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Part One: The One Who Smiles
The courtyard was loud. The spring sun had just started to warm things up, the asphalt still held onto the morning chill, and kids' voices were already echoing through the whole neighborhood.
"I'm Thunderstrike!" yelled a boy in a blue T-shirt, swinging his arms around as if they could actually throw lightning bolts. "I'm stronger than everyone!"
"And I'm the Ice Guardian!" another one chimed in, puffing out his cheeks and blowing a stream of air that was supposed to freeze his enemies.
Right in the middle of all the chaos, standing on an old car tire, was a boy with unruly blond hair sticking out in every direction like a dandelion. His T-shirt was stretched out and smelled like laundry detergent, his knees were scraped up, and draped over his clothes was a tablecloth — yellow, with faded flowers along the edges. It fluttered behind him like a real hero's cape.
"And I'm Smile!" he announced, jumping on the tire and losing his balance. "I smile right in my enemies' faces, and they just drop!"
His friends jumped into the game. They ran around the yard, hid behind the old swings, built forts out of cardboard boxes. The world was huge, full of dangers and adventures, and they were its main heroes.
As the game started to wind down, someone shouted:
"Look, a cat!"
A fat orange cat with lazy eyes was sitting on a branch of an old maple tree and clearly had no intention of coming down.
"He's stuck!" someone yelled.
"We have to save him!"
Smile didn't hesitate for a second. He threw off his yellow tablecloth cape, grabbed the lowest branch, and started climbing. Branches scratched his arms, the soles of his shoes slipped on the bark, but he kept going up and up until he was level with the cat. The cat looked at him with total indifference, yawned, and jumped down, landing on all four feet.
"He… didn't need saving," someone from below said.
Smile looked down. The ground was far away. Really far. His knees started shaking.
"Jump!" they shouted up at him.
He closed his eyes, imagined he'd grown wings, imagined he could fly like a real hero. And he jumped.
The impact knocked the wind out of him. His knees burned like fire, and blood welled up on his scraped palm. His eyes stung with tears — from the pain, from the frustration, from the fact that he hadn't actually flown. But he clenched his teeth and didn't cry. Heroes don't cry.
"You okay?" his friends ran over.
"I'm… I was just practicing," Smile breathed out, getting up and brushing off his knees. "When I grow up, I'm definitely going to learn how to fly. For real."
He picked up the yellow tablecloth off the ground and draped it over his shoulders again. It was a cape again. He was a hero again.
It was only when the sun started sinking behind the rooftops and the shadows grew longer that the boy glanced up at his apartment window on the third floor. The lights were off. His mom was still at work. She was always at work. In her white coat, with her tired face and her kind eyes that only lit up when she looked at him. He knew she'd come home late, bring something tasty, kiss the top of his head, and collapse from exhaustion. And he'd sit next to her, tell her about his day, and wait for her to smile. When she smiled, the world got brighter.
Evening took over, painting the courtyard in every shade of sunset. His friends started heading home.
"I'm gonna stay out a little longer!" he called out, waving.
No one was waiting for him at home. He barely remembered his dad — just a deep voice that made him hide under the covers, and his mom's tears. But now, at eight years old, those memories were fading, making room for other things: his mom's smile, warm hot chocolate in the mornings, the promise that everything would be okay.
He jumped back onto the tire, straightened the yellow tablecloth on his shoulders, looked up at the darkening sky, and thought: "When I grow up, I'm going to be the strongest hero there is. I'm going to actually fly. I'm going to save everyone, cats included. And Mom is never going to cry again. She's only going to smile. Always."
Part Two: The Birthday Boy
On the day Smile turned eight, his mom took the day off. That didn't happen often — there were never enough nurses, and the shifts were long — but today she was home. The air smelled like pie and vanilla. On the kitchen table, covered with a white tablecloth, sat a cake. Not store-bought, but made by his mom's own hands — lopsided, with slightly burnt edges, but with giant chocolate stars on top.
The room was loud. Classmates, friends from the yard, the neighborhood boys — they were all crowded around, reaching for the treats, laughing and shouting. Someone brought a building set. Someone brought a pack of hero stickers. And the kid from the next building over solemnly handed him a homemade card with a drawing of a guy with a gigantic smile, defeating an evil dragon.
"That's you!" he announced proudly. "Smile — the main hero!"
Eight candles. Eight tiny flames flickering on the crooked cake. Smile looked at his mom. She was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, wearing her old house dress, no white coat, and she was smiling. Smiling for real — not tiredly, not through sheer effort, but the way you smile when you're happy.
He closed his eyes. The room went completely silent, like even the air had stopped.
He imagined himself in the sky. Way, way up, with a yellow cape streaming behind him. He imagined saving people, everyone shouting his name. He imagined becoming the strongest. The coolest hero there ever was.
He opened his eyes, took a deep breath, and blew out all the candles at once.
Part Three: The Top of the World
The blinding glare of the spotlights hit his eyes, turning the crowd in the arena into one endless sea of faces. Thousands, tens of thousands of people were looking at him, their voices merging into one deafening roar that seemed to shake the very walls of the giant stadium.
Smile stood on the podium. First place. The Hero Tournament. He'd beaten them all — the strongest, the fastest, the ones people feared, the ones people admired. He'd been working toward this day his whole life. Ever since those eight candles flickered on that lopsided birthday cake.
A heavy golden mantle was placed on his shoulders. The Head of the Hero Commission extended a hand to shake. Thousands of cameras captured the moment. His name would be on every news outlet, in every newspaper, written into history.
"Congratulations, champion!" the announcer shouted, and the crowd erupted in applause.
The face of Hero Number One lit up with a happy smile. The smile everyone knew. The one that had become his trademark, his weapon, his name.
But right now, under those lights, in that thunderous applause, his mind was somewhere else.
He was thinking about his newborn daughter. About those tiny fingers wrapped around his. About her eyes — dark, serious, reflecting the whole world. About his wife, holding her in her arms and smiling that smile he'd been searching for his entire life.
His daughter. He had a daughter.
And as he looked out at that endless sea of faces, he saw only one thing: her future. The world she would grow up in. The world he would make safe. A world where she wouldn't cry at night, wouldn't wait alone for her mom to come home from work, wouldn't be afraid of the dark.
"Smile! Smile! SMILE!" the stadium chanted. Smile glanced at the giant screen showing his face, larger than life.
I did it, he thought. I became what I wanted to be. I can save people. I can protect the ones I love.
Smile took a deep breath, feeling something huge and bright and unstoppable ignite in his chest. He looked up at the sky above the stadium, where a few confetti balloons had just burst, showering him in golden glitter. He stepped forward to the edge of the podium and raised his hand in that familiar greeting. The stadium roared. The air trembled with tension and exhilaration.
"I want to be the strongest, the coolest hero there ever is."
Smile smiled, and that smile was brighter than all the spotlights, louder than all the applause, stronger than any superpower.
He had finally made it.
Smile stood at the top of his own world.
The wish had come true.