The next day, sunlight streamed lazily through the classroom windows, bouncing off the whiteboard and half-empty desks. The hum of chatter filled the air — gossip, laughter, the usual Monday chaos — but Johnny barely noticed any of it.
He was staring out the window again, chin resting on his hand, as a faint grin tugged at his lips as his mind replayed everything from yesterday. The heat, the chaos, the explosions… and that moment when he'd gone supernova. He still couldn't quite believe it — that was the kind of thing you only saw in comics, not real life.
Guess I'm not just some guy with powers anymore… I actually acted like a pro yesterday, he thought, a warm rush of pride spreading through him.
In the background, the professor's voice droned on about history, but Johnny was far away — back in downtown Chicago, surrounded by alien wreckage, standing beside Atom Eve.
Eve.
Just thinking her name made him smile a little wider. She had actually called him afterward — called him. He still couldn't believe that either.
"Yo, who's that dude?" whispered someone behind him.
"I dunno, but he's hot now," another girl giggled. "Like, literally. Did you see him? He's jacked."
"Wait… isn't that Johnny Storm? No way, that guy was kinda— y'know…"
"Yeah, and now he looks like he walked out of a fitness ad."
Johnny could hear every word, and though he didn't show it, a part of him wanted to laugh. He couldn't really blame them. A few weeks ago, he was just the pudgy, awkward kid who always slept through class. Now, the changes were impossible to ignore — he didn't ahve an ounce of fat anymore, his jawline was sharper, his frame broad and powerful, his posture confident in a way it never used to be. Even his eyes had changed slightly — brighter, reflecting that faint fiery hue that appeared whenever he got emotional.
But none of that mattered to him right now. What mattered was the burning thought in his mind: Why am I even here?
"Mr. Storm!"
Johnny blinked and looked up. The professor — Mr. Brown — was standing in front of the class, arms crossed, an unimpressed frown on his face.
"Care to tell us what's so fascinating outside the window that you've ignored my entire lecture?"
Johnny hesitated. He opened his mouth but… nothing came out. What could he say? That he'd been thinking about interdimensional aliens and energy constructs?
Mister Brown sighed, shaking his head. "You've been different lately, Johnny. I don't know what's gotten into you, but this isn't the way to—"
But Johnny wasn't listening anymore. His gaze drifted again, this time not to the clouds — but to the city skyline beyond them. Somewhere out there, something was happening. Someone could be in danger.
And here he was… stuck listening to a history lecture.
I could be out there making a difference, he thought. Saving people instead of memorizing useless dates.
So having decided it and without uttering a word, Johnny stood up. The entire class went silent.
"Mr. Storm, sit down," said the professor, sternly now.
But Johnny didn't even glance at him. He grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and walked right out.
Whispers erupted behind him — "What's he doing?" "Is he serious?" "He just left?" — but Johnny didn't care. Each step down the hallway felt lighter, freer.
The moment he pushed through the school's front doors, the sunlight hit him like a signal. He looked up, took a deep breath… and smirked.
"Flame on."
In an instant, fire roared to life around him — orange, gold, and bright as the sun. Students gasped and shouted from behind the windows as Johnny blasted into the sky, leaving a trail of smoke curling behind him.
Below him, the school shrank into a blur. Ahead of him, the city stretched wide and waiting.
History class could go fuck itself. The world needed him more.
---
The wind hit Johnny's face as he soared over the skyline, the sunlight glinting off the glass towers of downtown Chicago. It was exhilarating—no teachers, no desks, no meaningless chatter. Just the roar of the wind and the heat in his veins.
Now this... this is what I was meant for. He thought as he zipped toward Lake Michigan, trailing golden streaks of flame in the clear morning sky.
The peaceful blue expanse below glimmered—until a deep rumble shattered the calm. Johnny slowed midair, squinting. Down at the shore, water surged unnaturally, tossing boats like toys. People screamed and scrambled away as a massive wave erupted, sending a fishing trawler crashing into the dock.
Then he saw him.
A tall, impossibly muscular man stood ankle-deep in the shallows, he was bare-chested, his skin was white and almost shining, he wore only a pair of green scaled trunks that were clinging to his waist. His ears were sharp, and pointed, and they twitched as he raised his voice, booming across the shoreline.
"You surface-dwellers poison our waters! You choke our kin with your waste and nets! You drain the life from the oceans for your greed!" He clenched his fist, eyes burning with fury. "No longer! I am Namor, son of Atlantis, and I will see your kind answer for every coral you've crushed, every creature you've slaughtered!"
