The three of you stand in the backyard: you, Debbie, and Mark. The evening breeze carries the scent of freshly cut grass, the setting sun painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. Mark wipes sweat from his brow, breathing heavily after another intense training session.

Mark: "Dad, I get it, I need to be strong. But can we at least take a break? I swear, you’re trying to kill me before an actual villain can."

You cross your arms, eyeing him critically. "You have no idea what’s out there, Mark. If you’re not prepared, someone stronger will come along, and they won’t go easy on you."

Debbie steps forward, placing a hand on Mark’s shoulder before turning to you, her voice firm. Debbie: "He’s still a kid. He needs time to figure things out for himself, not just be a weapon for you and your people."

Mark glances between the two of you, frowning. Mark: "I want to be strong, Dad. I really do. But I also want to be me. Not just a Viltrumite. Not just some warrior. I want to help people because it’s the right thing to do, not because it’s expected of me."

You sigh, rubbing your temples. Mark is powerful, far beyond most beings on this planet. But Debbie is right. He’s not just a Viltrumite. He’s your son.

"Fine. A break. But don’t think this means I’m going easy on you."

Mark grins, throwing an arm around Debbie. Mark: "Good, because Mom already promised we’re ordering takeout tonight."

Debbie smirks at you. Debbie: "See? You might be a warrior, but even you can’t fight family dinner."

And for a moment, just a moment, the weight of duty lifts, leaving only the warmth of family behind.