I saw it in pictures on the fandom wiki. So then, has the wedding already happened? Or does this world flow differently?

• Metaman: date of death unknown. Supposedly, his cape gets stuck in an elevator. Current status: alive. I saw him a couple of days ago.

• Dynaguy: uncertain status. I couldn’t find recent information. From what I remember, he was sued not long after Mr. Incredible. But how faithful is this world to the original plot? After what happened with Stratogale, I’m not so sure anymore.

• Splashdown: current status: alive. He was on the news yesterday.

Questions

The turning point of Operation Kronos is the wedding of Mr. Incredible and Elastigirl. That’s the day Bob ruins things with Buddy. If that wedding already happened, it means I’m racing against the clock. But if it hasn’t happened yet… then I still have some room to act.

I don’t know. There’s no way to be sure yet.

The only thing I know is that time is running out. And the more I forget, the more it terrifies me that when the key moment appears before me, I might no longer recognize it.

I glance at the clock on the wall out of the corner of my eye, and a jolt runs through me: I’m already late for work. I slam the notebook shut and tuck it into the nightstand drawer, right next to the bed, as if hiding it there could protect the few memories I still have left. I get up in a rush, grabbing the first things I find so I don’t waste more time.

Jack will have to forgive me this time… I didn’t even manage to make him a mochaccino. I know he was expecting it, because I always use it as the perfect excuse to steal a couple of extra minutes before leaving. But today there just wasn’t time.

As I slip on my shoes, Frank’s words at dinner come back to me: that the campus repairs should be finished this week. At the time, I thought he was exaggerating, more optimism than reality, but yesterday Jack surprised me by saying that today we could go back.

I froze when I heard him. That fast? In the end, it seems that Frank—grumpy as he is—really is efficient. And to think I believed the only thing he did enthusiastically was empty wine glasses.

I walk to the door, still fastening my jacket, and I can’t help but smile at the thought. Going back to campus means regaining some sense of normalcy, even if I know that in this world the word normal no longer belongs to me.

When I arrived at the University, I practically ran to Jack’s office. I found him sitting behind his desk, looking over some papers with a focused air, though he had that expression that made me think he enjoyed pretending to be busy more than the paperwork itself.

“Sorry I’m late,” I said, still trying to catch my breath.

Jack looked up, and his expression softened instantly.

“Don’t worry about it! I sometimes show up an hour late myself. What’s ten minutes?” he said casually, as if it were nothing at all. Then, with a nearly rehearsed gesture, he handed me a bottle of water. “Here, I thought you could use this.”

I sat in the chair across from his desk, grateful for the gesture.

“You know,” he said then, leaning back in his chair with that mischievous glint in his eyes, “we live in the same building. I could drive you every morning. That way you wouldn’t have to rush like the world’s about to end.”

The offer caught me off guard, though not as much as the ease with which he said it. I took a sip of water and shook my head gently.

“Thanks, but… I’d rather not depend on you so much. I wouldn’t feel comfortable.”

Jack tilted his head, as if the answer amused him more than it annoyed him.

“Uncomfortable? Y/N, it’d be an elevator ride and a drive, nothing more. We literally walk out the same door.”

I rolled my eyes and smiled, though I held my ground.

“And what about your schedule? You’re supposed to start earlier than I do.”

Jack let out a short, carefree laugh.

“A minor detail. —He waved a hand as if brushing off something insignificant—. I could have them change my schedule if I wanted. Believe me, it wouldn’t be a problem.”

I stared at him for a few seconds, not sure whether to laugh at his boldness or worry about how far he seemed willing to go just to insist on driving me.

“Well, think about it,” he said, raising an eyebrow, as if he wouldn’t take a definitive no for an answer. “The offer stays open for you.”

He turned his gaze to the clock on his desk and clicked his tongue, annoyed, as if he’d just remembered an obligation he’d rather avoid.

“Time for my class…” he muttered with theatrical resignation, pushing his chair back. Then he gave me a half-smile. “Come on, it won’t take long.”

He stood up with that easygoing air of his, as if teaching a physics class were the simplest thing in the world, and we left the office together.

“What’s the class about?” I asked as we walked down the hallway.

“Nuclear Physics.” The answer was so casual that for a second I thought he was talking about something mundane. Jack shrugged and added, with a playful spark in his eyes, “It’s for the undergrads in Physics… poor souls. They have no idea what they’re in for with me at the front.”

The auditorium door swung open as if someone had shoved it too hard. Jack rushed in, without a folder or notebook, just a piece of chalk in his hand and his suit jacket hanging loosely over his shoulders.

“Well, folks,” he announced, planting himself in front of the blackboard without even glancing at the students, “I’m Professor Jack Anderson and… today I’m leaving you with this assignment.”

Without further preamble, he began writing a long, complex formula, full of symbols and numbers that looked straight out of an advanced nuclear energy manual. When he finished, he tapped the chalk against the board a couple of times and turned back to the class.

“Fair warning,” he said in an almost bored tone, as if he were stating the obvious, “this will be our only class. Whoever shows up at my office this semester with this problem solved passes the course automatically. If it’s wrong… consider yourselves failed, because this is the most basic thing you should be able to do. If you can’t, then you shouldn’t be here.”

He dropped the chalk on the desk and was already heading for the door when a trembling voice stopped him.

“P-professor… wait. We still have the whole hour.”

Jack turned, raising an eyebrow as if he’d just heard the most ridiculous thing in the world.

“Oh, come on…” he scoffed, pressing a hand dramatically to his forehead. “Who in their right mind would want to listen to me talk for a full hour about nuclear energy?”

To his surprise, several hands shot up. Some timid, others firm, but all convinced.

Jack stared at them in silence, first incredulous, then with a smile that slowly spread until it brushed the edge of arrogance.

“Really?” he asked, as if he still couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

When no one lowered their hands, he let out a theatrical sigh, adjusted his jacket, and walked back to the front with measured steps, like an actor accepting his starring role.

“Alright then,” he said, a mischievous spark in his eyes. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He turned slightly toward me and, as if suddenly remembering an important detail, raised a hand to call everyone’s attention.

“By the way, before we begin…” his voice grew even more ceremonial, as though he were introducing someone onstage. “This is Miss Y/N, my personal assistant. She’ll be with me in some of the classes, and you’ll likely see her at the exams, so you’d better behave.”

Some students glanced at me, curious; others simply nodded, and Jack allowed himself a smile as if the announcement had been part of the performance.

And then he changed. The indifference from earlier vanished, replaced by an overwhelming energy. His voice rose, clear and magnetic, and with a sweeping gesture he sketched an atomic diagram on the board as if painting a work of art. Each phrase sounded like a line from a play: intense, exaggerated, but impossible to ignore. He strode between the rows, pointing at students, tossing out rhetorical questions that made everyone straighten in their seats, as though the lecture were directed at each of them individually.

Within minutes, the entire auditorium was captivated. Jack wasn’t just giving a lecture—he was putting on a show.

He tapped the chalk lightly against the desk, as if opening an act onstage, and then threw himself into the front of the room. From that instant, he was no longer just a professor: he was a full-fledged showman. He didn’t just write formulas on the board; every stroke was paired with an explanation that sounded almost like a monologue. His hands moved expansively, pointing at the drawn atoms as if they were constellations, dramatizing each example with the fervor of an actor in the middle of a climax.

“Picture this!” he exclaimed, driving the chalk into the board with a sharp crack. “A nuclear reactor loses control. The chain reaction accelerates and nothing stops it. The result? In less than a second, the energy released equals tons of TNT.” He raised his hands with such a booming voice that several students shrank in their seats. “Half the building disappears, and those still standing receive enough gamma radiation to damage their DNA faster than a doctor can say mutation.”

A couple of students let out nervous laughs, others scribbled frantically, and one in the front row stared at him wide-eyed, practically hypnotized.

“See?” Jack added with a crooked smile, sweeping his gaze across the room. “This isn’t boring theory. This is physics in action.”

He began pacing between the rows, suit immaculate, hands moving broadly as he hurled rhetorical questions:

“What do you think happens if you don’t control the neutrons released in fission?” No one answered, but every pair of eyes was on him. “Exactly—boom! They multiply like rabbits and you’ve got a reaction out of control.”

His presence filled every corner. It was impossible not to follow him with your eyes.

From my seat beside the desk, I watched him like someone watching a Broadway show disguised as a university lecture. The blackboard was a mess of formulas I couldn’t make sense of, but the students were enthralled: some stared at him with devotion, others scribbled notes as if they were being handed the secrets of the universe.

And there he was: untouchable, self-assured, confident in every word.

I didn’t understand a thing, not a single formula… but even I could feel it: this wasn’t a class, it was a performance, and Jack Anderson was the undeniable star.

The hour flew by. Watching Jack teach was hypnotic; he had a way of speaking that made it feel like the explanation was directed at each person in the room, as though he were having a private conversation with every student at once. And that’s when I knew: he hadn’t been exaggerating when he said he was the best in his field. He didn’t just master the subject inside and out—he knew how to wrap everyone else up in it too.

It’s not like I know many physicists—in fact, my only references are Leonard and Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory—but even compared to those fictional geniuses, Jack was on another level. All it took was hearing the steady rhythm of his voice and watching the way he filled the room to realize: this man wasn’t just an expert, he was the expert.

When he finished, he picked up the chalk with an exaggerated flourish, like an actor lowering the curtain after a show. Some students approached him with questions, others looked at him as if they’d just witnessed a performance rather than a lecture. I simply followed him back to the office, still with the sense that I had seen something that didn’t quite belong in the supposed civilian life of a university professor.

“Well, that was the only class today…” he said with relief, as though he’d just shrugged off a burden. Then, suddenly, he snapped his fingers as if remembering something crucial. “Oh, right. Do you remember we had a meeting scheduled for tonight?”

I nodded without hesitation.

“Yes, with the vice-rector. From what he told me, he wanted to speak with you seriously… I suspect he’s already reviewed the account statement from the card in your name.”

Jack’s smile widened the moment I said those words.

