Chapter 1 Revival

"Patience is a virtue," Peter quoted some film to Brian as the two watched the "No Walk" signal turn to "Walk." A crushed Styrofoam cup tumbled by, blown by a passing car that startled the boys and prompted a wave of nearby honks. Brian clutched his backpack closer, while Peter nonchalantly placed his hands in his pockets.

"So what do you think about Mrs. Delgado?" Peter asked once they found their way back onto the sidewalk. Brian's eyebrow quirked in confusion, prompting Peter to reiterate, "The new English teacher? She's nice, but I kind of preferred Mr. Alvarez."

Brian furrowed his brow, considering. "I don't know, she just doesn't...have it?" His gaze drifted to a girl in a pink hoodie sipping from a multicolored plastic cup. If the light hit it just right, the liquid would cast a stained glass effect.

"Brian?" Peter's voice pulled him back. "Yeah? Sorry, I zoned out for a sec."

"You're really out there today, man." Peter chuckled. "Maybe all that deep thinking is frying your brain."

Brian scoffed in mock offense. "Hey, at least I have hobbies beyond gaming and movie quotes."

"Touché." Peter grinned. "I forgive you for being a misunderstood intellectual."

Peter gestured toward a stairway leading up to the bullet train station. "That's me." Brian's smile faltered slightly. "I was thinking of studying for Mrs. Delgado's exam tonight. Maybe you could come over?"

Peter turned back reluctantly. "I actually have a date lined up. But hey, I could put in a good word if she has a friend?"

Raising his hands, Brian demurred. "Ah, no need. Good luck though, seriously."

As Peter ascended the stairs, he called over his shoulder, "Thanks, man. But you really should try talking to a girl yourself. Maybe get a date or two?"

Brian rubbed his chin contemplatively. "Not a bad idea, actually."

A suited businessman jostled Brian, prompting him to shuffle along the busy sidewalks. He wove through crowds of pedestrians engrossed in their phones, oblivious to the world around them. Gazing up at a massive billboard, Brian murmured, "I wonder if anyone really sees what's in front of them?"

His words seemed to drift off, unheard amid the bustling city sounds. Yet Brian felt a newfound sense of awareness, an inkling that a different perspective awaited if he opened his eyes to it.

A midnight black mannequin in a blue and white tutu caught Brian's eye, twirling gracefully like a ballerina on a digital billboard. "Coppelia," the caption read, listing an upcoming date and venue.

Smiling, Brian snapped a photo, filing away the aesthetically pleasing image before the advertisement cycled to an energy drink promotion. His observant blue eyes tracked a passing girl who crushed an empty can before tossing it into a nearby bin. With her cropped leather jacket and tousled brown hair, she exuded a... familiar vibe.

"Maybe she's in a band?" Brian mused. "Or just a rock fan who rides a motorcycle?"

He imagined the possibilities of her life story as she strode past, utterly unaware of his curious gaze. The momentary connection sparked his imagination before his attention inevitably drifted to the next passerby.

Seeing the light reflect off a stop sign, Brian's gaze lingered on an old man holding a child's hand as they crossed the street. The sun's glare on the man's bald head made it appear he wore a shining crown. Brian watched, transfixed by the tenderness in the simple act of their intertwined hands and quiet conversation.

He squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a soft "Hm." Pulling out his phone, he opened his contacts - "Dad, Peter, Tim" the only listings besides work. His thumb hovered over Peter's name as he began typing "So what's the friend's name?" but quickly backspaced. "How do I talk to-" he started again, then deleted it with a shake of his head. "I'll figure it out later. Dinner with dad tonight anyway."

Brian smiled wistfully, anticipating the momentary "distraction." But a nagging voice hissed in his mind, "Dad's just going to ask about college again." Pocketing his phone, he carried on, the city blocks blurring together until he found himself at their apartment door.

