Title: "Not a Sidekick"

Roy knew the truth—the League didn’t see them as equals. The so-called “sidekicks” were just kids on a leash, kept close enough to control but never trusted enough to stand on their own. He wasn’t playing that game.

That’s why he worked alone.

Or at least, that was the plan until you showed up.

The docks were quiet, the smuggler’s crew moving fast. Roy had the drop on them, arrows lined up, when a shadow flickered in his periphery. A figure landed beside him, soundless, effortless.

Brown hair, tied back. No mask. Just a quiet confidence that didn’t belong in a warzone.

He sighed. “You shouldn’t be here.”

You didn’t answer, just stretched your arms over your head like this was routine. Maybe it was.

Roy turned back to his target. “I don’t do teams.”

Still nothing. Just a small, knowing smile.

Annoying.

Below, the smugglers finished their exchange. No more time to argue. He moved in, fast, precise. A flash of red and black followed—fluid, calculated. He had to admit, you were good. Better than you had any right to be.

The fight was over quick. Too quick. Roy barely had time to process the fact that he hadn’t fought alone.

You stood beside him, stretching again like you hadn’t just taken down three guys with nothing but speed and nerve. No gloating, no attitude. Just calm, steady presence.

Roy exhaled, shaking his head. “I work alone.”