“Ah, yes… I’m counting on that,” he replied with a sigh far too pleased for someone who knew he was in trouble. Then he waved his hand as if brushing the matter aside. “But that’s not important right now. Could you cancel that meeting? Tell him I’ll call later this week to reschedule. Something last-minute came up.”

I looked at him, puzzled.

“A commitment? Urgent enough to leave the vice-rector waiting?”

Jack leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head as though speaking of something profound.

“Yes. In fact, impossible to postpone.” He gave me a quick look, as if guessing my curiosity, and decided to explain. “My friends invited me out bowling tonight. It’s going to be a ‘guys’ night.’”

I stared at him, speechless, not knowing whether to laugh or scold him. Was he really canceling a formal meeting with Eckhart… for bowling?

“Before you say anything,” he cut in, raising an accusatory finger as if anticipating my reaction, “this is justified. One of my friends is getting married this weekend, and you know how that goes… married life, less time for everything else. This might be our last decent night of bowling together.”

I pressed a hand to my forehead, still undecided whether his audacity irritated me or fascinated me. In the end, I let out a resigned sigh.

“Alright… I’ll call Eckhart and let him know.”

Jack smiled, satisfied, as if he had just won a small battle.

“Well then, let’s put work aside,” he said lightly, leaning back a little. “If you could meet a Super, who would you choose?”

I looked at him, raising an eyebrow. When had this turned into a game of questions and answers? Still, the expectant look on his face told me he was serious.

I paused to think. Technically, I had already met several: Frozone, Mr. Incredible and Elastigirl, even Gazerbeam—though I only managed to speak with them for a few seconds after the Ignis incident… and of course, Gamma Jack, impossible to forget. But even so, his question made me think about the ones I hadn’t had the chance to see up close yet.

The image of my notebook came to mind. Thunderhead. I knew what awaited him next year if no one intervened. Maybe if I managed to reach him in time, I could convince him to stop wearing that damned cape.

“Thunderhead,” I finally answered, firmly.

Jack looked at me as if I had just said something ridiculous. He leaned forward, arching an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Thunderhead? Seriously?” His tone was a mix of surprise and something that bordered on disappointment.

“Yes… what’s wrong with that?” I asked, a little defensive.

He held my gaze for a few seconds, with that half-twisted smile I could never tell was mockery or discomfort.

“Nothing in particular,” he finally replied, tilting his head. “I just find it intriguing that, out of so many choices, you’d pick him.”

I didn’t know what to say. To me the answer was obvious, but the way Jack said it left me with the uneasy feeling that it bothered him more than it should have.

“What is it?” I asked, raising a brow, and before I could stop myself, I blurted, “Were you expecting me to say someone like Gamma Jack?”

Jack blinked, surprised. For the first time, I noticed him falter.

“Well… yeah.” He shrugged, trying to recover his casual tone, though the nervousness slipped into his voice. “I mean, it wouldn’t be strange. He’s a favorite of many women, after all.”

I fell silent for a moment, remembering my last encounter with Gamma Jack.

“Maybe,” I admitted slowly. “But I’ve already interacted with him. And honestly… I wouldn’t consider him among my options.” I lowered my gaze a little, debating whether to say the rest, but in the end, I let it out. “I admire what he does, of course. He’s powerful, inspiring… but I’m not sure I’d want to deal with him again.”

The silence that followed was uncomfortable. When I looked up, I noticed Jack tense again. He forced a smile, but his eyes didn’t match it. The unease was obvious.

In a second, he composed himself, as if nothing had happened, and abruptly changed the subject.

“Well,” he said lightly, sweeping away the tension in one breath, “I think that’s enough for today. You have the rest of the day off. I need to prepare a few things for tonight. Oh, and don’t forget to cancel the meeting with Eckhart.”

I stared at him, incredulous.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.” He shrugged dismissively. “You wouldn’t gain anything by staying on campus.”

I nodded, still a little confused, but I wasn’t about to complain. I could use the time for something more productive.

“Alright. See you tomorrow.” I gave him a small smile and left.

As I crossed the campus on my way to Eckhart’s office, I ran into Evelyn and Sylvia. They were walking leisurely, each with a coffee in hand.

“Y/N! Hi!” Sylvia exclaimed with her usual enthusiasm.

“Hello, darling,” Evelyn added warmly, raising an eyebrow at me. “Leaving so early already?”

“Hi.” I greeted them back, trying to sound casual. “Yes, Jack said there was nothing else to do. I just have to cancel a meeting he had with the vice-rector tonight.”

Evelyn narrowed her eyes, amused.

“Let me guess… bowling?”

I blinked in surprise.

“Exactly! How did you know?”

“Because it’s not the first time,” Sylvia jumped in quickly. “Jack often cancels important things to go bowling with his friends.”

I rolled my eyes with a nervous smile.

“He said it was a ‘guys’ night.’ One of his friends is getting married this weekend, and he didn’t want to postpone it.”

“Oh, right, the wedding.” Evelyn nodded, as if it were an obvious fact. “We’re going too—it’s a mutual friend.”

“Really?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“Yes. Frank and Edgar will be there too,” Sylvia added with a laugh. “Though I’m sure Frank’s only going for the open bar.”

“Actually, tonight we’re going out with the bride,” Evelyn said, raising her coffee cup elegantly. “Our own girls’ night.”

“Oh, well, have fun!” I replied with a sincere smile. “I’ll head to Eckhart’s office to reschedule the meeting. See you!”

I was about to move on when I noticed the two exchange a quick glance. Evelyn stopped me gently.

“Wait… you’re going too, right?”

“To the wedding?” I asked, confused. “No, I don’t even know the couple.”

They exchanged another glance, and this time Sylvia spoke.

“We thought Jack would take you as his plus-one.”

I was even more perplexed.

“I don’t see why he would. Like I said, I don’t know them.”

Evelyn pressed a hand to her forehead with exasperation, murmuring something I couldn’t catch. Then she regained her flawless smile.

“Well… if I were you, I’d start getting ready. He’s bound to invite you.” She winked.

“And don’t you want to come with us tonight?” Sylvia chimed in eagerly. “We could ask the bride—I doubt she’d mind.”

I shook my head with an awkward smile.

“Thanks a lot for the invitation, but… I don’t think that’d be a good idea.”

We said our goodbyes and I continued toward Eckhart’s office.

Why would they invite me to what was clearly the bride’s bachelorette party? I don’t even know her, and I’m sure it wouldn’t be appropriate at all…

Or maybe they just didn’t want me to feel left out, since apparently everyone else will be at that wedding.

It didn’t take long to cancel the meeting. Eckhart wasn’t there, so I left the message with his secretary. Which is good—it saved me from having to explain things to the vice-rector myself.

I was on my way home when something in a shop window made me stop. It was an ordinary stationery store, with stacks of notebooks, colored pencils, and boxes of chalk, but what caught my attention was a large corkboard that, when flipped over, could also be used as a chalkboard.

I stood there for a few seconds, staring at it through the glass, picturing it in my apartment. I could see the sticky notes covering the edges, the pins holding newspaper clippings, and the inevitable red string connecting clues about the Supers and Operation Kronos. A kind of improvised conspiracy board that, in my mind, seemed almost indispensable.

Without thinking twice, I walked into the store. The smell of paper and fresh wood surrounded me instantly. I bought the board, several boxes of chalk, packs of sticky notes, a roll of red string, and metal pins. I also found a roomy bag to store the smaller items. The board, however, was a problem: heavy, awkward, and though it had wheels, it was still bulky.

With a resigned sigh, I prepared to drag it the two blocks to my building. Every step felt like a small procession: people on the street stared at me curiously, some with amused smiles, others with open bewilderment. The girl dragging a giant board down the sidewalk… wonderful. I just kept my head down and pushed forward.

When I reached the building, I stepped into the lobby with a wave of relief—only for it to vanish in an instant when I read the sign hanging in front of the elevator: Out of service for maintenance.

“Oh, shit…” I muttered, glancing first at the board and then at the staircase stretching like torture up to the eighth floor, where my apartment was.

The receptionist wasn’t there; probably on his lunch break. That meant I had no choice but to manage on my own.

I tried dragging the board step by step. Nothing. Then I tried pushing it from below with all my weight. Just a squeak and a pathetic shuffle. Sweat was starting to bead on my forehead, and I was about ready to leave it in the lobby when a calm, confident male voice sounded behind me:

“Need a hand, miss?”

I turned immediately. A man with black hair, a perfectly tailored suit, and thin-framed glasses was watching me with a polite smile. His bearing was impeccable, the kind of presence that belonged in offices and important courtrooms.

“Yes, please…” I said, unable to hide my relief.

He stepped forward without hesitation, grabbed the board from the top while I held it from below. With effort, we managed to lift it and head toward the stairs.

“What floor?” he asked casually, as if carrying a giant board with a stranger were the most natural thing in the world.

“The eighth.” I paused, trying to sound casual as we climbed. “By the way, I’m Y/N Evans.”

The man nodded with quiet courtesy.

“A pleasure, Miss Evans. I’m Simon J. Paladino.”

I froze for an instant, as if my feet had glued themselves to the step.

Simon J. Paladino? Gazerbeam? Here, now, helping me in his civilian identity?

“Simon J. Paladino?” I repeated, incredulous, my heart pounding in my chest.

“That’s right. Have you heard of me before?” he asked with mild curiosity.

“Something like that…” I improvised, fighting not to give myself away. “I think I saw one of your ads in the newspaper, about legal services.”

He smiled, pleased.

“Correct. I’m a lawyer, I work on state cases. Mostly pro bono.”

We kept climbing. Floor after floor. Sweat trickled down my back, and my arms began to ache, but between the two of us we managed to keep up the pace. He, on the other hand, seemed barely affected: his breathing steady, his expression relaxed, as if the load weighed nothing at all.

When we finally reached the eighth floor, I let the board drop in the hallway with a heavy thud and leaned against the wall, panting.

“Thank you so much…” I managed to say between gasps. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without your help.”

“The pleasure was mine, Miss Evans. Have a good afternoon,” Simon replied, adjusting his glasses as if preparing to take his leave.

“Wait!” The word slipped out before I could stop myself. He turned back, expectant, and I improvised with a nervous laugh: “Do you live in this building? It might be useful to have your contact… you know, in case I ever need a lawyer.”

