Shady Deals and Shady Men

Maro winced as he saw his father's brow furrow deeper, eyes locking onto the fresh bruises that painted his face.

It was inevitable, of course, that his father would notice.

"Again, Maro? What the hell happened this time?" His father's voice wavered between concern and anger, leaning heavily towards the latter. "I didn't do what I did—your mother didn't work herself to the death—just for you to throw everything away, running around like some thug!"

Maro's head snapped up. "What do you mean by that?" he demanded, eyes narrowing. 

He had never seen his father this angry, but he had also never heard anything about what he had just alluded to.

As far as he was concerned his mother died of a natural illness, she wasn't even able to work, she was ill.

He held his father's gaze greedily, begging for him to not dismiss him and ignore him.

Mr Dumont had half a mind to cow his head and look down sheepishly, muttering some incomprehensible sentences. He had a look of momentary regret, as though he had said something he wasn't supposed to.

Then his father coughed violently, gripping his cane tighter as his body shook with the effort. His illness flared up, like it always did when he got stressed.

"Dad?", Maro asked, concerned. All anger forgone momentarily as he reached forward to prop his father up.

"I'm just—" His father took a breath, finally catching his voice. "I'm just saying you're better than this. Getting into fights, sneaking out at all hours, acting like a hoodlum. What do you expect me to think?"

Maro scowled, frustration bubbling up in his chest. "I'm not doing anything other boys my age aren't doing! Fights, staying out late...it's normal!"

"Normal?!" His father barked, shaking his head. "This isn't you, Maro. You've never been the type to throw punches just to—"

Maro cut him off, his voice rising. "You don't get it, Dad."

There was a tense pause, both of them standing there, unsure of what to say. This was the first fight they had ever had, and they were unsure what lines ought not to be crossed. 

That didn't stop them from doing so anyway.

Maro added quietly, "Mom would've understood."

His father scoffed bitterly. "Your mother... would've been disappointed."

That stung. 

Maro clenched his jaw, his fists curling. 

Without another word, he grabbed his notepad off the table—the one filled with things he needed to buy—and stormed out of the house.

The afternoon air hit him like a wall, but it didn't cool the heat simmering inside. 

"He just doesn't get it," Maro muttered under his breath. 

How could he? What was he supposed to say? 

'Father, I made a deal with some mystical force that's turned my life into a game. Now I can see crimes the rest of Gotham ignores, and I'm getting stronger for it.' Yeah, that'd go over well.

He shook his head. 

No. 

His dad would never understand. He couldn't blame him, really—he'd probably react the same way if the roles were reversed. 

If anything, Maro had to be the one to change. He needed to show his father this was just a phase, something he'd grow out of, all while keeping the truth buried. 

He could handle both lives. He had to.

After a long walk with him lost in his thoughts, he finally reached the bike store. 

Inside, he grabbed what he needed: a helmet, shin pads, knee pads, elbow pads, and padded gloves. He was able to stuff everything except the helmet into his bag, gripping it tightly under his arm as he made his way back home.

To his surprise, his father was waiting in the living room when he returned. 

He looked up as Maro entered, his expression softer than before. He glanced momentarily at the helmet in confusion, but he thought better of what he was going to say- and opted to stand up and walk over to Maro wordlessly.

"I was out of line earlier," his father said gruffly once he reached him, the apology almost foreign coming from him.

Maro paused, then nodded. "I'm sorry too. I'm... just trying to figure things out. Y'know, find my way."

His father chuckled, a rare sound these days. "Hell, I was worse at your age."

The tension broke, and they shared a small, heartfelt moment before his father pulled him into a tight embrace.

"Just... don't hurt yourself anymore, alright? Your mom... she'd be proud of the young man you're growing into...So long as you find a way to do it without getting hurt anymore ."

Maro smiled, the lie on the tip of his tongue. "Yeah, Dad. I'll stay out of trouble."

Later in his room, Maro sat at his desk, his notepad open again, but this time, he wasn't listing errands. 

Instead, he rehearsed combat tactics he'd researched online, in his head.

Striking techniques, grappling moves, kicks, throws—anything that could give him an edge in a fight. Some seemed useless, but he'd try them out anyway. Real-world testing was the only way to be sure.

He also wrote down the benefits of gymnastics, something he'd considered before but had never followed through on. 

Maybe joining the school's gymnastics club would be the next step. It wouldn't hurt to start, especially if it earned him some extra points for agility.

After his brainstorming session finished, Maro told his father he was going out for a walk and promised he wouldn't get into trouble. He kept the promise, for the most part.

