Bubble Boy

Two years later…

The sun rose over a world transformed.

Earth had become a planet on edge but not with fear. With focus. With discipline. Across continents, training centers pulsed with new energy, and in orbit, Earth's first interstellar cruiser neared completion. Cities gleamed with reinforced towers, patrol drones, and new hero academies funded by a united council of nations.

But in the mountains of New Argentum, where air ran clean and skies blazed blue, the sharpest edge of Earth's blade was being forged.

Here stood The Crucible, Starman's personal training facility.

It was part dojo, part battlefield, part alien-tech marvel. Holographic terrain reconfigured at will. Artificial gravity fields twisted physics for combat simulation. Ancient statues from a hundred cultures lined the entrance path, heroes of myth and memory.

And in the middle of it all, Starman stood unmoving as the morning wind stirred his black cape.

He was still the living embodiment of legends, shoulders like stone, hair still hanging infront of his eyes but defiant, and eyes that had seen gods fall.

A whistle blew sharp.

"Line up!"

Dozens of trainees hustled into formation, young adults, veterans, even former villains turned hopefuls. They wore uniforms of dark indigo and silver. Across their chests: a stylized starburst with a new insignia, Vanguard Force One.

Among them were heroes of the old world:

Bolt's younger brother Zoom, vibrating with raw speed.

Skyglass, a refugee from a fallen moon-tribe, shimmering like mist in armor.

Iris, Umbra's cousin, manipulating beams of invisible light.

Titan, Son of Gladiator and Eden, already five ten and lifting mountains.

They stood alert as Starman paced in front of them.

"I don't care what your power is," he said. "I care if you can think with it. Fight with it. Die with it, if you have to."

He stopped in front of one recruit shaking in his boots. "And live with it. That's harder."

Behind the force field fence, watching it all, was Zoe.

Now ten, her curls tucked under a Legion cap, she sat cross-legged on the observation platform, hugging her knees. Her backpack had been dumped beside her, textbooks forgotten. She wasn't supposed to be here. Troy had warned her.

But how could she stay away?

There he was, Starman, her grandfather, her hero, tossing a sparring bot fifty feet into the air with a flick of his wrist. He wasn't just strong. He was brilliant. Teaching people how to be more than strong.

Zoe chewed on the end of a pencil, eyes locked on the training mat.

"Come on… do the pivot! He just said it!" she whispered, frowning at a trainee who got knocked on his back.

One of the instructors noticed her, Psion, her eyes faintly glowing as she floated to Zoe's platform.

"You know you're not cleared to sit here."

Zoe sighed. "I know. But I won't get in the way. Promise."

Psion hovered beside her. "You want to be like him?"

Zoe looked down at the sparring ring, where Starman was now correcting Skyglass' stance with a patient hand and a calm word.

"I want to be better, if that's allowed."

Psion smiled. "It is."

By noon, drills had shifted from individual sparring to team coordination. Construct, now part-cybernetic after another off-world mission, was down from Legion Tower to monitor the AI battlefield simulations. Umbra arrived next, emerging from a teleport rift like a curtain of fog. Even Eden visited, tending to injuries with red with a green tint of bubbles on her back.

And in the command room above, Troy watched them all, healed, his presence quieter, calmer. Leader, father, son.

Starman joined him there, sweat on his brow but a fire in his step.

"They're not ready yet," Starman said.

"They've got time."

"Not much."

Troy nodded. "You always pushed me harder than I wanted."

"You needed it."

"If you say so " Troy said with untrust.

As Starman walked back to the yard, the field shimmered into a new configuration, zero gravity arena, asteroid simulation.

The fight was coming.

But Earth's gods were no longer hiding.

They were teaching.

They were preparing.

And somewhere on the sidelines, a little girl with a spark in her eyes whispered:

"One day… I'll be the one they train to lead."

The wind picked up.

And the stars, watching, did not disagree.

The Crucible began to empty as the sun dipped toward afternoon's edge.

