In a world ruled by the powerful, the talented, the deceitful, and the rich—where truth is rare and real friendship nearly extinct—four teenagers were about to meet someone who would change their lives forever.
We find ourselves in the city of Guarly, a place of barely 156,000 inhabitants, known more for its quiet streets than for any importance on the map. In one of its largest high schools, a brown-haired Latino boy walks alongside his friends. He is only thirteen, but the others look much older; still, he laughs at their jokes and tries to keep up as they head toward the nearest shopping mall. With sodas in hand, the group shares laughs and nonsense, living what seems like an ordinary afternoon.
Until everything changes.
A scream tears through the air. People start running, colliding with each other, fleeing as if hell itself had exploded inside the mall. The boys' smiles vanish instantly. Their bodies freeze at the sight of the cause: a squad of heavily armed soldiers, firing at anything that moved.
The thunder of rifles shakes the ground. Those who dared resist fell instantly. Blood stained the tiles, and glass from the storefronts shattered under the hail of bullets.
The kids run on instinct. The older ones don't look back, but one of them—pale skin, freckles, black hair—catches the unthinkable: the youngest of the group is still staring at the killers, hypnotized by the horror.
"Tyron, run!" he shouts desperately.
The boy hears him. For a moment his eyes reveal his fear, but he forces a smile to hide it. And instead of fleeing, he charges straight toward danger.
He dives into a sports store, hiding behind a wall of shoeboxes. Shaking, he grabs the first things within reach: a tennis racket and a baseball helmet. His breath quickens. His mind drowns in chaos:
"What am I doing here? Should I run? Should I let them die? I'm just a kid… Why did I have to see this?"
He peeks out. A man clutches two little girls, shielding them with his body. Beside them lies a dead woman—perhaps the mother. The soldiers march slowly toward them, savoring the grotesque spectacle they've created.
A tear rolls down Tyron's cheek. His heart pounds so hard it hurts. Yet he steps out.
With a muffled cry, he throws himself into the open.
The soldiers laugh at the sight. A boy with a racket against trained killers. One of them kicks him down mercilessly, sending him crashing to the floor. The helmet softens the blow, but pain shoots through his body. Groaning, he writhes on the ground.
The soldier points his rifle at him. The others snicker, mocking the pathetic attempt.
Meanwhile, the man and the girls run for their lives. They don't even look back at the boy who tried to save them.
Tyron shuts his eyes.
"This is it. I'm done… At least I tried. At least I did something good."
The shot rings out.
But never hits.
When Tyron dares open his eyes, he sees him: a man in his thirties stands before him. In his hands, nothing but a kitchen knife, taken from some nearby restaurant. With an impossible motion, he has deflected the bullet.
The boy cannot comprehend what just happened. The soldier steps back in shock. And Tyron, heart still trembling, gazes at what can only be described as a living miracle.