Alan stared at his father's back for another long second, waiting for him to turn around. Ben never did. Something ugly twisted deep inside Alan's chest.
"Fine," he snapped. His voice cracked halfway through despite his effort to keep it steady. "I won't dig into it anymore. Happy now?"
Ben stayed silent. Alan turned sharply toward the door. His boots struck harder against the wooden floor as frustration bled into every step. His fingers trembled slightly when he reached for the handle, and that only made him angrier.
Then he stopped. His hand remained wrapped around the cold metal while his breathing deepened. The anger in his chest refused to settle. It kept building instead.
"I really thought you were the greatest hero alive," Alan muttered without looking back. "Guess I was wrong."
He laughed once under his breath, the sound bitter and short. What a fucking disappointment, he thought. I wanted to be like you growing up. Turns out you're just another guy too scared to do the right thing. The words tasted sour even inside his own head. For a moment, a younger version of himself flashed in his mind — the kid who used to watch his father like he was the strongest man in the world.
His grip tightened around the handle until the tendons along his wrist stood out. Alan yanked the door open and slammed it shut behind him hard enough to shake the frame. The impact echoed down the hallway while several picture frames along the wall shifted slightly out of place.
Inside the study, silence settled again. Ben remained standing near the desk for several seconds without moving. Then both hands planted heavily against the oak surface. His head lowered between his shoulders while his breathing turned rough and uneven.
"This damn kid…" he muttered quietly. One hand dragged across his face before two fingers pressed hard against his closed eyes. The skin along his forehead creased tightly beneath the pressure. "Does he really think I'm enjoying whatever these vile creatures are doing?"
He straightened halfway before leaning forward again almost immediately, as if the exhaustion in his body refused to let him stay upright for long. The whiskey glass finally left the table. Ben emptied the rest in one swallow before setting it back down harder than intended. Ice cracked inside it.
"I spent years making sure they never looked in our direction…" he said quietly to himself. "Years making sure this family stayed invisible." His stare drifted toward the shattered section of wall beside the bookshelf. "And now this stupid boy is dragging us right back toward it…"
The anger slowly drained from his posture after that, leaving behind something heavier and older. Ben lowered himself back into the leather chair. The leather creaked beneath his weight. One elbow rested against the armrest while his thumb rubbed slowly against the edge of his jaw. For the first time since Alan had entered the study, Ben looked truly tired.
Outside in the hallway, Alan stood frozen several feet away from the door. His breathing slowed. Every word he had just heard hit harder than he expected. The anger in his chest lost some of its heat, replaced by something more complicated that he could not sort through properly. His shoulders stiffened while his eyes lowered toward the floor.
"So he really was protecting us…" His hand slid against the back of his neck slowly while thoughts collided inside his head. "But that still doesn't excuse this shit."
Alan leaned back lightly against the wall. His eyes unfocused as he worked through everything again piece by piece. "HeroCorp would probably trace the leak back to Dad eventually if this ever got exposed…" he muttered quietly. "Those files were hidden in his private chamber." His fingers moved against his chin. "So how the hell do you expose people like this without putting everybody at risk?"
That realization did not make him less angry. It just made everything heavier. Alan eventually pushed himself off the wall and walked toward his room, slower this time. The mansion hallway stayed quiet around him except for the distant hum of ventilation and the faint sound of rain beginning outside beyond the massive windows.
The bedroom door shut behind him, this time quieter. Alan threw himself backward onto the bed hard enough to make the mattress springs groan underneath him. One arm covered his eyes immediately while his other hand stayed curled tightly against his chest. His breathing still refused to settle completely.
"Now I feel like shit…" The words came out muffled beneath his forearm. He dragged his hand slowly down his face before staring blankly toward the ceiling above him. The LED lights near the far wall cast a soft glow across the dark room while city lights shimmered faintly through the glass balcony doors nearby.
"Damn it…" he muttered. "I should probably apologize to him later…" His fingers tightened unconsciously into the bedsheets beneath him. "But I'm still pissed."
He turned his head toward the wall beside the bed. "For the strongest hero alive…" he said quietly, "…Damn it, is he terrified of what happens if he moves against them?"
Alan pushed himself upright slowly before leaning forward with both elbows resting against his knees. His room stayed messy in a lived-in way. Training gloves tossed near the dresser. Engineering sketches scattered across the desk. Half-finished armor concepts glowing faintly on a monitor screen left running hours earlier.
"Why the hell haven't I awakened like everybody else…" His stare lowered toward his own hands. "What am I supposed to do? Work some garbage office job forever and pretend I'm okay with being weak?"
His thumb rubbed slowly against bruised knuckles from training earlier. "I can't sit around while people stronger than me keep deciding everything."
The frustration returned gradually. Slower this time. Colder. Alan grabbed his phone from the bed beside him and unlocked it. His thumb moved rapidly across the screen while video after video reflected across his eyes. Street fights. Combat breakdowns. Martial arts footage. Old documentaries from before the Bloom. Monks training barefoot across stone courtyards. Fighters conditioning their bodies until their knuckles split open. Precision. Discipline. Control.
Alan stopped scrolling. His attention locked onto one specific video title. "Martial arts training for powerless people in China…"
The room went quiet again. Alan sat there staring at the screen while one leg bounced faintly from restless energy. Then slowly, his posture straightened.
"Yeah…" he murmured. His elbows rested against his knees while the phone hung loosely between both hands. "Maybe I should leave for a while. I can try to learn everything I can before college starts. Every martial art that existed before powers changed the world."
His grip slowly tightened around the phone. "If power refuses to come to me naturally…" His eyes lifted. "I'll build myself into something dangerous anyway."
The frustration in his face slowly hardened into resolve. "One day," Alan said quietly, "I'm gonna help people nobody else wants to protect." His fingers curled tighter around the edge of the phone. "And nobody's gonna look down on me ever again."