He shook his head gently.

“No, not really. I came to visit someone, but it seems that the person I came to see is not home.” He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a simple, elegant white card. “Anyway, here is my contact information.”

I took the card carefully, as if I were receiving something far more important than a lawyer’s phone number.

And as I watched him walk away down the hallway, a chill ran down my spine. What were the chances that today, here, of all times and places, I would run into Simon Paladino? Coincidence… or fate deliberately placing the pieces of the board before me?

Chapter Text

I got to the bowling alley early — which was already a historic record for me. The place was still almost empty, except for Bob, who was adjusting his gloves with that calm of his that sometimes drives people crazy. When he saw me, he raised his eyebrows as if he’d just witnessed a miracle.

“Jack Anderson, arriving early?” he asked incredulously, with a half-smile. “Now that's something new.”

“Yeah, I know.” I shrugged as we bumped fists in greeting. “Came straight from the university.”

Bob let out a deep laugh, one of those that echoes without needing to raise his voice.

“I thought you’d be arriving with Simon. He told me you two were having lunch together before coming here.”

I froze for a couple of seconds, then smacked my forehead.

Shit. That’s what I’d forgotten.

“Damn it… I completely forgot,” I muttered under my breath, though Bob was already chuckling.

“Well, Lucio and Simon should be here in about fifteen minutes,” Bob said, checking his wristwatch. “Wanna start playing or grab a drink first?”

“Let’s drink,” I replied with a crooked grin. “It’s always more fun to play when we’re already a little buzzed.”

Bob let out a short laugh.

“In that case, to the bar.”

We walked through the mix of rolling balls and crashing pins. The air smelled like floor wax, cigarettes, and fried food. Bob raised a hand to call the guy behind the counter.

“Two pitchers of cold beer!” he ordered firmly.

The kid barely took a moment to pour them; the foam spilled just over the edge, and Bob handed me one of the mugs with a knowing gesture. We toasted without a word, and the first sip went down like liquid heaven.

“So, you’re getting married…” I said at last, setting my mug down on the counter with a soft thud. “Never thought I’d live to see the day.”

“Really?” Bob raised an amused eyebrow.

“Yeah,” I said with mock solemnity. “I always thought Helen would end up leaving you for someone else.”

Bob looked at me for a second, as if deciding whether to be offended or laugh, until he finally burst out laughing so loud a couple of players in the nearest lane turned to look.

“Well, don’t celebrate too soon. There’s still a chance he’ll get left at the altar,” came a third voice, full of friendly mockery.

Bob and I turned at the same time, and there was Lucio, walking toward us with that wide grin that always announced a joke. He was already laughing, shaking his head as if amused just by the thought.

“Lucio!” Bob and I exclaimed in unison.

The newcomer dropped onto the stool next to Bob with the ease of someone completely at home. I raised my hand to call the bartender and, with a complicit grin, ordered another beer.

“Give him the same as us,” I said as Lucio leaned his elbows on the counter.

Lucio glanced at me sideways and let out a short laugh.

“You got here early? Now that’s new.”

“I’m full of surprises,” I shrugged, taking a sip of my beer.

Lucio turned to Bob, mischief sparkling in his eyes.

“So it’s true… you’re marrying Helen. The one and only Mr. Incredible, caught by love.”

“Not caught—committed,” Bob corrected patiently.

“Right, right…” I said, struggling not to laugh. “What Lucio means is that you’re going from Mr. Incredible to Mr. Whipped.”

Lucio almost choked with laughter.

“Exactly! And just wait—after the wedding, you won’t be the unstoppable legend anymore. You’ll be ‘Bob, the guy who takes the trash out before six.’”

Bob shook his head, unable to hide his smile.

“You two are unbearable.”

“Come on, admit it,” I insisted, elbowing him. “The new outfit you should be showing off isn’t a superhero suit—it’s an apron.”

Lucio raised his mug in an improvised toast.

“To Bob, who’s about to face his most dangerous mission yet: marriage.”

“With villains more dangerous than any giant robot… the in-laws!” I added, lifting my mug as well.

Lucio’s laughter boomed like thunder, and even Bob ended up laughing despite himself. He joined our toast with that deep chuckle of his, trying to keep his dignity amidst the teasing.

And just then, a fourth voice joined the fun.

“Already tearing the poor man apart without me?”

Simon appeared behind us, adjusting his glasses with a calm smile. He settled onto the last empty stool and draped his jacket over the backrest.

“Point of View!” I exclaimed teasingly, pointing at him with both hands as if introducing him onstage. “I thought we’d lost sight of you.”

Bob, Lucio, and I all burst out laughing at how bad the joke was.

“Oh, come on… how long are you guys going to keep that up?” Simon complained, though he couldn’t help laughing too.

“Forever,” Lucio declared with mock solemnity. “The day you suggested Point of View as your superhero name, you doomed yourself.”

“You should thank me for convincing you to change it to Gazerbeam,” I added with a sly grin. “Otherwise, you’d still be the official laughingstock of the guild.”

Simon arched an eyebrow, amused.

“Oh, and look who’s talking. Your superhero name is literally your own name with glitter on top.”

“Gamma Jack,” I replied proudly, thumping my chest. “It’s simple, it’s bold, it’s… perfect.”

“Perfectly ridiculous,” Lucio shot back, rolling his eyes as he raised his mug high.

Bob nearly spat out his beer from laughing, slapping the counter while Lucio joined in with another booming laugh. In the end, the three of us raised our mugs in another spontaneous toast, the clinking glass blending with the crash of bowling pins in the background.

“By the way, Mr. Perfect…” Simon said as he sat down next to me, hanging his jacket on the stool. “You stood me up at lunch today.”

“Yeah, sorry about that—got distracted with other things,” I said, gesturing apologetically.

“He got distracted with ___,” Bob cut in, his teasing tone already spelling trouble.

Before I could respond, Lucio and Bob exchanged knowing looks and broke into the classic schoolyard chant:

“Oooooooh!”

Drawn-out, high-pitched, and annoying enough to crush both your ears and your ego at once.

I rolled my eyes, trying to sound indignant.

“How old are you guys, ten?”

Sure, it was funny—but inside, I felt that uncomfortable sting. Like every “Ooooh” hit right where I didn’t want them to notice: how much I’d been thinking about her lately.

“No, no, no…” Simon intervened, raising a hand like a referee. “Jack didn’t get distracted by ___ this time.”

“Oh yeah? How do you know?” Bob asked, grinning halfway to laughter already. “She was probably there, and he was trying to flirt.”

“Jack and ___, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G…” Lucio sang in a childish voice, swaying on his stool like he was swinging a jump rope.

“Oh, come on!” I protested, though I had to stifle a nervous laugh. “Are you guys stuck in elementary school?”

“I know because I had the pleasure of meeting her today,” Simon finally said, his calm tone standing out against the others’ laughter.

The three of us looked at him at once, as if he’d just dropped a bomb in the middle of the bar.

“Wait, wait, wait…” Bob raised both hands, still processing. “You met her? Where?”

I leaned forward, pointing at them accusingly.

Simon adjusted his glasses with the composure of someone who drops the bomb and enjoys watching it go off.

“Well… she’s a very kind young woman,” he said, pausing just long enough to make sure we were all listening. “And she’s quite pretty, too. Now I understand why Jack likes her so much.”

The comment landed like a dart. Bob raised his eyebrows, Lucio was already trying not to laugh, and me… well, I felt that familiar heat rising up my neck.

A wave of jealousy hit me. Yeah, ___ was beautiful—if anyone didn’t notice, they were an idiot.

But I wasn’t going to say anything. That would only give them more fuel to tease me.

“But since we’re on the topic…” Lucio leaned forward, setting his mug down on the counter with a soft thud. “Are you sure she’s really worth all that trouble? After all, she’s kinda the reason you’ve got the reputation you do now—with the press and the NSA.”

I looked at him immediately, eyebrows raised, my face making it clear that what he’d just said was the dumbest thing I’d heard all week.

“What do you mean, because of her?” Simon cut in, frowning, visibly confused.

Bob sighed, as if he’d had this conversation too many times already.

“Look, Simon… after a year with us, you should’ve figured it out by now. Jack practically drops everything when it comes to her.”

Lucio raised a hand theatrically.

“They’re robbing a bank, but a few blocks away she’s caught in the middle of a mugging? Off he goes, straight to her, without even stopping by the bank first!”

Bob nodded, pointing at me with his mug.

“Remember the Quake incident? When the news showed him carrying her in his arms like she was the only civilian in the city? Well, Jack was a key part of the plan, but he left the whole mess to Lucio and me while he played knight in shining armor.”

Lucio burst out laughing, elbowing Bob.

“Exactly! Or the Ignis thing… everyone else evacuating civilians, putting out fires, containing the bastard, and him… glued to her like some hired bodyguard.”

“Well, I don’t know how your mothers raised you, but mine raised a gentleman,” I said in my own defense, hand over my chest in mock offense.

Lucio laughed so hard he nearly spilled his beer, elbowing Bob again.

“See? That’s exactly what I’m saying! Gentleman, sure… but always running straight after the same lady.”

Their laughter mixed with the crash of bowling pins in the background. I, on the other hand, stayed silent, mug halfway to my lips. Outwardly, I tried to look indifferent. Inside, my blood was burning.

They didn’t understand. It wasn’t weakness, or some whim. It was a choice. I knew exactly what I was doing every time I chose to prioritize her. And I’d do it again. Over and over.

“I don’t get it,” Simon said, genuinely curious. “I know you like her, but why try so hard?”

Bob and Lucio looked at him at the same time with that face of “shut up before he starts again.”

“Oh no…” Lucio muttered, burying his face in his mug. “Here we go.”

“Brace yourself, Simon,” Bob added with a tired half-smile. “We know this speech by heart.”

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the counter. I could laugh about a lot of things, but not this.

“Want to know why?” I asked in a low voice, almost a whisper that still managed to silence all three. I spread my hands on the counter as if revealing a secret. “Because she was the first person who cared about me when no one else did.”

“Here we go…” Lucio muttered under his breath, rubbing his temples.

