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Episode Thirty
A Fragile New Beginning
In the middle of the night, Chris awoke to the faint sound of a hospital bed being wheeled down the hallway outside his and Skippy's room. Curious, he slipped out of bed and shuffled quietly to the door. As he peeked out, his heart leapt—he recognized the figure on the bed, unconscious, as Roger.
Overwhelmed with relief and joy, Chris moved slowly down the hall, following Nurse Kala as she rolled Roger's bed into a room, with Master Mickey walking beside them, looking slightly anxious.
"…Make sure to keep an eye out for magical outbursts," Master Mickey was saying to Nurse Kala. "Even if his magic might be weak, there's still a risk."
"Leave it to me," Nurse Kala replied calmly as she wheeled the bed into an empty room.
Chris reached the doorway just as they were settling Roger in. As he stepped forward, he nearly bumped into Nurse Kala on her way out.
"Oh! Chris!" she gasped. "What are you doing out of bed?"
Master Mickey looked up from his chair, spotting Chris by the doorway. "Is everything alright, Chris?" he asked gently.
"I… I heard someone being brought in, and I thought… I thought it looked like—" Chris' voice caught in his throat as he looked past them and saw Roger, unconscious in the bed, an oxygen mask covering his face. "Roger!" he cried, instinctively stepping forward.
But Nurse Kala moved to block him. "Chris, you need to go back to bed," she insisted firmly.
Master Mickey raised a hand. "It's alright, Kala. Let him stay. Chris, come sit with me." he said, patting the chair beside him invitingly.
Nurse Kala hesitated, then nodded and stepped aside. Chris walked into the room, his eyes never leaving Roger as he approached and sat down beside Master Mickey.
Master Mickey placed a comforting hand on Chris' shoulder. "Roger will be alright," he assured him softly.
Chris nodded, trying to process it all. He looked at Master Mickey, who studied him with a serious expression.
"Chris, can you tell me what happened?" Master Mickey asked. "I understand that Roger set you free."
Chris swallowed, nodding slowly. "Yeah… he did. I was… I was locked up in his room, instead of the prison. He… he brought me food and took care of me when I started getting sick, and eventually…" Chris' voice faltered as he recounted the events, "he said he'd try to get me out. And he did."
Master Mickey's eyes widened slightly. "You were kept in Roger's room?" he echoed, clearly surprised.
Chris nodded. "Roger… he's not like the others that were there. He was different from the start. I think he's…" Chris hesitated. "I think he was just… lost."
Master Mickey nodded thoughtfully, glancing over at Roger. After a moment, he looked back at Chris. "Roger's going to need a friend now, Chris," he said gently. "Someone who'll be there for him. Can I count on you for that?"
Chris didn't hesitate. "Of course. That's… that's exactly what I was planning to do."
Master Mickey's face softened with a grateful smile. "I'm glad to hear it, Chris. I think you'll be just what he needs."
Chris looked at Master Mickey, a mixture of concern and guilt in his eyes. "What… what happened to Roger after I left?" he asked quietly. "How did he end up like this?"
Master Mickey sighed, his gaze shifting to the unconscious fox. "I…I must've missed you by mere minutes. When I arrived at Drekmore, I found the Eleutherian doorway that was there in pieces and… Roger being tortured by the Dark Emperor. He was in the process of crushing Roger's magical core."
Chris winced, feeling a pang of horror. "That must have been… excruciating."
Master Mickey nodded solemnly. "Yes, crushing the magical core is one of the most painful things a spellcaster can endure."
Chris' eyes filled with sadness as he looked at Roger, lying still with the oxygen mask on his face. "He suffered that much… for me?"
Master Mickey placed a gentle hand on Chris' shoulder. "You mustn't blame yourself, Chris. Roger made his choice when he chose to free you. And if he decided to help you, knowing the risks… then you must have made quite the impression on him."