Training modules powered down. Trainees limped or hovered off the field, sweat-soaked and battle-bruised. Instructors logged data into glowing slates. Psion disappeared in a wisp of thought. Construct phased into a call with the AI core at Legion Tower. Umbra vanished into shadows. Eden, ever gentle, helped the last of the wounded.

Eventually, even Troy left, glancing once at the field, then shaking his head as he vanished into the teleport beacon.

But Zoe remained.

Still tucked behind the fence, hidden in shadow, eyes burning with silent resolve.

She waited until the last drone drifted off, until the sound of boots no longer echoed on stone. Then she stood, slipped through a maintenance gate, and walked across the now-silent battlefield.

Her grandfather was alone at the center, hand resting on a training post, back turned.

She didn't speak. She just ran.

Before he could turn, she barreled into him with a hug so fierce it made the training post shudder. Her arms barely reached all the way around his core, but she squeezed like she was trying to hold the world still.

Starman blinked, surprised.

"…Zoe?"

"You were amazing," she whispered. "You always are."

He chuckled softly, the rare sound breaking his usual iron calm.

"You shouldn't be here."

"I know."

"You should be in school."

"I know."

"…Did you finish your homework?"

A beat.

"…Mostly."

He sighed, then wrapped one powerful arm around her shoulders.

"You're trouble."

She grinned. "I get it from you."

Ten minutes later, they stood in the middle of the now-reset training field. Holographic stars shined overhead. The wind was cooler now, crisp mountain air drifting between stone columns.

Starman stepped back, arms crossed. "Let me see."

Zoe didn't hesitate.

With a breath, she kicked off the ground, launching into the air like a comet. Her feet cracked the stone. She soared, looped twice, then landed hard, knee bent, fist down, classic superhero pose.

Then came the light, her eyes flaring red as she scorched a path into a holographic asteroid. She twisted, opened her mouth, and a misty breath of frost erupted, freezing the shards she'd just created.

She spun again, and green bubbles flew from her fingertips, wrapping around a series of target dummies and pulling them tight with vines sprouting from the orbs.

Then she stood tall, arms wide.

"Ta-da!"

Starman nodded slowly, stroking his beard.

"…Your mother would ground you for the next ten years if she saw that bubble-vine combo."

Zoe giggled. "Good thing she didn't."

He stepped forward, lowering into a stance.

"Again. But this time, don't show off. Control it."

And so the secret training began.

Over an hour, he pushed her, grueling drills, strength tests, flight courses, combat tactics. She fell. She bled. She got back up.

He never yelled. Never coddled.

He taught.

That evening, the two sat on a rooftop that overlooked New Argentum's southern cliffs. The sky had gone amber with twilight, and the stars blinked patiently above.

They sat side by side, legs swinging, burgers in their hands, fries in Zoe's lap.

She devoured hers in two bites. "You didn't go easy on me."

"You wouldn't want me to."

She beamed. "Exactly."

He handed her a soda. She popped it open with her breath, literally. One puff of frost, and the can hissed like a glacier.

They sat in silence for a while, watching the birds dip over the cliffs.

Then Zoe spoke, quietly. "Dad doesn't know we're training."

Starman didn't respond right away.

"I know I'm not supposed to lie," she added quickly. "But this isn't lying. It's… withholding heroic education."

He gave a faint smile. "Don't tell him."

"Really?"

Starman's gaze drifted out over the sky. "Not yet. He'll come around."

Zoe leaned against him, head resting on his arm.

"…Why does he hate you?"

The question sat there, raw and open.

Starman didn't answer.

He didn't need to. Not yet.

Zoe waited… then looked up at him.

His jaw was clenched. His eyes didn't waver from the horizon.

"…Okay," she said gently. "You don't have to tell me. Not yet."

He finally looked down at her, something in his eyes, guilt, pride, sorrow, love.

"You're going to be stronger than both of us someday."

Zoe grinned. "Duh."

He laughed again, low and deep.

They stayed on that rooftop until the stars took over the sky, eating fries, sipping sodas, and sitting in the space between secrets.

Grandfather and granddaughter.

Legends in training.