Chris walked through the campgrounds, head lowered, arms tucked close to his sides. The whispers and laughter followed him like a shadow.

“Hey, loser,” John sneered as he passed, shoving Chris hard in the back. Chris stumbled, catching himself on a tree.

Victor watched from a distance, wanting to step in — but not daring to. Chris just looked down, pretending the shove didn’t hurt.

Later, during team activities, John "accidentally" hit Chris with a ball. Then tripped him. Then blamed him for cheating in a group game.

“Why do you even try?” John scoffed in front of the others. “You're just a skinny crybaby. Go home and cry to your mommy.”

Chris swallowed his shame. He could feel everyone staring. Even Victor looked away.

That night, Chris sat at the edge of the campsite, staring into the woods. The stars above were clear. Cold wind rustled the trees.

John approached from the dark, this time alone.

“You think you're special now? Wandering off into the woods at night, making up stories about meteors and powers?”

Chris didn’t reply.

John grabbed him by the shirt. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

Chris's hands trembled. His chest rose and fell faster. His heart pounded like a war drum.

John shoved him to the ground.

Chris didn't get up this time.

He just sat there… shaking… breathing heavily.

And then—
A low hum vibrated in the air.

John stepped back. “What the…?”

Chris slowly rose to his feet, his head still lowered. His breathing deepened, and then suddenly—his eyes flashed with a blinding blue glow.

His bones cracked. Muscles surged. His body erupted in power, growing tall, strong, older.

The adult form had returned.

He glared at John through glowing eyes.

With one powerful hand, he grabbed the bully by the shirt and lifted him off the ground effortlessly.

Chris’s voice was deeper now. Fierce. Furious.

“I’m sick of you.”

John’s eyes widened. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. The fear in his face was real now.