A faint smile tugged at Chris' lips, a mix of modesty and sadness. "Maybe… I hope so." He looked back at Roger, feeling an even stronger resolve to be there for him, no matter what it took.
Just then, Chris' chest tightened, and he began coughing again, his throat raw from the strain.
Master Mickey's concern deepened. "Chris, you really should be back in bed," he said gently, standing up and offering a steady hand.
With Master Mickey's support, Chris rose to his feet, a bit wobbly, and allowed himself to be guided back to the room he shared with Skippy. Once they reached the bed, Master Mickey helped him lie down, pulling the covers up to keep him warm.
Master Mickey then opened a nearby cabinet and took out a small vial. "Here, this is a strong cough potion. It should help ease that cough of yours," he said, pouring a bit into a small spoon and handing it to Chris.
Chris took the medicine gratefully, feeling an almost immediate soothing effect on his throat. "Thanks, Master Mickey," he murmured, already feeling drowsiness wash over him.
Master Mickey nodded, watching over Chris until he drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep—one of the potion's side effects, and perhaps just what Chris needed after everything he'd been through.
Master Mickey stood by Chris' bedside for a moment, a warm smile on his face as he watched him finally settle into a restful sleep. With a gentle nod, he whispered, "Good night, Chris."
Then, quietly, he turned and slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind him to let Chris and Skippy sleep in peace.
The next morning, Roger blinked awake, squinting at the bright, unfamiliar room around him. Confused, he tried to sit up, only to find the weight of a heavy blanket holding him down. With a shaky hand, he pushed it off enough to sit up and gingerly removed the oxygen mask, frowning at the strange device. Just as he sat upright, a sharp, searing pain surged through his chest, causing him to gasp and clutch at the ache.
A calm voice broke the silence. "Ah, you're finally awake."
Roger yelped, throwing his arms up defensively over his head, his heart racing.
"Whoa there, young fella!" Master Mickey's gentle tone cut through his panic. "Calm down, you're safe now."
Roger's breathing was heavy as he looked around, disoriented and anxious. "Scar—where is he?" he rasped, his hand instinctively clutching his chest. "And… Why does my chest hurt?"
Master Mickey stepped closer, soothingly placing a hand on Roger's shoulder. "Easy now. Try to lay back down," he urged, helping him settle back against the pillows. "You're safe here. Scar's nowhere near ya."
As Roger relaxed slightly, Master Mickey continued, "Your magical core was damaged. Scar's attack on ya really did a number on ya, and that's the pain you're feeling. I called on a team of powerful sorcerers to help mend it, but you'll need a few days to fully recover. For now, your magic might feel… well, a bit weaker than usual."
Roger's gaze dropped, processing this, and he nodded slowly, though worry still lingered in his eyes. His voice came out in a hoarse whisper. "Where… am I?"
Master Mickey gave him a warm smile. "You're in the hospital wing of the Dedi Academy. You're safe here."
Roger's eyes flickered with confusion, but he paused, seeming to gather his thoughts. "Did… did the twerp—I-I mean Chris, did he make it back okay?"
Master Mickey's smile softened, and he nodded. "Yes, he did. Thanks to you, Roger. He's back safe and sound. Resting, just like you should be."
Roger let out a small sigh of relief, a faint smile tugging at his lips before he winced and settled back, his hand over his chest. "Good... that's good."
Master Mickey chuckled softly. "You know, Chris already came by last night to see you. He just had to check on you."
Roger looked bewildered, his brow furrowing. "He… wanted to see me? But... after everything I did? I kept him locked up, I was practically his jailer."
Master Mickey's expression was kind and understanding. "Chris doesn't see it that way, Roger. He's grateful for the kindness you showed him—the real food you brought, the way you looked after him when he was unwell, and, most of all, the incredible risk you took to help him escape. You could've chosen not to, but you did, and that means the world to him. In fact," Master Mickey added with a gentle smile, "we all owe you a debt of gratitude."
