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"Watch out!"
Katharine Hepburn, who was painting in Central Park, saw a soccer ball flying toward her.
Her reflexes were no longer what they had been in her youth, and she froze on the spot.
Fortunately, Henry was right beside her, using some catnip he'd somehow acquired to tease Katie.
Something this minor was never going to be a problem.
With a flick of his finger, he sent the catnip flying toward the incoming ball.
Katie immediately sprang into action.
Leaping into the air, the tiger snapped her head forward and headed the ball away.
Whether by coincidence or because she'd gained experience from constantly batting around BB's round metal body, Katie sent the ball directly toward Henry's feet.
It was exactly the same attitude she showed whenever she accidentally "broke" BB and expected her Kryptonian two-legged servant to fix the problem.
Of course, a soccer ball's elasticity was nothing like BB's metal body.
The direction was correct, but the speed and force were much greater.
Without hesitation, Henry rose to his feet—having already coaxed Katie into jumping—and kicked the ball immediately.
No trapping.
No setup.
Just a clean return kick.
The ball flew back toward the group of young men playing nearby.
This wasn't a soccer field, merely an open stretch of grass, and they were playing a casual keep-up passing game.
Because a massive tiger happened to be sitting near Katharine's painting spot, nobody had ventured close enough to disturb her.
The ball had originally been sent astray by a young Black man trying to show off.
Another Latino youth had shouted a warning, leading to the sequence where Katie headed the ball and Henry returned it.
If Henry had used real force, the ball would have exploded beneath his foot.
That would have required no skill whatsoever.
Instead, he applied a subtle spin.
The ball landed in front of the Latino youth but didn't bounce.
Instead, the spinning ball caught against the grass and simply rolled forward.
The young man casually stepped on it and stopped it dead.
The group of soccer-loving boys immediately erupted in excited shouts.
The Latino player tapped the ball backward with his heel, passing it along before waving toward Henry.
"Come play with us!"
Pointing at Katie circling around his legs, Henry grinned.
"You sure?"
A bunch of young guys together could be talked into almost anything.
Every single one of them enthusiastically invited both Henry and the tiger.
Katie's presence on the grass had already generated countless calls from concerned citizens.
Henry had answered several phone calls from NYPD dispatchers because of it.
The arrangement worked exactly as he had discussed with George Stacy, the patrol chief.
Whenever someone reported a tiger in public, the police would first call Henry for confirmation.
If Katie was with him, they wouldn't dispatch officers.
The condition was simple:
Katie could not injure anyone.
Not even once.
The moment she accumulated a record of harming someone, authorities could prohibit her from appearing in public.
It wasn't a matter of whether the law specifically forbade it.
Police officers often possessed discretionary authority in situations where laws did not explicitly dictate a response.
As long as their actions remained within legal boundaries, they could decide how to handle things.
Henry was perfectly happy avoiding interactions with random strangers.
Having a tiger nearby acted like an invisible wall, keeping many people at a comfortable distance.
Henry appreciated the peace and quiet.
Katharine Hepburn did too.
Now, however, this group of young men had not only invited them but also seemed perfectly happy including Katie.
Figuring there was no harm in having some fun, Henry called out,
"Katharine, I'm taking Katie to play for a bit."
"Go on, dear."
The very field they intended to play on was the subject of her painting.
The sky served as the centerpiece, framed by distant skyscrapers and people enjoying themselves on the grass.
Naturally, she had no objection to Henry becoming part of the scene.
So Henry and Katie joined the group, forming a circle and resuming the passing game.
At first, whenever the ball came toward Katie, she automatically returned it to Henry.
Whether she headed it, flipped in midair and kicked it with her hind legs, or used some other acrobatic maneuver, the ball always ended up near him.
That habit had been drilled into her through practice at home.
Henry would stop the ball, then pass it along to another player.
He made sure not to pass to the same person twice until everyone had received it.
Eventually, Katie seemed to grasp the game's rules.
She began sending the ball toward the other players as well.
Her ball control wasn't exactly refined.
Simply getting the direction right was already impressive enough.
The power and accuracy, however, couldn't compare to a human player's touch.
Fortunately, the young men weren't amateurs.
As long as Katie didn't launch the ball into orbit, they could usually trap it and pass it along.
Watching Katie perform increasingly elaborate returns caused waves of astonishment every few minutes.
Gradually, she became the star attraction.
More and more people gathered to watch.
The spectacle was arguably more impressive than a circus performance.
After playing for quite some time, Henry checked the time.
He trapped the ball with his chest, then let it drop and roll toward another player's feet.
"Hey, guys. Time's about up. I've got to take the old lady home. Can't keep playing."
"Oh, come on!"
Several Black youths spread their hands in disappointment.
Some of the spectators joined in with playful complaints.
Others were less upset.
A few approached Henry and offered praise.
"Man, you've got some skills."
"Yeah, and Katie too. Good kitty. Good kitty."
One unfortunate soul attempted to pet the tiger.
A single roar sent him stumbling backward.
Henry quickly stepped in front of Katie.
"Getting her to head a soccer ball is one thing. Don't try petting her. This big girl's got a pretty bad temper."
"Rrrr!"
Katie immediately swiped a paw toward Henry's backside.
She nearly sent him home with his pants shredded.
Translation: Stop talking trash about me right in front of me!
Henry naturally ignored the complaints of this oversized tabby cat and cheerfully said his goodbyes.
One of the Latino youths spoke up again.
"Henry, some of us play on an amateur team. We've got a match in a few days. Interested? There'll even be scouts there."
Henry shook his head.
"Unfortunately, I'm the kind of player who isn't exactly fair. You know what I mean."
The young man looked confused at first.
Then realization dawned.
"Oh. You're..."
He never said the word aloud, but his mouth clearly formed:
Mutant.
There was no visible contempt in his expression.
Still, the disappointment was obvious.
He looked Henry up and down.
"You don't look like one."
"That's kind of the problem, isn't it?" Henry replied with a smile.
"You guys don't want to work your asses off all game only to have me get the whole team disqualified and handed a loss."
Competitive sports were built upon fairness.
They celebrated the limits ordinary humans could achieve through training and effort.
That naturally raised an important question:
Should mutants or superpowered individuals be allowed to compete?
Professional leagues had addressed the issue years ago.
Mutants had already been barred from participation on grounds of competitive fairness.
Even amateur competitions recognized by national sports associations generally discouraged mutant athletes.
Originally, the rules focused on whether a mutation enhanced athletic performance.
Mutants whose abilities had nothing to do with sports were often permitted to compete.
In recent years, however, discrimination had become increasingly severe.
Many organizations had adopted blanket bans.
All mutants were prohibited from competing regardless of whether their powers provided any advantage.
In team sports such as soccer, a team fielding a mutant player could be automatically disqualified.
The fact that the young man only mouthed the word "mutant" instead of saying it aloud demonstrated just how bad the atmosphere had become.
Among those listening nearby, reactions varied.
Some accepted it calmly.
Others clearly did not.
The young man who had extended the invitation sighed.
"That's a shame. You're really good."
Long past the age of seeking approval or trying to fit into groups, Henry simply smiled.
"Haha. I only play for fun. Besides, I've got an elderly lady to take care of."
He pointed toward Katharine in the distance, who was packing up her painting supplies.
"Fair enough. If we run into each other again, let's play another game."
"Sounds good. Adiós, amigo."
Henry waved goodbye.
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