Chapter 9: Hope
The flight to Musutafu was proceeding smoothly, with a family of three enjoying the trip. The parents were chatting excitedly about their plans to visit the city, while their six-year-old son, a curious boy, looked out the window. He watched the urban landscape with fascination, the skyscrapers and the bustling activity below catching his eye.
"Look, Mom, the city is so big!" exclaimed the boy, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.
The mother smiled slightly but didn't divert her attention from the conversation with her husband. "Yes, dear, it really is."
The boy continued to gaze out the window until something caught his attention. "Mom, there's a huge hole in the city!"
"Yes, dear, sure," replied the mother distractedly, without looking outside.
"Mom, look! A hole!" the boy insisted, tugging at his mother's arm.
She turned, ready to ask him to calm down. But when she looked out the window, she saw a yellow beam of light streak across the sky, followed by a deafening boom. The plane shook violently, throwing objects and passengers around. Food trays and plastic cups flew down the aisle, and the overhead bins opened, spilling luggage onto the startled passengers. The sound of creaking and groaning metal mixed with screams of terror.
Oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling, dangling in front of terrified faces. The emergency lights flickered intermittently, casting eerie shadows on the passengers' faces.
"What's happening?!" the father shouted, grabbing a mask and trying to put it on while helping his wife. His voice was almost drowned out by the deafening noise.
"The mask, put on the mask!" the mother screamed, her hands trembling as she placed the mask on her son's face. The boy, now panicking, felt his heart race and tears stream down his cheeks.
The plane shook uncontrollably, as passengers screamed and clung to their seats. The boy, with the mask firmly on his face, looked around in terror. The chaos around him was indescribable – screams, cries, the deafening noise of the struggling aircraft.
The air smelled of fuel and burning electronics, a metallic odor that stung the nostrils. The floor of the plane vibrated intensely, making it difficult to even hold onto the armrests. The reading lights flickered erratically, creating a sense of disorientation.
The flight attendants, trying to remain calm, gave instructions to the passengers, their voices trembling with fear. "Keep the masks on! Fasten your seatbelts! Stay calm!" they shouted, but their words were lost in the tumult.
The boy, with the oxygen mask pressed to his face, tried to breathe deeply, but the air felt heavy and oppressive. Each jolt of the plane made his stomach churn, and he tasted something bitter in his mouth. His small fingers gripped the armrests tightly, his knuckles white from the pressure.
Around him, the faces of the passengers reflected a range of intense emotions: fear, desperation, sadness. No one wanted to die. Everyone had unfulfilled dreams, goals to achieve, moments to live. Each was the protagonist of their own life, and now, faced with the possibility of the end, their minds were flooded with memories.
A young woman, with tears streaming down her face, thought about the wedding she was planning. She imagined her fiancé's smile, the white dress hanging in the closet, and the vows that would never be said. An elderly man, with trembling hands, remembered the grandchildren he wouldn't see grow up, the stories he wouldn't tell, and the laughter he wouldn't share.
A mother, holding her baby tightly, thought about the first words he would say, the first steps he would take, the hugs and kisses she would miss. Each memory was a small piece of their lives, moments that might seem trivial to anyone else but were precious to them, were all they had.
No one wanted to lose that. No one wanted to see their dreams, hopes, and loves torn away by a sudden and cruel disaster. Everyone clung to a thread of hope, their hearts crying out for a miracle. They remembered the laughter, the hugs, the simple conversations, and the moments of peace. They remembered the small things – the smell of coffee in the morning, the sound of rain on the roof, the warmth of a loved one's embrace. Things that, in the routine of life, often went unnoticed but now, faced with the abyss, revealed themselves as the greatest treasures.
The boy, seeing the despair on the faces around him, felt a deep sadness. He wanted to go home, play in the park, laugh with his friends. He wanted to grow up, live, and discover the world.
He needed one thing at that moment: hope.
Suddenly, the plane lurched violently, throwing the passengers to the side. The boy closed his eyes, wishing that all of this was just a nightmare. When he opened them again, he saw something extraordinary outside the window. A figure was flying alongside the plane, trying to match the aircraft's speed. It was a boy, lying in the air, with his arms extended forward, as if trying to stop the plane with his own strength.
And then he saw it. The smile on the flying boy's face, the unshakable confidence in his eyes. He struck the classic Superman pose, a figure of hope and power. The flying boy looked directly at the boy in the plane and made a salute, as if to say everything would be fine.
In that moment, something changed inside the boy on the plane. His heart, once dominated by fear, now felt a spark of hope. He knew there was a hero out there, someone fighting to save them all. And in that brief instant, he believed that there could be a happy ending.
Clark flew with all his might, his young muscles trembling with the effort. He knew that saving the plane would require everything he had. Flying beneath the aircraft, he stretched out his hands, feeling the impact of metal against his palms.
"Come on, Clark... you can do this," he murmured to himself, digging his fingers into the fuselage.
