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Insomnia wasn't something you could get used to. Smile thought he knew everything there was to know about sleeplessness. He'd slept on fire escapes during shifts, dozed off in locker rooms between calls, collapsed after twenty-four-hour patrols. But nothing—absolutely nothing—compared to what his newborn daughter was putting him through.
Smile lay in bed, counting the minutes as he stared at the ceiling. Not until dawn. No—until the cry from the next room.
"Is she asleep?" he whispered, turning his head toward Margo.
"She is," she whispered back. "Twenty-three minutes now."
"Twenty-three minutes is a lot."
"That's a record."
They lay in the dark, listening to the silence. The apartment was quiet. Too quiet. Smile knew that silence was deceptive.
Sunshine. The perfect name for a girl born to a hero who could shine. And she cried.
She cried at three in the morning.
She cried at four.
She cried at five.
She cried at six, when the pale morning light began to creep through the windows of the Hero Tower, and Smile, sitting on the edge of the bed with the baby in his arms, felt his consciousness slowly dissolving into a fog of exhaustion.
"Please," he whispered, looking into her huge dark eyes, which stared back at him with an expression of profound, cosmic displeasure. "What do you want? I'll do anything. I'll even step down to number two if it helps you stop crying."
Sunshine kept staring at him with that same look, as if to say, "You don't understand, Father. You don't understand anything."
"She's probably hungry," Margo said, cracking one eye open from under the blanket. Her voice was hoarse with sleep, but laced with weary tenderness.
"I just fed her," Smile replied.
"Then it's a wet diaper."
"Dry. I checked."
The baby, who seemed to sense her father was on the verge of a breakdown, paused mid-cry to regard him with curiosity.
"Are you mocking me?" Smile asked. "You just smiled, didn't you? Was that a smile?"
The baby started crying again. But for a moment—just a moment—Smile could have sworn he saw a glint in her eyes that looked a lot like his own.
"You have your mother's eyes," he said. "But your father's temper. I can already tell."
Margo propped herself up on an elbow and looked at her husband—his disheveled blond hair, the dark circles under his eyes, the T-shirt stained with dried milk, the expression of despair mingled with tenderness on his face.
"Maybe it's colic," she said sleepily. "All newborns get it. Try rocking her."
Smile sighed, lifted the baby carefully into his arms—like she was made of glass, like she might shatter at the slightest wrong move—pressed her to his chest, and began walking the room. Step forward, step back, a gentle sway. Sunshine hiccuped, then fell silent, then hiccuped again, and began to drift off, her nose buried in his neck. He froze, afraid to move. He could feel her breath, her tiny fingers clutching his shirt. And suddenly he realized he'd stand like this forever. For this moment alone.
"You hear that?" Smile whispered. "She's falling asleep. I'm a great father. I've done it."
Margo didn't answer. She was already asleep.
He laid the baby in the crib beside the bed, stood there for a few seconds, gazing at her sleeping face, and felt a strange warmth spread through him. Not the kind tied to his powers. Something else. Deeper. More important.
Smile had never imagined love could feel like this. It wasn't like what he felt for his wife—sharp, vivid, full of sparks and arguments. It wasn't like what he felt for heroism—burning, adrenaline-fueled, demanding every last ounce of him. This love was different. Quiet. All-consuming. It filled every cell, every minute, every breath.
In the morning, Smile woke up feeling like he'd been hit by a truck. He glanced at the clock—6:47 AM. Sunshine was asleep in her crib, Margo in bed, and he was slumped in the armchair where he'd spent most of the night.
"I'm not a hero," he whispered. "I'm a zombie."
He caught his reflection in the mirror—disheveled, dark-circled, wrinkled T-shirt. He took a deep breath. And exhaled. Then Margo opened her eyes, smiled at him, and the world flooded back with color.
Smile quickly realized that being a hero was easier than being a father. Heroism had rules: show up, save the day, smile, fly off. Fatherhood had no rules. Every day brought new challenges, new discoveries, new failures.
He flew across the sky at super-speed, clutching a bag of diapers he'd bought at a gas station. He thought about how lucky he was to be able to fly. Otherwise, he'd never make it in time.
"I'm already on my way!" he yelled into the phone he was holding in his other hand. "Is Sunshine holding up?"
"She's holding up," Margo replied with a tired laugh, "but not for long. You'll make it."
He sped up, feeling the wind whistle past his ears, and smiled at his thoughts.