With a sweep of his arm, a torrent of water shot from the lake, smashing through the hull of a nearby fishing boat. The crew tumbled into the waves, shouting for help.
Johnny's eyes widened. "Okay, big guy, that's definitely not cool." He rocketed downward, a streak of orange cutting through the sky, landing on the dock with a wave of heat. "Hey! Gills-for-brains!"
Namor turned, with his brow furrowed, glaring at the young man wreathed in fire.
"First off," Johnny called, pointing at the lake, "you might wanna check your GPS, Aquaman knockoff. This isn't the ocean—it's Lake Michigan. You're like, way off course, dude."
Namor blinked, then scowled. "You mock me? You dare—?"
"I mean, seriously, man. You're ranting about freeing the creatures of the sea... in a lake. Half the fish here probably think salt water's a myth." Johnny shrugged, hovering slightly above the dock as flames coiled around his arms. "Look, I get it. Pollution sucks. But maybe we talk before you start smashing innocent fishermen, huh?"
Namor's expression darkened, water swirling around his feet like a living serpent. "You speak with arrogance, surface child. You wield flame and call yourself protector, yet you know nothing of the world you burn."
"Yeah, well, I'm still new at this superhero thing," Johnny said, smirking despite the tension. "But I do know setting boats on fire isn't helping anyone."
Namor raised his trident—a sleek, coral-tipped weapon that shimmered with power. "Then you will learn what it means to stand against the Prince of the Seas."
Johnny grinned, his flames surging brighter. "Man, you really are lost. But fine—let's heat things up."
The clash of flame and water sent a hiss of steam curling through the morning air. The surface of Lake Michigan boiled where Johnny's fire struck, waves frothing white against the heat. People along the shore had fled, leaving only the two superhumans so they could fight without distractions.
Namor lunged first—faster than Johnny expected. The Atlantean prince surged from the water incredibly fast, with his trident whistling through the air. Johnny barely rolled aside before the weapon carved through a pier post, splintering it like a twig.
"Whoa! No warning, huh?" Johnny shouted, spinning backward through the air. He flung a stream of fire downward, forcing Namor to retreat beneath the waves. "Seriously, ever heard of talking it out first?"
Bubbles erupted near the surface—and then Namor shot up again, his eyes glowing with fury. "The time for words is over, flame-wielder!"
"Yeah? Well, so's my patience!"
Johnny clenched his fists, and his flames intensified—flickering, shifting, taking shape. He focused hard, sweat mixing with heat as the fire wrapped around his hands, solidifying into a pair of blazing short swords. The edges shimmered like molten glass.
Okay, I already did it on the training room, so it should be possible for me to do it on combat, I… just need to keep focus, he thought, steadying his breathing.
He charged, the twin swords trailing sparks as he swung at Namor. The Atlantean blocked the strike with his trident, the impact sending ripples of steam outward. Johnny flipped backward, landing on a half-submerged pier beam and slashing again, forcing Namor to parry.
The fire blades crackled, flickering under the pressure of the cold mist.
"Impressive trick," Namor growled, shoving Johnny back with inhuman strength. "But you play with power you barely comprehend!"
Johnny skidded across the wet wood, caught himself, and grinned. "Yeah, well, I'm a fast learner!"
He spun, gathering his flames into one massive burst that molded into a fiery battle-axe. The blade glowed white-hot, and even the air distorted around it. So, Johnny raised it overhead and dove toward Namor, shouting, "FLAME ON!"
Namor met him head-on. Trident and axe collided, erupting into a blinding flash. The explosion sent both of them hurtling backward—Johnny into the shore, while Namor into the waves.
Johnny groaned, his axe fizzling out into embers. "Okay… maybe I need practice on that one…"
Namor burst from the water again, water coiling around his arms like living armor. "You wield fire well, human. But this is my realm!"
He swept his arms wide, commanding the lake to rise. A towering wall of water formed behind him, surging forward like a tidal wave.
Johnny's eyes widened. "Oh, come on!"
Thinking fast, he thrust his hands out, channeling every ounce of heat in his body. A fiery barrier erupted before him, forming a molten dome. The wave slammed into it, steam billowing skyward with a deafening roar.
The force pushed Johnny to his knees. His flames flickered, sputtering under the crushing weight of the water. For a moment, it seemed like Namor had him.
But then—he remembered the fishermen were still in the lake, clinging to debris.
"Can't quit now," he muttered, forcing his flames to surge outward in one final push. "Gotta turn up the heat!"