Their home was perched dozens of floors up, offering an enviable view of the skyline. Brian knew that later, from the west-facing balcony off his room, he could watch the sunset in uncommon tranquility. High above the cacophony, it was perhaps the only truly quiet vantage in the bustling city.

Brian moved through the apartment placing his keys on a table he removed his shoes and placed them near the door just like he always did.

Brian unlocked the door and stepped into the apartment's hushed stillness. Kicking off his shoes, he let his backpack slide off his shoulder and onto the floor with a muted thump.

He wandered through the open living area, pressing a fingertip and dragging it along the electric blue slider to brighten and reveal the panoramic city view outside the window. Rays of golden sunlight flooded in, casting long shadows that stretched across the hardwood floors.

In the kitchen, Brian retrieved a glass from the cabinet and filled it from the tap, taking a long pull of cool water. He leaned back against the counter, allowing the quiet to envelop him like an embrace after the kinetic energy of the streets.

His gaze drifted to the balcony off the living room. Sliding the door open, Brian stepped outside, greeted by a light breeze that tousled his hair. He settled into one of the patio chairs, crossing his ankles up on the railing as he watched the sun dip lower in the horizon.

This ritual of solitude and stillness became a reset, a way to decompress and align his frenetic thoughts after another overstimulating day. Brian closed his eyes, focused on the rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat, and slowly released the tension from his shoulders

The tranquil moment was abruptly shattered by the shrill ring of Brian's phone, shattering the stillness like a pebble disrupting a placid pond.

He furrowed his brow as he fished the device from his pocket, the intrusive sound seeming to grate against his newfound serenity. Glancing at the caller ID, he inwardly sighed. Dad.

With a resigned tap, he accepted the call. "Hey, Dad."

"Brian, hey." His father's familiar voice crackled through the tiny speaker. "Listen, I'm stuck at the office. Another late one, I'm afraid."

Brian felt the tension he'd just released came creeping back into his shoulders. "Oh. Uh, okay."

A beat of silence passed before his dad continued in that too-familiar apologetic tone. "You know how it is. This deal we're working on is huge. But I'll definitely be home for dinner tomorrow, I promise."

"Yeah, yeah, no problem." Brian struggled to keep the disappointment from his voice as he stared out at the deepening hues of dusk overtaking the skyline.

"I'll make it up to you, okay?" His dad's voice took on that placating quality Brian recognized all too well. "Maybe we can do something fun this weekend before you head back to campus."

"Sure, Dad. Whatever." Brian rubbed his eyes, the moment's tranquility now utterly disrupted. "I'll just heat up some leftovers."

"That's my boy. I'll see you later tonight." The call disconnected with a sense of finality.

Pocketing his phone, Brian slowly rose from the patio chair, casting one last glance at the nascent evening shadows stretching long across the city. The magical stillness from moments before had evaporated.

"살기 위해 어쩔 수 없이 죽이기 위해 태어났어요!" The synthesized voice rang out as Brian scrolled through video after video. The same neon-haired anime avatar appeared in an endless loop - playing games, reacting to memes, shouting that odd battle cry.

He furrowed his brow as the Vtuber model once again took a sip from the same branded neon green soft drink that seemed to be ubiquitous in her content. Video after video, that can was ever-present like some low-key product placement.

Shaking his head, Brian was about to close the app when one particular thumbnail caught his eye - the Vtuber doing a realtime analysis of some classic martial arts movie fight scene. Curiosity piqued, he tapped play.

The video opened with the virtual avatar mimicking Bruce Lee's famous philosophical musings in that instantly recognizable synthetic voice. "...Being self-aware is not just a trendy idea. It's the taste of real life."

Then the fight sequence began, the unrelenting flurry of fists and feet slowing to a crawl as the Vtuber broke down every technical detail - weight distribution, angling, hip rotation. She called out openings, counters, feints and combinations as they happened.

"See how he buckles that front leg on the kick to borrow torque through the hips? Beautiful set up..." She gushed, clearly in her element as a true student of the craft.