Smile flew into the Hero Tower at a quarter past eleven—two hours later than he'd promised. In one hand, he carried a bag with a pack of diapers sticking out; in the other, a pink plush unicorn he'd bought at a pharmacy on the way, because somehow he'd felt that coming home without a unicorn was simply not an option. Not at all. No way.
Margo sat on the couch in the living room, exhausted, wearing an old T-shirt and loose sweatpants. Her hair was gathered in a messy bun, strands escaping—she clearly hadn't brushed it since yesterday. In her arms, she held not a phone or a book, but a small, warm, squirming bundle wrapped in a yellow blanket.
He stopped in the doorway, looking at them—this scene that should have been perfectly ordinary, yet always stole his breath.
"Hey," he whispered, trying not to break the silence. "I brought diapers."
"You bought the wrong size," Margo said, eyeing the package.
"What do you mean, wrong?"
"She needs the smaller ones. Newborn size."
"But I bought the smallest they had!"
"There are smaller ones," she cut in. "Never mind. Come here. Hold her. She needs a change, and I need a shower..."
Smile stood over the changing table, holding a fresh diaper, feeling like he was preparing for the most delicate operation of his life. He'd read the instructions on the package three times, but the words still blurred before his eyes.
"It's simple," he told himself. "You've handled firestorms. You've handled villains. You can handle a diaper."
He unzipped the onesie. Sunshine lay on her back, staring up at him with suspicion, as if she already knew this man had no idea what he was doing.
"Okay," he said, addressing himself to keep his nerve. "Step one: open the diaper. Step two: remove the soiled one. Step three..."
He pulled off the old diaper, rolled it up, sealed the tabs, and with a deft motion sent it sailing into the trash can. Then he grabbed a fresh one, unfolded it, positioned it under the baby, and tried to fasten it. At that exact moment, Sunshine decided it was the perfect time to start crying again. He flinched, the diaper slipped, and hit the floor.
"Step three: don't panic," he said, inhaling deeply.
"What happened?" Margo's voice came from the kitchen.
"Everything's fine!" he shouted back. "I'm just... uh... testing the new system!"
He picked up the diaper and tried again. This time, the tabs stuck where they should, but he forgot to adjust the leg cuffs, and the diaper sat crooked.
"Well, not perfect," he admitted, surveying his work. "But it'll do."
Sunshine gazed up at him with an expression that clearly said, "You did it, Dad. Well done." He let out a relieved breath and pulled her close.
"We'll get the hang of it," he said. "I promise."
When Sunshine turned four months old, Margo finally decided Smile was ready to take the baby out for walks. He was thrilled. She was horrified.
"You're not going to forget her somewhere, are you?" Margo asked as he strapped the baby into the carrier on his chest.
"I won't," Smile said honestly. "I'd forget myself before I forget her."
"Are you sure you want to take her to the supermarket?"
"Margo, I'm the number one hero. I can handle a supermarket."
She looked at him skeptically but didn't argue. Too tired. Too desperate for sleep.
"If you bring home expired baby food," she said, "I'll make you eat it yourself."
"Deal," Smile replied. "I'll be careful."
He walked out of the Hero Tower feeling like he was about to conquer the world. Or at least the supermarket. Sunshine, strapped to his chest in a bright yellow carrier, kicked her little legs happily and made sounds that closely resembled approving coos.
The baby looked at the world with wide eyes. Everything fascinated her—the noise of the cars, the birdsong, the wind ruffling her hair. And Smile's smile, whenever he looked down at her.
"Do you like it?" he asked. "Do you like going out?"
Sunshine smiled. It was her first real, conscious smile—and Smile almost burst into tears right there on the street.
"Alright, little one," he said, adjusting the carrier strap that kept slipping treacherously, "let's show this city who the real hero is."
He decided this walk would be perfect. Straight out of the parenting handbook: fresh air, sunlight, a delighted baby. He'd even brought a bottle of milk—Margo had prepared it specially and strictly ordered him not to forget it. He hadn't forgotten. He'd just shoved it into the bag slung over his shoulder, which kept smacking against his hip.
They walked down the avenue. The sun was warm, but Smile, used to far more extreme temperatures, felt great. Sunshine smiled at passersby. He caught himself smiling back.
"Oh, look!" came a voice from a passing car. "It's Hero Smile!"
A woman leaned out the window, phone in hand. He automatically smiled and waved. Sunshine, sensing the attention, giggled and clapped her hands, drawing coos from a group of pedestrians on the sidewalk.
"Oh my god, what a darling!" said an elderly woman. "You should see your face, young man. You look happier right now than you do on all your billboards."
"Thank you," Smile said, a little flustered. "I'm trying."
