Chapter Text
Mark Grayson was twelve years old when he vanquished his first foe.
The stairs.
He came thundering down the mahogany steps three at a time, his cardboard boots pattering against the wooden steps with all the grace of a tumbling cardboard box. His chestplate consisted of a colorful amalgamation of cereal boxes that bounced against his white shirt. The shoulderpads made from two large moving boxes rattled violently as the boy hauled down the open steps. Four pieces of duct tape loosely held a giant box with a viewing port over the young boy’s head. The crimson ‘cape’ that fluttered behind him consisted of an old bathroom towel that was nearing the end of its life.
It made the boy feel powerful. It made him feel unstoppable, even.
“Mom, Dad, do not fear!” Mark shouted as he leaped from the stairs and landed near the front door with both fists planted at his hips. “The Cardboard Champion is here!”
In the kitchen, Debbie Grayson turned from the stove with a spatula in one hand and a smile she was failing to hide behind the other.
“Oh, is that why you brought all those boxes to your room,” she remarked with a slight laugh. “Well, it is definitely a unique look.”
The cardboard clad boy ran straight to the kitchen and struck another pose, his helmet shifting in a way that covered his eyes.
“It’s not a look, Mom! It’s my new costume!” he adjusted his helmet and threw his cape behind him dramatically.
“Ah, that’s what they call it nowadays,” she laughed. “My mistake.”
Nolan Grayson, meanwhile, sat at the dining table with a cup of coffee in one hand and a newspaper in the other. He lowered the paper slightly and looked at Mark’s ‘hero costume’. His eyes moved from the overly large helmet to the colorful chestplate.
For a moment, Nolan didn’t say anything. After a few painfully long seconds, he leaned back in his chair and spoke in a measured voice. “It’s very… practical, kiddo.”
Mark’s eyes brightened as he struck another pose. “I know, right?! It’s because cardboard is everywhere!” he pointed at his chest. “You see, I took some old cereal boxes and glued them together to make my chest armor!” he pointed his hand to his helmet. “Oh, oh, I also used that box that the computer came in to make my helmet!” he finally pointed at his boots. “And I made my superboots out of tissue boxes!” Mark took an excited breath. “If I get my Quirk today, it could be something actually powerful enough to make the Cardboard Champion the real deal!”
Nolan’s fingers tighten slightly against his mug. “Your Quirk?” he repeated with a neutral expression.
The boy nodded his head rapidly. “Yeah! I mean, don’t get me wrong. Twelve is still a late year to get your Quirk, but I could still be a late bloomer! I heard something online that Star and Stripe got her Quirk when she was also twelve… or eleven! Maybe it will show up when I am doing something heroic or under pressure or something!”
“Or when you are wearing a cereal box,” Debbie said with a contained laugh as she placed a plate with an omelette on the counter. “Bacon, egg, and cheese, your favorite, or, I’m sorry, ‘Cardboard Champion’s favorite.”
Mark grabbed one of the barstools and pushed it up to the counter. “Exactly, right?!” he peeled the tape off of his neck and gently placed the helmet on the counter.
Debbie laughed again before she leaned over and kissed the top of his forehead. “Well, happy birthday, Cardboard Champion.”
Mark’s eyes gave way to excitement.
Nolan, on the other hand, watched the two in silence. There were many things he learned to tolerate on Earth. Strange birthday rituals, inadequate public education programs, and the endless deluge of unique quirks that seemingly had the power to determine one’s place in society.
But Mark was a different case. He was bright, yet ordinary. He had yearned for the biological gift that had graced so many. He wanted a Quirk. Not because he understood the implications of not having one for he was too young to understand. He just wanted to be a superhero, like his father.
Mark ate the omelette as if it were the last meal on the planet. Between bites, he continued to explain the concept of the ‘Cardboard Champion’. “If I can control cardboard,” he began with a mouthful. “I could make armor! Or weapons! Or maybe even wings!”
Debbie cast a sidelong glance at Mark. “Uh huh, and what if it rains? What if there is a flaming building?”
Mark leaned back and swallowed his food. “Uh… oh! Waterproof and fireproof cardboard!” he answered proudly. “Problem solved!”
“Oh, and get this! Villains would underestimate me all the time, right?! They would be like ‘oh, it's just cardboard’ and BOOM!!! They get hit by a cardboard mallet!”
Nolan took a slow drink of coffee. “Mark,” he started carefully. “You do know that there are better things to be than underestimated, right?”
