Saturday came with air raid sirens that tore Greg from sleep so violently he nearly fell out of bed, one leg tangling in his sheets as the rising and falling wail passed through the walls and settled somewhere behind his eyes.
For several confused seconds, he sat there with his heart hammering, trying to remember where he was and why Brockton Bay seemed to be screaming at him. Then his television switched on.
Greg stared at it.
The screen was red. Whatever channel he had left running the night before was gone, replaced by large white lettering and a warning banner scrolling rapidly along the bottom. A man’s voice spoke over it, calm and rehearsed in a way that somehow made the sirens outside sound worse.
Greg stopped listening after the first few words.
He knew what this was. Everyone did. You grew up on Earth Bet, you learned the sirens. They drilled them into you at school, and Greg had watched enough old Endbringer footage online to know exactly what came next.
An Endbringer was coming.
Greg threw himself out of bed, nearly tripped over a pair of jeans on the floor, and caught himself against the wall before yanking his bedroom door open and running into the hallway. The sirens followed him through the house, muffled by the walls and still painfully loud as he took the stairs two at a time.
“Mum! Dad!”
He reached their bedroom and shoved the door open.
They were already awake.
His dad was pulling on a jacket over his sleep shirt while his mum stood beside the bed with her phone pressed to her ear, though from the look on her face, whoever she was trying to call was not answering. The television in their room showed the same red screen as Greg’s.
For one second, the three of them stared at each other. Then his dad moved past Greg.
“Bag,” he said. “Kitchen. Now.”
That was enough to snap Greg into action.
The next few minutes were a mess. Cupboards were thrown open while Greg grabbed whatever food was closest, his dad shouting things from the other room that he only half heard. Bottled water disappeared into a backpack alongside canned food, crackers, and a packet of cereal bars, while his mum tried calling someone again.
Greg eventually found himself standing in front of an open cupboard with a jar of peanut butter, trying to decide whether it counted as emergency food before his dad snatched it from him and shoved it into the bag.
“Right,” Greg muttered. “Yeah. Obviously.”
They were outside moments later.
The front door slammed shut behind them, and nobody bothered locking it. Their street was already alive with movement as families rushed from their homes, car doors slammed, and people shouted over the sirens. Somewhere nearby, a child was crying loudly enough for Greg to hear them between each rise of the alarm.
His dad threw the bag into the back seat and climbed behind the wheel. His mum opened the passenger door.
Greg stopped.
He made it three steps toward the car before the thought reached him, and suddenly he couldn’t take another.
His mum noticed first. “Greg?”
He stood in the driveway.
His dad looked over through the open passenger door. “Get in.”
Greg swallowed.
The words should have been easy. He had imagined saying things like this before, usually while standing on rooftops in a dramatic costume with explosions happening somewhere behind him.
The reality felt considerably less cool.
“I’m not coming.”
For a moment, neither of his parents reacted.
His dad spoke first. “What?”
Greg’s mouth suddenly felt dry. “I said I’m not coming with you.”
His mum slowly let go of the car door.
The expression on her face made something in his chest twist.
“Greg,” she said, “get in the car.”
He stayed where he was.
His dad climbed back out. “Now.”
Greg flinched despite himself.
There it was. That old instinct to fold the moment someone’s voice became firm, to laugh awkwardly and do whatever would make the tension disappear. He could already picture himself getting into the car, sitting quietly in the back, and letting them drive him to the nearest shelter.
It would be easy.
Greg curled his hands into fists. “No.”
His dad stopped.
Greg was almost surprised by the sound of his own voice. He had said it softly, and the sirens nearly swallowed the word, yet both his parents had heard him.
His mum crossed the driveway toward him. “Sweetheart, I don’t know what you’re thinking right now, but this is an Endbringer warning. We need to leave.”
“I know.”
“Then get in the car.”
“I can’t.”
She pursed her lips. “Why?”
Greg looked at her.
He did not answer immediately. He did not need to. Something changed in his mum’s face as she stared at him, her eyes widening before going down toward his hands and then back to his face. His dad seemed to understand at almost the same time.
“No,” he said.
Greg’s stomach dropped. “Dad.”
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“I know exactly what you’re going to say.”
His dad came closer, and Greg had never seen him look quite like this before. Angry, yes, but there was something underneath it that Greg recognized after a second.
Fear.
“You are getting in that car,” his dad said. “We’re going to the shelter, and we’re staying there until they tell us it’s safe.”