Roger blinked, taking it all in, his guarded expression softening as he absorbed Master Mickey's words. "I… didn't think it'd matter to anyone," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
Master Mickey nodded, his tone warm and reassuring. "It matters to a lot of people here, Roger. To Chris' teachers, to his friends... and especially to his family—his brother, Kit, and his father, Matthew."
Roger's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. "His… his family?" he said, looking as though he was feeling worse.
Master Mickey smiled. "Yes. Chris has a lot of people who care deeply for him, people who were desperate to see him safe and sound again. And thanks to you, they finally got that chance."
Roger looked down, a hint of color rising in his cheeks. He hadn't realized just how much his actions had meant beyond just setting Chris free.
Roger took a moment to mull over Master Mickey's words. "What now? Where would I go from here? I can't go back to Drekmore—Scar will finish me off… and I'm not exactly hero material here…"
Master Mickey gave him an encouraging smile. "Setting Chris free was a heroic act on your part, Roger. That's no small thing, especially given the risks."
Roger lowered his eyes, uncertainty still shadowing his face.
Master Mickey continued, explaining gently, "Here at the D-Star, we have a system for minors like you who arrive without any parent or guardian. You'd be welcome to stay in a room at my manor if you'd like a bit more guidance and family atmosphere. Or, if you're more independent-spirited, there's an option for a condo, fully funded by the local community. You'd receive a monthly allowance—about a hundred dollars a month, or twenty dollars each week."
Roger blinked in surprise. "Really?"
"Really," Mickey affirmed with a nod. "And you'd also have a team of Den Mothers who'd bring meals, check in on ya, and make sure you have everything you need. No matter which option you choose, Roger, you won't be alone here."
Roger looked at Master Mickey, a hint of relief finally breaking through his worry.
Master Mickey rested a reassuring hand on Roger's shoulder. "You don't have to decide anything right now, Roger. Just take your time and think it over. Focus on getting better first, and when you're ready to leave the hospital wing, we'll talk about what feels right for you."
Roger nodded slowly, his shoulders relaxing a bit as he let the thought sink in. "Alright… I'll think about it."
"Good," Mickey replied, giving him a warm smile. "Just remember, whatever you decide, you have a place here."
Just then, Nurse Kala entered the room, carrying a tray with a steaming bowl of chicken broth. She smiled warmly at Roger as she placed the tray on the bedside table.
"Roger, this is Nurse Kala," Master Mickey introduced.
"Nice to finally meet you," Nurse Kala said, giving him a friendly nod. "A little bird told me chicken broth was your favorite, so I brought you some."
Roger's eyes widened, a flicker of surprise and a smile crossing his face. "I'm guessing that little bird's name is Chris."
Nurse Kala chuckled. "You guessed it. Seems he wanted to make sure you felt at home."
Roger stared down at the bowl, his expression softening as he murmured, "That kid… he really doesn't hate me, huh?"
Master Mickey's eyes sparkled with warmth. "No, Roger. Quite the opposite."
As Roger picked up his spoon and began to eat, Master Mickey rose from his seat. "Well, I've got academy business to tend to and a class to teach this afternoon. Nurse Kala will keep you here for a bit longer to monitor your recovery. Once you're discharged, I'll swing by, and we can sort out your new home, depending on what you decide. See ya later, Roger!"
Roger nodded in acknowledgment, focusing on his chicken broth as he slurped on his spoon quietly. Master Mickey gave him a reassuring smile before heading out of the room.
As Roger ate, a lively group of kids wandered past his room, heading toward Chris and Skippy. The group included a bear cub, three Gummi bears, a one-armed Dalmatian, and a trio of ducklings. One of the ducklings, dressed in a green hoodie, stopped abruptly in Roger's doorway, staring at him with wide, startled eyes.
"No... this can't be," the duckling muttered under his breath, fumbling to pull out his Gummiphone. He pointed it toward Roger, recording a video as Roger continued eating.