Mark looked at his dad in confusion. “Huh? Like what?”
His father placed his cup down and tried to find the right word. “Prepared,” he said after a second of deliberation.
In response, Mark lifted a small cardboard flap on his chestplate and a bag of chips fell onto the floor. That response landed more heavily than Nolan anticipated, in truth.
Yet, Mark only nodded with absolute seriousness. “I’m already way ahead of you. I designed the Cardboard Suit Mk.1 to have storage compartments! I can put food, my tools, or even more cardboard into the suit’s secret storage compartments!”
Debbie lost the fight and let out a loud laugh.
Even Nolan, despite his mixed expression, felt the faintest of smiles form.
If anything, this should have been nothing more than a boy in a homemade costume. His mother would laugh. His father would pretend to be proud or amused. It should have been a harmless little birthday that would have its place to be reminisced every few years at the dinner table.
Nolan did not feel this way deep down.
Once Mark finished his breakfast, he quickly kicked himself off the barstool and tried to rub out some grease stains on his chestplate. “Ugh, I’m gonna take this thing off before it gets even dirtier,” he said with a disgruntled voice as he grabbed his helmet and ran towards the stairs, but stopped the moment he was about to go up the steps.
Mark turned towards his father. “Hey Dad,” Mark said with a hesitant voice.
Nolan looked back towards his son. “Yes?”
“Do you think being prepared matters more than being powerful?”
Nolan felt an answer rise in his head, but it was not the answer he gave. “Yes,” he said. “Power without preparation is merely wasted potential… and happy birthday, Mark.”
Mark smiled in satisfaction. “Then I’ll be both! And thanks, Dad,” he ran up the stairs, cardboard clacking and shuffling with each step.
Debbie waited for Mark to close his door before she spoke. “You were quiet.”
“I was thinking.”
“That usually happens when you think,” she said as she put the dirty dishes in the sink.
Nolan folded his newspaper and looked at the stairs. “Do you ever think he’ll get them?”
“You mean his Quirk?”
Nolan nodded silently.
She leaned on the counter with her arms crossed. “Well, you shouldn’t ask me Mr. Superhero Space Alien,” Debbie walked over to Nolan before wrapping her arms over his broad shoulders. “Even if he doesn’t have a quirk, we will still love him all the same. I mean, you still married me even though I’m quirkless, so that has to count for something.”
She pulled away at him and began to walk to the front door. “I left my phone in the car,” Debbie said with a small giggle. “I’ll be right back.”
The moment her back was turned, Nolan clenched his fist and his expression shifted into silent anger. But just as quickly as those thoughts came, they left. In its place, Nolan’s eyes flickered with a feeling he couldn’t describe.
Nolan let out a breath as he put his mug in the sink.
‘World’s Best Super Dad’
Mark tossed his helmet onto the bed with a loud groan.
“‘Cardboard Champion’, pfft, very intimidating,” he said to himself as he peeled off his chestpiece. He kicked off his tissue box shoes and ripped off his shoulderpads.
Beneath it all was just Mark Grayson. No superstrength, no flight, and no Quirk.
Mark looked down where his shoulder pauldron once sat and noticed a piece of duct tape stuck to his sleeve. His eyes narrowed in annoyance as he pulled at it, but the tape offered a stiff resistance.
“Come on,” the boy muttered in annoyance as he began to yank at the tape.
His sleeve tore with an audible rip as the sudden lack of resistance made Mark stumble backwards into his dresser. His elbow collided with the wooden dresser, causing the piece of furniture to shatter at the corner. The wood cracked like a gunshot as several drawers burst open from the impact.
The sudden pain didn’t even register in the boy’s mind as he stared at the ruined dresser. Mark held his breath for a solid twenty seconds before he looked at his elbow and back at the wooden dresser.
“M-Mom?” his voice came out in a small whisper.
Downstairs, Nolan and Debbie heard the crash and were already running up the stairs.
“Mark?!” the mother called out in worry as she ran ahead of her husband.
Nolan, however, gradually slowed down as he followed behind Debbie. Deep down, he knew what happened. He did not know the hows or the whys, but he did know that today was the day where Mark’s life would change.
All he could do was smile.
Mark’s bedroom door almost swung off its hinges as Debbie practically ran inside. Once she was in, however, she put her hand up to her mouth at the sight of the partially destroyed dresser. Once she looked back at Mark, she was him standing in the middle of the room, pale and shaking. Several splinters of cracked wood lined his socks.
