( A;N: Sorry y'all I got too consumed reading some fanfics hehe .... And I'm a bit busy with my sisters incoming wedding this January so please have some patience but I will upload as much as I can )
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The faint golden wash of morning sunlight filtered through the kitchen window, cutting soft streaks across the cozy room. On the counter rested a plate with two pieces of perfectly browned toast, their warmth sending curls of steam into the air, mingling with the subtle scent of brewed coffee. Leon sat at the table, elbows propped and expression distinctly nonchalant as he chewed, the TV flickering in the background.
Across from him, Raven moved about with her typical blend of poise and anxiety. Her violet hair shimmered in the dawn's radiance as she double-checked the contents of her bag for what felt like the thirtieth time—her books, a worn journal, a pen tucked into the spiral, a token from Azarath pressed tightly into one corner as if it might anchor her to a world she was still learning to trust.
She let out a harried sigh, zipping, unzipping, then zipping again as if this repeated ritual might ease the churning in her chest.
"You know, I really don't want to go without you," she blurted at last, her words thick with reluctant vulnerability. Her arms folded defensively, her lips pressed in a scowl that did nothing to mask the hesitation—the longing.
Leon smirked sheepishly, nearly choking on his toast. "Didn't realize I was so handsome these days that people can't stand to leave my face," he teased, aiming for levity. Behind the easy banter, though, there was a rare softness to his gaze, a silent understanding that slipped past the armor of jokes.
Raven responded with a well-practiced scoff, eyes rolling. "You're insufferable," she said, yet the ghost of a smile betrayed her. Beneath it, her eyes lingered, desperate for reassurance.
Leon got up, dusted the crumbs from his shirt, and in an uncharacteristic display of affection, folded her into his arms. He held her close—close enough for her to feel the steady thud of his heart, even if his own thoughts were whirring with unrest.
"I'll come pick you up at noon, promise," he murmured, chin resting atop her head. "Just bear with it, all right? You wanted this, Rae. You said you wanted to experience things, maybe even enjoy yourself a little. Besides," he leaned back just enough to look into her eyes, "the team's with you. M'gann and Conner—seriously, those two barely know what 'ordinary' means. You'll learn together. If I went, I'd probably get kicked out before lunch for decking someone just for being loud. Trust me, they don't want that kind of drama on day one."
She grunted, pushing her forehead against his chest in protest. "I wanted to join with you, not with the others. You make it sound easy—just show up and fit in. It isn't," she muttered, voice barely above a whisper.
He squeezed her shoulder. "I know it's hard—new place, new people. You're not alone, though. The others will have your back, and if anyone gives you trouble, well, you know where to find me." His tone was light, but his eyes flickered with a more serious promise.
Raven made a low, frustrated noise, but let herself melt into his embrace a moment longer. "Fine. Don't forget, you own me one movie night. And ice cream. And at least six donuts."
Leon grinned, dramatically clutching his chest. "A steep price, milady, but for you, I'll endure."
The moment snapped as quickly as it formed. She slung her bag over her shoulder, gathering her composure in neat, careful folds—the way trained acrobats gather themselves before the leap. Without another word she made for the door, her steps hesitant, but her back straight and eyes forward.
Leon watched her go, fighting the urge to follow her all the way to the gates of Happy Harbor Academy. Instead, he forced himself to his heels, glancing around at the sudden hollowness of the house. The ticking of the kitchen clock became magnified—a solitary drumbeat in the widened silence.
"Right," he said aloud to the emptiness "—now, finally, I can go over my own locked sections."
He found himself pacing the floor, thoughts circling the same well-worn frustration that had haunted him for years. His potential. Extreme, legendary, still irrevocably locked. Fifteen years and still nothing but the same closed doors. He had heard stories—legends spun of prodigies breaking their seal in a single night, of heroes who woke up sharper, faster, stronger, as if destiny flicked a switch inside them. But for Leon, his supposed gift stubbornly resisted every effort, every trick, every method he tried to unlock it.
He tried to mask his worries but that section showing the words locked always irked him, never coming close he thought his potential was already good what was he not using?
"I'm not using my potential properly, am I?" he muttered, voice tinged with self-reproach. "Not training right… missing something everyone else sees and just… clicks with. Goddamn it."
His pride never allowed him to go find external help a mentor or a teacher but now he couldn't deny the truth he needed one.
His jaw clenched as the familiar wave of irritation rolled through him. It wasn't that he wasn't strong. He could move with power, intelligence, and a sharp mind, outwitting those who underestimated him. But he wanted **more**—the ceiling of possibility loomed, thick and impenetrable. Every day, the knowledge that out there Superman soared, Batman strategized, Diana conquered, while he lingered, unfinished.