Roger, finishing his chicken broth, began to feel the weight of someone's gaze. He looked up, spotting the duckling frozen in the doorway. Tilting his head curiously, Roger asked, "Can I help you?"
The sound of Roger's voice startled the duckling, confirming his worst fears. Louie Duck let out a panicked yell, "PHANTOM!" before bolting down the hallway, shouting, "You guys, Phantom is here!"
The rest of the group gasped. Kit immediately straightened, his expression darkening. "Where?!" he demanded.
Before the group could follow up on Louie's claims, Nurse Kala appeared in the hallway, arms crossed and her expression firmly unimpressed. "Louie Duck," she said sharply, her tone brooking no nonsense, "how dare you disrupt the quiet of the hospital wing! This is a place for rest and healing. If you can't behave, I'll have to ask you to leave."
Louie, undeterred, waved his arms animatedly. "But Phantom is here! How can you just stand there when a bad guy is—"
"That's enough," Nurse Kala interrupted, clearly at the end of her patience. She stepped forward and, with practiced ease, grabbed Louie by the back of his hoodie. As she carried him down the hall, Louie kicked his legs in protest, yelling, "He's a bad guy! We have to do something about him!"
The remaining kids exchanged uncertain glances, then collectively decided that visiting Chris and Skippy was more important just now. They continued on their way, their murmurs fading as they entered the next room.
As the commotion subsided, Roger's expression shifted to one of dismay. Louie's outburst played over in his mind, and the name Phantom rang like a bell in his ears. He set the empty broth bowl aside, his shoulders slumping.
"He recognized me," Roger muttered, the weight of realization sinking in. "He knows I'm Phantom..."
Groaning, he pulled the blanket over his head, as though trying to shield himself from the world—or at least the judgment that is sure to follow him everywhere now that he'd been recognized. From beneath the cover, his muffled voice whispered bitterly, "So much for a fresh new start…"
He lay there, hiding in the safety of the blanket, his mind racing with doubts about whether starting over here was even possible.
In the bustling energy of Chris and Skippy's room, laughter and friendly chatter filled the air as Chris introduced his friends to Skippy. Skippy, though still recovering, managed a shy wave to each new face, earning warm greetings in return.
Tripod handed Chris his Gummiphone. "Here you go, cadet. Fully charged," he said with a grin.
"Thanks, Tripod," Chris said as he took the device. He tapped it on, intending only a quick check of messages, but his smile faded as his thumb paused over a glaring post. "Oh no... Louie!"
The room fell silent as Chris groaned, scrolling through the chaos on social media. Louie's post, accompanied by a side-by-side image of Roger in the hospital wing and his infamous alter ego, was already going viral. The caption blared:
"BAD GUY ALERT! PHANTOM AT LARGE IN THE D-STAR! NO ONE IS SAFE!"
Chris immediately fired off a comment: "Louie, delete this post now! Roger isn't a bad guy anymore!" But the response was buried almost instantly by a barrage of comments:
"How is this criminal even here?"
"Dedi Academy better handle this fast!"
"We need a lockdown!"
Chris groaned louder, running a hand through his spiky hair.
"What's wrong?" Kit asked, noticing his brother's distressed expression.
Chris hesitated, then muttered, "Louie... he's turning everyone against Roger right now, and I can't stop it!"
Kit's brow furrowed. "Why would you want to stop it? If a bad guy really is here, shouldn't we be raising the alarm?"
Chris' head snapped up, his eyes blazing with frustration. "Roger is not a bad guy!" he yelled, startling everyone in the room.
The intensity of Chris' outburst left a stunned silence. Skippy's ears twitched as Chris took a deep breath, calming himself. "Listen... Roger's the reason I'm here. He took care of me when I was sick. He fed me, even when he didn't have to. And most of all..." His voice wavered. "He's the one who set me free. He risked everything for me, and now everyone's treating him like a monster. He doesn't deserve this."
Chris' words hung heavy in the air. Kit looked thoughtful, but the others exchanged uncertain glances.
