RobinLexx

  Noah’s second day of school began with an absence: his cssroom, usually a den of controlled chaos, was deserted. Only the echo of his own footsteps in the hallway answered him. He pulled out his phone, his crystal-scarred fingers trembling slightly.

  — Alex? — he whispered, as if the empty school demanded reverence. — Where is everyone?

  His friend’s ughter on the other end came as a relief. — The biology teacher had a sudden burst of inspiration. We’re at the Botanical Garden, right behind the school. Did you oversleep again, Noah?

  Noah felt heat creep up his face — not from his power, but from shame. — I’m on my way.

  Five minutes of sprinting ter, he stepped into the Botanical Garden, a world within a world. The air smelled of damp earth, sweet flowers, and a green humidity that clung to the skin. He found his friend near an orchid greenhouse, but a certain void caught his attention before he could even catch his breath.

  — Where’s Simón? — he asked Alex, his eyes already scanning the area.

  Alex shrugged, though his gaze betrayed a subtle flicker of worry. — He came with me, but said he needed to use the restroom. He was acting strange... really quiet.

  Noah didn't wait. He grabbed Alex by the arm, and the two headed toward the restrooms — a wooden cabin tucked away among the ferns. The door swung open before they could even knock.

  Simón stepped out, his brown eyes rimmed with red but dry. He stared at them without surprise.

  — Are you okay? — Noah asked, his voice softer than he intended.

  — I’m fine — Simón managed a smile that didn't reach his eyes. — Let’s go back. The teacher’s about to start.

  Back with the group, the atmosphere was light. Maggie and Emilly approached, ughing at something Noah hadn't heard.

  — Can we join you? — Maggie asked, a glint in her eyes. — Insects aren't really our thing.

  — Not ours either — Noah smiled. — I only like bees.

  Alex made a face. — Ants, at most. What about you, Simón?

  Simón seemed miles away, his gaze lost somewhere in the foliage. When he realized everyone was looking at him, he jumped, lost his bance, and fell off the bench in an awkward 360-degree spin. Emilly and Alex let out a ugh — not mean-spirited, but spontaneous and childish.

  Noah and Maggie exchanged a look and, in a synchronized move, scolded the two with a simultaneous “Hey!”.

  The awkwardness that followed was broken by Noah, who reached out a hand to Simón. The boy accepted the help, but his touch was fleeting, as if he feared getting burned. His eyes were moist again.

  — Insects... — Simón murmured, avoiding everyone’s gaze. — I don't think I like any of them.

  The conversation flowed easily until a shadow fell over them. The "Resentment Trio" was approaching, with Jason in the lead, his smile a sharp bde across his face.

  — Any seats open, babe? — he asked, his eyes locked on Maggie.

  — Babe? — she shot back, raising an eyebrow. — You must have confused me with your mirror. Sit if you want.

  Jason, Bernard, and Charlotte settled in beside Simón, who visibly recoiled. Noah felt the crystal in his hand pulse once, hot — a warning. Before he could act, Alex suggested a walk. Simón stood up quickly, desperate to escape.

  That’s when Jason stuck his foot out.

  Simón tripped, crashing to his knees on the gravel. The trio’s ughter echoed like a bark. Maggie reached out, but Simón was already on his feet, his eyes holding back a flood, and he bolted into the trees.

  — Jerk — The word left Noah’s lips before he could weigh it.

  Jason faced him, the smile still on his lips but his eyes cold as river stones. — So? He’s irrelevant.

  The search for Simón was fruitless. The Botanical Garden was a byrinth of greenery, and he had vanished. While Noah, Maggie, Alex, and Emilly combed through the flowerbeds, Simón was at the edge of the furthest pond, sitting on a fallen log, his heart beating like a trapped bird.

  — What a day... what people... — he whispered to the still water. — I’m tired of being the joke, the klutz, the invisible kid who’s only noticed when he falls. I’m tired of being me.

  The shadow that fell over him wasn't from a tree. It was denser, colder.

  — Forgive the intrusion — the vilin’s voice was a low hum, almost hypnotic. — But sometimes pain needs a witness. Or an exit.

  Simón didn't turn around. He knew who it was. — I want him to feel what I feel. Jason.

  — Fair — the vilin whispered, a cloaked finger touching the beaded bracelet Simón still wore — a cheap gift from his "doormat days". — I can give you power. The power of an insect. Resilience, strength, a sting. Everything you ck right now. In exchange... bring me Brasier’s crystal.

  — An insect? — Simón almost ughed, a bitter sound. — I hate insects.