The murmur of the bowling alley faded into distant noise. My words came out on their own, as if they’d been stuck in my throat for years, even though I’d told this story countless times.

“My mother worked in a factory exposed to radiation. Single mom, raising me as best she could… until the accumulated exposure took its toll and she got seriously ill. I was fourteen, and she couldn’t even get out of bed anymore. She needed medicine, food… and nobody wanted to hire a kid like me. Not even to sweep floors.”

I heard myself give a humorless laugh, shaking my head at the memory.

“Another beer, Bob?” Lucio quipped, raising his mug toward him.

“Yeah, another beer…” Bob replied, resigned, knowing exactly what was coming.

I adjusted my jacket with a theatrical gesture, like stepping onto a stage. Sometimes I couldn’t help blaming myself for my mother’s death; when I was a kid, I didn’t really know how to control my powers. I always suspected the radiation I gave off before learning to manage it had only sped up her death.

“So I begged. I even stole. What other choice did I have?”

Lucio lowered his gaze. Bob grew serious. And Simon, who’d never heard this, went rigid, as if afraid to miss a single word.

“One afternoon I was sitting on the curb, filthy, starving, wrecked…” I drew in a deep breath, the image still burned into me like it had happened yesterday. “And there she was. Just a girl, like me. Walking by with her mother and… she looked at me. Just looked. And that was enough for her to stop. She convinced her mother to buy a bag of groceries and handed it to me. Like my life was worth something.”

I went silent for a few seconds. Lowered my eyes to the counter, my voice turning rougher.

“To her it was nothing, maybe she forgot it the next day. To me… it was everything. The reminder that I could still matter. Thanks to that, we had food for at least a week or two.”

I took a long drink of my warm beer, stretching out the silence. Then I straightened again, as if stepping back onto the stage.

“Not long after that, Bob found me and took me to the NSA. At least that way I had a roof and money for my mother’s medicine.” I swallowed hard. “It didn’t last… she died when I turned fifteen.”

A heavy silence fell over the table. Not even Lucio dared break it with a joke.

“Since then,” I continued, staring into my mug, “I’ve used every resource, every connection, every free minute to look for her. To find her. And when I did, I moved nearby, because… how could I not take care of her? How could I not be there every time she needed me?”

I shrugged, exaggerating the gesture as if trying to lighten it, though my voice betrayed me.

“That’s it. You can call it obsession, favoritism, whatever you want. I call it repaying a favor—one I’ll never be able to fully repay.”

I saw Simon take off his glasses for a moment to discreetly wipe away a tear. He was genuinely moved; his voice came out heavy with sincerity.

“Jack… I had no idea you’d gone through all that.”

I lowered my gaze to my empty mug, spinning it between my hands before raising it toward the bartender to signal for another. The kid nodded right away. When I turned back to Bob and Lucio, I was greeted by the least surprising, most predictable sight of the night: at some point, they’d left the second pitcher behind and were already on their fifth, as if nothing had happened.

Lucio, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy, slapped the table with an open palm.

“That… that’s what a real man does,” he declared thickly, trying to sound solemn but slurring his words. “Not those idiots in suits who think being a man means lifting weights or having money… no, no, no.” He raised his mug toward me with a clumsy, grand gesture. “Being a man means caring… caring for your people. That’s what you are, Jack. A damn gentleman.”

Bob rolled his eyes and leaned back against his chair, though he couldn’t suppress a smile.

“There it is. Lucio’s gone full philosopher mode,” he muttered.

“Shut up, Bob!” Lucio shot back, pointing at him with a wobbly finger caught between seriousness and dizziness. “You know it’s true. Jack’s a gentleman… a gentleman with sparkles, but still a gentleman.”

Laughter quickly mixed with the clinking of mugs, and for the first time in a while, the heaviness of my story lifted a little.

The night slipped by like sand through our fingers. Between laughter, bad jokes, and memories that felt like they belonged to another life, I eventually lost track of how many pitchers we’d ordered. The foam flowed like an endless river, and every time I looked down, my glass was full again. The air in the bowling alley smelled of greasy fries, spilled beer, and that sweet sting of cheap disinfectant they used to clean the tables. The constant roll of bowling balls and crash of pins had become a kind of hypnotic background music.

I knew I was drunk—very drunk—because the floor tilted every time I stood up, and the echo of my own voice seemed to move slower in my head. My cheeks burned, my heart felt light, and my tongue was far too loose.

“Why doesn’t she love me?” I blurted out suddenly, between hiccups and a half-sob, another mug of beer wobbling in my hand. I didn’t even remember how the topic had come up, but there it was, hanging in the air like an unavoidable truth.

Bob looked at me over the rim of his mug, eyes narrowed and mouth curled in a lazy grin, his words dragging like each weighed a ton.

“Of course she loves you…” he said, setting his mug down with a dull thud. “Didn’t you say you two were getting closer?”

I laughed, though it sounded more like a defeated sigh than an actual laugh.

“Yeah… but she hates Gamma Jack.”

The name felt heavy on my tongue. Gamma Jack. That damned reflection of myself I never quite knew how to handle. Inside, I could feel the confession leaking out like something I could no longer contain.

I leaned toward them, raising my mug as if it were a microphone, and let my voice come out cracked—half complaint, half joke.

“I don’t get it… why would she hate Gamma Jack? I’m handsome, smart, funny… handsome. Did I already say handsome?”

Lucio’s laughter rang so loud he almost spilled his beer. He was as drunk as I was—maybe more—with that crooked grin and half-closed eyes, but still managed to lift an accusatory finger like he was revealing some deep truth of the night.

“Don’t worry, brother…” he said, slurring his words in that overly confessional tone that only comes after too many drinks. “As long as she likes your civilian version… what else matters?”

His words hung in the air for a second. The noise of the bowling alley went on, but in my head, that comment echoed with a different weight. Maybe he was right. Maybe what obsessed me so much—that split between Jack Anderson and Gamma Jack—only really mattered to me.

“What stage of your relationship are you in again?” Simon asked, swaying slightly in his seat.

“Well… we’ve been neighbors for two years. And it’s been almost two weeks since I hired her as my secretary…”

Simon’s eyes widened with theatrical horror.

“That’s got to be brutal. Dealing with your girlfriend at work and outside of work? Oof, I couldn’t do it.”

I felt my expression harden, and the others noticed right away.

“Because… you are a couple, right, Jack?” Simon pressed, tilting his head.

I swallowed hard.

“Well… no.”

“Then what are you?” Lucio asked, incredulous.

I stayed silent. The shame said it all.

“You’ve at least gone on dates, right?” Bob pressed, raising an eyebrow.

“A few days ago, we went to dinner…”

“And how was it?” Simon asked with a drunken half-smile.

“It was a work dinner. You know, one of those the NSA organizes to keep an eye on us ‘high-risk supers.’ Psycwave, Blazestone, Hypershock, Everseer… and of course, Eckhart were there. I brought her along as an excuse to spend more time with her—and to annoy Eckhart while I was at it. Two birds, one stone.”

The three of them shot me a mix of reproachful and astonished looks.

“But besides that… have you gone out again?” Lucio asked.

“After that dinner, I asked her out for just the two of us. She said she’d think about it…”

An awkward silence fell.

“At least you’ve told her how you feel, right?” Simon asked.

I didn’t say anything. I just stared at the half-empty mug in front of me. And that silence said more than a thousand words.

The three of them burst out laughing.

“Seriously?” Bob managed between laughs.

“Who would’ve thought! The great Gamma Jack, the charming Jack, the so-called womanizer Jack the press adores… unable to confess to the girl he likes?” Simon added, nearly falling off his chair.

Lucio slammed his palm on the table, still laughing.

“Brother, what the hell have you been doing these two years as neighbors? We all swore something had already happened!”

I straightened up slightly, raising my mug as if it were a shield.

“In my defense!” I said, far louder than necessary. “We never had time! Our schedules never matched. She had several part-time jobs—I barely saw her crossing the street or coming into the building.”

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to sound convincing, though I knew my tone sounded more like an excuse than an argument.

Lucio, who’d been slumped over the counter for a while, suddenly straightened up and threw his arms into the air as if he’d just discovered fire.

“Take her as your date to the wedding!” he shouted so loudly that even a couple of bowlers turned their heads.

“Hey… that’s actually a good idea,” Bob agreed, slamming the counter enthusiastically.

I blinked in surprise for a second before a crooked smile slipped onto my face.

“Really? You’re okay with that?”

“Of course!” Bob shrugged casually. “Besides, I want to meet the girl.”

“Hold it right there!” Simon interrupted, raising a finger like a judge delivering a verdict. “As your most sensible friend—and, unfortunately, also your lawyer—I’m telling you this is a terrible idea.”

The three of us looked at him at once, our confusion only deepening his exasperated sigh.

“I’d like to remind you there’ll be Supers at the wedding! Some won’t even have time to take off their suits—and others won’t want to. What are you going to tell the girl? That it’s a costume party?”

A brief silence followed, and then our eyes met in perfect synchronization, each with the same spark of we can fix this easily.

“That’s easy,” I said with a carefree wave of my hand. “We’ll tell her Bob’s a government official. She’ll believe it.”

“Yes!” Bob nodded enthusiastically, thumping his chest. “I can pull that off.”

“Done! We’ll just lend him one of your lawyer suits and a pair of glasses. Boom—problem solved,” Lucio added, with the confidence of someone who thought he’d just saved the world.

Simon stared at us in disbelief, eyebrows nearly leaping off his face.

“Why the hell would I lend him one of my suits when he’s already wearing one for his own wedding?!” he shouted, gesturing wildly.

He threw his arms out and pointed at Bob from head to toe, as if the man’s sheer size was argument enough.

“Look at him! That giant with hands full of calluses! You really expect anyone to mistake him for a bureaucrat?”

Lucio leaned toward me, smirking.

“Well, we can always say he’s from the ‘physical security division.’”

“Besides,” Bob added, trying to regain some seriousness as he adjusted himself on the stool, “it’s not just Supers attending. Edna, Rick…” he began counting on his fingers.

I froze mid-sip as a terrible thought struck me.

