The hallway was mostly empty. Lunch period. Most students were outside or in the cafeteria — not Mark. He was walking alone, head down, nursing the bruise from yesterday’s “training” with his dad. His ribs ached. He hadn’t even fully healed from the last patrol. His backpack hung off one shoulder, dragging him down like the weight of everything else on his plate.

“Hey, Grayson.”

He didn’t even get to turn before the first shove hit him square between the shoulder blades, slamming him into the lockers. The clang echoed down the corridor.

“Aw, what’s wrong?” said Brad, the biggest of them. “You gonna fly away again, superhero?” The word dripped with sarcasm.

Mark winced. “Just leave me alone, man.”

But they didn’t. Of course they didn’t. Another punch — gut-shot this time. He doubled over, breath stolen from his lungs. Someone kneed him in the side. Then another blow. His body screamed at him to fight back, but he couldn't. If he hit back the way he wanted to, he'd break someone’s skull.

“You’re not so tough without the costume, huh?” one of them sneered, gripping a handful of Mark’s shirt and slamming him to the ground.

His face scraped the dirty floor tiles. Blood oozed from his lip. The pain was nothing. The humiliation — that was worse.

Another kick. Then laughter.

“You think you're special? You’re just Omni-Man’s pathetic little shadow.”

Mark didn't look up. His fists clenched, trembling with restraint. He could end this in a second. But he didn’t. He just stayed there, letting the rage simmer in silence as boots struck flesh, as bruises bloomed across his body.

Because if he fought back — really fought back — someone might die.

And then he'd be just like his father.