  — You hate yourself, too — the vilin reminded him, smooth as a bde. — Perhaps becoming what you despise is the first step toward understanding who you are. Or who you could be.

  Simón looked at the bracelet, the cheap beads catching the dim light. He remembered Jason’s fingers handing it over with a "Here, so you remember who’s in charge". He remembered the fall, the ughter, the emptiness.

  — Fine — The word came out like a surrender.

  The transformation wasn't an explosion — it was an infestation. Simón’s skin darkened, turning into a deep green, segmented carapace. His hands sharpened into pincers, his back arched, and thin, translucent wings sprouted from his shoulders, vibrating with a low drone. His brown eyes merged into a pair of bck, faceted orbs, reflecting the world in fragments.

  He was no longer Simón. He was Bugboy.

  In the main clearing, the teacher was trying to draw attention to an educational beehive when the buzzing started. First low, then deafening. The trees swayed, and from the green canopy, Bugboy descended, hitting the ground with a thud that cracked the earth.

  — WHERE IS JASON?

  The voice was multiple, echoing, as if dozens of insects were speaking at once. Jason, watching from afar with Bernard and Charlotte, turned pale, but his pride was faster. He stepped forward.

  — Saimon? — he called out with a forced ugh. — Did you have to turn into a bug to feel strong? Pathetic. I was the first, you know. The first Corrupted. You’re just a te copy.

  Bugboy lunged. His movement was lumbering yet far too fast for such a rge body. His fist — a pincer — smmed into the ground where Jason had been seconds before, opening a crater. Charlotte and Bernard fled, but Jason leaped back, his eyes burning with a mix of fear and fascination.

  — A bug! — he screamed, pointing. — You’re just proving my point! You’re still small!

  It was then that Noah and Maggie reached the edge of the clearing. Noah saw the green monster, saw the faceted eyes, and his stomach turned to ice. Simón.

  — What is that idiot doing? — Maggie whispered, grabbing Noah’s arm. — Let’s hide, Brasier should show up...

  Noah let her pull him away, his body moving on autopilot. They hid in a nearby restroom — the same one Simón had used earlier. Noah locked the door and leaned against the cold wall, his hands shaking.

  In the blurred reflection of the grimy mirror, Moto materialized like a shimmering haze of heat.

  — Heir? — the crackling voice was soft, almost fatherly. — Fear is poor fuel for the Fme.

  — He’s my friend — Noah whispered, his words halting. — My powers... they’re fire. I’ll hurt him. I’ll burn him.

  Moto hovered closer, his heat drying the sweat on Noah’s forehead. — Yesterday you faced stone. Today you face a carapace. But the hardest battle isn't always against what’s outside... it’s against what hurts within. Sometimes, words are sharper weapons than fmes.

  Noah swallowed hard, looking at his hands. He remembered his grandfather Edson, the way his mother said he fixed things not with force, but with patience. He remembered Simón on the ground, eyes watering.

  — Overheat! — The word came out like a pact.

  The transformation was a relief. Brasier suit enveloped him like a second skin, and Noah’s fear didn't vanish — it fused with the Fme, becoming determination.

  When he returned to the clearing, Jason was trying to py the hero. Armed with a thick branch, he was attacking Bugboy, who grabbed him with ease and tossed him against a tree.

  — YOU ONLY NOTICE ME WHEN I MESS UP!

  Brasier moved in a jet of heat, intercepting Jason mid-air and setting him down far from the fight.

  — Twice now — Jason coughed with a bloody grin. — Thanks, Brasier. Let me help, I can...

  — Stay back — Brasier cut him off, his voice echoing and firm. — This is for those who can actually help.

  He turned to Bugboy. The monster buzzed, his wings beating like a threat.

  — Simón — Brasier called out, lowering his arms and taking an open stance — not one of combat, but of listening. — You don't have to do this.

  — DON'T CALL ME THAT NAME! — Bugboy lunged, but his strike was clumsy, as if part of him was resisting. — I’M TIRED OF BEING A BURDEN! TIRED OF NEEDING HELP!

  Brasier dodged, not with a heroic leap, but with a simple side step. — No one sees you as a burden.

  — I DO! — Bugboy’s voice cracked, and for a moment, beneath the buzzing, Simón’s crying could be heard. — How could they love me if I don't love myself?

  Maggie, watching from behind a tree, couldn't take it anymore. She ran forward, ignoring Brasier’s warning shout.

  — Simón, please! — Her hands were open and empty. — It’s not about Jason! It’s about who chooses to stand by you! Let us stay!