“Wait…” I frowned. “You didn’t invite Eckhart, did you? I couldn’t stand seeing his face at the wedding too.”

Bob’s eyes went wide, as if I’d just said something deeply offensive.

“Of course not!” he said, his voice low and almost indignant. “I can’t stand that guy.”

Lucio chuckled and raised his mug in a toast.

“Well, at least that’s one thing we all agree on.”

Bob rolled his eyes but ended up smiling. He leaned toward me with a firm gesture, as if closing the matter once and for all.

“Anyway, back to the point—you’re free to invite her, Jack.” He punctuated the sentence with a tap on the counter.

I stayed silent for a few seconds, mug in hand, letting the idea settle in my head.

That’s when Simon, who had been quiet for the last part of the conversation, adjusted his glasses with a solemn air.

“Gentlemen, I think it’s getting late. We’d better call it a night before one of us ends up sleeping on the bowling lane.”

“But we haven’t even played yet!” Bob protested, sounding genuinely offended.

“In this state, none of us could play,” Simon replied calmly, gesturing toward Lucio’s very obvious struggle to stand up straight.

Lucio let out a raspy laugh.

“I accept defeat… the bowling alley wins tonight.”

Bob snorted but finished the last sip of his beer, resigned.

In the end, we all left the place together, staggering out amid muffled laughter and jokes that no longer made sense. Outside, the night air hit us with a chill that felt sharper after so many beers. Each of us took a separate cab, sharing that silent understanding between friends who know tomorrow they’ll have a hangover—but also one more story for the collection.

Well, here's the manhwa that shows us what Jack was telling Gazerbeam, how he met the main character:

Chapter Text

I clipped every possible newspaper article featuring the Supers and carefully pinned them to my new board. I set it up in my bedroom—the only safe place from prying eyes.

I connected some photos with red string, tracing connections only I could understand. Of Gazerbeam, I even have a picture of his civilian identity: Simon J. Paladino, cut from an article where he appeared as a lawyer. For Elastigirl, Mr. Incredible, and Frozone, I only have their real names, scribbled on colorful sticky notes hanging like loose pieces of a still-incomplete puzzle. The rest of the Supers are nothing more than masked faces with quick labels: alive, dead, unknown location. A cartography of uncertainty.

At the center, like a sun from which all arrows radiate, is Gamma Jack. Surrounding him are question marks, underlines, and the same doubts that keep me awake: Who is he? Why does he know so much about me? Where does all that interest come from?

I’d already written a preliminary list of suspects in my notebook (Annotation #1), but I need to see everything in front of me, visible. My memory isn’t reliable, and repeating the information is the only way not to lose it.

Beneath his photo, I rewrote the same three names as always—now reordered with the latest information:

Garneau. Barely in his twenties. Nepo baby, son of a publishing house owner (according to this body’s hazy memories). Foreign, a compulsive flirt; every encounter with him feels like a parade of rehearsed lines. In my notes, I marked him from the start—he fits the superficial profile of Gamma Jack too well.

Dean, the neighbor from the ninth floor. I found out his name by accident—along with his government job—thanks to a business card he dropped one night while drunk. His romantic history is another clue: he brings a different woman home almost every day. In my notebook, I described him as “a textbook case of double life.” And Gamma Jack is exactly that—a mask on top of another mask.

Jack Anderson. I’d already crossed him off, but I can’t erase him completely. Their personalities seem like polar opposites: Jack is methodical, sometimes arrogant, but brilliant and disciplined. Gamma Jack is pure showmanship. Even so… there are gestures, nicknames, little flashes of theatricality that slip out and make me doubt. I’ve put him back between question marks—somewhere between suspicion and intuition.

Simon J. Paladino’s sudden appearance in the building complicated everything. He said he was looking for someone and didn’t find them. That narrows my options to two immediate suspects:

Dean.

Jack.

I may be scatterbrained, but I’m not that careless. It would be foolish of me not to add Jack back to the suspect list after that.

I wrote his name in larger letters, circled in red. The game is starting to close in.

I’ve been like this since last night, without a wink of sleep. According to the clock—which I can barely make out in the dim light—it must be around eight in the morning. Or so I think. My eyelids feel heavy, and the flicker of the candles makes everything double.

Yes, candles. Because, once again, there’s been a power outage in my apartment. I’ve lost count of how many. And I still can’t understand why it keeps happening. It’s maddening. Just as I was organizing my notes about the Gamma Jack suspects—bam! blackout. As if someone up there were waiting for the exact moment to mess with me.

It makes no sense. I’ve gone to the electric company several times; they’ve sent technicians, checked meters, cables—everything. According to them, it’s all fine, “no issues detected.” And yet the outages continue—always in my apartment, and only in my apartment. It’s not just a few lightbulbs: even the refrigerator dies, as if someone had unplugged my entire life all at once.

Maybe I’m being paranoid, but something deep down tells me these blackouts aren’t just coincidences.

Or maybe it’s just stress making me overthink.

I caught myself rubbing my temple, silently cursing the problem and taking a deep breath to calm down when suddenly… the lights came back. A quick flicker, and the apartment’s pulse returned. Relief washed over me so strongly I almost laughed.

“Thank heaven,” I murmured without realizing it.

Last night, in the dim light and surrounded by scattered clippings, I heard unsteady footsteps in the hallway. Dragged, uncertain, accompanied by the persistent jingle of keys that couldn’t seem to fit into any lock.

It didn’t take me long to guess who it was. Jack. His apartment is just a few steps from mine, and that clumsy noise was the unmistakable mark of someone who’d had a little too much to drink on his guys’ night out.

At first, I stayed still, determined to ignore it. But the sound went on so long I couldn’t focus on my board. I sighed, tied my hair up carelessly, and stepped into the hallway.

I found him standing at the wrong door, swaying, stubbornly trying to make his keys fit as if sheer determination could make the wood give in. His tie was crooked, his hair messy and falling over his forehead, and that faint, misplaced smile I couldn’t tell was from exhaustion or habit.

“Jack…” I whispered, just loud enough for him to hear.

I took his arm, keeping him from stumbling, and guided him to the right door. Between mumbling and a few rough laughs that escaped without permission, I managed to get him inside. He ended up collapsing onto the couch, and almost by instinct, I covered him with the blanket draped over the backrest.

I lingered for a moment, watching him as the candle in my hand cast trembling shadows across his face. He looked so different like that—disarmed, without that confident air he wore all day. Just a man, tired and vulnerable, breathing softly.

And then I felt it—that strange knot in my stomach. A pang I couldn’t tell was mine or something that belonged to the original owner of this body.

Am I really the one feeling this, or am I walking through emotions that aren’t mine?

I shook my head, forcing myself to step back. I told myself it meant nothing, that anyone would have done the same—helping a drunk neighbor so he wouldn’t fall asleep at the wrong door. That’s all. Just a simple act of courtesy.

I went back to my apartment, trying to convince myself of that, but as I resumed my notes under the flickering candlelight, the image of Jack on the couch stayed there—hovering in my mind like an uncomfortable question I wasn’t sure I wanted to answer.

Thinking about it made my cheeks warm, slow and insistent, as if betraying me even in the solitude of my room. My eyes drifted to the board, following the clippings of Gamma Jack, the red arrows, the question marks… and, most of all, that name written in shaky handwriting: Jack Anderson.

If my suspicions were right… could it be possible that…?

I shook my head sharply, as if the motion could drive the thoughts out before they took root.

What the hell am I thinking?

Come on, ___, it’s only been—what?—a week and five days here? And already you’re catching yourself developing feelings for Jack… No, no, no. It can’t be that.

It must be something else: familiarity. The comfort of clinging to something in a world that isn’t mine. A reflection, an echo. That has to be it.

This body doesn’t belong to me. This life doesn’t belong to me.

…

But what if, in reality, the original ___ did have feelings for Jack?

It’s obvious that Jack is interested in her. In her, not in me.

I bit my lip, a pang of guilt hitting me. I can’t help it—I feel like I’m stealing a life, usurping emotions that don’t belong to me.

And yet, the image of him on the couch, vulnerable, lingers there like a photograph someone left behind inside my head.

A few knocks at the door tore me from my thoughts. Instinctively, I dropped what I was holding and rushed to push the board against the wall, covering it with a pile of clothes. I was in my room—safe—but still, that uneasy feeling crept in. I had to be careful. Too careful.

When I opened the door, I came face to face with the last person I expected to see so early. Jack. For a second, I thought—absurdly—that I had summoned him just by thinking about him.

He looked terrible. Dark circles, hair messier than usual, and a paleness that made him look like he’d been run over by a truck on the way back.

“Good morning,” I said, raising an eyebrow as I looked him over.

“Hey,” he replied hoarsely, holding his head with one hand as if it were too heavy. “Would it be too much trouble if I asked you for a mochaccino?”

I couldn’t help smiling at the sight. I gestured for him to come in, and he nearly collapsed onto the couch right away, sinking into it as if it had swallowed him whole.

While I set the water to boil in the kitchen, I decided to ask—more out of curiosity than politeness.

“So, how was your night out with your friends?”

Jack slumped against the backrest, his body heavy, like every movement cost him effort.

“Yeah…” he mumbled, dragging the words. “It was fun… maybe too fun.”

I couldn’t help smiling, remembering last night’s scene.

“It seems like it. You were so drunk you tried to get into the neighbor’s apartment. I had to walk you to yours and leave you on the couch.”

He lifted his head suddenly, squinting, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.

“Come again?”

“Exactly what you heard,” I said, crossing my arms. “I had to unlock your door and practically drag you to the couch so you wouldn’t pass out in the hallway.”

He covered his face with both hands, fingers buried in his hair, as if shame itself were killing him right then and there.

“God… I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I replied lightly, though inside I was fighting not to laugh—there was something oddly endearing about seeing him like that.

After a moment, the mochaccino was ready. I handed him the steaming cup while holding my own in the other hand, and as soon as he took his first sip, I watched his entire face change—his shoulders relaxed, his eyes cleared, and he even let out a long sigh of relief.

“Yeah… that’s exactly what I needed,” he murmured, as if the coffee were a magic potion bringing him back to life.

I watched him, half amused, half fascinated, wondering how someone could go from looking like a walking corpse to a functional human being in mere seconds.

