The sound of my phone vibrating was the first thing I heard when I woke up. It was not a normal vibration, the kind that lets you know someone texted you or that your bank decided to remind you that you are still poor.

It was a constant, sick, annoying vibration, as if the phone was trying to escape from my table before dying from too many notifications.

I opened my eyes with difficulty and for a few seconds I did not remember anything. Then I saw the New Kroy jacket thrown on the chair and everything came back to my head.

The mission, the two superhumans, the transfer of 80 silver coins, the thousands of followers, and the message from Sarah saying that today I had a surprise for me.

I stretched on the bed and took the phone with one hand.

The screen was full again. New followers, direct messages, comments, tagged videos, strange requests, and people asking if I could make fire for birthdays, parties, challenges, or things that were surely illegal.

There was a message from someone saying they would pay me five silver coins if I wrote their name with fire on a wall.

Another one said that I should face Corvus Night again because “the chemistry was good.” I closed that notification immediately because I did not need my life to become more complicated with people supporting the villainess who clearly had problems with me or interest in me.

Maybe both things.

I tried to open my personal account to properly check the comments, but the application froze for several seconds. I touched the screen again. Nothing.

The phone was so saturated that it seemed to be thinking about whether to quit life. Finally it loaded and the number of followers had increased even more during the night.

I stayed looking at the number while my brain tried to accept that thousands of strangers had decided to follow a guy who two days ago was cleaning sweat from a bear costume.

It was not the amount of followers of a famous hero, I knew that, but for me it was absurd. My account before was almost invisible. Now every time I refreshed it went up a little more.

I got out of bed with the phone still vibrating. I went to the bathroom, washed my face, and during all that time notifications kept arriving.

Even while I was brushing my teeth, the screen lit up over and over. I thought about turning it off, but then I remembered that the bank was also there, and turning off a device where money transfers were arriving was disrespectful to my new life.

So I put it on silent and got ready to go to the agency. I put on clean clothes, the New Kroy jacket, and checked one last time that I was not accidentally replying to messages with my pocket.

I did not want my first viral post to be a “gbrdnds” written by accident.

When I arrived at the New Kroy agency, the scanner recognized me immediately. [Oliver Clarke. Registered support superhero.] It still felt strange to hear that. Registered.

I went through the main entrance trying to look calm, but some people looked at me more than normal. They were not suspicious looks like on the first day. They were looks of curiosity.

Some employees even murmured something while I walked toward the elevators. That made me feel weird.

Before, no one looked at me twice unless I was inside a bear costume dancing in front of children with sugar in their blood. Now they looked at me because I had used fire in a real mission.

I went directly to the fourth floor, where Sarah was. I did not want to waste time wandering around the agency because with my luck I would end up meeting Vanessa, Evelyn, or some other woman capable of complicating my morning before I knew what the surprise was.

The support area was active, with screens turned on, people reviewing routes, agents talking on communicators, and Sarah in the middle of everything as if she had been born to shout orders with energy.

She had her glasses on, her blonde hair tied in a ponytail, and a tablet in her hand. When she saw me, she raised her gaze and smiled in that way that I did not know if it meant good news or administrative problem.

“Oliver!” she said too loudly, approaching me with worrying speed. “You arrived early. Excellent. That means we can still turn you into someone minimally presentable before you ruin your own public reputation.”

“Good morning to you too” I said.

Sarah pointed at me with the tablet. “Do not joke. I saw your social media. Your phone must be almost unusable.”

“Almost not. It was already starting to consider its resignation.”

“Perfect, that means the surprise arrives at a good time.”

I stayed still. “I do not like how that sounds.”

Sarah smiled more. That was worse. She signaled me to follow her to a small room with a table, several screens, and a coffee maker of questionable age.

She closed the door behind us and put the tablet on the table. On one of the screens appeared my personal account, several videos from yesterday’s mission, and some comments from people calling me flame boy.

Seeing my face there, recorded from three different angles, was an unpleasant experience. In one of the videos you could see the ring of fire much better than I remembered.

In another you could hear a lady screaming that I was new. That did hurt a little.

“You had a good spike in attention” Sarah said. “Not huge, not of a famous hero, but enough for the agency to take advantage of it.”

“Take advantage how?”

“Public presence.”

I stayed looking at her. “What?”

Sarah touched the tablet and a new mission appeared.

[Public presence mission]

[Assigned crowded zone]

[Objective: accompany agency heroes, greet civilians, take photos, reinforce public trust]

[Classification: E]

[Base reward: variable]

[Bonuses: positive interaction, reach, mentions, associated sales]

I read everything twice because I thought that maybe my brain was rejecting the information.

“My surprise is greeting people?”

“Your surprise is learning that being a hero is not just shooting fire at criminals.”

“That does not sound like being a hero.”

Sarah rested both hands on the table and looked at me with fake patience. “Oliver, agencies do not only live from stopping villains. We live from contracts, subscriptions, reputation, public trust, commercial presence, merchandising, and people believing that when they see our logo they are safe. If citizens trust you, stores pay more for protection, the agency assigns you better missions, and your image can generate passive income.”

Passive income.

That part went directly into my head.

“Wait” I said raising one hand. “Merchandising like t-shirts?”

“T-shirts, keychains, figures, exclusive content, appearances, signatures, events, collaborations. Not with you yet, do not get excited. But if you want to really make money, you need people to not only know that you exist. You need them to trust you.”

I crossed my arms. “But I do not want to be a publicity mascot.”

Sarah looked at me in silence.

“Oliver.”

“What?”

“Yesterday you were happy because a child imitated you making fire.”

That was a low blow because it was true.

“That was different.”

“No. It was exactly this. Just without planning, without brand control, and without someone telling you not to post stupid things on social media.”

I stayed quiet because arguing against Sarah when she used logic and money at the same time was complicated.

I did not like the idea of greeting civilians as if I was part of an ad, but I also could not ignore the most important thing.

If this ridiculousness could bring better rewards, useful followers, and money without risking a superhuman throwing a container at my head, then maybe it was not completely useless.

“Do I have to smile?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“That already sounds worse.”

“You also have to not look like you hate civilians.”

“I do not hate civilians.”

“Your face sometimes says otherwise.”

I brought a hand to my face. “This is humiliating.”

“This is work” Sarah took the tablet and opened the door. “Now go to the fifth floor. The person who is going to accompany you should already be training. She has much more experience than you in public presence, so listen, learn, and do not try to act interesting.”

“She?”

Sarah smiled in a way that was too suspicious. “Fifth floor, Oliver. And do not arrive with that tragic face. Today you are not going to fight villains. Today you are going to fight something much worse.”

“What thing?”

Sarah raised a finger. “Public opinion.” The door closed behind me and I stayed in the hallway with the watch vibrating softly on my wrist.

Fifth floor, a public presence mission, a girl waiting for me, and a part of me was already sure that Sarah enjoyed ruining my peace too much.