Sunshine burst into loud, insistent crying. He exhaled in relief at the interruption, settled onto a nearby bench, and reached into his bag for the bottle. The milk had gone cold.
"Don't cry," he said, holding the bottle in his palm. "I'll fix this."
He concentrated. In his palm, beneath the layer of fabric, a controlled heat flickered—just enough to warm the milk to room temperature. He felt proud of himself. This was the perfect use of his powers.
He gave a pacifier into Sunshine's mouth, and she began to drink greedily.
"You know," Smile said as she ate, "you're a lot like me. Just as cheeky. And just as gorgeous. You probably think I'm only saying this because I'm your dad. But it's true. You're the most beautiful girl in the world. And I love you. More than anything."
When the milk was gone, Sunshine let out a satisfied hiccup and began looking around. He put the bottle away and suddenly realized that it wasn't just passersby watching him anymore—it was a whole crowd. Some were filming on their phones, some were smiling, some even applauding.
"Smile!" a guy from the crowd shouted. "You're the best!"
"I'm trying," he replied, feeling like a reality TV star.
They made it to the supermarket. The moment he stepped through the door, several heads turned. He stood in the middle of the store, one hand on a shopping cart, the other holding his baby, looking every bit the typical young father. Some recognized him; others just melted at the sight of a hero with a baby in his arms.
"Oh my god, it's Smile!" a girl whispered near the checkout.
"And with a baby! How precious!"
"The cutest hero ever!" another murmured.
"He's just the perfect dad," said another. "A man with a baby is always attractive."
Smile felt himself blushing. He, the number one hero, who'd stared death in the face dozens of times, was now turning red from compliments from strangers.
"Hero Smile," the cashier said, gazing at him with starry eyes. "You and your baby. That's so sweet!"
"Thanks," he replied, trying simultaneously to hold his sleepy daughter in one arm, unload groceries onto the belt with the other, and not look like a complete idiot.
He paid and was about to leave when a commotion broke out behind him. Someone was trying to rob the register. He sighed and smiled.
"Sunshine," he whispered, "just another boring day for you."
He settled the baby back into the carrier, making sure she was secure. Then, without letting go of his shopping bag, he stepped toward the robber.
"Hey, you," he said. "You could've at least waited until I'd bought the diapers. I was just about to head home."
The robber stared at him.
"Smile?" he stammered.
"Who else?"
Smile smiled. Truly, the way only he could—warm, fierce, triumphant. And his power answered the smile, flooding his body with golden light. He never took the baby out of the carrier. He just... did it. Smooth, clean, without unnecessary fuss. Two minutes later, the criminal was neutralized, police backup was on the way, and his daughter in the carrier watched it all with delight.
"That's that," said Smile. "1–0 to the hero with a baby."
At that moment, several blocks away, Margo sat on the couch watching TV. A report was airing about the recently crowned number one hero. She smiled at the sound of his name—then froze.
"...the newly crowned number one hero, Smile, has once again proven his strength," the anchor was saying. "Today, he performed another feat, stopping a robber in broad daylight. But the most remarkable part..."
The screen showed an image of Smile with a laughing infant in his arms.
"...is that this is how he goes into battle."
Margo froze. Her husband had just fought a criminal while holding their daughter.
"Smile!" she screamed, jumping off the couch. "What the hell?!"
But her voice was swallowed by the laughter coming from the speakers. Sunshine on screen was howling with glee at the robber's terrified face, and Smile stood there with a proud smile, holding his daughter close.
That night, Sunshine wouldn't sleep. She tossed and turned, demanding attention. Smile picked her up, settled into the armchair, and began to rock her. The baby looked up at him with those enormous eyes, and he began to hum—softly, quietly.
Maybe one day the world will shine bright,
And you won't have to be so strong.
Your heart should always feel warm inside,
Even Hell you can walk through with a song.
The baby grew still, listening to his voice. He stroked her back, feeling her breathing even out.
You carry that fire, that hunger for freedom—
Don't let anyone blow it out.
You and I are made of a different kingdom,
Not meant to serve any master, no doubt.
Smile through your tears — don't give them that pleasure,
And come back home now and then.
Dad will always have sweets for you to treasure,
I'll teach you to live life again and again.
"You'll be special," he whispered. "I know it."
The baby sighed, nuzzled into his shoulder, and closed her eyes.
Smile kept rocking her, feeling her tiny body relax in his arms. He looked down at Sunshine, at her small, smiling face, and understood that all his victories meant nothing compared to this moment. She had become his greatest achievement.
That night, she slept peacefully. And so did he.