“I-I-I didn’t… I didn’t mean to,” Mark said with a shaky voice as his head slowly turned towards his parents walking into the room. “I s-swear, I just touched it!”
Debbie ran up to Mark and gave him a comforting hug. “I-it's okay! Remember, deep breaths!”
Nolan stood at the doorway, his eyes scanning the room with perfect calm. He saw the corner of that shattered dresser and his eyes shifted back towards Mark. He saw Mark’s slightly bruised elbow, but apart from that, he wasn’t injured in any meaningful way.
He felt pride. He felt its sharp tendrils slithering throughout his chest to the point where it surprised him. “There you are,” he thought to himself. This was his son. Truly his son.
But another feeling made its way throughout Nolan’s mind. The heavy burden of worry. Not for Mark’s safety. Mark would survive a piece of wooden furniture.
It was something deeper.
For sixteen years, Nolan tried his best to integrate himself on this planet. He is a husband, father, writer, and a heroic paragon to the public. He had worn those roles so well that even he felt that they were a natural part of life. Mark’s powers had delayed the end objective. Sure, it may have been a complication, but it was still a delay.
Perhaps he could finally tell Mark selective truths, just as he did with some. Maybe if the boy remained ‘ordinary’, Nolan could hold back on his mission. Maybe Earth could remain soft around its edges for a few years longer.
Mark stopped hugging his mother and stared at Nolan with wide eyes. “D-Dad?”
Nolan smiled genuinely and the pride was real enough for Debbie to see.
The hero looked down at the box on the bed for just a moment. He then pushed it aside as he sat next to Mark.
“Mark, I think it’s time we talked.”
Two years later, Principal Nedzu came to America for a ‘personal trip’. America’s hero education system was decentralized, overly competitive, and too reliant on private backers for Nedzu’s taste. Despite this, America produced many interesting heroes-in-training.
And those heroes always found a way to find him.
Chicago was cold today. Colder than what Nedzu was accustomed to. The principal wore a small, black tailored coat with a pair of cotton gloves. He walked with confidence and carried himself with such perfect composure that several pedestrians stared, but would quickly avert their gaze.
Today’s destination was a facility associated with Reginald Val Johnson Hero Academy to observe a local hero school evaluation. The training facility occupied a converted storage facility at the edge of the city. Inside, the building had several reinforced concrete walls, intricate obstacle courses, and a sizable outdoor training yard. The students mostly consisted of local hopefuls, teenagers whose quirks ranged from beyond promising to barely useful for hero work.
Nedzu watched from an isolated observation area near the edge of the facility. At first, nothing surprised the erudite principal. A girl with a quirk that let her fire concentrated beams of red light from her palms accidentally hit the dummy she was supposed to save. A boy with elastic arms overestimated his capabilities and fell face first before he saved the target. Another boy with porcupine quills lining his back rammed the dummy with no regard for its safety.
Frankly, these students were performing below Nedzu’s expectations.
“Contestant number 12, Markus Grayson, please step up to the starting point,” the automated voice chimed in from the overhead speakers.
Mark Grayson stepped forward. He was fourteen and taller than a few years before. Unlike most other contestants, he was confident, but it was measured. He wore a long sleeve red shirt with blue trackpants. His boots were as red as his shirt and he wore a pair of wraparound goggles. The gear wasn't even considered a costume, but that caught the Principal’s sharp eye.
“Ah,” Nedzu muttered as he leaned in slightly.
Nedzu looked back towards the training course. The trial was simple; reach the disaster zone and retrieve the two humanoid rescue dummies whilst avoiding some basic automated hazards within the five minute timeframe. It wasn’t as intrinsic as U.A. 's Entrance Exam, but it was still serviceable in its own right.
Mark listened to the instructions with visible seriousness and professionalism, something that interested Nedzu further. Most students with powerful quirks often looked impatient or downright rude when receiving instruction. Other students with less hero-inclined quirks often looked overly nervous or shaky during instruction. From what Nedzu can see, Mark looks subdued yet capable.
Mark stood near the starting point and prepared himself. Once the buzzer sounded, the boy took off into the air at a speed that was almost hard to process for the average person. Three automated turrets fired paint projectiles at him. The flying hero tried to dodge, but he overcorrected straight into a reinforced pillar, which caused it to crack.