Small missions filled his afternoon: cleaning up trash, helping a lost child reunite with their mother, and calling the police on a shady guy dealing narcotics behind a bodega. 

Maro was surprised that counted as a mission. He figured being a hero was more about grand gestures, not the little things.

'Guess doing the right thing is enough,' he thought. Not everything had to be life or death.

The experience points ended up pushing him to the next level.

[Levelled up! You are now Level 2]

[+3 available stat points ready for allocation]

His first real milestone, and now he had an extra 3 available stat points to hold as insurance.

-

[Lvl 2]

Maro Dumont (Valor) 

Race: Human 

Class: Hero

Strength: 8 

Agility: 8 

Endurance: 13 

Vitality: 9 

Intelligence: 15 

Luck: 1

[Available Stat Points: 6]

[Renown: 33]

-

The end of the weekend brought forth the start of the new school week. 

Maro returned, hoping that the hype with his run-in with the mugger had already faded.

And just as he expected, the hullabaloo he faced a few days ago had been dying with time. 

He had guessed as much when he saw that his renown had been steadily dropping.

Gossip was a fleeting thing, and in high school, everything passed quickly—scandals, rumors, the latest drama.

Still, there were moments when Maro felt eyes on him.

Periodic glances, and whispered comments behind his back, like they were waiting for something.

Maro had an inkling of what it was, but it didn't bother him much. He had more on his mind.

In a month, they'd forget all about it, too caught up in crushes, trending songs, or whatever else consumed their lives.

He had more important things to worry about.

But not everyone was ready to let things slide.

Caleb and his two henchmen—just as comically stereotypical bullies do—were waiting for him the moment he set foot outside during lunch.

Maro noticed them lingering by the school's brick wall, leaning in a too-cool-for-school way as if they owned the place. He wondered if they knew how stupid they truly looked.

"There he is!," Caleb sneered, loud enough to catch Maro's attention. "About time, coward."

Maro felt a flicker of annoyance, but he ignored them and kept walking. 

In all honesty, he wanted to avoid them, but he knew this was unavoidable.

And if they escalated, Maro wouldn't be a doormat.

He had already promised himself that Valor would be who they faced. 

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" Caleb continued, stepping closer, his voice rising. "What, too scared to show your face after what happened? You're pathetic."

Maro continued, glancing over his shoulder. "Leave me alone, please."

That only made Caleb grin wider. 

"Please, he says!"

His friends—two towering idiots that flanked him—laughed, feeding off the tension. They concluded that Maro had already given up.

One of them nudged the other, a silent signal passing between them. 

Maro recognized it immediately. They wanted a repeat of what had happened days ago, only this time there wouldn't be anyone to stop them. 

They were outside, and the monitors? Nowhere in sight. This wasn't the cafeteria. 

Even if the monitors were there, Maro doubted it would matter. This confrontation was inevitable.

"You're not walking away from this one," Caleb jeered, stepping forward with his chest puffed out.

Maro's gaze narrowed. He knew how this would go—the first move would decide everything. He'd learned that from the last fight. No hesitation.

[Valor : Lvl 2 Activated]

Without warning, Maro lunged at Caleb, his fist shooting out in a quick jab that caught him square in the face. The impact was solid, and Caleb staggered back, clutching his nose with a pained yell.

"What the—!" Caleb's words were cut off by the force of the hit, his eyes wide with shock.

Before his goons could react, Maro yanked his backpack off his shoulder and hurled it into the face of the nearest one. 

It was a simple trick, but one he'd read about in his tactical research—distractions that obscured your opponent's vision bought precious seconds in a fight. And it worked. The second guy stumbled, raising his arms to block the bag, completely off guard.

Maro didn't wait. 

He ducked under a wild punch from the third bully/henchman, the only one who hadn't been hit yet.

But it was precisely because Maro knew he would be the only one free to attack, that he had been able to anticipate him.

Activating his skill made it all that much easier. 

Their movements were sloppy, and predictable.

Not like what he had expected in his mental simulations. 

Maro swept his leg out in a halphazard motion, catching the guy off balance and sending him crashing to the ground. 

Caleb, still recovering from the punch, tried to rush Maro again. But Maro was faster. He drove his knee into Caleb's groin, doubling him over with a grunt.

Without missing a beat, Maro scrambled on the floor, snatched up his backpack, turned, and bolted.

Behind him, Caleb's pained shouts echoed, but Maro didn't care.

He'd done what he had to. And from the corner of his eye, he noticed the bystanders—students who had been watching the whole thing. 