Tripod finally broke the silence. "If Roger really did all that, then... maybe we owe him the benefit of the doubt."
Chris nodded firmly. "Exactly. Roger's done more for me than anyone knows. And I won't let Louie—or anyone else—tear him down for it."
Dewey's eyes lit up, his awe unmistakable. "Wait... Roger saved your life? That's so cool!" He bounced on his feet, brimming with excitement. "I should go see him right now! I bet he's got awesome stories to tell—like, how he took on the Dark Emperor to save you or something!"
Before Dewey could bolt for the door, Huey grabbed the back of his shirt, yanking him to a stop.
"Whoa, hold on there, Dewey!" Huey said, his tone firm. "We should let Roger rest. He's been through a lot, and barging into his room isn't exactly the best way to thank him."
"But, Huey—" Dewey began, his excitement dimming slightly.
"No 'buts,'" Huey interrupted, crossing his arms. "You heard Chris. Roger risked his life. He probably needs some quiet right now. Besides, Nurse Kala would definitely throw us out of the hospital wing if we caused another commotion."
Dewey pouted but reluctantly nodded. "Fine... but as soon as he's feeling better, I'm totally gonna be his friend. Someone who saves lives has to be a good guy."
Chris smiled at Dewey's enthusiasm, his heart warming at the thought of Roger being accepted. "Thanks, Dewey. I think Roger could use a friend like you."
"Yeah," Dewey said with a grin. "Everyone deserves at least one awesome friend. And I'm the best at being awesome!"
Huey rolled his eyes but couldn't help smiling, while Kit, still processing everything, glanced at Chris with a newfound sense of respect.
Skippy chuckled, his ears twitching with amusement. "Your friends are funny, Chris. I almost wish I didn't have to go back to the abbey so soon. It'd be nice to stay here for a while and hang out with all of you."
Chris smiled at the comment, but before he could respond, Tripod gently stepped forward, his voice calm and kind. "I get that, Skippy. But we have to honor our promise to your Mom. I told her I'd bring you back to the abbey as soon as you were well enough."
Skippy's laughter softened, and he nodded, a wistful look in his eyes. "Yeah... I guess you're right. She's probably worried sick about me."
Tripod offered him a reassuring smile. "She'll be relieved to see you, and I'm sure she'll be proud of how brave you've been through all this."
Chris reached out and gave Skippy's hand a light squeeze. "Don't worry, Skippy. You'll always have friends here. Even if you're back in Eleutheria, we'll find a way to keep in touch."
"Thanks, Chris," Skippy said, smiling. "That means a lot."
Dewey leaned over, grinning. "And hey, when you visit again, I'll introduce you to all the best snacks around here. We've got way more than just abbey food!"
Skippy laughed again, feeling a little lighter. "I'll hold you to that!"
Chris, meanwhile, stared at his Gummiphone, his frustration mounting as his newest post gained no traction. His words were carefully chosen: "Roger isn't a bad guy anymore. The Cornerstone of Light repels evil, and if Roger were truly evil, he wouldn't even be here at the D-Star. Give him a chance." Yet, no matter how much he refreshed the page, it was clear his plea was being drowned out by the flood of reposts and comments on Louie's sensational post.
He groaned, setting the phone down with a frustrated sigh. "Why won't anyone listen? I'm telling them the truth, but it's like they don't even care. All they see is what Louie posted, and now everyone's convinced Roger's a monster!"
Kit, sitting across the room, folded his arms thoughtfully. "It's not that they don't care, Chris," he said wisely. "It's just... People are drawn to bad news, especially when it's shocking. They spread it because it gets reactions. Fear and outrage make people talk. The truth? That doesn't grab attention the same way."
Chris frowned, running a hand through his hair. "But this isn't fair! Roger doesn't deserve this."
Kit's expression softened, and he walked over to place a reassuring hand on Chris' shoulder. "I know it's not fair, but this is how people are. It's easier to believe the worst in someone, especially when it's already part of their story. Changing that narrative takes time, not just one post."
