“Since I was a kid, I always wanted to be a hero—the greatest of the greats. I wanted to beat up bad guys, bask in the glory of the applause of the crowd, and be a symbol of justice, peace, and hope that everyone could look up to. And I thought, if I truly trained hard enough, pushed myself far enough… then I could achieve that dream. Back then… I truly believed it was that simple.”

  The roar of the crowd was deafening, a symphony of cheers that seemed to shake the very foundations of the city. It was a sound Josh lived for, a sound that resonated deep within his soul. On the massive screen towering over the city square, Captain Radiant was a spectacle of pure light and power. He was a beacon of hope, a figure seemingly sculpted from the very essence of heroism.

  His movements were fluid and powerful, a dance of controlled energy as he soared through the air, delivering a thunderous blow to a monstrous, multi-limbed villain whose roars were a terrifying counterpoint to the crowd's adulation. The villain, a grotesque amalgamation of twisted flesh and jagged bone, recoiled from the hero's strike, its many eyes flashing in pain.

  Josh watched, mesmerized, his small hand gripping his mother's with an almost painful intensity. His emerald eyes, wide with wonder, reflected the vibrant light emanating from the screen. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, a frantic rhythm that mirrored the energy of the battle unfolding before him. In his mind, he was Captain Radiant: the wind rushing through his hair, the power coursing through his veins, the cheers of the city ringing in his ears.

  "That's gonna be me one day, Mom! I'm gonna be a superhero, just like Captain Radiant!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with an unwavering conviction that only a child could possess. He turned to his mother, his face alight with excitement, his eyes sparkling with an almost tangible determination. She was a kind woman with gentle eyes that held a depth of understanding and a warm smile that could melt away any fear. She ruffled his blond hair, her touch tender and reassuring.

  "I know you will, sweetie," she said, her voice soft and filled with a mother's love. But behind her smile, a hint of sadness flickered in her gaze—a shadow of concern that Josh, in his youthful exuberance, didn't notice. "You have a hero's heart, Josh. That's what truly matters."

  Years passed, each one strengthening his resolve. His dream never faded, never wavered. He trained tirelessly in the small gym his father had set up in their garage, pushing his body to its limits, honing his reflexes with relentless practice, and studying every fighting style he could find in old books and online videos. He ran until his lungs burned, lifted weights until his muscles screamed, and practiced his katas until they were etched into his very being. He even fashioned a makeshift costume: a vibrant blue suit stitched together from old clothes, with a crudely drawn symbol of a radiant sun on his chest—a symbol of his own burning hope.

  Finally, the day came when he felt ready. He had turned eighteen; his body was strong and agile, and his spirit was unyielding. With his parents' unwavering support—a mixture of pride and trepidation in their eyes—he stood before the imposing headquarters of the Hero League. The building was a towering monolith of steel and glass, a symbol of power and authority that both inspired and intimidated.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  He imagined the headlines: "Local Boy Joins Hero League!" He imagined the cheers of the crowds, the chance to finally make a difference, and stand alongside Captain Radiant. His heart pounded with a mixture of excitement and nerves, a symphony of anticipation and apprehension.

  Inside, the polished lobby was a hive of activity, with heroes and sidekicks bustling about in colorful costumes. Josh, in his slightly worn blue suit, felt a pang of self-consciousness, but he held hishead high. He was met by a stern-faced woman in a crisp, navy blue uniform, her expression as sharp as her attire.

  "I'm here to register," he announced, his voice trembling slightly but filled with determination. He placed his hand-drawn application form on the desk, his fingers slightly sweaty. "I want to become a hero."

  The woman raised a skeptical eyebrow, her gaze sweeping over his lean frame and homemade costume with a practiced eye. "Name?"

  "Josh Miller."

  "Powers?"

  The question was blunt, devoid of any warmth. His smile faltered, the light in his eyes dimming. This was the question he had dreaded, the one that always threatened to extinguish his fire.

  "I... I don't have any powers, ma'am," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "But I've trained hard. I'm strong, I'm fast, and I'm dedicated. I'm willing to do whatever it takes."

  The woman's expression hardened, her lips forming a thin, unwavering line. "The League only accepts individuals with registered metagenes or those who have undergone the Artificial Empowerment Program. Do you have either?"

  His heart plummeted. He knew about the program—a miracle of science capable of granting superhuman abilities. But it was prohibitively expensive, a luxury afforded only to the wealthy and privileged, far beyond his family's means. "No, ma'am."

  "Then I'm sorry, kid," the woman said, her voice devoid of any sympathy. "Heroism isn't a hobby; it's a profession. It's a dangerous, demanding job. Without powers, you'd be a liability, a danger to yourself and others."

  The words hit him like a physical blow. He tried to protest, but the woman simply turned away, already focused on the next person in line.

  “And just like that, reality hit me like the harsh and cruel hammer that it is. For regardless of how many heroes preach about determination, hard work, and dedication… the sad but unchanging truth is that unless one has the power to actually channel that, it means nothing.”

  “And indeed, my journey as a hero would have ended right then and there… but of course,”

  “Destiny always had an even crueler sense of irony.”

  One Year later…

  Deep within a desolate wasteland, Josh stood in a scarred, azure-colored knight suit with a black fur collar and a tattered cape, breathing heavily while wielding a massive, glowing great sword. Its blade glowing with a bright turquoise glow.

  While standing before him wasn’t so much an enemy, but a deity of pure malice and sin. Its flesh was made up of raw, corrupted energy, that radiated like twisted red sun, its armor forged literally from darkness and despair, and when it roared; the very earth and heavens shook. Tremlbling before its fiedish devilish might.

  “JOSH, DON’T LOSE FOCUS!” a tall, fierce red Oni with bright red skin, short white hair, and a trimmed beard roared out, wielding a crimson naginata.

  “He may be weakened, but the Dark Lord has yet to fall!” a blue elf mage with long silver hair spoke, wielding an elegant silver staff.

  “So be sure to keep striking him until he stays down for good!” a goblin alchemist barked, carrying various potions on his person.

  Josh looked over to the Dark Lord and, after a brief moment of hesitation, smiled confidently.

  “RIGHT!” he shouted out and lunged at the vile entity for what felt like the thousandth time, and swung down his great sword and unleashed a brilliant light that blanketed the whole battlefield.