Brian's lip curved into a small smile as the Vtuber's analysis grew more impassioned, her synthesized voice rising in intensity with each technical observation. To Peter or anyone else, watching an anime avatar meticulously break down fight choreography would likely seem an odd way to spend an evening.

But Brian found himself leaning in, hanging on her every enthusiastically shouted word. With each frame-by-frame breakdown, her sheer passion for the subject shone through the digital veneer. The excitement was palpable, transcending the virtual realm.

This was no mere vapid internet personality regurgitating shallow commentary. Brian recognized the hallmarks of a true student and practitioner, someone who had dedicated innumerable hours to mastering this craft. Her profound knowledge and appreciation for the nuances shattered assumptions.

As the video reached its climax, the Vtuber's avatar mirrored the onscreen fighter's motions with a series of crisp, precise forms. Though her physical body remained an abstract mystery, Brian could envision the real person behind the virtual mask - muscles coiled with restrained power, movements honed through repetition bordering on obsession.

The faint beep of Brian's watch signaled 9:12 pm. He silenced the alarm with a press of the side button and padded into his bedroom, vigorously toweling off his damp blonde hair. He'd just emerged from a warm shower, now donning a blue shirt and grey shorts.

Brian crossed over to the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city skyline. With a couple taps, he adjusted the smart-tint, allowing the myriad of glittering lights to blaze through the previously darkened glass. His gaze lifted to the waxing moon hanging like a silver coin amid a spattering of stars.

Struck by the tranquil beauty, Brian raised his phone and angled the camera upward, snapping a quick photo. He smiled faintly at the simple pleasure of capturing this moment.

A sudden shattering sound made him whip around. There on the balcony he'd occupied earlier, shards of the glass he'd left on the patio table were scattered across the floor. Brian's eyes slowly adjusted to the dim lighting, making out the unmistakable silhouette of the woman he'd noticed earlier that day - the one with the cropped leather jacket and wild brown hair.

But something was different now. A soft blue glow emanated from her chest, bathing her features in an ethereal light. As their eyes met, Brian felt a jolt of recognition spark through him like an electric pulse.

"You..." The word caught in his throat as memories came flooding back of that fateful day years ago when their paths had first crossed. Of the British woman who had heroically saved him and his little brother from the clutches of the Widowmaker.

"Tracer?" he finally managed, his voice a hushed rasp.

The woman tensed, turning away from him to face the city as if preparing to dash off into the night. Brian's heart stammered in his chest.

"Wait!" he blurted out. "It's...it's been a long time, right? Three...four years?"

Tracer didn't respond, but the taut lines of her shoulders betrayed her wariness.

"I think you remember me," Brian pressed on, his voice steadier now. "I...I punched Widowmaker to save you that day. You were out cold after she--" He stopped himself, not wanting to relive that traumatic memory.

Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken history. Only the distant hum of traffic far below permeated the weighted stillness.

At last, Tracer turned back toward him, her brown eyes amplified by the soft blue glow, tinting them a warm amber hue. Brian's breath caught in his throat as he drank in every detail, amazed that his former hero now stood before him after all this time.

"Thank you," he finally said, his voice thick with emotion. "For what you did that day...for saving me and my brother." He paused, giving a small shake of his head. "And even after that... during the years when everything felt so hopeless, just knowing you were out there helping people...it gave me hope."

Tracer tilted her head quizzically. "For what?" she asked at last, her crisp British accent still so familiar.

Brian felt his eyes sting with the onset of grateful tears. "For being a real hero when we needed it most."

Tracer turned back towards the glittering cityscape, a wistful smile playing across her lips. "That's why I do this," she said, her melodic British lilt filling the silence.

Angling her body towards Brian once more, she cocked her head inquisitively. "So, can I ask you something?"

Brian nodded, matching her smile with one of his own. "Yeah, of course."

