At that point, I didn't even have the strength to be angry anymore. I don't know. Where should I even begin?
That I got fired today over something I didn't even do? Something completely out of my control?
"You had one job: make sure that girl felt comfortable enough to keep working with us."
Sounds simple enough when you say it out loud. But actually doing it? Man, I've been dealing with people like this for over a decade.
They call themselves Heroes, beloved icons, role models we're all supposed to look up to.
But the truth? They're just a bunch of narcissists. People who think they're better than everyone else because they passed some vague test that's never even been backed up with real science.
"Everyone has powers, but not everyone can be a Hero."
Yeah, right. What a load of crap. Actually, it's insulting, especially to people like me.
Born with 'defective' genes, I never stood a chance of becoming a Hero. Unlike most kids, I had no powers—not even something basic like walking on water.
The kind of job waiting for me was the same kind people had even before the First Impact, back when flying humans were still considered a miracle.
I spent nearly three years in college and worked hard to build connections, hoping to be someone that mattered even a little. Eventually, I landed a job as a talent scout for Luminous, a big-name hero agency.
They didn't handle top-ten heroes. Honestly, their roster spent more time posing for cameras than fighting actual crime.
And I guess that's what Luminous was really about: not saving the world, but staying in the spotlight.
They didn't care about a recruit's background or behavior. As long as you were attractive and knew how to talk, you could be their next 'Hero'.
No wonder Luminous heroes were always caught in some scandal.
Unprovoked violence. Tone-deaf remarks on sensitive topics. Even serious allegations like assault or harassment.
And one of them was my client: Althea Ebern. Hero name: Sky High. Her power was gravity manipulation—not enough to be dangerous, just enough to let her float a few meters off the ground.
A perfect power for an actress. And that's exactly what she became.
She starred in plenty of movies: Last Hope,Manifestation of Sunrise, Crashing in Rainy Dust. Still, she was shameless enough to call 'Hero' her main job and acting just a hobby.
Also shameless enough to keep apologizing and posting 'clarification videos' every time she screwed up.
Which was often. Like that time she used a burner account to insult another female hero, Fabulous—also from our agency—just because she was rumored to be dating some actor Althea liked.
Or the time she shouted at a waiter because her food wasn't warm enough and accused the restaurant of serving her raw meat.
Or the worst one: when a male crew member went online and revealed how she'd bullied him on set—ostracized him, mocked his mother, even hit him in front of everyone.
By then, I had already accepted it as her normal.
And of course, I was the one left to clean up her mess. Alone. No extra pay.
That bitch had sponsors lining up for her. Her scandals only made her more marketable. I hoped I'd get a cut from the profits, but of course, I never did.
The only thing I could count on was my barely-livable salary—which, guess what, just got taken away.
"I'm fired?"
Althea didn't even turn around, letting the makeup artist keep dabbing her face."Yep."
I waited. This should be the part where she explains. But nothing. "Did you leave Luminous, or—"
"No, just you. I already talked to Rick. He said Luminous approved a new manager for me."
I froze, and blinked a few times, speechless. "Why...?" I genuinely didn't understand.
I always put up with her crap. Always defended her. Always saved her.
"Well, where do I even start? Oh right." She spun her chair and gave me that fake, angelic smile everyone raved about. "You're ugly, old, you smell, you're awkward to talk to... should I go on?"
"..."
What the hell? "I can shave my beard!" I'm only 27. I kept the beard because my girlfriend liked it, but she'd understand if I explained.
"I can even wear that fancy cologne you mentioned." Sure, it costs nearly a whole paycheck, but hey, if it keeps the job...
"And what about that hideous face of yours? Gonna get plastic surgery too?" Althea scoffed, shook her head, and rolled her eyes. "Honestly, that'd just make it worse."
"Y-you don't know unless I try—"
"Silas, seriously. Listen to yourself. Begging like some pathetic loser. I mean, yeah, you are a loser, but have some self-respect, will you?"
That night, I went home on foot. Didn't even bother with the company car. Rick, my boss, couldn't even be bothered to see me off.
[No need to come in tomorrow. I'll send your stuff to your place.]
No formal letter. No meeting. No severance pay.
Just tossed out like trash.
And the cherry on top? I found another guy in my bed, making out with Lylla. The woman I'd been with for five years.
After he left, we talked at the dinner table. I was still in my work uniform. Lylla was half-dressed.
"How long has this been going on?" I asked.
She flinched, like I'd startled her. But she said something else instead. "T-this isn't entirely my fault, okay? You worked late all the time, spent so much time with her, it felt like she was your girlfriend, not me."
I rubbed my temples and sighed. I knew if I said anything, it would just turn into a pointless argument.
And I didn't need an argument. Not tonight. "Get out."
"What?"
"I don't want to see you again."
Lylla's eyes widened. "Silas, it's literally midnight."
"So?"
She clenched her fists and gritted her teeth. "Fine. Whatever." She stormed off to the bedroom.
I heard the thuds—probably her stuff, her clothes. Whatever. I didn't want to see her or any reminder of her again.
She came out with a large suitcase, eyes watery. At the door, she turned and looked back. "You know what, Silas? You're the worst boyfriend I've ever had. You have no interesting hobbies, no money, not even that good in bed."
She gave a bitter laugh. "I was your last shot, and you blew it. So go ahead, enjoy your pathetic life."
She slammed the door, leaving that bitter lump in my throat. She couldn't even walk away quietly, huh?
I rubbed my forehead again and pulled two things from my shirt pocket. First, a cigarette. I wasn't a real smoker, never really liked the taste. I just carried them around like some kind of charm. As if going anywhere without one would bring disaster.
Second, a box. Small, square, minimalist. Inside was a ring. Gold, not flashy, but I saved up for months to buy it.
We were supposed to get married next month. I'd proposed earlier this year and promised her the ring next month as a surprise.
But guess who's the one getting surprised now?
I tossed the ring box into the trash, lit a cigarette, and took a drag.
People say smoking after a long day is the most satisfying feeling.
What a joke.
It tastes bitter and disgusting.