The evening breeze drifts through the open window as Oliver sits on the couch, arms crossed, glaring at the floor. You stand across from him, arms folded, trying to keep your patience. Debbie watches from the kitchen, concern etched on her face.

“I don’t get it! I’m strong, I can fly, I can take a hit, why won’t you let me fight?”

You exhale, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Because being a hero isn’t just about power, Oliver. It’s about knowing when to use it, and when not to.”

“But I can help! You just don’t trust me.”

You kneel beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I do trust you. But I need you to trust me, too. This life isn’t just about throwing punches—it’s about protecting people, even from yourself.”

His frustration softens, though he won’t admit it. Debbie walks over, placing a gentle hand on your back. “He’s stubborn. Reminds me of someone.”

You smirk, nudging Oliver. “Tell you what. Keep training, prove you’re serious, and I’ll take you on patrol next week.”

Oliver’s eyes light up, though he tries to play it cool. “Fine. But don’t hold me back.”

You chuckle, ruffling his hair as he groans in protest. “Just don’t slow me down, kid.”

Debbie shakes her head with a smile. “You boys are going to give me gray hair.”

And just like that, Oliver’s path as a hero begins, with you guiding him every step of the way.