"What are you going to do now...that there's peace?"

The question seemed to punch the air from Brian's lungs. His smile faltered as their eyes locked, and in that moment, he glimpsed a profound sadness lying just beneath Tracer's warm exterior. Peter's teasing words echoed through his mind - "Maybe all that deep thinking is frying your brain."

He let out a heavy exhale, suddenly feeling like that naive kid from years ago. "Nothing, I guess. During the war, I thought things would never go back to normal. When you're in it, life doesn't seem to exist beyond that day. You just feel lucky to wake up the next."

Brian's gaze grew distant as the words tumbled out, unlocking something deep within. "Then imagine what it's like having to think about what's beyond the next ten years. It just doesn't feel real, you know?"

Blinking, he seemed to emerge from his reverie. "What about you? Did you have a victory party after it all ended?"

Tracer barked out a laugh, the unexpected snort startling them both into a shared peal of laughter. As it subsided, she launched into a rollicking story about an Australian friend launching an oversized firework rocket that "lit up the sky like a burning star."

Brian hung on every word, savoring the cathartic levity of this moment. With each animated gesture and mirthful chuckle from his childhood hero, he felt a profound sense of comfort and purpose wash over him.

The sound of a door opening behind him shattered the spell. Brian's watch beeped the hour - 10:30 pm.

"My dad," he murmured, turning back towards Tracer. But she had already risen from the patio chair and started towards the balcony's edge.

"Wait!" Brian called out. "You didn't answer my question. What are you doing now that there's peace?"

Tracer paused, her eyes locking with his in an endless moment. The sorrow he'd glimpsed earlier shone through, paradoxical to the sad smile playing across her lips. "Nothing," she finally answered, her voice small yet resolute.

Striding over, she gently tapped his shoulder with her fist. "Keep hope, kid."

Then, with two fingers raised in a jaunty salute toward her brow, Tracer murmured, "See you later, Brian."

A blinding azure flash bloomed outward, forcing Brian to shut his eyes against the brilliance. When he opened them again, the balcony stood empty, as if she'd been nothing more than a waking dream all along.

Brian turned his gaze back towards the patio chair where Tracer had been seated mere moments before. His eyes widened as the nearby table began emanating a soft, azure luminescence. The shards of shattered glass seemed to tremor, slowly levitating and reconstituting into their original crystalline form as if in reverse time.

Within seconds, the cup sat pristine and unbroken, bathed in that otherworldly sapphire aura. Tentatively, Brian reached out to grasp it, half expecting the delicate structure to disintegrate beneath his fingertips like a fleeting apparition.

But it was solid and real in his grip. He could feel the faintest warmth still clinging to the surface where Tracer's hand had been. Bringing the glass closer, Brian studied the cracks as they began to vanish.

This tangible remnant, this undeniable proof of what he'd just experienced, seemed to anchor him back to reality. Yet the memory of that chance reunion - of locking eyes with his childhood hero once more after all these years - still shimmered with an otherworldly, dreamlike joy.

Had he truly looked into the haunted eyes of the woman whose bravery and selfless heroism had pulled him back from the brink of despair during those dark times? Whose existence as a beacon of hope had given him the resilience and determination to keep moving forward, one step at a time?

The phantom impression of Tracer's tender salute lingered, the ghost of her parting farewell both profound and ephemeral: "Keep hope, kid."

"Brian?" His father's familiar voice shattered the reverie, pulling him back to the present. "What are you doing out here?"

Clutching the glass against his chest like a sacred relic, Brian slowly pivoted to face the open balcony door. A wistful smile played across his lips as he drank in the twinkling cityscape vista beyond, the canyons of steel and glass still vibrating with traces of Tracer's miraculous appearance.

"Something..." he finally murmured, his voice barely above a hushed whisper thick with profoundly awakened emotions. Giving the glow-kissed cup one last look of reverence, Brian turned and strode past his father into his bedroom.