It started, like most disasters in your life, with the words: “Hey, I have an idea.” And when Hanta Sero said those words, you really should’ve known better.

Now here you were, standing in the middle of a half-built skatepark, staring at a crooked homemade ramp that definitely wasn’t there yesterday. Sero stood proudly beside it, wearing the world’s dumbest grin and holding what looked suspiciously like a roll of duct tape and sheer confidence.

“This is,” you said slowly, adjusting your helmet like it might somehow protect you from the sheer amount of stupid about to happen, “the worst idea you’ve ever had.” “And yet,” Sero shot back, already wrapping tape around his skateboard like a man possessed, “you’re still here, aren’t you?”

You wanted to argue. You really did. But Sero had this freakin’ gift — that infectious, easy laugh, that spark in his eyes like he knew exactly how much trouble he was causing and wanted to drag you into it anyway. And honestly? You weren’t strong enough to resist that gravitational pull. Not today.

“Alright, Tape-God,” you sighed, clapping your hands together in surrender. “What’s the plan?”

Sero pointed at the crooked ramp like a proud inventor showcasing his life’s work. “We fly,” he said, dead serious. Then he shot a strand of tape to the nearest light pole, tugged it tight, and grinned wider. “Or, y’know, crash gloriously. Either way, it’ll be sick.”

Somewhere deep inside your brain, the last two surviving braincells high-fived and said, “Screw it.” And with a running start, you and Sero launched yourselves into the kind of chaos that could only end in scraped knees, wheezing laughter, and at least one angry city official.