Once Mark adjusted his course, he turned back to the main observation box. “Sorry!”
Nedzu’s ears twitched at the word as he continued to watch with renewed interest.
Mark reached the first rescue dummy and picked it up like it weighed nothing. He flew towards the second one and hesitated as the platform’s controlled explosives went off, but he quickly regained his bearings and grabbed the second dummy, then flew away from the scene.
Flight was not unusual, but Mark’s flight was much different than what the Principal was accustomed to. It didn’t have the delay of telekinesis. It didn’t use any form of air current. It didn’t utilize anti-gravity capabilities. Nedzu was puzzled by his means of propulsion, or rather, the lack thereof.
As Mark was trying to gain altitude, he quickly saw the platform tilt towards one of the late-coming students that entered through one of the auxiliary exit doors. The girl froze in place as the skeletal structure began to collapse.
Mark dropped the two dummies and shot sideways. He pushed the girl into the clear and took the platform’s impact across his back. The scaffolding and piping bent as they made impact with him, causing the young heroes-in-training to hit the ground hard.
The audience nearly went ballistic at the sight as some of the instructors jumped out of the observation box and made their way towards the crushed boy, but the boy pushed aside the rubble that held him down and stood up slowly.
Nedzu smiled at the display. It appears that he found the perfect student to attend U.A. Not only was Mark seconds away from completing the trial with one of the highest test scores in Illinois, but he threw that score away to save a passerby from being injured. That was no accident, no, that was instinct.
Nedzu stood up and adjusted his overcoat. He looked over at Mark, who was now surrounded by staff. But it was his parents that caught Nedzu’s attention. “Ah, so he does have a son,” the short principal monologued as he made his way to the exit that led to the training area.
Once the cluster of instructors, medical professionals, and law enforcement cleared, Nedzu stepped forward to the family.
“Good afternoon,” Nedzu began with a polite voice as he approached.
Nolan turned to Nedzu. “Oh, Nedzu,” he said as he looked down at the principal. “Been a few years, hasn’t it?”
“Indeed,” the well dressed principal said with a polite nod.
Debbie looked between the two before settling on Nolan. “You know him?”
“We worked together a few years back,” Nolan admitted as he looked at Mark.
“I’m sorry, but are you one of Cecil’s friends?” Debbie said as she stepped in front of Mark.
Nedzu raised both of his paws in a placating manner. “By no means,” he said with that same polite voice. “I am the Principal of U.A. High School in Japan. I am not associated with the Global Hero Agency or any other government association.”
Debbie’s eyebrows rose. Nolan’s expression, on the other hand, did not move.
Mark glanced over to the short principal, but he didn’t really concern himself with conversation. To him, it was all a bunch of grown up mumbo jumbo.
“Your son is remarkable,” Nedzu began. “Such selfless resolve is rare, especially for boys his age.”
Debbie sighed quietly. “That’s one word for it.”
“It is a fitting one,” Nedzu replied. “He is powerful, that is guaranteed. But his instincts are more interesting than his raw strength.”
Nolan’s eyes narrowed slightly. “How so?”
“Simple,” Nedzu responded earnestly. “He prioritized a person over his score. That proves that Markus Grayson prioritizes human life over his own reputation. Such actions are expected out of a hero.”
Debbie’s expression softened.
Nedzu continued, this time looking at Nolan. “U.A. is preparing to accept an unusually competent first-year class next year. We already have four students that are currently on the Recommendation List, which is more than the three past years combined,” Nedzu placed a paw over his chest. “I wish for your son to be the fifth.”
Mark’s eyes went wide as he tuned in to the conversation.
Nolan said nothing as his expression remained the same.
Debbie did speak up. “Hang on, are you offering Mark a place in this ‘U.A.’?
“I am offering him the opportunity to be evaluated for one,” Nedzu continued as he looked at Mark. “More specifically, I would like U.A. to host Markus Grayson as a recommended international student.”
Mark took a step closer to the adults. “Wait,” he interrupted. “This is in Japan, right?”
Debbie turned to Mark and gave him a stare. “Mark.”
Nedzu simply smiled as he gave a single nod. “Indeed, located in Musutafu in the Shizuoka Prefecture.”
Mark’s thoughts ran wild as he put a hand behind his neck. “There is one problem,” Mark said sheepishly.
