The Strongest's Babysitter

The Elites are people born with supernatural abilities. So far, 55% of the population possesses these powers. Most of them work in professions like firefighting or law enforcement. However, some believe their abilities make them invincible—that they have the power to rule the world or that they shouldn't have to work hard for a living. These individuals have chosen the path of villainy. And where there is evil, there is also its counterpart: the Heroes. As for those who aren't Awakened, well, they're left with the lower-class jobs. It's unfair, even racist if you ask me, but that's just how it is.

Let's take Bob, for example:

Bob was sleeping soundly, his black hair long enough to cover more than half of his face. He looked peaceful, like an angel. That was until a loud **BEEEP** shattered his slumber, jolting him awake.

"Ugh…" he groaned, barely managing to open his eyes. He pushed his hair out of his face, revealing scarlet eyes that were still half-closed.

Getting up was a bit of a struggle, but after a few moments, he finally managed. Barely visible in the dark, he headed toward his bathroom and flipped the switch to turn on the light. The sudden brightness made him cover his eyes with his hand. His forehead was muscular and marked with numerous scars. In fact, his entire body was practically covered in them.

After a long moment, he lowered his hand and looked into the mirror opposite the entrance. His gaze traveled over his toned, muscular frame before he stepped closer to the sink beneath the mirror. He splashed water on his face—once, twice, then three times. When he looked up again, he stared at his sharp features, a faint smirk forming. He pointed at himself in the mirror and said, "Looking good, handsome."

He brushed his teeth, then returned to his room. Opening his closet, he picked out an outfit to wear for work. Grabbing the backpack he had prepared the night before, he got dressed and headed to the door. He took his shoes from the rack, put them on, and finally left the house. As he opened the door, a guy flew past above his house. Bob didn't even flinch at the sight of the flying figure soaring by.

"Ugh, it's too early for this," Bob murmured as he started walking. He pulled his earbuds out of his backpack and slipped them into his ears. Opening his phone for the first time that day, he queued up his favorite playlist by the band *Roses & Guns* and turned the volume all the way up.

…

Twenty minutes later, Bob arrived at his workplace—a construction site. As a construction worker, he chatted with some of his colleagues about the latest hero intervention or the upcoming football game. After a while, he changed into his uniform and got to work, smashing walls with a sledgehammer. He still couldn't understand how they were building something when the only thing he did was destroy walls.

…

After eight hours of hard labor and a 20-minute break, Bob was finally ready to leave. The sun was almost down, and the moon was already peeking out. Some colleagues asked Bob to join them for dinner, but he wasn't interested. All he wanted was a cold shower, maybe a call to one of his "friends"—if neither Sofia nor Luna answered, he'd just go straight to sleep.

…

The route back was exactly the same as that morning. He queued up his favorite playlist by the band *Roses & Guns*, turned the volume all the way up, and walked the entire 10 miles without a break.

As he approached his house, he sensed something—something he hated. Bob clenched his jaw before opening the door. The room was dark, with no sign of anyone. He stepped into the middle of his living room and suddenly stopped, a muscle tensing in his jaw. When he heard a click, Bob dashed toward the sound, grabbing an invisible assault rifle and smashing the barrel with nothing but his bare hands. He then yanked the invisible man toward him, using him as a shield against another invisible enemy who fired straight at his companion. As the attacker froze in shock, Bob dropped the lifeless body to the ground and lunged at the other, kicking him so hard he shattered his ankle with a single blow.

"Who are you?!" Bob demanded, staring down the now-visible soldier writhing on the ground. "Why are you here?!"

"That's about enough, don't you think?" a deep voice called from behind. "How's retirement, Rafael?" the voice continued.

It was Jack Smith, the man responsible for overseeing every hero in the country.

Look, I didn't lie about Bob.

Bob Dickson was an ordinary guy… but Rafael Azar? He was the greatest villain who had ever walked the earth.