I glanced at the wall clock. The hands pointed to eight-thirty.

“Shouldn’t we be heading to work?” I asked—more out of habit than desire—tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

Jack looked at me as if I’d just suggested something outrageous.

“No.” He leaned back on the couch, pointing at me with his cup as if delivering a decree. “As your boss, I officially declare today a day off. There’s no way I’m going to the university with this hangover.”

Then his eyes paused on me. He looked me up and down, frowning slightly, as if trying to figure out what didn’t add up.

“And you’re not going anywhere either,” he added, his voice dropping with a hint of seriousness. “Why do you look like someone who hasn’t slept all night?”

I let out a nervous laugh, shrugging like it was nothing.

“Eh… I just stayed up a bit late. My own stuff.” I waved my hand lightly, trying to sweep the subject off the table.

But as I said it, an uncomfortable tingling crawled up the back of my neck. My mind flashed for a second to the board hidden under that pile of clothes—the tangle of clippings and notes I didn’t want anyone, least of all him, to see.

“You know, insomnia. Nothing serious,” I added quickly, forcing a smile, hoping it would be enough to end the conversation.

Jack didn’t look away. The way he watched me made me think he didn’t quite believe me, and each passing second under that gaze felt heavier.

“You know…” he said at last, changing the subject with a lighter tone, though the hangover still lingered in his voice, “I’m still waiting for your answer.”

“My answer?” I asked, feigning innocence, though I knew exactly what he meant.

He smiled faintly, that half-smile of his that always teetered between playful and sincere.

“To dinner. You and me. You said you’d think about it.”

A flutter stirred in my stomach. Of course I’d thought about it—I’d thought about it too much. But I’d also tried to convince myself it wasn’t an option, that I shouldn’t let myself get swept up in whatever this was that was starting to grow inside me.

I cleared my throat, leaning back against the edge of the table as if that could somehow give me more composure.

“I’m still thinking about it,” I replied with a light smile that didn’t quite hide my nerves.

Jack nodded, as if he’d already expected that answer. He didn’t push, but he didn’t back off either. On the contrary—he took another sip of his coffee and, with the casual precision of someone throwing a dart straight at the target, dropped the next bomb:

“Then… while you think about it, how would you feel about coming with me to a wedding this weekend?”

I looked at him like he’d just said the most absurd thing in the world.

“Come with you? To a wedding?”

“Of course.” He shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant, though I caught that unmistakable glint in his eyes. “They’re close friends of mine. I don’t want to go alone and… well, it’d be nicer if you came with me.”

I stayed silent, the warm mug still in my hands, as if the heat could somehow clear my head. A wedding. With Jack. It sounded too intimate, too risky.

And then, like an ill-timed echo, Evelyn and Sylvia’s words from the café came back to me:

‘We thought Jack would take you as his plus-one.’

At the time, it had sounded like a ridiculous joke… but now it was actually happening.

A chill ran down my spine. Did Evelyn know about this beforehand? Why had she said it so confidently?

“Jack… I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I murmured finally, trying to sound firm, though inside I was a storm of nerves.

He tilted his head slightly, that half-playful, half-sincere smile of his disarming me completely.

“What could possibly go wrong? It’s just a wedding, not a lifelong commitment.”

“Just a wedding.” Sure. As if it were that simple.

I watched him take another sip of his coffee—calm, confident—while I felt like I was standing on the edge of something I wasn’t supposed to cross. My head screamed for me to say no. To stay out of something so intimate, so dangerous. To remember that all of this was just a trap disguised as normalcy.

I feel like every day since I woke up in this world, I’ve been on guard—never allowing myself to relax, not even for a moment.

And who could blame me?

I’m literally trying to survive while rewriting the course of this story—trying to save the lives of the Supers.

God… I know it’s not worth the risk. I can’t afford distractions like this.

But my body… my body had already decided. My mouth went dry, my heart was beating far too fast, and still, the words came out on their own, without asking for permission:

“All right… I’ll go with you.”

Jack looked up, surprised for an instant, then smiled like he’d just won a bet he never told me we were playing.

I, on the other hand, felt that strange vertigo of stepping into unknown territory—fear and anticipation all tangled together, as if by saying yes, I’d opened a door I might never be able to close again.

═══════ ≫ ♡ ≪ ════════

Jack Anderson / Gamma Jack POV

After spending some time with ___, I went straight back to my apartment with a happiness so big it barely fit inside me.

She said yes.

She agreed to go to the wedding with me.

With me!

I laugh to myself like an idiot as I close the door behind me. If anyone saw me like this, they’d probably think I’d just won an international award or been named Hero of the Year. But no—it’s something a thousand times better: ___ will be with me that day.

I pace back and forth across the living room, unable to stay still. I repeat her words in my head over and over again, like a catchy song I don’t want to stop singing:

“All right… I’ll go with you.”

God. I could tattoo that sentence on my forehead.

I fall onto the couch with a muffled laugh, hands covering my face. I’m smiling so much my cheeks hurt. And I don’t care. I don’t care about anything. Let the walls judge me, let the neighbors laugh through the thin plaster—today, I’m the happiest man in the city.

The funny thing is, for a moment, I was actually afraid she’d say no. I saw it in her eyes—that constant battle she fights inside herself. And when she finally said yes… it felt like I’d won a war I didn’t even realize I was fighting.

Maybe the guys are right. She doesn’t need to like Gamma Jack. As long as she cares for Jack Anderson, that’s enough for me.

After all, she doesn’t need to know who I really am… at least, not yet.

The sound of the phone snapped me out of my thoughts—and out of that small, stupid bubble of bliss I’d been floating in. I groaned, dragging myself off the couch and across the room to the wall phone. Normally, I would’ve ignored it, but with the hangover still pounding in my skull, that constant ringing was unbearable.

“Hello?” I answered gruffly.

“How was your guys’ night out?” came a woman’s voice from the other end.

I frowned immediately.

“Psycwave.” The name came out dry, automatic. “How did you know about that?”

“Oh! ___ mentioned it yesterday, when she was leaving campus.”

I narrowed my eyes, suspicious.

“Psycwave…” I said in a tone that made it very clear I suspected the obvious—that the information hadn’t exactly been voluntarily shared.

She let out a light, almost innocent laugh.

“Oh, come on! I promise I didn’t use my powers on her. Don’t you trust me at all?”

“You tried to use them on her during the dinner with Eckhart,” I cut in sharply, not bothering to hide the reproach.

“Oh, Jack, you know I only did it to annoy you. Besides, I was curious about her.”

“Curiosity doesn’t give you the right to dig into people’s heads,” I said, the memory still making me uncomfortable. “And don’t forget—you used your powers on me less than a year ago.”

“In my defense,” she replied shamelessly, “I did it because I needed to understand why the famous Gamma Jack—with his reputation as a womanizer—was rejecting every invitation from other Supers. You know I live for gossip.”

“And I still haven’t forgiven you for that.”

A short silence followed on the line, barely a breath, before she spoke again with her usual lightness.

“Well…” she drew out the word, almost amused, “let’s not pretend you’re a saint. As if you’ve never done anything for your own benefit.”

“I have,” I muttered through my teeth. “But that doesn’t include manipulating people’s minds.”

She gave a soft laugh, dripping with that ironic charm of hers that always got under my skin.

“Oh, please! We all know you used NSA resources to find that girl.”

My stomach tensed instantly, like I’d just been punched.

“By the way,” she added, her tone suddenly syrupy, the kind that made my blood boil, “it’s such a pleasure to finally meet her.”

I stayed silent for a few seconds, jaw clenched, before forcing the question out in a low, restrained voice:

“How did you find out about the NSA?”

“Oh, Jack…” she sing-songed, with that smugness that drove me insane, “you know what they say—small world, big hell. Nothing stays secret for long around here.”

I rolled my eyes, rubbing the bridge of my nose. It wasn’t the first time she left me with that unsettling feeling that she knew too much, that she enjoyed watching me squirm. And yet, I couldn’t deny that this was simply who she was—someone who crossed boundaries as easily as breathing. I didn’t hate her… I just found her incredibly hard to tolerate.

“What’s the reason for your call, Psycwave?” I asked, trying to sound neutral, though my patience was running thin.

“Oh, right!” she exclaimed with feigned surprise, as if she’d just remembered. “Eckhart wants to see all of us in his office. I figured you weren’t on campus because… well, I assumed you were still dealing with your hangover.”

I grimaced, scratching the back of my neck.

“I’m not going to work today. Not with this damn hangover.”

“You know,” she added playfully, “I love getting under Eckhart’s skin. It’s practically my hobby—right after shopping. But this time, he seems different… he’s really mad.” She paused briefly before adding, “Oh, and he says to come without ___. This one’s Supers only.”

I let out a long sigh, feeling a wave of discomfort settle in my chest at the way she said her name—so casually, so deliberately. With Psycwave, I could never tell if she was being serious or just trying to provoke me.

“Fine,” I said, resigned more than angry. “Tell him I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

I hung up before she could drag the conversation out any further. Silence filled the room, and I welcomed it.

Even so, deep down, I knew this wouldn’t be the last time Psycwave got under my skin. It was practically her favorite sport.

I ran a hand over my face, trying to clear my head. The air still smelled of fresh coffee and that faint trace of dry alcohol clinging to my clothes.

I grunted under my breath.

“Supers-only meeting…” I repeated, more to myself than anyone else. Then a smile curved my lips. “Fine. If that’s what he wants, that’s what he’ll get.”

Within seconds, the decision was made. I walked to the closet hidden behind the false wall of my study and pressed the panel. The mechanical lock released with a familiar click. Inside, the suit was waiting—impeccable, ready, like a second skin.

The fabric tightened perfectly as I put it on, and I felt that instant shift wash over me: the weight on my shoulders, the static charge in the air, the faint tingling that always came with the moment I stopped being Jack Anderson and became Gamma Jack again.

Normally, I wore the suit under my regular clothes in case of emergencies, but yesterday had been an exception.

I smiled to myself, opening the balcony window. The cool wind hit my face, sobering me up completely.