Chris looked up at Kit, his frustration dimming slightly. "So... what do I do? Just sit here while everyone hates him?"
"Of course not," Kit said. "You stand by him. Keep telling the truth, even if people don't listen right away. Actions speak louder than words, and Roger's actions will prove who he really is, just like they did for you."
Chris nodded slowly, taking comfort in Kit's words. "Thanks, Kit. You're right. I'll just have to show them... Roger will have to show them, too."
"You'll get through this," Kit said firmly. "And Roger will, too."
Dewey clenched his fists, a determined look crossing his face. "I could change into Turbo, zoom over, and grab Louie's phone. Just one swipe, delete the post, and no more problems!" he declared, already imagining the plan in action.
Chris looked at him with a glimmer of hope, but Huey shook his head, placing a hand on Dewey's shoulder. "It's no good now, Dewey," he said, a note of regret in his voice. "Even if you did grab Louie's phone and delete the post, it's everywhere by now. People have already reposted it hundreds of times. The damage is done."
Dewey slumped, his shoulders drooping. "I just hate seeing Chris so upset. I thought... maybe I could help."
Chris managed a small smile. "Thanks, Dewey. I know you just want to help. You all do. But Huey's right. There's no quick fix for this."
Kit stepped forward, adding, "What matters now is how you handle it, Chris—and how Roger does, too. The truth will come through, even if it takes time. We just have to be patient and keep standing up for him."
Chris nodded, feeling a renewed resolve. "Then that's what we'll do. Roger's been through enough; he deserves people who believe in him, and I'm going to make sure he knows he has us in his corner."
Tripod rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Well, technically, there are two ways to handle this quickly. The legal way is to ask Gyro, who owns the social media servers, to step in and freeze things—maybe delete the defamatory posts himself. Then there's the... less legal route, which would involve finding a hacker to delete the posts and all the reposts."
Chris gulped, his eyes widening. He glanced down at his phone nervously. "Let's... let's hope the legal route works." He took a breath and dialed Gyro.
After a few rings, Gyro picked up, sounding distracted and slightly annoyed. "I'm a bit busy here, so make it quick," he said, not giving Chris a chance to exchange greetings.
"Gyro, I really need your help. It's about Roger—he's being unfairly accused, and the rumors are spreading like wildfire. If you could freeze the servers and help delete the posts, we could stop this before it gets worse."
Gyro sighed. "Listen, Chris. What you're asking is impossible. There are already so many reposts that it'd be like cutting off the Hydra's head—every time you delete one post, more would just pop up. This thing is beyond stopping manually."
Chris' heart sank. He hadn't realized the scale of the problem, and Gyro's explanation made him feel even more helpless.
Tears of frustration welled up in Chris' eyes, his voice trembling. "So... so what are we supposed to do? Just sit here and let everyone think Roger's still a villain?"
Gyro's tone softened slightly. "Yes, Chris. That's exactly what you have to do. People will move on when something new grabs their attention. Until then, forcing anything will only make it worse." After a pause, he added, "I can at least put a temporary ban on Louie's account. That'll slow him down, but... I can't undo the damage already done."
Chris swallowed hard, feeling the weight of it all. It was unfair—Roger had risked everything for him, and now he was going to suffer for it.
Chris' hands shook as he typed out the message to Louie, his anger bubbling to the surface. His fingers flew over the screen as he poured all his frustration and hurt into the words.
"Louie, I don't know what you think you're doing, but you've crossed a line. Roger is NOT the bad guy you're making him out to be. He risked everything to save me, and I won't stand by while you destroy his chance at a new life. I've had enough. We're not friends anymore. Don't try to contact me again."
He hesitated for a moment, then hit send.
The flood of emotions didn't stop there. He quickly went through every form of communication he had with Louie—email, social media, even their shared messaging groups—and blocked him everywhere. A wave of exhaustion hit him afterward, but there was a strange sense of relief.