Greg shook his head.
His mum grabbed his arm. “Greg, please.”
That nearly did it.
The grip around his arm was tight enough to hurt, and when he looked at her, he realized there were tears gathering in her eyes.
He hated that. Worse, he hated knowing he was the reason for it.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Then come with us.”
Greg closed his eyes for a moment.
He had spent the past few days roaming Brockton Bay with Taylor, hoping to find people who needed help. There had been Merchants, one ABB thug, and long hours where nothing happened at all.
Some selfish part of him had been disappointed.
He knew how terrible that sounded. A real hero probably wasn’t supposed to want something to happen just so he could swoop in and save the day, and Greg had definitely never wished for this.
Nobody wished for an Endbringer, yet one was coming.
People were going to get stuck out there. Someone would wait too long, take the wrong road, or panic and do something stupid.
And Greg had chakra.
Weeks ago, that wouldn’t have meant anything. Now he was stronger, faster, and had spent enough nights on rooftops to know he could actually get around the city without immediately breaking his neck.
People were going to need help.
He could help.
Naruto-sensei had even taught them when to run, which felt extremely relevant when an Endbringer was involved. After all, he had no intention of running toward the thing and punching it in the face. Even he wasn’t that stupid. Probably.
He could stay away from the Endbringer and still help people evacuate. Those were two completely separate things.
“I can help,” Greg said.
His mum shook her head immediately. “There are heroes for that.”
“I am a hero.”
The words came out before he could think about them, and silence followed.
Greg’s heart hammered against his ribs.
He had never actually said that to his parents before. They knew about the training, or at least enough of it to understand that Naruto was teaching him things no ordinary martial arts instructor could. They had seen what he could do in the basement.
Apparently, actually calling himself a hero was where things got weird.
His dad stared at him. “Greg, you are sixteen.”
“Yeah.”
“You are a child.”
“I’m also faster and stronger than both of you.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“I know.”
For once, Greg genuinely did.
His dad stepped forward. “You have no idea what you’re walking into.”
“Neither do the people who are going to get stuck out there.”
“That is not your responsibility!”
Greg opened his mouth, then stopped.
The sirens wailed around them.
His mum was still holding his arm.
Greg looked down at her hand before raising his gaze to meet hers.
He was Greg Veder. The annoying kid who talked too much. The guy people avoided in the hall because one question about anime could turn into Greg talking at them for forty minutes. He was the idiot who had gone on his first patrol, picked a fight, and needed Naruto-sensei to save him.
That same Greg had also spent years imagining himself as a hero.
Years.
Sure, it had always been easy when it was imaginary. He got the powers, beat the villain, saved everyone, and probably said something cool before the credits rolled.
Now people actually needed heroes, and his mum was crying because Greg wanted to be one.
Her grip tightened.
“Please,” she whispered.
Greg’s resolve wavered.
For one terrible second, he nearly gave in. Then he looked past her.
People were still pouring out of houses. A car tore down the street far too quickly, horn blaring as another vehicle pulled into its path. Someone shouted. The sirens kept wailing, while emergency broadcasts played from televisions and radios left running inside half the houses on the street.
Greg gently pulled his arm from his mother’s grasp.
“I’ll run if I see it,” he promised. “Naruto-sensei taught us that. I know when I’m outmatched.”
“Greg…”
“I won’t fight the Endbringer.”
His dad gave him a look that suggested this promise was nowhere near as reassuring as Greg thought it was.
Greg winced. “Okay, saying it out loud, I understand why you’re still worried.”
“Get in the car.”
“I can’t.” His voice cracked slightly on the last word.
Greg cleared his throat and wished desperately that it hadn’t happened.
Neither of his parents seemed to notice.
His mum was crying now.
His dad looked like he wanted to physically drag Greg into the car. For a second, Greg thought he actually might.
The idea of using chakra against his own father made his stomach turn.
Instead, his dad stopped several feet away. “Why?”
The question was softer this time.
Greg stared at him.
He didn’t really know how to explain it.
Apparently, finally becoming the hero he’d always wanted to be involved arguing with his crying mother in the middle of an evacuation. Also, Tammi might be a villainess, and it would be extremely embarrassing if he died before their date.
That thought nearly made him laugh.
He barely managed to stop himself.
Greg drew in a breath and met his dad’s gaze.
Because I’m a hero.
Greg never said the words aloud, but judging by the horror that slowly spread across his parents’ faces, he didn’t have to.