Did he need to study martial arts—more forms, new philosophies? He could spar, sure, throw a punch or duck a jab, but was that really the path? The thought twisted his lip up in frustration. "Sigh. If only Raven could teach me her patience," he grimaced, a wry smile slicing through the solemnity.
A few minutes stretched by, the sunlight now tangling along the hardwood floors. Eventually, Leon's frustration gave way to resignation. He entered his training room, a space as familiar as his own skin. Today, no timers, no carefully structured regimens. He wouldn't limit himself to ten reps, or thirty minutes, or a single circuit. Today he would push—harder, longer, farther than before.
Deep breaths. Stretch. Crack knuckles. The floor was cold against his bare hands as he dropped down for pushups—an old habit, but one that had never failed to challenge.
Each movement was deliberate, each muscle straining to keep pace. It was a slow build: ten became fifty, fifty became one hundred, until each set blurred together in a haze of pain and determination. There was a time he would have stopped at mere exhaustion, afraid of injury, wary of the line between honing strength and courting damage. But today there would be no holding back.
He pushed himself, again and again. Squats until his thighs trembled, sprints until his lungs burned. Sit-ups that made his stomach knot with acid and effort. Every inch of him begged for relief. Every instinct screamed to slow down, to rest. But rest would mean defeat. Rest would mean staying locked in mediocrity.
Earlier attempts had always left him collapsed, unable to handle the agony his efforts inflicted. But that was before. Now, the memory of Raven's worried eyes, the echo of her voice, fueled him. He stared at his trembling hands and repeated silently, **Not this time. Not today.**
He lost track of time. The steady tick of the wall clock blurred with the pounding of blood in his ears. Every muscle screamed. His shoulders blazed with pain, his forearms felt as if needles were embedded beneath the skin, his chest heaved with every breath that rasped past parted lips.
He imagined Batman's taut, skeptical expression—the way the legendary detective always seemed to see right through him. "You need structure." Leon mimicked the gravelly voice as he sank down for another pushup. "The path to improvement isn't brute force, it's focus, discipline—"
"Yeah, easy for you to say when you've already maxed out your stats," Leon grunted.
Superman's kindness was a sharper contrast. He'd come with Bruce, ever the peacemaker, brow creased with concern. "Leon, no one is forcing you," he'd insisted. "We just think school could help with your… adjustment."
Leon had laughed, perhaps too bitterly. "You guys want me to play nice, blend in. But I'm not you, Clark. I've settled here, I eat toast and watch cable like everyone else. Why is that not enough for you?"
Bruce had only narrowed his eyes in that infuriating way. But Leon had stood his ground, reiterating the deal they struck at the very beginning: his personal life was his, not up for negotiation or manipulation. "If putting me through school is part of the package, then maybe you're not holding up your end of the deal." He'd said it with a calmness he didn't feel, heart pounding, ready to walk out—anywhere, as long as it was his own way.
It was Diana, cool and regal, who finally intervened. Her arms crossed, gaze unblinking, she reminded them all that a promise was a promise, honor-bound and inviolable. "Let him be. He will find his path, as all warriors do."
Leon could still hear Clark's voice, softer then, as if conceding defeat: "If you ever change your mind, Leon, we'll be here for you."
He respected that. He really did. But still—the choice had to be his.
Now, in the present, sweat pooled along his brow, stinging his eyes as he pressed through another dozen reps. It was in those moments Leon wondered if brute force was all he had—if the door would ever unlock, or if he'd always be on the outside watching the true legends rise above.
"Maybe I'm just not meant for greatness," he whispered, mournful for only a second before anger surged again, propelling him onward.
He finished a set. Then another. Minutes bled into hours, each one an unyielding press of will versus body. It was well past noon when exhaustion finally overtook him, though he refused to look at the clock.
A single thought kept him upright: If he didn't unlock his potential, his strength would never match the likes of Superman or the strategicness of Batman. His own admission tasted sour, his pride smarting at the realization that—in many ways—he was still so very much an amateur.
But that would change. It had to.
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The air inside the training room was thick—already ripe with the scent of sweat and the metallic tang of determination. Leon leaned against the wall, his breaths shallow, chest heaving. The clock on the far side read 3:29 PM; nearly seven hours since he'd begun. He counted each minute in sync with the agony radiating from his battered muscles.
He slid down to the floor, welcoming the coolness against his overheated skin. He flexed his fingers—raw from the unrelenting set of finger pushups, inverted and pressed deep into the foam mat. His forearms were swollen, the skin marred with angry red streaks. Every slight movement felt as though shards of glass were lodged beneath his flesh.
Leon closed his eyes, drifting for a moment, almost slipping into unconsciousness. But memories haunted his brief respite.