Their faces were frozen in surprise, shocked that Maro had turned the tables so quickly. These were the same kids who had been all too ready to watch him get hurt just moments ago.

[Valor : Lvl 2 Deactivated]

'Yeah, keep staring,' Maro thought bitterly, his pace never slowing as he left school grounds.

He wasn't going to stick around for the rest of the day. 

He had already caught up on the classwork he missed while working on his intelligence stats, especially in math and science. 

No point sitting through more hours of the same when he had better things to do.

Instead, Maro headed straight for the gym, eager to shake off the adrenaline and lose himself in something productive. 

After hitting the gym, Maro's skills began to sharpen. 

His boxing was still rough around the edges, but as he was falling into a rhythm, his punches landed with more precision, and his footwork became smoother. 

All of a sudden, whilst Maro was shadow-boxing, it all clicked in his head.

[Skill upgraded! Amateur Boxing, Lvl 3] 

He finally managed to level up that stubborn amateur boxing skill, twice in fact.

The system then further rewarded his effort: another stat boost in endurance and agility, all gained from focusing entirely on boxing for an hour straight without any rest. 

[Endurance +1]

[Agility +1] 

He assumed that his more frequent fights played a part in his sudden boxing growth, which made sense. Combat experience was far more beneficial than drills.

Maro had felt an otherwise imperceptible, slight ease with fighting recently, it was only a matter of time. Whilst it was nothing to write home about, he wasn't oblivious to his budding strength.

After the light, technique-based workout, Maro left the gym, wiping sweat from his brow. 

The evening air was cool, and it looked as though it were about to rain. Gotham had a habit of doing that. 

As he walked, something pulled his attention—a cluster of voices, hushed but urgent, coming from just around the corner.

Voices—familiar ones. He didn't know why it was familiar, but after a while, he recognized the tone.

Maro ducked behind a nearby dumpster, peeking out cautiously. 

There they were, huddled together in the alley, the same thugs from that night—and, to his shock, the one he'd helped put behind bars. 

'He wasn't supposed to be out!', yet there he stood, free as ever, with an unbothered smirk on his face.

"I'm telling you, we got a chance to make it big!", He gloated in a low hushed voice, casting cautious glances around. "Carmine Falcone is swimming in money. I heard we get paid extra for keeping it hush too, dirty work—ya know?"

One of the other thugs grinned slyly, nodding. "Dirty work for Falcone means serious cash. As long as we don't get on his bad side."

Another thug scoffed, crossing his arms. "Yeah, well, bailing your sorry ass out of jail wasn't free either. Now we owe him big time. You owe us!—Big time!"

The now ex-convict jabbed an elbow into the man next to him. "Keep your damn voice down, idiot," he hissed. "You want The Bat to hear us?"

Another snorted, laughing under his breath. "The Bat? You still believe in that crap? Come on, man, he's just a scare tactic. Somethin' the cops cooked up to keep us on edge. Ain't nobody seen him."

The group chuckled in agreement, but one of them was silent—Maro recognized him as the man who had pulled the trigger that night. He just shook his head, his eyes dark. 

"Yeah, well, not even The Bat had to take one of us down that night, huh?" another thug said, slapping Maro's would-be killer on the shoulder with a mocking grin. "Some snot-nosed kid did it! I mean, we're talkin' about a buncha so-called tough guys, and a kid managed to get the drop on one of us."

The laughter spread, but the ex-convict's face twisted in anger, his fists clenching. "That kid," he growled through gritted teeth, "he's not normal. There's somethin' off about him. Next time I see him, I'm putting him down. For good."

Maro's stomach churned as he watched, heart pounding in his chest.

The fourth guy, quieter until now, leaned against the brick wall, grinning slyly. "Doesn't that kid go to the same school as your little sister?" His voice was low, malicious.

The ex-con smirked, dark and dangerous. "Yeah. And I've got somethin' special planned for him. Real special."

Before Maro could process the weight of that threat, the conversation came to an abrupt end.

A black SUV rolled up, its engine purring quietly.

The men climbed in one by one, their laughter fading as the door slammed shut and the vehicle sped off into the night.

Maro let out a shaky breath, his mind racing.

He needed to leave—fast. 

Unbeknownst to him, up above, perched on a stone gargoyle, a large, shadowy figure loomed, hidden in the dark.

His costume was sleek and catlike, and though his features were obscured, his eyes were locked on Maro's form as he ran. Tracing his movement with keen accuracy.

Maro didn't notice.

But the man on the gargoyle? He seemed very, very interested.