Work Text:
Months after the defeat of Shroud and the Red Ring, the SDN Torrance Branch was doing well. And since then, Herman, better known as Waterboy, is proud to call himself a hero with the rest of the Z-Team. He is still shy and nervous, and he still gets wet when that happens, but since then, he's managed to become a bit more confident in himself.
During a day off from work, which was granted to him by Robert and Blonde Blazer, he gets to go shopping for his dear grandmother. He first buys her medication that she's prescribed with. And then he goes to buy food for them and their thirty-plus cats. While there at the market, he saw a glimpse of someone in the line.
He sees numerous people hovering and glaring at a woman. She has an edgy, provocative figure. Her hair is long, voluminous, and dramatically split with jet black on one side, and stark white on the other, styled in loose waves swept back from her face. Her eyes are sharp and intense, with implied heterochromia (one eye dark and the other glowing lighter), heavy eyeliner, and a confident, menacing expression.
Her outfit is a revealing purple ensemble blending gothic punk and dominatrix vibes. A deep V-neck halter-style top or corset bodice in magenta-purple, adorned with a glowing green gem at the center.
Black leather shoulder pauldrons and epaulets that extend into long, form-fitting gloves ending in claw-like fingertips.
A short, flared purple skirt with subtle red spots or blood-like accents on the thigh.
Wide black belt with metallic arrowhead buckles slung low on her hips.
Thigh-high brown leather boots with layered straps, buckles, and high heels, giving her a towering, imposing silhouette.
Waterboy seemed to have seen her before. But the crowd surrounding her made it difficult to get a better glimpse of her. As the woman walks out of the market, the people follow her. Waterboy hurries to the line to pay for the food, looking outside the glass window to see the striking woman glare at the people heckling her.
Herman's hands trembled slightly as he fumbled for his wallet, droplets of water already beading on his forehead and soaking into his collar. "C-come on, Herman, focus," he muttered to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. The cashier gave him a sympathetic smile, but he hardly noticed as his eyes were glued to the scene unfolding outside. The woman, with her split-color hair whipping in the breeze, stood her ground like a storm about to break. The crowd murmured accusations: "Red Ring scum!" "You should've been locked up with Shroud!" "Get out of Torrance!"
It hit him then... Psychic. That's who she was. A former enforcer for the Red Ring, her mind-bending powers had terrorized the city during the height of Shroud's reign. But after the defeat, rumors swirled that she'd turned coat, helping other heroes since then. Or had she? Herman couldn't remember the details; he'd been too busy mopping up literal floods during those battles. Still, something about her now—alone, defiant—stirred a pang in his chest. No one deserved to be hounded like this, reformed or not.
He snatched his bags and bolted out the door, his sneakers squelching on the pavement as nervous sweat pooled around his feet. "H-hey! Leave her alone!" he shouted, his voice cracking like a leaky faucet. The crowd turned, some sneering at the sight of the skinny kid in the blue-and-yellow tracksuit, goggles perched on his head like a forgotten accessory. Waterboy? The pathetic wet hero? A few laughed outright.
Psychic's heterochromic eyes flicked toward him, one dark and piercing, the other glowing faintly with an ethereal light. Her lips curled into a smirk, but there was a flicker of surprise beneath it. "Well, if it isn't the Z-Team's resident puddle-maker. Come to join the mob, or are you here to... splash them away?"
Herman flushed, water trickling down his arms now, soaking the grocery bags. "N-no! I mean, yes—wait, no! I just... they shouldn't be bothering you. The Red Ring's done. Shroud's gone. Everyone deserves a second chance, right?" He stepped closer, positioning himself between her and the angriest hecklers, though his knees wobbled like jelly.
The crowd grumbled, but a few backed off—maybe recognizing him from the news, or perhaps intimidated by Psychic's unyielding glare. She crossed her arms, the green gem on her chest pulsing faintly as if echoing her amusement. "Cute. But I don't need saving, Waterboy. Especially not from a hero who leaks more than he fights."
"I-I'm Herman," he stammered, wiping his brow only to have more water replace it. "And I know who you are. Psychic. You... you h-h-helped other heroes?"
She tilted her head, her claw-tipped gloves tapping against her belt. "Helped? Let's say I had a change of heart. Shroud was a lousy boss—always monologuing, never paying overtime." Her voice was velvet-smooth, laced with sarcasm, but her eyes softened just a fraction. The crowd dispersed slowly, muttering as they went, leaving the two of them under the market's awning.
Herman shifted his bags, trying not to drop the cat food. "Well, uh, if you're not busy... maybe I could walk you somewhere? Safety in numbers, or whatever." He winced at how lame it sounded, but to his shock, she didn't laugh him off.
Psychic eyed him up and down, her menacing expression cracking into something almost playful. "You? My escort? Alright, puddle boy. Lead the way. But if you soak my boots, you're buying me new ones."
As they walked through Torrance's bustling streets, Herman's nervousness didn't fade entirely. Puddles trailed behind him like a watery breadcrumb trail, but Psychic's presence was oddly calming. She teased him relentlessly about his "pathetic wet hero" vibe, but there was no malice in it. Instead, she shared snippets of her past: how the Red Ring had recruited her for her psychic talents, promising power, only to deliver chains. In turn, he opened up about his grandmother's cats, his Z-Team mishaps, and how he'd always felt like the weakest link.
By the time they reached a quiet park bench, the sun dipping low, something unexpected clicked. Psychic leaned back, her thigh-high boots crossed, and admitted, "You're not what I expected from a hero. Most are all bluster and ego. You... you're real. Messy, but real."
Herman blushed, a small flood forming at his feet. "And you're not as scary as everyone says. Kinda... cool, actually."
She laughed—a genuine, throaty sound that made her gem glow brighter. "Flattery from the wet wonder? Careful, I might read your mind and see what else you're thinking." But instead of probing, she reached out with a gloved hand, her touch surprisingly gentle as she wiped a droplet from his cheek.
What started as a chance encounter blossomed into something more. Over the following weeks, Psychic, real name Elara, integrated into the SDN fringes, using her powers for good under Z-Team oversight. And Herman? He found confidence not just in battles, but in vulnerability. Their partnership was unorthodox: her mind games paired with his hydro antics, turning "pathetic" into powerful. Torrance whispered about the odd couple—the reformed villain and the shy hero, but for once, Herman didn't mind the stares. After all, things had taken off without a hitch.