  Bugboy raised a pincer, but he was trembling. — MY NAME IS BUGBOY!

  Brasier pulled Maggie back in one fluid motion, pcing himself between her and the monster. — How do I reach him? — he whispered to the girl, his eyes never leaving Bugboy.

  — He’s spent his whole life being silenced — Maggie replied, her voice urgent. — Maybe... maybe he just needs to be heard. Truly heard.

  Brasier nodded. Before he turned, Maggie grabbed his arm — a brief but weighted touch — and surprised him with a quick kiss on the cheek. — Thank you for saving him — she whispered, then retreated.

  Brasier stepped back into the clearing. This time, he didn't take a fighting stance. He sat on the ground, just a few feet from Bugboy.

  — Then talk — he said simply. — I’m listening.

  Bugboy stopped buzzing. His pincers opened and closed, uncertain. Slowly, as if every movement pained him, he knelt. The carapace creaked.

  — I just... wanted to be strong — the voice that came out was almost human, filled with cracks. — I just wanted one day where no one ughed. One day where I wasn't the joke.

  Alex and Emilly appeared then, approaching slowly, as if toward a wounded animal.

  — We ughed today — Alex admitted, his voice heavy with guilt. — It was stupid. I’m sorry.

  — We care about you, Simón — Emilly joined in, tears streaming freely. — Noah, Maggie, Alex, me... Brasier. You’re not alone.

  They closed the circle, not to attack, but to surround him. Alex pced a hand on the rough carapace of Bugboy’s shoulder. Emilly did the same. The monster didn't push them away. He lowered his head, and a sound escaped him — not a buzz, but a muffled, human sob.

  Brasier approached, his aura warm but non-threatening. — Where did he put the corruption, Simón?

  A trembling pincer rose, pointing to the beaded bracelet on his wrist — the same one Jason had given him, now glowing with a sickly green light.

  — Break it — Simón’s voice whispered from inside the monster. — Please.

  Brasier activated his Fming Fists. This time, the fmes weren't a fre of war — they were a precise, surgical focus, a tool of liberation. He touched the bracelet.

  The shattering was clean. The green energy dissipated like smoke in the wind. Bugboy’s carapace cracked, split, and began to peel away — not in brutal chunks, but like dry tree bark. From within, Simón emerged, unconscious, sweating, human. He fell into Alex and Emilly’s arms.

  Brasier raised his hands to the sky, exhaustion and emotion mixing in his chest.

  — Crystal Hearts: Brasier.

  The healing aura expanded, but this time it was gentle — a spring warmth that sealed cracks in the soil, straightened broken branches, and returned color to crushed petals. It concentrated on the clearing, repairing the damage but leaving the rest of the Botanical Garden untouched — as if nature itself were absorbing that moment of violence and turning it into growth.

  When the light faded, Brasier had vanished.

  Noah, back in his own form, found the group minutes ter. Simón was conscious now, sitting against a tree, wrapped in a jacket Maggie had lent him. He was crying, but they were quiet tears of relief.

  — Thank you — Simón said, looking at each of them. — For the first time... I think I believe I can be loved.

  That was when Jason appeared at the edge of the clearing. There was no mockery on his face, only a complicated expression. — something between surprise, remorse, and deep confusion. He watched from a distance without approaching.

  Simón saw him. Slowly, with visible effort, he stood up. Noah moved to steady him, but Simón made a calm gesture. — I need to.

  He walked over to Jason, pulling the remains of the beaded bracelet from his pocket — now just a broken string. He held it out.

  — Here — his voice was firm, without resentment, just factual. — Give it to your next doormat. And forget about me.

  Jason looked at the string, then at Simón’s face. He didn't answer. He simply accepted the object, his fingers closing around it with a force that turned his knuckles white. Simón turned his back and walked back to his friends. He didn't look back.

  The rest of the afternoon was spent on a distant bench, the five of them — Noah, Simón, Maggie, Emilly, and Alex — watching colorful birds dive into the pond. They didn't talk about what had happened. They talked about finches, about hummingbirds, about the strange orchid that looked like a face.

  And beneath each of their skins, in their own way, something had shifted, grown, or healed. For Noah, it was the weight of knowing that fire could burn, but it could also light the way back. For Simón, it was the fragile, new discovery that his own skin, however vulnerable, was a pce he might one day call home.

  And in the shadow of the trees, Jason Hall looked at the broken string in his hand, feeling, for the first time, the cold and rough weight of a crown made only of thorns.

  RobinLexx