The weight of the plane was overwhelming, a massive mass of metal and passengers plummeting from the sky.
Clark felt every nerve, every fiber of his muscles working to their limit to support the giant. He felt small and insignificant in the face of the enormity of the task. The plane, with its hundreds of tons, seemed like a mountain about to crush him.
The engines roared above him, the heat of the flames licking the fuselage and radiating against his face. The turbulence created by the uncontrolled descent made the air around vibrate, turning each second into a battle to maintain control.
Clark felt sweat running down his face, mixing with tears of effort and pain. His arms trembled uncontrollably, his muscles on the verge of snapping. He clenched his teeth, feeling his jaw ache, but he could not give up. He could not let those people die.
"You are the son of All Might... you can do this!" he shouted to himself, his voice almost lost in the roar of the wind and engines.
The impact of metal against his hands sent waves of pain through his arms, but he did not let go. Each jolt of the plane made his body sway, as if trying to throw him off, but he held firm. His eyes, shining with determination, were fixed on the horizon, searching for a safe place to land.
The plane, now under Clark's control, descended slowly towards the city. He could see the skyscrapers of Musutafu approaching rapidly, each building a potential catastrophe if he lost control for a second. He adjusted his strength, trying to keep the plane's trajectory stable while fighting against gravity and speed.
From a nearby helicopter, a camera captured the scene, broadcasting live to the city's screens. The broadcaster couldn't believe what he was seeing.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we are witnessing something unbelievable! A young man is holding the plane in mid-air! This is... This is Clark, the son of All Might!"
On the streets of Musutafu, people stopped and looked at the screens, their eyes wide with astonishment.
"It can't be... He's just a kid!" a woman exclaimed, clutching her son's hand. Her eyes were filled with tears, a mix of fear and hope. "Is he really doing this?"
"Look, he's managing!" shouted a man, pointing to the sky, where the burning plane flew dangerously close to the buildings. His eyes reflected a mix of disbelief and admiration. "It's impossible... but he's really doing it!"
Inside an office, a woman looked out the window, stunned, as she saw the plane pass so close she could feel the heat of the flames. She stepped back, frightened, her coffee spilling on the table. "My God... Is this real?" She could hardly believe what she was seeing, her heart pounding uncontrollably.
In a park, a group of heroes, including some known as Endeavor and Hawks, looked up at the sky in disbelief.
"Is that... Clark?" asked Endeavor, his eyes wide with surprise. His mind raced, trying to understand how such a young boy could have so much strength and courage.
"He's amazing!" murmured Hawks, admiringly. He looked at Endeavor, searching for some answer, but all he saw was the same expression of shock.
In a modest home, Midoriya and Bakugo, both 10 years old, watched the broadcast on TV, their eyes glued to the screen. Midoriya's eyes were shining, his voice full of admiration. "It's the son of All Might! He's saving all those people!"
Bakugo, though reluctant to admit it, felt a mix of envy and admiration. "He's strong... very strong," he murmured, his fists clenched. His eyes were fixed on the screen, and he felt a burning desire to become as strong as Clark.
The future students of Class 1-A were also watching, each with their reactions. Todoroki, with his serious demeanor, thought about the incredible power he was witnessing. "He's risking everything... This is what it means to be a hero." His eyes were full of respect and recognition.
Ochaco, with tears in her eyes, whispered to herself: "He's going to make it... he has to!" Her heart was tight, filled with hope and fear at the same time. "He's so brave... so inspiring."
Kirishima, with his eyes wide with surprise and admiration, murmured: "This guy is incredible! He's really putting everything on the line to save these people... That's so manly!"
People around Musutafu stopped what they were doing to watch the scene. Workers, students, heroes, and civilians, all were united in a moment of admiration and hope. Clark, with his courage and determination, was showing the world what it meant to be a true hero.
The plane, now under Clark's control, descended slowly towards the city. He could see the skyscrapers of Musutafu approaching rapidly, each building a potential catastrophe if he lost control for a second. He adjusted his strength, trying to keep the plane's trajectory stable while fighting against gravity and speed.
"I can't fail... I won't fail," he thought, each word a mantra to maintain his determination. He felt the crushing pressure on his body, his muscles burning with effort. His vision began to blur, but he did not allow despair to take hold. He thought of his father, of All Might, and how he always found a way to win.
Finally, the plane reached the beach, the sand cushioning the impact. Clark, exhausted but victorious, felt the plane stabilize and land successfully. He let out a sigh of relief, his arms still trembling as he stepped away from the plane and descended onto the sand.
People on the beach ran towards the plane, shouting with joy and relief. Clark, panting, looked around, seeing the grateful faces and tears of happiness. He knew he had done something incredible, something his father would be proud of.
On the city's screens, the image of Clark rising from the sand was displayed, a symbol of hope and courage. People applauded, their voices rising in a chorus of admiration.
"Clark, the hero!" they shouted, as he, still catching his breath, waved shyly. He was just a child, but he was already destined to be a hero.