Batman's voice echoed, deep and unyielding: "Focus is everything. You're strong, but you lack precision." Leon had resented how easily Bruce could dissect him, chart every weakness with surgical intent.
Clark's voice joined in, much softer, almost apologetic: "Leon, there's more to strength than muscle. Sometimes what you need most—what we all need—is connection."
But connection required vulnerability, and Leon wasn't ready to hand over his scars so freely. He gritted his teeth, the ache of his body kept him grounded—reminding him he was still nowhere close to unlocking the potential he desperately chased. Fifteen years, he thought. Fifteen years and I'm still stuck at the starting line.
He looked over at the training equipment—heavy bags hanging from steel hooks, their stuffing shredded from earlier blows; weights scattered like fallen debris; bars slick with sweat. The room was a warzone, and Leon, its lone soldier, resolved to fight until every last reserve was spent.
He got up, each muscle protesting, and moved to the pull-up bar. With a guttural breath, he started again. His mind ran calculations as he strained—had he ever really pushed far enough? Was self-denial just another excuse—a comfort for those unwilling to risk pain?
Without warning, images of Raven flickered before him—her wide, uncertain gaze as she departed, the lingering tension in her shoulders. She was braver than she realized, thrusting herself into unknown territory for the sake of growth. Wasn't that what he needed to do too? Not just with his body, but in all the places within him that still feared being seen, being vulnerable.
"Dammit, Rae. Why's it easier for you?" he spat the words out, both proud and jealous of her courage.
He thought again of the butterfly effect, of timelines reshaped by their choices. Did any of it really matter if he couldn't break his ceiling—if he persisted as second-place in a world built around legends? Would he always be chasing, never arriving?
Leon let his body hang by tired arms, gaze drifting upward. The ceiling overhead was painted a muted gray, bare except for a single beam of sunlight cutting through a narrow window up high. He wondered, if he did unlock his potential, what would change? Would he be a hero—or just another person chasing after a title he didn't truly understand?
His thoughts stretched broader, replaying the confrontation with the League.
Bruce and Clark had tried again to get him to join the school, using every trick—logic, empathy, even guilt. But Leon had drawn his line years earlier, reminding them sharply: "My life is my own. You made a promise. I get to choose, not you." The words had stung—they meant more to him than even the pushups he did now, more than the bruises blooming beneath his skin.
But isolation had a cost. The silence when Raven left echoed now, a cavernous ache that deepened with every hour spent alone.
*What am I afraid of?* Leon wondered. Was it failure? Or was it the fear that, even upon succeeding, he wouldn't know how to fill the emptiness?
He returned to the mat for one final set, forcing his body to cooperate through sheer willpower. Twenty thousand pushups, he thought. It was a meaningless number, a challenge for his mind almost more than his muscles. He finished, his body swaying, his vision edged with black, pain blossoming from every inch of torn muscle and sinew.
Collapsing back, panting, Leon stared at the ceiling once more. He tried to remember every word said to him by the league: Bruce's riddles, Diana's parables, even Clark's endless optimism. But all he could feel was the relentless hum of his heart—determined and stubborn, refusing to be weak even more so now.
They tried to teach but he never listened, everytime he trained in Mount Justice they came they saw and they gave advice sometimes he took it sometimes he brushed it off.
After sitting in silence for several minutes, he realized his skin was clammy. His head buzzed with the early notes of exhaustion-induced nausea. He would have to recover—properly—if he was to avoid serious injury.
He dragged himself toward the bathroom, feet barely cooperating. The hot shower soothed him momentarily, the water tracing down his skin like chilled silver. But even its comfort could not erase the bruising or the frustration tangled beneath the surface.
Leon dressed slowly, each motion measured and reflective. In the mirror, he observed the smatterings of damage—redness at the joints, small cuts along his knuckles, a mottled purplish swelling at his shoulders. Yet his eyes remained bright, glowing with undimmed hunger.
By 4 PM, he had managed to eat, letting the rush of calories revive him just enough to stand straight. Every bite felt necessary, each swallow a reminder that for now he was human, bound by need and limitation.
Finally, he slung his jacket around his shoulders, grabbed his helmet, and headed to retrieve Raven from her class. The motorcycle's engine roared—a comforting sound, one of freedom. He sped through the city, wind crisp against his face, trying to outrun not his exhaustion, but his own uncertainty.
**As he approached the academy gates, Leon's eyes scanned the crowd. He saw her, standing off to one side with M'gann and Conner, her posture tense but her smile genuine. For a moment, pride flickered inside him, and a silent promise formed:**
*If I can't yet unlock my potential, I'll be the anchor—to you, to me, and to the path we choose together.* I vow to you silently, My Maiden this knight won't let you down .
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