"What?! What has happened?! Ron, boy!" Mok shouted from below, his voice thick with disbelief as he stared at the sword-strand impaling Ron's back.
"Poor fool," Pax muttered from her position, her tone a mix of sarcasm and sorrow. "That's why those who think they're heroes always end up dead."
"Ron!" Paltio called out desperately, his voice cracking as he watched the scene unfold from atop Toco-Toco. Guilt and helplessness overwhelmed him.
"Stay calm, lad," Golden said firmly but compassionately within his mind. "You must press on and defeat that thing. Honor your fallen friend."
Alita, still on the ground, tried to lift Ron while sobbing uncontrollably. "I didn't think… you were this heavy, Ron. I just thought you were annoying, but literally, you weigh a ton," she stammered, attempting a nervous joke to distract herself from the panic consuming her. "What am I even saying?" she scolded herself, her trembling hands resting on Ron's motionless body. "Please, get up, you idiot. Don't leave me. Please… wake up."
Meanwhile, Mok managed to sever the sword-strand that had pierced Ron, but it was too late. The damage was done, and before he could approach to help, more razor-sharp strands were hurled at him, forcing him to retreat.
"Ron! Ron, don't die!" Alita screamed in desperation, gently shaking him. Tears streamed down her face as she repeated, "Wake up, please…"
A warm, glowing light enveloped Ron's mind, pulling him into a distant memory.
"Ron, Ron, wake up, boy. Come on, get up, or you'll be late," a familiar voice called, rousing him from his slumber.
Ron rubbed his eyes and looked around. Before him stood his grandfather, a man with a lush white mustache, smiling calmly. "Grandpa? What are you doing here?"
"Little one, it's time for school. Hurry up and get dressed; we're going to be late," the old man said tenderly.
"Okay, okay, I'm coming… just a few more minutes," Ron mumbled sleepily, stretching under the blankets.
"Lazy child, get up! You have to go to school," another voice interrupted sternly. It was his father, a bespectacled man in formal attire, always seeming preoccupied. "No 'few more minutes,' young man. It's time you learned something. Or do you want to be useless your whole life?"
The grandfather quickly intervened, placing a hand on Ron's father's shoulder. "Calm down, son. He's only ten years old. Don't be so hard on him."
"Ten years old? By that age, I was already working!" the father protested, crossing his arms. "Or have you forgotten?"
The grandfather smiled patiently. "Of course, I remember, but every child is different. Besides, you were quite the lazy troublemaker at his age—or rather, trouble found you often."
"That has nothing to do with now, Dad," Ron's father replied sharply.
Ever since Ron's mother passed away, his father had taken full responsibility for raising their children. "Hurry up, Ron," he would say each morning as he prepared to leave. "You're the eldest, and you need to set an example. Plus, I'm running late for work."
Ron had three younger siblings, and though his father worked tirelessly, they also relied on the grandfather's help. Both men had taken on the responsibility of raising the children after Ron's mother passed away when he was just eight years old. That event marked a before and after in their family's life. Since then, Ron has not only had to cope with his own grief but also become a pillar of support for his younger brothers and sister.
Ron listened to all this with half-hearted attention, still groggy from sleep. Finally, with a sigh, he got out of bed. "Alright, I'm coming."
"Well said, boy. Hurry up—your dad has a point," the grandfather remarked with a wink. "We'll wait for you downstairs with breakfast."
Ron changed into his school uniform, as immaculate as ever, and shuffled down the stairs. At the table, his siblings were already seated: two boys aged five and six, and a little girl of three. His grandfather, surprisingly muscular for his age, was bustling around the kitchen with energy, preparing breakfast.
"There you go, lad. Make your favorites," the grandfather said proudly, placing a steaming plate in front of Ron.
While Ron lingered in what seemed like a limbo, back on the battlefield, someone pleaded…
"Ron, please…" Alita begged, clutching his hand tightly. Her tears fell onto Ron's pale face, but he gave no response.
At that moment, Golden's voice echoed once more in Paltio's mind, reminding him of the urgency of the situation. "We can't afford to waste any more time. Press on!"
Toco-Toco roared with determination, advancing swiftly toward Troba's head. But the image of Ron sacrificing himself for Alita remained etched in everyone's memory—a painful reminder of the cost of bravery.
