CHAPTER 197: CHAPTER 196: SUPERHERO UNCLE

Of course, he could’ve moved aside. Slipped into one of the quieter corners, waited it out away from the wreckage and the dwindling crowd. But he didn’t.

Not yet.

Because this wasn’t something you just walked away from.

He stayed, first and foremost, because the authorities hadn’t arrived yet. And this wasn’t a minor fender-bender — it was serious. One car totaled. A man still slumped behind the wheel, motionless, his condition unknown. Smoke still curling from the crumpled hood like the last breath of something barely hanging on.

Rex wasn’t a cop, but he knew better than to walk away from a scene like this. Someone had to be present. Someone had to answer questions when the flashing lights eventually arrived.

And secondly... the girl.

Still clinging to his chest like he was the only solid thing in a world that had just flipped upside down.

He didn’t know her name. Didn’t know where she came from. But he knew one thing for sure — someone, somewhere, had to be missing her. A parent. A sibling. A guardian. Someone.

With all the noise, the chaos, the trail of honking cars and rubbernecking drivers, there was no way they hadn’t noticed by now. If they were nearby, they’d come running.

They had to.

So Rex stayed where he was, arms still wrapped gently around her, shielding her from the remnants of the spectacle, from the smoke and glass and the leftover tension clinging to the air.

And once again, in an effort to distract her from her eyes out, asked her to take a look.

She let out a tiny hiccup, then cautiously peeked up from the safety of his arms. Her tear-streaked face searched the surroundings, eyes flickering toward the now-cleared street.

The gawking strangers were gone. The noise had quieted.

Seeing that, she slowly stopped crying, her breath still catching every now and then in small, shaky gasps. But she didn’t let go. Her tiny fingers still clung to his shirt, like loosening her grip might make everything start again.

He gave her a faint, reassuring smile and gently brushed a strand of hair from her forehead.

"What’s your name?" he asked softly, his voice calm, warm.

There was a pause. Then, just barely above a whisper:

"...Arabella."

He nodded like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Well, Arabella," he murmured, "you’re safe now. I’ve got you."

She stopped crying then — the sobs fading into soft hiccups, breath still catching now and then. Slowly, she wiped her face with the backs of her small arms, sniffling as she blinked up at him.

Then she just... stared.

Wide-eyed. Silent.

Studying him.

Her gaze lingered on the crease of worry still etched on his brow, the smudge of soot near his temple, the way his arms held her steady like the world couldn’t touch her here.

And then, after a long pause, she spoke — her voice hoarse, but sincere.

"Uncle... are you a superhero?"

Rex blinked.

Of all the things she could’ve said, that wasn’t one he saw coming.

His lips parted, stunned silent for a beat, before a soft breath of laughter escaped him — not mocking, but disarmed. Moved.

He gave a small shake of his head, smiling faintly. "No, kid... I’m just a guy with a car and really questionable decision-making."

But her eyes didn’t waver. She kept staring at him like she wasn’t quite convinced.

Then, slowly, she shook her head — firm, serious in the way only a child could be.

"No," she said softly but clearly. "You are a hero, Uncle."

He raised an eyebrow, amused. "Oh yeah?"

She nodded with growing conviction, eyes bright. "I saw you! You went zoom, boom, dishoom—" she mimicked with her tiny hands slicing through the air, "—and saved Arabella."

A tiny smile tugged at Rex’s lips despite himself.

She added, with absolute certainty, "Mom said... people who save others are superheroes. So you’re a superhero too."

Rex stared at her for a moment, caught between disbelief and something warmer.

He didn’t feel like a superhero. Still didn’t.

But hearing her say it like that—like it was a fact, not a compliment—made something shift quietly inside his chest.

"...Then I guess your mom’s a smart lady," he murmured, and gently brushed a strand of hair out of her face.

Arabella grinned, shy but proud. Like she’d won a small battle.

Rex raised an eyebrow, playing along. "And look at me—do I look like an uncle from any angle?" he asked, pretending to sound offended as he gently poked her forehead.

She blinked up at him, then tilted her head, squinting as if studying a puzzle. Her little fingers tugged at his sleeve while she examined his face like a detective.

"...No," she declared at last, nodding with exaggerated thoughtfulness. "You don’t look old."

"Exactly," he said, smirking. "So let’s make a deal. Call me brother

, okay?"

She paused, then lit up with a smile that could’ve melted steel. "Okay, Brother!"

He chuckled, heart easing just a little. "Now that sounds better."

Maybe it was because he’d saved her.

Maybe it was his calm voice, the way he held her.

Maybe it was just the way kids are—simple, instinctive, trusting in those who feel safe.

Or maybe — just maybe — it was his looks. That warm, better than movie-star kind of handsome that kids instinctively trusted, like the heroes from picture books or animated movies.

Whatever the reason, the fear that had gripped her began to melt away.

She let go of the tension in her little shoulders, loosened her grip just a bit, and started talking freely — like a dam had cracked open and all her words came tumbling out, messy and full of wonder.

And then she kept going.

Bubbling with sudden energy, Arabella launched into an excited stream of words — describing how he turned the wheel like a race car driver, how the "bad car" went flying, and how he swooped in "just in time." Her hands flailed as she recreated the crash with dramatic sound effects.

"Then the car was like SKRRRRRR! and you were like WHOOSH! and then the bad guy’s car was like BOOM! — and you didn’t even fall!"

She looked up at him, eyes wide with admiration, as if he’d just stepped out of a cartoon.

Rex couldn’t help it. He chuckled and nodded along, chiming in at the right moments, playing along like she was telling the most important story in the world.

Because to her, maybe it was.

And in the end... she was just a kid. A little kid, four or five at most. She didn’t understand the full weight of what had almost happened. She didn’t grasp how close it had come — how easily it could’ve gone the other way.

But maybe that was a blessing.

Maybe it was better this way.

Maybe it was better that, for her, it was just a scary moment followed by a superhero showing up at the right time.

(End of Chapter)