For a heartbeat, the antique shop stood still.
Dust motes hung in the air like tiny, glowing particles of static. Jade paused mid-stride, eyes flicking toward the sound of a voice that had spoken her name.
She frowned. "Huh? Do I know you?"
Dexter quickly straightened, slipping into his usual calm tone. "No—uh, probably not." He pushed his glasses up, hiding the flicker of surprise behind his lenses. "You just… reminded me of someone."
"Right." She raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced but not pressing. "Anyway, where's Uncle Jackie? He said he'd be back by noon, and it's—" she checked her watch "—way past that. Typical."
"Jackie" she called again, louder.
From behind a curtain of hanging beads, a weary voice replied, "Jade! What have I told you about yelling in the shop? Customers, they do not like yelling!"
Jackie stepped into view, wiping his hands with a rag. He was dressed in his familiar blue shirt and tan pants, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly disheveled what looked like an exhausting morning.
"Finally," Jade groaned. "Do you ever take a break that doesn't involve ancient dust and weird old cups?"
Jackie sighed, walking past her. "No break for archaeologist, Jade. Artifacts do not clean themselves."
He stopped short when he noticed Dexter standing by the shelf, holding the old book.
"Oh! Young man! Careful with that one." He hurried over, motioning with both hands. "Some of these antiques are… fragile. And expensive!"
Dexter blinked, lowering the book slightly. "Ah, my apologies. I didn't mean to intrude."
Jackie waved it off with a tired smile. "No harm, no harm. You browsing? Maybe looking for souvenir? We have lucky coins, jade charms, cursed idols—uh, I mean replicas! Totally safe replicas!"
Dexter's lips twitched faintly. "Actually… how much for this?"
He lifted the book slightly. Jackie glanced at it, then frowned, scanning for a price tag. There wasn't one attached — just a small yellow tag lying on the nearby shelf with faded numbers written in pen.
Jackie picked it up, shrugged, and nodded. "Ah! Thirty-five dollars."
"Perfect," Dexter replied, already reaching for his wallet.
Jackie smiled and took the cash, tucking it into the register before sliding the book into a thin paper bag. "Thank you for supporting small business," he said brightly. "You have very good eye. Many people, they come in and only buy incense. No one appreciates real history anymore."
Jade leaned an elbow on the counter, eyeing the book. "You sure you wanna buy that thing? It looks older than my math teacher."
"I'm quite sure," Dexter replied evenly. "Its historical value is… intriguing."
"Right," Jade said, smirking. "Just don't open it and unleash a mummy or something."
Dexter adjusted his glasses again, hiding his faint amusement. "I'll be careful," he said, tucking the book neatly into the bag. "Thank you, Mister."
Jackie blinked. "Oh—uh, you're welcome!"
The bell chimed softly as Dexter stepped back into the sunlight.
For a moment, silence filled the shop. Then Jackie sighed, wiping his hands on his rag. "Nice kid, polite. Refreshing change from—"
"Hey!" Jade protested.
"—from most people," Jackie amended quickly, smiling.
He turned to tidy the counter and noticed another tag lying near the shelf where the book had been. Frowning, he picked it up and read the number written in tiny characters. His eyes widened.
"Eh? This was the tag for the jade vase from the Tang Dynasty!"
Jade snorted. "Uh-oh."
Jackie groaned, running a hand down his face. "Aiyah… I just sold a priceless relic for thirty-five dollars!"
______
The sunlight outside was brighter than before, reflecting off the gold-trimmed lanterns and shop windows that lined the busy street. Dexter adjusted his glasses against the glare, the paper bag crinkling softly in his hand as he stepped away from the antique shop.
The air was thick with the smell of roasted duck and sesame oil, the chatter of vendors echoing from every direction. He glanced toward Grandma Meng's stall down the street, his mother was still in line, tapping her phone with one hand while the other clutched her purse.
"Still there," Dexter murmured, mildly amused.
He started toward the car, weaving through the moving crowd. Tourists shuffled past, children tugged at their parents' sleeves, and somewhere, a street performer was playing an erhu tune that carried faintly above the noise.
Then—
Thud!
Something or rather, someone collided with him hard enough to make him stumble back a step. The book slipped from his grip, hitting the pavement with a soft thwap.
"Oh man, sorry! I didn't see you there!"
Dexter blinked, steadying himself as the other person quickly crouched down to grab the fallen book.
The boy looked around sixteen, with tan skin and spiky black hair tipped in red. A dark red hoodie hung open over a black T-shirt, paired with loose jeans and worn sneakers. His skateboard dangled from one hand, and a faint trail of heat shimmered off him — as if the air around him had been warmed by his own energy.
He looked up, flashing an apologetic grin. "Seriously, my bad, dude. I was kinda in a hurry."