In Ron's limbo, the family gathered around the table to enjoy breakfast: freshly made pancakes prepared by the grandfather. "My favorites!" Ron exclaimed enthusiastically, devouring the food with an obvious appetite.
"Hey now, slow down, boy!" the grandfather scolded gently, smiling indulgently. "Breathe a little, or you'll choke!"
"Alright, kids, I'm off," announced Ron's father after finishing his coffee. "Grandpa will take you to school." With that, he grabbed his briefcase and hurried out the door to work.
"Grandpa, we're ready," chimed Ron's younger siblings as he wiped their food-smeared faces. Though Ron was the eldest, he always took on a protective role with his brothers and sisters.
They left the house—a modest yet cozy two-story home, just enough to accommodate the entire family. Upon arriving at school, Ron walked each sibling to their respective classrooms, ensuring they were settled before saying goodbye to his grandfather.
At the end of the school day, Ron waited patiently for his siblings outside the school building. The grandfather was already there, carrying the youngest on his back and holding colorful popsicles for everyone. "Thank you, Grandpa, they were delicious!" Ron's siblings chimed in unison as they received their treats.
However, the grandfather frowned upon noticing something unusual about Ron. "Did you get into another fight, boy?" he asked, pointing at Ron's black eye.
"Well… yeah. I don't like bullies," Ron replied with a shrug. "And even though I'm not great at fighting, I can't just stand by when someone needs help."
"Ha! I hope the others end up worse," the grandfather teased lightly, trying to ease the mood.
"Of course they did! Because I'm super strong," Ron declared with mock pride.
"Sure you are, lad," the grandfather replied, clearly amused. "I bet it was defending your prince's friend again. What's his name? Ah, Paltio, right?"
"Exactly!" Ron interrupted quickly. "That fool always needs help. He never defends himself and is always lost in his own world. He's a bit odd."
"Well, what an interesting friend you've found. Seems like he balances you out nicely, boy," the grandfather joked with a mischievous grin.
"No, Grandpa, don't say that!" Ron protested, blushing furiously. "And who told you it was because of him anyway?"
"Well, I don't like to reveal my sources, but apparently, it was your friend Alita who spilled the beans," the grandfather teased slyly. "She seems to think highly of you… very highly. Is she your girlfriend?"
"No!" Ron exclaimed, now completely red. "She's not my girlfriend! She's a know-it-all, and I don't like people like that."
"Ron has a girlfriend!" his younger siblings sang mockingly, giggling with childish glee.
"I do NOT have one, you little brats!" Ron shouted, lunging at them, though the nimble kids easily dodged his attempts.
"That's enough, children! Stop arguing," the grandfather intervened firmly, though his eyes sparkled with amusement. "Let's head home so I can tend to those wounds of yours."
Back at home, the grandfather began treating Ron's injuries, applying a stinging liquid to his bruises. "Hold still, boy. Aren't you supposed to be the strongest?" the grandfather teased as Ron winced in pain.
"I am strong! But this stuff burns too much," Ron complained, trying to maintain his composure despite the discomfort.
"Stay still, almost done," the grandfather said gently, carefully applying the final bandage.
"It still burns," Ron grumbled, squirming slightly as the sting lingered.
"Well, be brave, lad," the grandfather responded warmly. "Besides, I haven't even started telling you my stories or about our travels. You know what it means to be part of the Strong family."
"Alright, Grandpa. I'll be brave, but only if you tell me another one of your stories," Ron bargained, his eyes lighting up with curiosity.
"Of course," the grandfather agreed proudly. "You remind me of your mother. She was always courageous, always ready to defend others without hesitation."
Ron fell silent for a moment, surprised to hear such words about his mother. He wanted to know more—he wanted his grandfather to talk about her, alongside sharing his adventures.
The grandfather began to narrate: "Your mother was an incredible warrior. She fought to protect the weak, and that's how she met your father." He paused before continuing. "I also once met a man, a man with extraordinary power. He could create a kind of shield capable of withstanding any attack. He used it to protect others, sacrificing himself for those who couldn't defend themselves."
The stories flowed one after another, filling the room with wonder and memories. But when the grandfather glanced at the clock, he realized the time. "Oh dear! It's late, lad. It's time for bed, and your father will be home soon."
"Thank you, Grandpa, for taking care of us," Ron said, gently taking the old man's arm in affection.
"There's no need to thank me, my boy. I'll always be here for you," the grandfather replied tenderly.