The dome burst outward into a fiery shockwave that evaporated part of the wave midair, freeing the trapped sailors and throwing Namor off balance. Johnny rose again, eyes burning like twin suns.
"Back off, Fishsticks," he said, hovering a few feet above the steaming water. "You wanna fight pollution, fine. But not like this."
Namor steadied himself, glaring—but there was hesitation in his gaze now. The fire hadn't broken him, but it had earned his respect.
"You fight with spirit, surface-dweller, I admit it," Namor said at last, lowering his trident. "Perhaps… not all of you are as bad as I thought."
Johnny smirked. "Glad to hear it. Now maybe next time, try an environmental campaign instead of wrecking boats, huh?"
Namor gave a cold snort and dove beneath the waves, vanishing in a swirl of foam.
Johnny floated above the water, letting his flames cool down to gentle embers. The silence returned to the lakeshore, broken only by sirens in the distance.
He exhaled deeply. "Guess skipping class wasn't such a bad idea after all."
As the last curls of steam faded from the surface of Lake Michigan, Johnny hovered in the air, catching his breath. The adrenaline was still there — his heart was hammering in his chest, as the faint hiss of cooling flame echoed in his ears. The water below still shimmered with residual heat, and the damaged fishing boat bobbed gently amid the ripples.
Then came the whoosh of rotor blades. A sleek black helicopter descended over the scene, the GDA logo gleaming on its sides. Then, several armored agents rappelled down from it, forming a perimeter as the chopper's doors slid open.
Johnny sighed. "Guess I'm about to get grounded again."
A figure stepped out — trench coat, snow White hair, and he had a cigarette already burning between his fingers. Cecil Stedman. His eyes scanned the wreckage, then shifted to Johnny, who was still hovering a few feet above the sand.
"Human Torch," Cecil said, voice calm but carrying that usual edge. "You mind telling me what the hell just happened here?"
Johnny descended, his boots touching down with a faint sizzle against the damp shore. He gestured toward the lake. "You're not gonna believe this one. Some dude calling himself Namor showed up — said humans were ruining the oceans and all that. Except… this isn't the ocean. It's a lake."
Cecil arched a brow. "So an eco-terrorist with gills, huh?"
"Yeah. Strong as hell too," Johnny said, rubbing his shoulder where Namor had tossed him earlier. "He went after the fishing boats, so I stepped in, and things got messy. But it's over now. He bailed back into the water."
Cecil took a slow drag of his cigarette, exhaling through his nose as he watched agents move debris and check on the surviving fishermen. "Any casualties?"
"None," Johnny said quickly. "Two people got hurt, but nothing serious. I made sure everyone got out before things got… y'know, explosive."
That made Cecil pause. His usual deadpan softened just slightly. "You did good, kid."
Johnny blinked. "Wait, seriously? No lecture? No sarcastic jab about collateral damage?"
Cecil's lips curved into the faintest smirk. "No lecture about the fight, no. About you cutting class today, though…"
Johnny's shoulders tensed. "You— how the hell do you even know that?"
Cecil gave him a long, unimpressed look. "Kid, I run a global defense agency. You think I can't track one teenager skipping school and setting off over the city like a Roman candle?"
Johnny groaned. "Aw, come on. I wasn't skipping, I was just—"
"—ignoring your education to play hero?" Cecil interrupted, blowing out a lazy stream of smoke. "Look, I get it. You're excited, and you've got power most people can't even imagine. But we still need you to keep that cover. The world's already paranoid enough without finding out we've got teenagers ditching math class to fight supervillains."
Johnny crossed his arms, muttering, "You could've just said 'good job' and left it at that."
"I did say good job," Cecil replied dryly. "You kept civilians alive, and that counts. But don't make a habit of ditching school, Torch. I don't want to have to call your principal or clean up a PR nightmare."
Johnny couldn't help a small laugh. "Yeah, okay, noted. No skipping, no PR disasters."
"Good. Now," Cecil said, flicking his cigarette away as he turned back to the lake, "we'll monitor for your fish friend in case he decides to make a comeback. For now, go cool off. You've earned it — this time."
Johnny grinned, unable to help the flicker of pride in his chest, even though he was a little upset about not being able to skip class again. "Thanks, Cecil. Guess I'll go find somewhere to… not set on fire for a bit."
"Good plan." Cecil didn't look back, already speaking into his earpiece. "Alright, get samples of that water residue. I want to know what kind of energy signature this 'Namor' left behind—"
Johnny glanced back at the steaming lake one more time before taking off in a streak of orange light.
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