Nedzu smiled and politely interrupted. “Language is not a concern,” he said. “U.A. will cover all language lessons in advance and during enrollment,” the principal’s eyes shifted to Nolan and Debbie. “As for housing costs and career opportunities, we will be offering such prospects to one or both guardians, should his family choose such an arrangement.”
Debbie’s eyebrows shot up. “All expenses paid with a career?”
“For a student of this potential, yes.”
Nolan narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “That seems like a very generous offer.”
“It is a strategic one,” Nedzu responded with a knowing look.
The answer pleased Nolan more than any empty sentimental statement would have, which is something Mark also noticed.
Mark looked between his parents and back at Nedzu. “But I still don’t get it. Why me?”
Nedzu’s smile widened. “You see, there are many institutions that can teach you to hit harder, Mr. Grayson. However, I believe an institution that teaches temperance mixed with humility will be the best fit for a student of your capabilities. I believe U.A. may be a good school for you.”
Mark looked at his father’s face. He had his hand on his chin as he was weighing his options.
“What do you think?” Nolan asked Mark.
The fourteen year old bit his lip and thought for a moment. “Mom?”
Debbie looked at Nolan for a moment before she looked at Mark. “I think it would be great, but it's your choice, Mark.”
“I think,” the boy said slowly as the thoughts mulled over in his head. “I think I want to try.”
Nedzu nodded, almost as if he expected no other outcome. “Most splendid! Mr. Grayson, have you updated your contact info?” he said to Nolan.
Nolan nodded his head. “In fact, I did a few years back. Do you need me to provide an email or phone number?” he placed a hand on Mark’s shoulder.
“That would be the practical option,” Nedzu said with a nod. “After all, you have almost a year to learn your hiragana, katakana, kanji, romanji, and basic conversational skills. The sooner you get started, the better.”
Mark’s mouth nearly dropped. “Uh, what… are those again?”
Nolan looked at Nedzu with a serious expression. “We are going to need all the language resources you have.”
Nedzu put his hands behind his back. “Oh, don’t worry about that.”
“We only have the best at our disposal.”
William Clockwell sat cross-legged on the floor as he held up one of Mark’s Japanese textbooks. “Mark,” the brown-haired boy said with a serious voice. “Okay, so, be honest with me,” he flipped the book open and started to rapidly turn the pages. “Can you actually read any of this?”
Mark paused as he took down the last poster in his room. “Uh, some of it,” he said vaguely.
“Some as in you can have a conversation with your neighbors some, or some as in you can maybe read the labels on food some?” William said with narrowed eyes. “No, no, I already know what you are going to say,” William racked his brain for a moment before he remembered what he read twenty minutes earlier. “You are going to be like, “Uhm, sumimasen… Burgermart… wa doku desu ka?” he said in a mocking voice.
Mark reached over to his bed, picked up a blue shirt, and threw it straight into William’s face.
William grabbed at the shirt on his face and threw it back at Mark. “Let me guess, I hit the nail on the head?”
“Well, I’ve been practicing. I mean, my Dad literally makes us watch every movie and show in Japanese without subtitles,” Mark answered with a huff.
Mark folded a poster carefully before putting it in a protective tube. “Besides, I scored pretty good on my practice tests. I should at least hold a basic conversation once I’m over there.”
William looked around the room, and his joking expression softened. Mark's room had always been cluttered with posters and plenty of comic memorabilia, but now it was almost empty. It's like Mark had already left.
“So,” Willaim said. “U.A. High? Talk about a once in a lifetime opportunity. Say, you think they'll bring me in? I'm sure my Quirk is totally hero material,” William stood up and stretched his legs. “I can jump pretty high,” he remarked in a joking manner.
“Sure,” Mark responded sarcastically as he tapped up a box labeled as ‘COMICS’. “Just ask Mr. Nedzu nicely and he might give you a chance.”
William laughed. “Well, thanks for the masterclass advice. Maybe I'll bring him a cake… or whatever he eats.”
“All you need is good tea and maybe you got a shot,” Mark laughed, but his smile didn't reach his eyes.
William noticed right away. “Hey, seriously though, are you really ready for this or are you just telling yourself that you are ready?”
Mark looked at the boxes lined up all over his room with wistful eyes. “I don't know,” he admitted. “It's just so… different. I mean, I already felt weird during middle school. You know that. People always looked at me like I had three heads,” the black-haired boy’s eyes shifted towards the window. “If people here think I am weird here, imagine what people in Japan would think.”
