Virat stepped out of the towering glass gates of W.H.O. Headquarters, still feeling like he had dreamt the whole thing. The evening sky stretched into a sea of warm oranges and purples, but he hardly noticed.
Infinite Growth...
The words kept echoing in his head like an unstoppable drumbeat.
"Me... infinite?"
"I can't even outrun a squirrel, and now they tell me I'm limitless?"
He scratched the back of his head, walking down the bustling sidewalks, replaying the scene at Dr. Isaac's office.
That crazy, coffee-obsessed scientist had smiled so wide when explaining Virat's power, he almost seemed more excited than Virat himself.
When he finally reached home — a modest two-story building with cracked paint on the door — his dad was waiting, seated on the couch like a general ready for interrogation.
"Where were you?"
His father's voice was deep, calm, but with an edge sharp enough to slice steel.
Virat swallowed hard. "I was... at the World Heroes Organization."
"Excuse me?" His dad raised an eyebrow, newspaper still in hand.
"I—I met Inferno!" Virat burst out. "And Dr. Isaac told me I actually have a power!"
There was a pause.
A long, heavy pause.
Even the ceiling fan seemed to slow down to hear better.
Then, with a small sigh, his dad folded the newspaper neatly.
"I thought we talked about this foolishness, Virat. You're supposed to be preparing for your Neurosurgeon exams. Saving people with science, not punching criminals with fists!"
Virat's excitement deflated faster than a punctured balloon.
"But Dad... it's real! My power is real now! I can finally—"
"No. End of discussion."
"But being a hero was always my dream!" Virat clenched his fists.
"And dreams are for bedtime," his father snapped back. "Reality is what feeds you."
Virat's shoulders sagged. It was like facing a brick wall with no windows.
He grumbled something under his breath and stormed off to his room.
Throwing himself onto the bed, Virat stared at the cracked ceiling.
His heart was still racing, but now from frustration instead of excitement.
"Why can't he understand? Why can't anyone believe in me...?"
He closed his eyes, and memories started bubbling up from the depths of his mind.
He was a small kid again.
Barely seven years old, dragging his toy action figure — a tiny version of Inferno — everywhere he went.
The world was simple back then: heroes were real, evil was obvious, and dreams were meant to be chased.
"One day, I'll be like Inferno!"
"I'll save everyone!"
"I'll have the coolest costume with a cape so long it touches the ground!"
(And trip over it, probably, but kid-Virat never thought that far.)
He remembered the excitement when his mom took him to the "Power Doctor."
A white building with a giant rotating scanner that looked more like a pizza oven than a medical machine.
Inside, the doctor had made him sit under a big flashy device that beeped dramatically, as if it was about to launch into space.
Young Virat squeezed his eyes shut, thinking:
"Please say I have fire powers!"
"Or laser eyes!"
"Or at least the power to talk to dogs!"
When the machine finally finished scanning, the doctor glanced at his tablet and adjusted his glasses.
He gave a small frown.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. Your son... is powerless."
It was one sentence.
But it felt like someone had punched little Virat straight through the chest.
He remembered glancing at his mom. She gave him a weak, forced smile, ruffling his hair.
"It's okay, sweetheart," she said. "Some people... don't need powers to be amazing."
But Virat could tell even she was disappointed.
That day, he stuffed his Inferno action figure into the back of his closet and never touched it again.
Virat sat up now, shaking his head.
"No," he muttered to himself.
"This is my chance. I won't let it slip by just because people doubt me."
He could still feel the roaring yellow flames of Inferno lighting up the sky earlier that evening.
He could still hear Dr. Isaac's wild laughter:
"Kid, you're basically a glitch in the system! You can break every limit ever set by nature!"
Virat grinned a little at the memory.
If Dr. Isaac were here, he would probably say something like:
"Why cry about homework when you could be punching meteors instead?"
He stood up, feeling the old fire in his chest ignite again.
He walked over to his old closet and dug through piles of books, old toys, and dusty clothes.
Finally, at the very back, he found it:
His old Inferno action figure.
Still grinning, still holding a tiny flaming fist high in the air.
Virat wiped off the dust and held it tightly.
"I'm gonna do it," he whispered.
"No matter who believes in me or not...
I'm going to be a hero."
Meanwhile, downstairs, his dad sat staring at the closed newspaper, lost in thought.
Behind all his harsh words, he wasn't angry because he didn't love his son.
He was terrified.
Terrified that Virat would chase an impossible dream and get crushed.
Just like his old friend who once tried to be a hero and never came back.
But... maybe Virat was different.
Maybe... just maybe...
this was the beginning of something extraordinary.
[To BE CONTINUED]