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After another successful mission, Lance, Walter, Eyes, Ears, and Marcy were back at HTUV, still buzzing from adrenaline. They were tossing out half-finished jokes, laughing a little too loud, acting like they hadn’t just spent the last few hours in serious danger.
But underneath all the noise, something had been bothering them the whole time.
Something everyone kept circling without actually saying out loud.
Finally, Eyes squinted across the room at Walter Beckett. “Okay. We need to talk about this.”
Walter looked up from his tablet, confused. “Talk about what?”
They exchanged looks—the kind where nobody wants to be the one to say it first.
“You,” Ears said. “You’re… like… twelve?”
A beat.
Walter blinked. “I’m not twelve.”
Lance immediately snorted into his drink. “Yeah, he’s not twelve. He’s like… thirteen and a half.”
“Lance.”
“I’m joking!” Lance threw his hands up, but didn’t help his case at all.
Still, nobody relaxed. Because Walter did look young—soft features, bright eyes, the kind of harmless energy that made people assume he had homework due tomorrow instead of government clearance.
Walter sighed. Patient, used to this. “I’m in my twenties.”
Silence.
Then chaos.
“No way.”
“You’re kidding.”
“That’s not possible.”
“That breaks the laws of aging.”
Walter frowned slightly. “Why would I lie about my age?”
Lance leaned forward like he was interrogating a suspect. “Hold on. You’re telling me you’re not like 17?”
“Yes.”
“…You’re my age.”
“Yes.”
Lance leans back slowly, staring at the ceiling like it might explain things. “That feels like a personal attack on my perception of reality.”
Marcy pointed at Walter like she was presenting evidence. “Nope. We need answers. What’s your secret?”
Walter tilted his head. “Secret?”
Ears leaned in. “You look like you drink sunlight and moisturize with moonbeams.”
Lance pointed at him. “Yeah. Explain.”
Walter hesitated for half a second, like he was deciding whether this counted as classified information. Then he shrugged.
“It’s skincare.”
The room went completely still.
Then immediately exploded.
“SKINCARE?”
“You’re telling me it’s just… face wash?”
Walter nodded. “And toner. Serum. Moisturizer. Sunscreen. Hydration. Consistency.”
Lance squinted. “Okay, stop. You’re listing wizard ingredients.”
Walter kept going anyway. “I also use Korean skincare brands. They’re very effective if you’re consistent.”
That set them off again.
“WHERE DO YOU GET IT?”
“IS THERE A SYSTEM?”
“DO YOU NEED TRAINING FOR THIS?”
“IS THERE A MISSION BRIEFING FOR YOUR FACE?”
Lance stared at him like reality had personally betrayed him. “So let me get this straight. You’ve been out here looking like a college freshman—”
“I am a college graduate,” Walter corrected.
“—because of skincare routines.”
Walter nodded.
Lance slumped back in his chair. “I’ve been fighting international crime, and this guy’s been fighting pores.”
A beat.
Ears muttered, “We’re all about to become moisturized beyond recognition.”
Walter sighed, but he was clearly amused now. “It’s not a magic fix. It’s maintenance.”
Lance pointed at him. “That’s what a wizard says after casting a spell.”
“I’m not—” Walter started, then gave up. “I can write it down.”
That flipped the room into full briefing mode.
Eyes already had a tablet open. Marcy was ready to take notes. Ears had a voice recorder out like this was an official intel debrief.
Lance leaned forward again. “Give me everything.”
Walter hesitated. “It’s kind of long.”
“I’ve wrestled a man named Crusher Carl in a moving truck,” Lance said. “Nothing you say can scare me.”
“It’s not scary,” Walter said. “Just… consistent.”
He started counting on his fingers.
“Cleanser. Gentle. No sulfates. Twice a day.”
Lance frowned. “Sulfates are bad?”
“They can be harsh.”
“I’ve been using hotel soap for years,” Lance muttered. “That explains a lot, actually.”
“Then toner,” Walter continued. “It balances your skin after cleansing.”
Ears raised a hand. “Is that like emotional support for your face?”
Walter paused. “Kind of.”
“Continue,” Eyes said immediately.
“Serum,” Walter said. “Vitamin C in the morning, something restorative at night. Then moisturizer. And sunscreen every morning. Even if it’s cloudy.”
The room went quiet at that.
Lance slowly looked up. “Even cloudy.”
“Yes.”
Marcy whispered, “We’ve been living like animals.”
Lance rubbed his face. “Okay. I need everyone to understand something.”
They looked at him.
“I have stopped bullets,” he said seriously. “I have jumped off buildings. I have fought people named ‘Iron Viper.’”
Ears nodded. “That guy did suck.”
“And yet,” Lance continued, pointing at Walter, “the most intimidating thing I’ve encountered today is an eight-minute face routine.”
Walter blinked. “It takes eight minutes.”
Lance stared. “Eight minutes.”
“Yes.”
“That’s less time than it takes me to find matching socks,” Lance said quietly, like he was reevaluating his life.
Walter added, “You don’t have to do everything at once. You can start simple.”
Lance narrowed his eyes. “Define simple.”
“Cleanser, moisturizer, sunscreen.”
“That’s three things,” Lance said immediately. “That’s not simple. That’s a trio of obligations.”
Marcy crossed her arms. “You once built a surveillance drone out of spare parts in a parking garage.”
“That was different,” Lance said.
“How?”
“It was in the moment.”
Walter, trying not to smile too much, added, “You can start with just sunscreen.”
Lance froze. “That sounds like a trap.”
“It’s not.”
Ears leaned toward Eyes. “He’s about to become the most protected man on Earth.”
Eyes nodded. “Finally. A villain Lance can’t punch.”
Lance ignored them. “Alright. Fine. I’ll try your… face protocol.”
“It’s not a protocol,” Walter corrected automatically.
“It is now.”
A beat.
Then, quieter: “If this works, I’m never letting you live it down.”
Walter nodded. “Fair.”
“And if it doesn’t work, I’m blaming science.”
“That’s also fair.”
From the back, Marcy clapped once. “We are witnessing the birth of Lance Sterling’s skincare era.”
Ears grinned. “Do we get jackets?”
“No jackets,” Lance said immediately. “But I want diagrams. Labels. Whatever serum is approved for agents who survive explosions.”
Walter nodded. “I can make a chart.”
Lance pointed at him. “Of course you can.”
He leaned back with a long exhale. “I cannot believe my career led me to asking for moisturizer recommendations.”
Walter smiled. “Welcome to the part of the job they don’t put in the brochure.”
Lance groaned. “There’s a brochure?”