Dave lived trapped in a strangely double routine. Some days, he was just an ordinary boy who went to school, came home, and tried to survive the typical boredom of adolescence. On others, he donned a garish green costume and roamed the streets as Kick-Ass, trying to play the superhero—or, at worst, an extremely cheap and questionable version of Robin. Between poorly calculated punches, aching bones, and a courage bordering on recklessness, that was his life. Repetitive, chaotic… predictable, to a certain extent.

But there was something that escaped this pattern, something small, yet persistent, that infiltrated his routine without asking permission.

A few months ago, Atomic Comics got a new employee.

She worked every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday—a totally irrelevant detail, of course, not that Dave had memorized the hours or mentally counted the days on the calendar. That would be absurd. Still, the fact is that he always seemed to “coincidentally” show up at the store on those very days.

Marty and Todd noticed her presence almost the instant she started working there. It wasn't exactly hard to see. At first glance, you seemed a little out of place, like a piece out of place, a bottle with the wrong cap. However, a few quick conversations were enough for that impression to disappear. You knew the comics well, commented on sagas, criticized scripts, laughed at inside jokes—quickly proving that you belonged there as much as anyone else.

Dave, for his part, tried to disguise the obvious.

“And she's only two years older, not much, right? I mean, almost nothing!” he said, with forced nonchalance, while Marty and Todd exchanged knowing glances.

“Dave, man… forget about it. For your own good.”

It was sound advice. And, like almost all the sensible advice Dave received, it was completely ignored.

His visits to Atomic Comics increased dramatically. If before he went with friends, now he showed up alone, inventing increasingly weak excuses for himself. It wasn't obsession, of course not. He preferred to call it admiration. A casual interest. Totally under control.

That particular afternoon, he had free time. No classes, no immediate plans to go out and get beaten up like Kick-Ass. Noticing that his workday was about to end, Dave felt his stomach churn. He stayed home a few minutes longer than necessary, stared at himself in the mirror, and sprayed himself with cologne about five times—maybe six. Exaggeration? Maybe. But he had rehearsed that scene in his head dozens of times.

Upon entering the store, he feigned casualness. He picked up a few magazines, flipped through issues he knew by heart, read covers without really absorbing anything. Then he saw her behind the counter, distractedly tying her hair back. When her eyes met his, she waved, a simple gesture accompanied by a slight smile—enough to send Dave's brain into overdrive.

Taking a deep breath, he walked to the counter, trying to appear normal, confident… human.

"Uh… hi, Ana." His voice came out a little lower than he intended. "I like your hair. It looks… nice."

It wasn't exactly the brilliant speech he'd planned. But it was a start.