At least he'd done something.
But it didn't take away the gnawing worry in his stomach. What now? Would the rumors die down or continue to haunt Roger? Would anyone listen to him?
Chris let out a long sigh and leaned back in his bed, his eyes staring at the screen blankly.
Roger paced back and forth in his hospital room, his hands fidgeting nervously. He couldn't stay here—not after what happened. That little duckling in the green hoodie had somehow recognized him as Phantom and yelled it out for everyone to hear. The entire hospital wing had likely heard it by now, and the rumors would spread fast. He couldn't stay, not with everyone thinking he was some villain haunting the D-Star. It felt like the eyes of the entire world were on him, watching, judging, without even giving him a chance to change.
"Please, Nurse Kala," he pleaded, his voice strained. "I can't stay here, not like this. I'll leave on my own if I have to." He was determined, but there was a tremor in his voice that betrayed his fear.
Nurse Kala sighed, glancing at the Gummiphone in her hand. "You can't leave yet, Roger dear. You need more rest, and I don't think you're in any shape to be running off on your own."
Roger crossed his arms tightly over his chest. "I'm fine. I'm just a little sore. I can handle it. I don't want to be here when everyone starts thinking I'm some kind of monster."
Nurse Kala's expression softened. She knew what he meant. She'd just seen the posts, too. The comments were endless, all condemning Roger as Phantom, spreading the fear of his past like wildfire. She hated that he had to face this, especially after everything he'd been through.
With a reluctant sigh, she pulled up her Gummiphone and dialed Master Mickey. As the phone rang, she glanced at the screen again, her eyes narrowing at Louie's post that had taken over. She felt bad for Roger, for how quickly everything had spiraled out of control.
Roger, oblivious to the true scale of the situation, rubbed his temples. He had seen a few suspicious glances earlier, sure, but he thought that was it. He had no idea the whole D-Star was now filled with whispers and assumptions, most of them far worse than the reality. He had no idea that Louie's post had spread faster than wildfire, already painting him as the villain once again.
When Nurse Kala finished her call with Master Mickey, she lowered the Gummiphone, her eyes filled with understanding. "Master Mickey will be here soon to talk to you. Please, Roger, just give him a chance. Let him explain things. You can't just run away from this, not when you've made so much progress."
Roger nodded silently, but the unease in his chest didn't ease. The sooner he left, the better. He didn't belong here—not while everyone thought he was still Phantom.
The room seemed to shimmer for a moment, and then, with a quiet hum, a portal of light appeared in the air before Roger. It wasn't the kind of magic he was used to—a flash of fire or a dark whisper of sorcery. No, this light felt almost comforting, as if it was inviting him to step into something new, something unknown.
Master Mickey emerged from the portal, his expression soft but filled with concern. He glanced at Roger, his eyes studying the young fox's restless form.
"Roger," he said gently, his voice calm but firm. "We need to talk."
Roger's impatience flared up. His chest ached—not just from his injuries, but from the gnawing frustration that had been building inside him ever since he woke up. "I don't need to talk. I need to leave. Now. Before anyone sees me... before anyone thinks I'm still Phantom." His voice was sharp, tinged with desperation.
Master Mickey sighed, his gaze heavy. "I'm sorry, Roger. But I can't let you go—not like this." He stepped forward, his hand outstretched, motioning toward the portal. "Please, come with me. You have questions, and I have answers. You can't just run away from this. Not when there's so much more to understand."
Roger hesitated, his body tense, eyes darting toward the portal and then back to Master Mickey. He didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to be here. But he could feel that tug, that quiet call to follow, even though every part of him screamed to flee.
"I don't need answers," Roger muttered under his breath, his voice cracking with the weight of everything he had gone through. "I just need to get out of here."
Master Mickey's expression softened further, his tone sincere. "I know you feel that way, Roger. But trust me—this is the only way you'll truly be free."
