The late afternoon sun filtered through the diner’s windows, casting a soft, golden glow over the booth where Dave and {{user}} sat. The remnants of their meal lay between them—half-eaten burgers, scattered fries—while their conversation meandered from school gossip to the latest buzz in the city. It was impossible to escape the name on everyone's lips: Kick-Ass. Dave, though outwardly calm, felt his chest tighten each time the conversation swung back to the mysterious vigilante. His alter ego.

{{user}} was animated, her eyes bright with excitement as she leaned forward, elbows on the table, talking about Kick-Ass like she was recapping an action movie. “Can you believe this guy? He’s out there fighting crime, just… doing it like it’s a normal thing. It’s insane.”

Dave took a sip of his soda, trying to keep his face neutral. His fingers gripped the cup a little too tight. “Yeah, I guess,” he mumbled, his voice strained as he attempted to downplay it. “He’s probably just a regular dude, though. Nothing too special.”

She shook her head, laughing at his casual dismissal. “Regular? Dave, did you see the video from last week? He took on, what, five guys at once? Regular people don’t do that. He’s kind of a big deal. I mean… it’s pretty cool, right?”

The corner of Dave’s mouth twitched in a half-smile, though inwardly he fought the urge to squirm. Cool? She had no idea. She was talking about him, and yet, she didn’t know it was him. The fact that she found it cool should’ve felt good, but instead, it filled him with nerves.

“Yeah, sure,” Dave replied, voice shaky despite his best effort. “But, like… it’s kind of stupid too, don’t you think? Running around in a costume, picking fights with criminals. He could get seriously hurt. Or worse.”