Danny Hebert arrived home, his arms struggling under the weight of multiple grocery bags, each one stuffed with an assortment of items intended to restock their depleted pantry. Taylor had nearly emptied the fridge in two days. Not to mention, that the food there had been enough for a week and half. The bags crinkled and shifted as he carefully closed the door behind him with a nudge of his foot. The familiar sound of Taylor's voice, bright and full of energy, called out from the kitchen, "Dad, hurry up! Lunch is all set!"

He navigated through the hallway, the anticipation of a simple meal in his mind. But as he entered the kitchen, the sight that greeted him was anything but simple. The dining table was an elaborate spread of dishes, each one meticulously prepared and presented as if by a professional chef. Steam rose from the meatballs nestled atop a mound of spaghetti, the sauces glistening beside them, and an array of beverages lined up like a rainbow—wine, orange juice, apple juice, and more.

Taylor stood by the table, her smile as wide as the feast laid out before them. "Go wash your hands, Dad. You don't want to miss out on this," she chirped, her eyes twinkling with excitement.

Danny, momentarily rooted to the spot, managed a chuckle that rumbled from deep within his chest. "I step out for groceries, and I come back to a banquet," he remarked, setting the bags down with a soft thud. "How was your day, Taylor? Anything exciting happen?" He didn't know how, but his daughter had prepared a feast for them.

She practically vibrated with enthusiasm. "Oh, it was fantastic! But first, how was the meeting? Everything go okay?"

He paused, the weight of the docks' troubles momentarily pressing down on him. "It was... productive," he said, choosing his words carefully. "But let's focus on this incredible spread. Did you cook all this?"

Taylor's grin grew even wider, if that was possible. "Not just cooked, Dad. I *created* it. With my powers!"

Danny's eyebrows shot up. "Created? You mean like... magic?"

"Exactly! Watch this!" Taylor gestured grandly over the table, and with a flourish, a bowl of Caesar salad appeared out of nowhere, complete with croutons and dressing.

Danny's mouth opened and closed, no words coming out as he processed the sight. "That's... quite a trick, Taylor."

She laughed, a sound as light and carefree as the bubbles in a soda. "It's not a trick, it's my new power! I can make food appear. I've been experimenting all morning."

He eyed the dishes with a mix of awe and a hint of skepticism. "So, you're telling me all this... came out of thin air?"

"Yep! And it's all edible, I promise. I've been eating it all day, and I feel great!" Taylor assured him, her eyes shining with pride.

With a shrug, Danny decided to embrace the moment. "Well then, Chef Taylor, I can't wait to try everything. Lead the way."

They sat down together, the strangeness of the situation fading as they began to eat. The food was delicious, he realised as he took the first bite. Far better than anything he ate in his life. Each bite a testament to Taylor's newfound abilities.

"Taylor. This is... amazing," Danny said, his voice warm with gratitude.

Taylor's smile was all the answer he needed. "Just wait until you see what I've got planned for dinner!"

Danny laughed at her optimism. Taylor had been highly optimistic since her return from Hospital. She was always smiling and looking happily at the things around her. His heart felt happy seeing her so carefree despite everything. Ofcourse she was pissed sometimes, however her overall mood was far better than her old self.

As we sat there, the array of dishes spread out before us like a feast fit for royalty, Dad's voice cut through the comfortable silence. "Taylor, I've been meaning to tell you... the PRT might be coming by to meet you," he said, his fork pausing mid-air.

I nodded, my mind already racing with the implications. "They mentioned something about that before," he continued, "said they'd reach out after a couple of days."

The PRT. There was a time when those three letters would have sent a thrill of excitement through me. The idea of being a hero, of making a difference, it was the stuff of dreams. But now, as I sat there with my bubblegum-pink skin and the antenna I so despised, the dream seemed more like a cruel joke.

I could already hear the whispers, the snickers behind my back. "Look at the monster cape," they'd say. And they wouldn't be wrong. What kind of hero looked like this? What kind of hero would people actually respect?

"I see," I managed to reply, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "When do they plan on coming?"

Dad shrugged, taking a sip of his juice. "Not sure, but soon, I guess."

I poked at my food, my appetite waning. School was out of the question. Emma and the others would only intensify their bullying with my new appearance. And honestly, did I even need school anymore? I had ideas, plans that stretched beyond the confines of high school halls and locker rooms.

There was a business idea brewing in my mind, something that could change everything. But I hadn't mentioned it to Dad yet. How could I? It was all so... unconventional.

"Dad," I started, the words tumbling out before I could stop them, "I've been thinking. Maybe school isn't the right place for me anymore."

He looked up, concern etching his features. "What do you mean, Taylor?"

I took a deep breath. "I have an idea, a business idea. And I think I'm ready to pursue it, to drop out and make it happen."

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with unspoken fears and hopes. Dad set his fork down, his eyes searching mine. "Are you sure about this, Taylor?"

I nodded, more certain of this than anything else. "Yes, I'm sure. I can't go back to being that person, Dad. I need to do something different, something that matters."

Dad's eyes were filled with a mix of curiosity and concern. "So, what's this business idea of yours?" he asked, leaning forward slightly.

I took a deep breath, the concept I'd been mulling over now ready to be shared. "I was thinking of opening a hotel or a restaurant," I began, watching his reaction closely. "With my powers, I can create food out of nothing. It could be a way to provide good food at affordable prices, helping a lot of people."

Dad mulled over the idea, his brow furrowed in thought. "That's a solid idea, Taylor," he finally said. "But you know, there are various gangs in the city. They might try to interfere."

I nodded, having anticipated this concern. "I know, but we'd stay neutral. Like rogues, you know? Like Parian." I leaned back, feeling confident in my plan. "There's already a precedent with the parahumans' shop that sells costumes to both sides while staying neutral."

Dad's expression softened, but the worry didn't leave his eyes. "Are you really sure about this, Taylor?"

I met his gaze, my resolve firm. "Yes, Dad. I can help so many people this way. And honestly, I only need an education for a job and to secure my future, right? If I have my own business, especially one that can thrive with my abilities, those reasons don't hold up anymore."

He considered my words, the gears turning behind his eyes. "It's a big step, but if you're sure... then I'm behind you."

A smile broke across my face, the first genuine one in what felt like ages. "Thanks, Dad. That means everything to me."

5 minutes later...

We were discussing the surprisingly good flavor of the meatballs when the knock came. It was sharp, a staccato interruption that made us both pause.

"That's probably the PRT," Dad said, setting his fork down with a clink against the plate.

I felt a flutter of unease at the mention of the PRT. "Yeah, could be," I replied, trying to keep my voice neutral. "You should answer it."

He stood up, wiping his hands on a napkin. "You okay with this, Taylor? You don't have to talk to them if you're not ready."

I shook my head, pushing back from the table. "No, it's fine. I'll talk to them. Might as well get it over with."

Dad hesitated at the door, hand on the knob. "You sure? Because you can just stay here, I can handle—"

"No, Dad. I need to do this," I insisted, feeling a surge of determination. "I need to tell them myself."

He nodded, understanding flashing in his eyes. "Alright. I'll be right there with you, kiddo."

The door opened, and Dad stepped aside to let the PRT representatives in. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the conversation ahead.

"Taylor, they're here," Dad called out, his voice steady but I could hear the underlying concern.

It was time to set fire to my old dreams of being a hero. It wasn't for me, I realised bitterly. I was going to stay away from all this.