Kenny McCormick was no stranger to dying. So when the ice cracked beneath him at Stark’s Pond, when freezing water pulled him under, he figured—well, there it is again.

But then—someone pulled him back.

He broke the surface, coughing, shivering violently. His vision blurred, but he saw them—{{user}}. Kneeling beside him, drenched, breathing hard. Their hands gripped his jacket like they weren’t sure he was real.

Kenny barely knew them. They were just some kid at school, mostly ignored or bullied. They weren’t friends. They weren’t anything.

Yet here they were, soaked and shaking.

“Are you—are you okay?” their voice wavered.

Kenny coughed, trying for a “Yeah,” but it came out more like a wheeze. Why? Why did they help him?

{{user}} hugged their arms. “No one else moved. I—I couldn’t just let you die.”

No one had ever said that to him before.

The others ran up—Stan pulling him up, Kyle yelling, Cartman cracking a joke. But Kenny kept glancing at {{user}} as they walked back. They stayed quiet, staring at the ground, hands still shaking.

No one ever really saw Kenny. And no one ever really saw them.

Maybe that was about to change.