William sat on top of Mark's bed and looked in his friend's direction. “First of all, people didn't think you were weird because you were quirkless,” a beat passed. “Except for Todd. He was just an asshole.” William gestured towards Mark. “But look at you now! You got your quirk a few years ago and it’s badass! Where is Todd or any of his cronies now?”
Mark's face dulled as turned towards William. “Uh huh, and how is this supposed to make me feel better?”
“Let me finish,” William said as he raised a finger. “Just because you can be awkward, mostly wear primary colors, and speak questionable Japanese does not make you weird. If anything, people like that,” William said with a reassuring voice. “Also, I think girls like that whole ‘nervous guy who is actually a really strong and sensitive hunk’ aesthetic.”
Mark looked at William with a dull expression. “What did you just describe me as?”
William shrugged. “Hey, I'm just trying to cheer you up. You know damn well that I don't sugarcoat things.”
Mark scoffed lightly, but smiled. “Yeah, true,” he narrowed his eyes at William. “Just… don't use those kinds of words to describe me. It's weird.”
The brown-haired boy sighed. “Okay, geez, you were the one who made it weird, just as an fyi.”
A moment of silence passed before Willaim spoke again. “For real though, dude, why should you care about what other people think? If people thought you were weird, they wouldn't hang out with you. And let's be real, you look like a normal dude who just wants to be a hero,” he explained in a serious voice.
“Only you hang out with me.”
“I am your best friend,” Willaim responded with a proud smile.
“You are my only friend.”
“And by that metric, I am also your best friend. Checkmate.”
Mark burst out laughing. It wasn't even that funny to him, but he felt like he wouldn't have these kinds of moments ever again.
By the evening, Mark's room was fully cleaned out. The posters were long gone, the shelves empty, and even Mark's old cardboard costume was carefully packed away.
“Well, this is it,” Mark said as dusted his hands off. “My Dad is already flying stuff off to the new property in Musutafu as we speak.”
William tilted his head in confusion. “Uh, doesn’t Japan have really strict laws about public usage of quirks?”
“Yeah, they do,” Mark nodded. “But so long my dad is in costume, they won’t question him.”
“I feel like they will.”
Silence overtook the two before William walked into the center of the room. “Sorry to change the subject,” William said as he looked around. “But who was your homeroom teacher again? I heard a lot of U.A. 's teachers are big shot pros.”
Mark dug into the recesses into his mind for a moment. “Uh, his name was… Shot-, no that was changed…” Mark continued to think before he snapped his fingers. “I think his last name was Kan.”
William’s eyes lit up. “You mean Sekijiro Kan?!” the boy’s face lit up.
Mark nodded. “Yeah, something like that.”
“Dude, that is the Blood Hero: Vlad King! That’s awesome!” Mark’s friend beamed.
It finally clicked inside Mark’s head. “Oh, wait, are you serious?”
“Are you serious?! How did you just figure out that your teacher is a big-shot pro?!”
Mark shrugged sheepishly. “Cut me some slack, I originally had THE Eraser Head as my homeroom teacher, but it changed at the last minute because my spot got taken or something.”
This time, it was Willaim’s turn to think. “Eraser Head, Eraser Head… oh wait, I know who you are talking about,” the boy crossed his arms at Mark. “Why him? He doesn’t really do public appearances, at least from what I know.”
“That's why I think he is cool,” Mark said. “He is a badass that does underground hero work because it’s right, not because it is flashy.”
William shrugged. “You always were into the weirdest heroes. At least you get a badass professor either way,” William grabbed his backpack at the corner of the empty room. “Well, since tomorrow is your official moving day,” he dug into his backpack and pulled out a thin gift-wrapped present. “I got you something to remember me by.”
Mark grabbed the present with a tentative grip. “Woah, thanks man… do you want me to open it now?”
“Today, tomorrow, whenever… now preferably.”
Mark didn’t waste a second as he tore open the superhero themed gift wrap. Once he tore the wrapping off, Mark’s eyes widened considerably. “No way… you are seriously going to give me a signed copy of Seance Dog Edition #2?! Where did you even get this?!”
William smiled proudly as he leaned back. “Just something to remember me by once you leave,” the brown-haired boy said proudly. “And once you become a bigshot international hero, remember where you came from. Also be sure to call.” he added the last part quickly.
“How could I forget?” Mark pulled William into a hug.
Once the two break away, William clears his throat. “Go be awesome in Japan, man.”
“I’ll try.”