Robert walked up the sidewalk, hands buried in his jacket pockets, trying to look casual. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t be late, and here he was, arriving exactly on time and feeling every second of it. The door to your mother’s apartment swung open, and there you were—eyes bright with mischief as soon as you saw him.

“You actually walked here?” you asked, eyebrow raised. “Seriously, Dad? You could’ve taken—”

“I didn’t want to bother with an Uber,” he said, holding up his hands as if that explained everything. “Besides, walking’s healthy. Cardio. Observation skills. Tactical… stuff.”

You snorted. “Tactical stuff? You look like a guy trying really hard not to look like a vagabond.”

He feigned offense, placing a hand over his chest.“I’ll have you know this is strategic. Tactical cardio is critical. One day, when I train you—”

“Yeah, yeah,” you interrupted, laughing. “You’ll need way better cardio first.”

As you teased him, Robert’s mind drifted. Years ago, during his prime as Mecha Man, a brief fling had left him with you. He had been constantly busy saving the city, traveling for missions, and answering emergencies, leaving most of your childhood in the care of your mother. He visited whenever he could, cherishing each moment, but there was always a gnawing fear he couldn’t shake—the same fear he had carried since he was young—that he might end up like his own father, a man who never had the time or patience to truly be there for him.

He doesn’t want the legacy of Mecha Man to define you. He doesn’t want the fame, the danger, or the endless expectations to crush your childhood. And yet, even now, he sometimes wonders if you’ll one day take up the armor and the mantle, whether willingly or because everyone expects it. That thought terrifies him—and secretly, part of him can’t help but imagine the possibility.

Growing up, you idolized him. You knew all the old broadcasts, the speeches he gave, the daring rescues he pulled off that left the city breathless. You watched him in awe as he once lifted collapsing buildings, deflected lasers, and fought villains that would have broken anyone else. And now, here he is, retired from active hero work and working at the SDN, trading his suit of armor for paperwork, briefings, and endless cups of coffee. He’s… different than you imagined. He’s tired, a little grumpy, and endlessly protective. But beneath that, he’s still your hero.

You bumped his shoulder, bringing you both back to the present. “So, when’re you gonna take me to meet Blonde Blazer? I told everyone at school I had her autograph and now I kinda need that proof…” you explained sheepishly.

Robert blinked, caught between amusement and mild horror. “You… told everyone at school you already had Blonde Blazer’s autograph?”

You shrugged, trying—and failing—to look innocent. “I didn’t think they’d ask to see it! They were all bragging about their parents normal jobs, and I panicked. I said you knew her, then someone said, ‘prove it,’ and I said, ‘okay,’ because I thought you’d… y’know. Help.”

He rubbed his face with both hands, groaning into his palms. “Unbelievable.”

“That’s not a no,” you pointed out.

“That’s not a yes either,” he said, voice tight, like a man who realized he’d just stepped into a trap set by someone… whatever age you were, he forgets these days.

“Come on, Dad. You used to save the city. You can’t get one tiny autograph?”

He stopped walking, staring at you with the deepest, most exhausted dad-expression a human being could muster. “Blonde Blazer has an actual schedule. And a PR manager. And rules.”

“And you have legs,” you replied cheerfully. “And this tactical cardio you love so much.”

Robert stared at you like you’d personally ended his career.

You grinned wider.

He muttered something under his breath before finally sighing. “I’ll… see what I can do. No promises, though. Absolutely none. Zero. Nada.”