Two Years Later…
"Ugh, brat, fighting again?" Ron's father entered the room, frustration etched on his face as he took in the bandages and cast covering his son's body. "Can't you stay out of trouble for even a single day? Look at what they've done to you."
Ron remained silent, lying on the bed, feeling both guilty and irritated. His father continued: "You're nothing but a troublemaker. I can't handle this anymore—I want you to understand something once and for all. You're not a child anymore; you're twelve years old. My father spoiled you rotten with all those stories of his. You're not invincible, boy! You can get hurt, and yes, you can die. Is that the example you want to set for your siblings?"
His father gestured helplessly at Ron's plastered arm. "I don't know what else to do with you. Listen, I barely make ends meet, working so hard to give you kids the best I can. Your grandfather passed away a year ago, lad, and all I ask is for your support. Help me take care of your brothers and sister, please."
"Dad," Ron began, trying to explain, "I… I just don't like leaving anyone helpless. Like Grandpa and Mom used to do."
Ron's father, visibly affected, slapped him in the face. "Don't follow that path, boy! They were dreamers, always thinking about helping others without considering the consequences. Every time I look at you, I see your mother in everything you do."
Something inside Ron shattered. With determination, he gathered his strength, climbed out of bed, and left the house. He had decided to run away, unable to cope with the pressure and frustration weighing on him.
Hours passed as Ron wandered through the streets of Avocadalia. He observed both the brightly lit areas and the dark corners of the city, reflecting on his life and his father's words. But hunger eventually drove him back home.
When he stepped inside, he found his father asleep on the couch. In his slumber, the man muttered, "I'm sorry, Ron… I love you, my boy."
Ron felt his heart break. Silently, he retrieved a blanket from the closet and carefully covered his father. Then, tears streaming down his cheeks, he kissed his father's forehead. "I'm sorry, Dad. Me too," he whispered before retreating to his room.
Ron retreated to his room, physically and emotionally drained. As he closed his eyes, a familiar voice called out to him from the darkness.
"Ron, lad, wake up."
"Grandpa?" the boy murmured, incredulous. Before him appeared the warm and comforting figure of his grandfather, as vivid and alive as if he still walked among them.
"My boy, I see you've grown," the old man said with a proud smile, "but you still cling to protecting the helpless. My little fool…"
"Grandpa, why did you leave?" Ron asked, his voice trembling with suppressed emotion. "Since you've been gone, everything at home has become so much harder."
"I know, my little one," the grandfather replied tenderly. "Your father is under immense pressure now. He has to take care of the entire family all on his own."
"Take me with you, Grandpa," Ron pleaded, his voice heavy with anguish. "I don't want to stay in this sad place anymore."
"No, my child," the grandfather replied firmly, though his gaze reflected deep compassion. "You have a lot ahead of you. Besides, you have friends who need you and depend on you. You must support them."
The grandfather paused before continuing: "Listen, I'm going to show you something, but you'll only be able to hold onto it for a moment. After that, you'll need to learn how to control it yourself."
Then Ron understood. "So… all these memories are stories of things that have already happened in my life?"
"That's right, my boy," the grandfather confirmed. "You protected your friend Alita with your own body, and that's why you're dreaming this—or rather, caught in a kind of limbo."
"Does that mean I've died?" Ron asked, his voice barely a whisper.
"No, lad, not yet—at least not for now," the grandfather replied calmly. "But we must hurry. I know how much you love defending others, and that's why I'm giving you this."
The old man placed a hand over Ron's chest, transmitting a warm and powerful sensation. "Go and help others as you always have, my boy. I'll always be watching over you, and I'll remain in your heart."
An image emerged before them: Alita, desperate, beating on Ron's chest as she whispered prayers under her breath. "Please, don't die…"
The room where Ron lay began to glow white, and a brilliant light emanated from his body.
"Come on, Ron, don't leave me!" Alita screamed, her tears falling onto Ron's pale face. "You're my friend! You said we'd always be friends for life, that nothing would ever separate us!" She gently tapped his chest, trying to rouse him.
"I'm coming, Alita," Ron responded in his mind, his voice resolute. At that instant, his body stirred. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked at Alita.
"I'm here, Alita," he said firmly.
At first, Alita stared in disbelief, but then a smile of relief lit up her face. "Ron! You're… A-L-I-V-E!"