San Francisco smelled like rain and melted cheese that evening. The neon sign of Tony's Pizza Haven flickered against the drizzle, its glow washing the window where a boy sat, half-hidden behind a mountain of pizza slices.
He didn't quite blend in.
The fur covering his arms caught the light when he reached for another slice, and a restless tail tapped the leg of the table in rhythm with his chewing. His eyes looked distant — somewhere between exhaustion and defiance — as he tore into the cheese. Around him, people whispered. A few even pointed.
Across from him sat a man in a pressed charcoal suit, his silver tie perfectly aligned. He scrolled lazily through his phone, thumb moving in precise, mechanical motions.
He finally spoke.
"So… Monkie. Because you look like a monkey." His eyes lifted. "And Kid because, well… you're a kid?"
The boy just nodded, cheeks full of pizza. "Mmhmm."
The man sighed, showing him his phone. On the screen: the colorful logo of the LEGO Monkie Kid franchise.
"I believe," he said dryly, "there's already a franchise with that name."
The boy leaned forward, squinting. "Oh yeah! Yeah, that's where I got it from. The animated show. Good stuff — you should check it out."
The man arched an eyebrow. "If you're joining the agency, you'll need a more unique identity. We don't want to deal with another lawsuit." He adjusted his glasses, muttering, "Not again…"
The boy waved his slice around as he spoke, flinging a few molten bits of cheese across the table. They landed on the man's sleeve.
"First off," the boy said through a mouthful, "you're a superhero agency. Don't you guys have, like, billions? Why're you scared of a little lawsuit?"
The man dabbed his sleeve clean with a napkin. "It's not the money that's the problem—"
"Second of all," the boy cut in, "none of the heroes have original names anyway. Like, like… Superman! He totally copied that uh, that… um… Umermech guy!"
The man blinked. "Übermensch."
"Exactly!" the boy said, pointing the pizza at him triumphantly. "Besides, I'm gonna be big. If anything, LEGO should thank me later. I'll be their free marketing. You'll see."
The man leaned back, expression unreadable, sunglasses gleaming as the neon outside flickered red against them. People nearby tried not to stare, but curiosity hung thick in the air.
He said quietly, "You do realize this is the worst place to discuss our secret matters?"
The boy looked around the room, then back at him, dead serious. "What do you mean? This is the perfect place for secret stuff. Don't you watch movies?"
"Movies," the man said, "are scripted. Paid actors. Those—" he gestured at a couple who quickly gathered their things and left after realizing they'd been noticed "—are real people. Real people with ears. And mouths."
The boy shrugged. "So? I'm just saying, you let me choose the spot and I'm starving."
He raised a hand to the waiter. "Hey! Same thing again! Extra cheese this time!"
The man sighed and waved for a glass of water. "Joining the WHA isn't like joining a club, you know."
The boy tilted his head. "I mean, it does sound like a really expensive club for special people if you think about it.."
The man didn't respond right away. He just studied the boy — the bruises, the tail flicking behind the chair, the untamed spark in his eyes — and saw something beneath all that youthful bravado. Something raw. Real.
He rose from his seat, sliding his chair neatly back into place. The restaurant quieted as he adjusted his tie.
"Fine," he said at last. "Eat. Rest. But understand this — once you walk through those doors, there's no turning back."
The boy looked up at him, licking cheese from his fingers. "You mean, I'm in?"
The man smirked. "Welcome to the World Heroic Agency, Monkie Kid."
The boy froze for a second — then grinned wide. His tail curled like punctuation at the end of the sentence.
The man dropped a few bills on the table and walked out, his figure dissolving into the blur of city lights.
Outside, the rain picked up again.
Inside, the boy leaned back, smiling to himself as the next pizza landed on the table.
"World Heroic Agency," he whispered, taking a bite. "Guess that makes me an official hero."
The tail flicked once more, and the neon sign outside buzzed softly — Tony's Pizza Haven — as if the world itself was smiling back