"It's… fine," Dexter replied, brushing dust off his sleeve. His tone was clipped but not rude.
The boy handed the bag back, careful with the book inside. "Here — sorry again."
Dexter accepted it with a curt nod. "No harm done."
The boy's grin lingered, sheepish but genuine. "Cool. Uh, thanks, man." He stepped back, adjusting his hoodie. "Gotta jet — family thing."
And with that, he took off, skateboard wheels rattling as he pushed himself back into the flow of the crowd.
Dexter stood there for a moment, watching him disappear around the corner. His eyes narrowed slightly behind his glasses, the faintest spark of recognition flickering across his expression.
"…He looks familiar," Dexter murmured.
For a brief second, he replayed the image — the red tips in his hair, the faint shimmer of heat that wasn't just from the sun. There was something vaguely familiar about him, something he couldn't quite place. But the thought slipped away as quickly as it came. He had more pressing things to focus on.
Dexter shrugged it off and began walking back toward the parking spot. The warm afternoon light stretched long shadows across the ground, and the aroma of sweet buns drifted faintly through the air.
When he reached the car, he slipped inside, setting the paper bag neatly on his lap. The hum of the city dimmed behind the closed door.
Minutes passed. He watched through the windshield as people crossed the street with shopping bags, vendors packed up trinkets, and a little girl tugged on her father's sleeve for another pork bun. The everyday rhythm of life moved around him, completely unaware of the strange things hidden beneath its surface.
Fifteen minutes later, the car door opened. His mother returned, smiling triumphantly and holding two steaming paper bags.
"Got them!" she said brightly, placing one bag on Dexter's lap. "And barely, too—there were only three left when I reached the counter."
Dexter blinked at the sudden puff of warmth that hit his face. The scent of freshly baked pork buns filled the car instantly.
The car engine started with a soft purr. As they pulled out of Chinatown, the bright lanterns and chatter faded behind them, replaced once again by the calm rhythm of city streets rolling by.
Dexter leaned his head slightly against the window, the book still resting quietly on his lap. He watched the reflections pass — red lights, moving clouds, and the occasional glint of the afternoon sun.
The day had been long, ordinary on the surface… yet somehow, it didn't feel ordinary at all.
He just couldn't quite explain why.
______
Later that evening
The sound of running water faded as Dexter turned off the tap, shaking the last droplets from his hands. The dishes gleamed in the rack beside the sink, perfectly aligned — a quiet kind of order that always soothed him after a long day.
He dried his hands on a towel, adjusting his glasses with a tired sigh. The house was still except for the faint hum of the refrigerator… and the murmur of the television drifting in from the living room.
Curiosity tugged at him.
Dexter stepped into the hallway, the faint blue glow of the TV flickering across the wall. His father sat slouched on the couch, newspaper forgotten beside him, eyes glued to the screen.
"—and this is footage taken earlier today near Metro City Plaza," the anchor's voice reported.
"That is... "
The broadcast cut to a shaky video, a towering statue of Metro Man erupting in a blinding explosion. The next shots were chaos: civilians screaming, smoke billowing, debris scattering as metallic figures swarmed out of the flames.
"Sources confirm the attackers were of non-human origin," the reporter continued, voice tense. "Eyewitnesses describe them as alien organisms emerging from within the statue's base. The area has since been secured by GDN forces."
Then came another clip. This time the focus shifted — four figures standing amidst the wreckage, their silhouettes backlit by fire and smoke.
Dexter froze.
Even with the low resolution, he recognized them: four individuals moving in perfect coordination, deflecting debris, shielding bystanders, blasting the alien creatures with precision.
"Reports identify them only as unregistered superhumans," the anchor went on. "Their identities remain unknown, but eyewitnesses claim they arrived before any government response teams."
The feed jumped again, this time showing a group of black-armored government robots, the Sentry units charging into the chaos. They fired energy rounds, but their aim was erratic, some blasts narrowly missing civilians.
"The government's robotic defense squads arrived late to the scene," the anchor said carefully, "and while they assisted in neutralizing the threat, footage shows that they are much useless than the heroes, raising concerns about the current Hero Law's effectiveness."
The broadcast shifted once more, now showing a collage of social media posts filling the screen. Bright, colorful tags and comments scrolled endlessly:
#BringBackTheHeroes
#AbolishTheHeroLaw
#HumanityNeedsHeroes
#SentryFail
Even a few meme edits slipped through , one showing a Sentry robot stuck in a manhole while a caption read: -Government protection at its finest.-
"In these turbulent times, as threats grow bolder and confidence in our automated defenses wanes… one question remains — is bringing back the heroes the answer we've been waiting for?"
The broadcast faded into background music.