“I’m a genius,” I murmured—and without a second thought, I threw myself into the air.

The initial rush of vertigo quickly gave way to that old, addictive sense of freedom. The wind cut across my face, cold and sharp, while the city stretched out beneath my feet—streets still half-empty, neon lights lazily dimming, the first streaks of sunrise painting the buildings orange. Flying always cleared my mind. It reminded me that, no matter how much I pretended to be an ordinary academic, I was still something more.

It didn’t even take five minutes to reach the campus. I landed in front of the main building with all the elegance the occasion deserved—because, let’s be honest, if you’re going to make a scene, do it with style. A few curious heads turned instantly—students, guards, a couple of early professors. They all just stared.

I don’t blame them. I’m gorgeous.

I strode down the hallway as if I owned the place—and, in a way, I did—until I reached Eckhart’s office. I pushed the door open without knocking and stepped in with the confidence of a man who pays the building’s rent.

They were all there: Eckhart, Psycwave, Blazestone, Hypershock, and Everseer. None of them wore their suits; they were all in civilian clothes, faces somewhere between bored and resigned. And then there was me, in all my glory—shining suit, perfect posture, toothpaste-commercial smile.

The look Eckhart gave me when he lifted his eyes from his desk was priceless.

Totally worth it.

The silence that followed my entrance was… eloquent. Eckhart took off his glasses and stared at me with the expression of a man seconds away from a nervous breakdown.

“Please,” he said at last, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “tell me you didn’t just fly here wearing that suit.”

“Would you rather I’d taken a cab?” I asked, shrugging.

Psycwave let out a barely stifled giggle; Blazestone rolled her eyes.

Eckhart, meanwhile, sighed so loudly I thought he might faint right there. He marched over to his desk and slapped the pile of papers in front of him with an open palm.

“I’m surrounded by a pack of irresponsible idiots!” he roared, holding up one report after another. “Psycwave—you used your powers on a dean’s office employee just because he ‘looked suspicious.’ Hypershock—you destroyed more government patrol cars during your community service. Blazestone…” He paused, glaring at her with resignation. “Do I even need to mention the lab?”

Blazestone raised an eyebrow, clearly expecting applause.

“Technically, it was only part of the lab this time.”

“Part of it?!” Eckhart bellowed, on the verge of screaming. “And you, Jack…” He pointed at me accusingly. “Not only do I have your account statement right here—which, by the way, reads like a catalog of restaurants and luxury clothing stores—but you also show up at the university in costume, flying over half the campus. Do you want the press to start another scandal?”

“Look on the bright side,” I said with a grin, “at least I saved on parking.”

Psycwave burst out laughing, while Blazestone and Hypershock struggled not to.

Eckhart shut his eyes, probably praying for divine transfer to a universe without Supers.

“I swear one of these days you’re all going to give me a heart attack,” he muttered, collapsing back into his chair.

Then he pointed at each of us in turn.

“If the NSA asks me for one more report on ‘inappropriate behavior,’ I’ll hand you over personally.”

I crossed my arms, fighting a smirk.

“Wow, Eckhart—I didn’t know you cared so much about us.”

He shot me a glare that could’ve brought down a plane.

“Care? Sure. Appreciate you? Still deciding.”

The meeting dragged on longer than expected—apparently, Eckhart had a very long list of our questionable actions and moral failings. The truth? I didn’t hear half of it. I was already sick of these meetings.

“But you barely even show up,” Psycwave whispered, leaning toward me. “How can you be tired of meetings you almost never attend? It’s a miracle seeing you twice in the same month.”

I rolled my eyes, keeping them on Eckhart, who was now yelling about industrial fire extinguishers.

“Evelyn, how many times have we talked about not getting into my head?”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” she murmured teasingly, pretending to inspect her nails. “Besides, you think too loudly.”

A sudden buzz pulsed through my head—the light pressure I knew all too well.

“Evelyn, stop that!” I hissed through my teeth.

“No way!” she suddenly exclaimed, hands flying to her mouth in fake shock. “You invited her to the wedding! Sylvia!” she shouted toward Blazestone. “He invited her to the wedding!”

“Really? How exciting!” Blazestone said, instantly abandoning her scolding with a grin.

I turned to Everseer, patience gone.

“Everseer! Make Psycwave get out of my head!”

Everseer sighed without raising his voice.

“Evelyn, we’ve talked about this. You can’t enter people’s minds without consent.”

“But he invited her to the wedding!” she insisted, as if that somehow justified everything.

“Who invited who to the wedding?” Hypershock asked, turning around in his seat, thrilled for any excuse to stop listening to Eckhart.

“Jack invited ___ to the wedding!” Psycwave yelled, like she’d just announced an award winner.

“Seriously? About time!” Hypershock laughed.

“We thought you’d invited her days ago,” added Sylvia, resting her elbow on the table.

Everseer nodded calmly, as if stating a fact.

“I honestly thought you’d never do it,” he murmured, eyes still on his notebook.

I blinked, confused.

“How the hell do all of you even know about this?” I asked, incredulous.

Psycwave shrugged, wearing that this will be fun smile.

“About your crush on ___? Jack, please. Everyone at the NSA knows.”

“What… what are you talking about?” I stammered, looking around, hoping at least one of them would deny it.

Sylvia began counting on her fingers, deeply focused.

“Since you embezzled NSA funds about—oh…” she raised another finger, “six years ago, I think? Who would’ve guessed that after four years of searching, you’d finally find the girl?” she said in one breath, gesturing wildly. “Honestly, we all thought you were either a stalker or just had a thing for girls with black hair and blue eyes. You interviewed tons of them during your search, and then they’d just… disappear.”

I stared at them, dumbfounded.

“How the hell do you know all that?” I demanded, raising my voice.

“Eckhart told us,” Psycwave said cheerfully, without a hint of remorse. “He said a certain Super had embezzled funds and lied to the FBI to find a girl.”

“When did he say that?!” I nearly shouted.

“Three years ago, during our first team meeting,” Sylvia replied casually. “Oh, right—you didn’t show up.”

Suddenly, a loud bang echoed on the desk.

“CAN SOMEONE TELL ME IF THIS IS STILL A MEETING OR IF IT’S TURNED INTO A SOAP OPERA?!” Eckhart roared, veins bulging in his neck, face red with exasperation.

Silence fell like a bomb.

No one dared to move.

Psycwave covered her mouth, Blazestone pretended to inspect her nails, Hypershock whistled while staring at the ceiling.

I just rubbed my face, wishing I could evaporate on the spot.

Below is how the protagonist's conspiracy board currently looks:

Chapter Text

Tomorrow is Jack’s friends’ wedding, and I still haven’t decided whether I should wear the same dress from the dinner or find another one.

On one hand, it would be ridiculous to buy something new when the one I already have is still there, hanging in the closet—perfect, almost untouched. Jack picked it out, and although I hate to admit it, it’s beautiful. So beautiful that it still makes me a little self-conscious to wear it again, like it doesn’t quite belong to me.

On the other hand… I think about that dinner—about the glances, the smiles that were never just smiles.

Evelyn with her compliments that always sounded like veiled warnings, Sylvia jumping from one topic to another, Frank hiding behind his glass, and Eckhart looking at Jack as if every word out of his mouth were a personal provocation.

And me, caught in the middle, trying to keep my composure while pretending I understood what they were talking about.

I guess I just don’t want to go through that again. I don’t want to feel out of place.

It’s not vanity—it’s… self-defense.

I look at the dress hanging there, still wrapped in its dry-cleaning bag. I wonder if Jack remembers how much it cost—because I do, even without seeing the tag. Maybe wearing it again would be the sensible thing to do.

I still have some of my salary advance left, though most of it’s gone into paying for the endless electrical inspections in the apartment.

No one can find the fault, yet the blackouts keep happening.

I close my eyes, rubbing my temples.

That sound again. That electric hum that always seems to seep through the walls.

The hum from the electricity doesn’t usually bother me; I assume it’s just old appliances—or maybe it’s the outdated wiring, the lack of technology in this era.

No one else seems to notice, probably because they’re used to it. But once you’ve lived with the technology of 2025, there’s no going back.

Oh—that reminds me of my phone… how I miss it.

Anyway, every time these power outages start in my apartment, that damned noise becomes unbearable, like it’s drilling straight into my skull. I’m not exaggerating—sometimes it’s literally painful.

And there it is again.

First, the hum. Then a sharp, dry snap.

And suddenly, everything goes dark.

The ceiling light flickers, trembles, and dies. The hum of the refrigerator stops. The TV—on only for background noise—falls silent. The quiet that follows is so complete it feels like it’s swallowing the air itself.

Only the beating of my heart breaks the stillness—fast, uneven.

I don’t know how much time passes before the light returns, flickering, as if the apartment were breathing again.

I exhale, both relieved and exhausted.

“Not again…” I mutter, collapsing into the chair.

Well, at least this time the power didn’t take as long to come back. Last time, it was gone for—what? Four, maybe six hours?

Anyway, I feel like I’m getting a little more stressed every day. The constant weight of this self-imposed mission to stop Operation Kronos and save the Supers; the gaps in my memory, both from the body’s original owner and my own fading recollections; the mundane problems that somehow feel heavier than they should.

But I can’t shake the feeling that something inside me is… misaligned.

The landline suddenly rang, cutting through the silence of the apartment.

For a moment, I considered letting it ring—I wasn’t expecting any calls, especially not at this hour—but curiosity won. I walked to the wall, still holding the kitchen towel in one hand, and picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

The voice that answered was so cheerful it took me a couple of seconds to place it.

“Sweetheart! How are you? It’s Evelyn.”

I leaned against the wall, relieved.

“Oh, hi, Evelyn. I’m fine, and you?”

“Wonderful,” she replied, in that tone of hers that always sounded like a compliment wrapped in perfume. “Listen, I’m calling to invite you to get our nails done. Sylvia and I are going to the salon today to be ready for tomorrow. Will you join us?”

I could picture her on the other end: flawless, hair perfectly styled, smile practiced, a cigarette resting in the ashtray as she spoke like someone who’s never in a hurry for anything.

Evelyn had that kind of effortless elegance that made you feel like you were being judged even when she was just saying hello.

I looked down at my hands—short nails, chipped polish. Maybe a bit of color wouldn’t hurt. And honestly, after the week I’d had, any excuse to leave the apartment sounded tempting.

But her voice, so sweet, stirred an echo in my mind.

“It’s not that she’s a bad person… she just crosses certain lines sometimes.”

Jack’s warning returned with the same seriousness as the day he said it. I hadn’t taken it lightly then, and I couldn’t now.

Still, he’d also been clear:

“At least not unless I’m there—or Edgar.”

And Sylvia would be there too this time. I wouldn’t be alone. There’d be no danger. Right?

I don’t think locking myself in the apartment is the best option.

But Jack isn’t the kind of person who gives warnings for no reason.

The contradiction weighed heavier than I wanted to admit.

I sighed. Such a difficult decision for something as trivial as a manicure.

“Sweetheart, are you still there?” Evelyn asked, with a soft, amused laugh.

“Yes, I’m here, sorry… I got lost in thought,” I apologized. “But yes, I’d love to go.”

“Perfect!” she said brightly from the other end. “Let’s meet in an hour at the beauty salon near that Burger King—you know, the one a few blocks from campus. See you soon!”

Before I could even answer, she hung up.

Well… I guess I don’t have much of a choice now.

═══════ ≫ ♡ ≪ ════════

The bell above the beauty salon door jingled as I walked in, and the smell of nail polish and hairspray hit me immediately. It was a thick, almost sweet scent that blended with the hum of hairdryers and the sharp click of nail files on perfectly manicured hands.

Evelyn and Sylvia were already there, holding court in the center of the room like it was a movie set. Both looked immaculate, and when they saw me, they waved with a level of enthusiasm I honestly hadn’t expected.

“Sweetheart!” Evelyn exclaimed, her smile straight out of a magazine. “You made it just in time—we were about to start without you.”

“Good thing you came,” Sylvia added, giving my arm a friendly tap. “You have no idea how much we needed a distraction before tomorrow.”

I smiled politely and sat in the chair they’d clearly reserved for me. A manicurist with her hair tied up greeted me with a mechanical “good morning” and got to work. The whir of the electric nail drill on someone else’s nails made my nerves twitch slightly.

While the manicurist prepared the polish, I couldn’t help but wonder why they had invited me at all. We barely knew each other.

We weren’t friends—not really.

Maybe they just wanted me to feel included. Or, worse, maybe it was pure courtesy: the “new girl” in the group, Jack’s plus-one, the one nobody quite understands why she’s there.

I forced a polite smile while watching Evelyn laugh at something Sylvia had said.

They were such opposites.

Evelyn seemed to measure every word, every gesture; Sylvia just let hers spill out freely.

Evelyn glanced up just then. Her gaze met mine, as if she’d somehow followed the exact thread of my thoughts.

“You know, sweetheart,” she said casually, not taking her eyes off the mirror, “you must be wondering why we invited you.”

A small shiver ran down my spine.

I smiled awkwardly.

“No, I—” I began, but she interrupted me with a graceful flick of her hand.

“You don’t have to say it,” she continued, her voice smooth as expensive perfume. “It’s just that Sylvia and I thought you could use a little distraction before the wedding. Besides, you can’t show up with your nails undone. Jack would die of embarrassment.”

Sylvia laughed, tossing her head back.

“Exactly! We can’t let your guy steal all the attention, can we?”

My guy.

The way she said it made me a little uncomfortable, though I laughed along with them anyway.

“He’s not my guy,” I clarified—though, truthfully, something inside me liked how it sounded.

I noticed Evelyn and Sylvia exchange a knowing glance.

“Well, maybe not yet,” Evelyn said lightly. “You might not notice it, but that man would do anything for you.”

Sylvia giggled at that, clearly entertained.

I chose not to comment, though I couldn’t stop the faint heat creeping up my cheeks.

A short silence settled between us, broken only by the steady hum of the dryers. Lately, I don’t know why, but I’ve felt so much more sensitive to everything. I can’t believe that mere noise from the dryers was giving me a headache. Honestly? It’s probably just stress.

I rubbed my temple discreetly, trying to refocus on the conversation.

“Ready for the wedding tomorrow?” Sylvia asked, her tone bright and eager.

“I guess so,” I said, keeping my eyes on my hands.

“Jack must be thrilled,” Evelyn said, still looking into the mirror. “After all, it’s one of his best friends getting married.

Her tone was light, but her words were measured—too measured.

I glanced sideways at her.

“I wouldn’t know. He hasn’t said much,” I replied, trying to sound casual.

“Oh, he doesn’t have to,” she countered, smiling with that deliberate hint of meaning. “Jack’s never been good at hiding how he feels.”

Sylvia laughed, but Evelyn kept watching me differently—not out of curiosity, but with the quiet focus of someone analyzing.

And for a second, I could’ve sworn I felt something—pressure behind my eyes, sharp and fleeting, like a pinprick inside my skull.

I looked at her directly. Evelyn blinked, her expression flickering into something strange I couldn’t name—gone in a heartbeat. Then she recomposed herself and smiled as if nothing had happened.

Maybe it was just my imagination.

Or maybe not.

“I still have no idea what to wear,” Sylvia said, switching topics with the ease of someone changing channels. “And you? Are you wearing the same dress from the dinner?”

“I think so,” I answered, a bit late. “I didn’t have time to look for another.”

“Wonderful! It looked lovely on you,” Evelyn said, as if she hadn’t noticed my hesitation.

“Thanks…” I murmured, lowering my eyes to my freshly painted nails.

“You worry too much,” Evelyn said, eyes still on the manicurist’s work. “In the end, no one remembers what anyone was wearing. I bet Frank will show up in whatever he finds first.”

“Oh, please!” Sylvia burst out laughing. “Remember when he showed up to one of Eckhart’s meetings with a half-empty beer bottle?”

“Don’t remind me,” Evelyn replied, laughing too. “Eckhart nearly killed him. He was furious because it was ‘office hours.’”

The constant hum of the hairdryers blended with the murmur of conversations, creating a kind of white noise that filled the air with a steady rhythm. It wasn’t unpleasant; in fact, there was something oddly comforting about that monotonous buzz, as if it could erase, for a little while, everything happening outside the salon.

I found myself listening more than speaking. Evelyn and Sylvia talked with the effortless ease of people who had known each other for years, gliding from one topic to another with that lightness that only old friends have. There was a silent complicity between them—a glance was enough to share the joke, a smile enough to anticipate the next one.

I barely joined in. Not because I didn’t want to, but because it felt easier to observe them. The way Sylvia gestured with her hands, animated by every story she told; or how Evelyn smiled without ever fully showing her teeth, her eyes sparkling with sharp wit. They were so different, and yet they balanced each other perfectly, as if they’d been made to share the same stage.

Sometimes they mentioned things I didn’t quite understand—names, dates, places that meant nothing to me. But I didn’t mind. I liked listening. Their voices filled the space that, not long ago, had been nothing but silence. A silence that reminded me, constantly, that I didn’t belong to this time.

I laughed with them more than once, without even knowing why. And I realized that it didn’t really matter. I didn’t have to understand everything to enjoy the moment. It was enough to let the laughter mix together, as if it had always been there, waiting for me to join in.

When the manicurist finished, Evelyn stretched in her chair with elegance, and Sylvia said something about how nice it felt to take a break. I nodded, still smiling.

“We should do this more often,” Sylvia said, looking at both of us through the mirror.

“Maybe,” Evelyn replied, her smile neither cold nor distant. “We don’t always need a special occasion.”

I didn’t know what to say, but inside, I felt something like relief. It was a simple phrase, free of hidden meaning—but it struck deeper than I wanted to admit.

We paid, thanked the manicurists, and stepped outside together. The air had that warm, late-afternoon scent—perfume and dust suspended in golden sunlight—and for a moment, the world seemed a little kinder.

We said goodbye with soft laughter, as if the afternoon had stretched itself a little longer just to give us that moment of calm. Each of us went our separate ways, and as I watched them disappear down the street, I caught myself wishing it wouldn’t be the last time.

For the first time in a long while, I felt light. Not entirely at peace, but… part of something.

When I got back to the apartment, the first thing I did was lay out the clothes I’d wear tomorrow. I wanted to have everything ready, even though the wedding was in the afternoon. I don’t know—maybe it was my way of keeping things under control.

As I folded the fabric and arranged the accessories on the chair, my eyes drifted to the corkboard in the bedroom. There was an afternoon newspaper lying crumpled on the bed, the ink still fresh from today. I picked it up to check for any news about the Supers—anything that might help with my mission. One headline caught my attention.

It was about a domestic violence case. Nothing new, nothing unusual. And yet, something in those words made my chest tighten.

I read the article over and over without really processing it, until my eyes fell on the accompanying photo: a dark-haired woman, her head tilted slightly, and a man beside her with his hand resting on her shoulder.

I don’t know why, but my chest constricted, as if the story had reached into some hidden part of me.

For a moment, silence filled the room—only the ticking of the clock and the faint creak of the wooden floor beneath my feet. Then it began again: that hum, a low murmur crawling through my ears to the base of my skull. The man’s face in the photo blurred for an instant, and in its place, I saw another—the face of my father… or at least, the man who was my father in this life. His expression was identical: that mix of pride and exhaustion I’d always found unbearable. And behind him, barely visible, a woman’s shadow with the same gentle smile I remembered from my mother.

The sound of a door slamming.

A glass shattering.

My mother’s trembling voice.

And mine—smaller, younger—saying something I couldn’t quite hear.

A sharp pain shot through my temples. I shut my eyes.

A scream. Then another.

And then—nothing.

When I opened them, the newspaper was still there, harmless, lying open on the bed. The pain lingered, dry and piercing, as if my body were fighting to bring the original owner’s memories to the surface.

I sighed and threw the paper away. The dull thud echoed in the quiet room. My hands trembled slightly, as if the pages still weighed more than they should.

I looked back at the board, trying to pull my mind toward Operation Kronos again, but the frustration soon returned.

At the end of the day, there wasn’t much else I could do.

Just wait… and try not to think too much about the memories my mind keeps trying to resurrect.