Roger stared at him, torn between his overwhelming desire to escape and the small flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, this might be the chance he needed to prove he wasn't the Phantom anymore. Slowly, uncertainly, he took a step toward the portal.
"Fine," Roger said, his voice low but resigned. "But I'm not promising anything."
Master Mickey smiled gently, nodding as he stepped back through the glowing doorway. "That's all I'm asking for. Come with me, Roger. Let's find the answers together."
With a final glance at the room he had been confined to, Roger took a deep breath and stepped through the portal, his heart pounding as the familiar world of the hospital wing faded away, leaving him to face whatever came next.
The portal closed softly behind them, and Roger found himself standing in a large, well-lit room filled with shelves of books and various magical artifacts. The walls were lined with warm, wooden paneling, and a cozy rug lay on the floor in front of a large desk cluttered with papers, quills, and a glowing Gummiphone. Master Mickey wasted no time, striding toward the desk with purpose. Roger took a seat in the chair in front of it, his eyes wide as he looked around at the many strange and intriguing objects that filled the space.
Master Mickey clicked a few keys on the computer, bringing up the academy's social media platform. The screen glowed brightly as he began typing.
"Alright," he muttered under his breath, "let's clear this up."
Roger leaned forward, still uncertain and uneasy, his gaze flickering between the glowing screen and Master Mickey. The words on the screen began to take shape as Master Mickey typed, making an official announcement about the events of the day. The post was clear and to the point: "Attention, D-Star citizens. A recent post claiming the appearance of Phantom in our midst has caused some concern. While it is true that Roger was once known by that name, he is no longer the person he once was. Roger, after performing a heroic act to free Chris, has come to us seeking a new beginning. Please give him a chance to prove he is no longer the villain he once was. We all deserve a second chance."
Master Mickey clicked "Post," then leaned back in his chair and let out a small sigh of relief.
"That should help," he said, glancing at Roger. "Hopefully, this clears up the confusion. News and rumors spread at lightning speed in this world, so it's important we get the truth out there."
Roger barely heard him, his eyes still glued to the screen, his thoughts racing. His heart pounded in his chest as he processed what had just happened. He couldn't shake the unease growing inside him. Master Mickey's words were kind, but Roger wasn't sure he could trust that the people here would accept him. After all, he had been Phantom for so long—was one post really going to make them forget all of that?
"I don't want to take chances," Roger muttered, breaking the silence. His voice was tight with frustration as he leaned forward, hands clenched into fists. "I just want to leave. I don't need this... new life or whatever you're offering me. I don't want to be stuck here, either."
Master Mickey's expression softened as he leaned forward, his hands clasped in front of him. "Roger, listen to me. You're safest here. The Cornerstone of Light ensures that no evil can enter this place. Scar... he can't touch you while you're here." His voice was gentle but firm, understanding the weight of Roger's words. "But if you leave now, you'll be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life. Scar doesn't give up. He'll hunt you down. You're safer here, with us. And you'll have a chance to start over. Take some time. Think it over."
Roger's gaze faltered. He wasn't sure what to do. The idea of leaving seemed so tempting, of escaping the chaos and the weight of being Phantom. But deep down, he knew Master Mickey was right. He couldn't just run forever. Scar was ruthless, and if he left, there was no guarantee of safety.
"I… I just want to be normal again," Roger admitted quietly, his voice barely a whisper. He wasn't sure who he was anymore—he had spent the past year or so being Phantom under Scar, trying to survive in a world full of villains. Could he really change? Could he really be the person Chris believed in?
Master Mickey gave him a reassuring smile, standing up and walking around the desk to sit next to him. "You are not alone in this. We will help you every step of the way. But for now, think about what's best for you. There's no rush. Take a breath. And remember—you're safe here. No one's gonna hurt ya."
Roger glanced at Master Mickey, then back at the post on the screen, where the words "Roger is no longer Phantom" glowed softly. A fresh start. It sounded so simple, so impossible. Could he really leave his past behind?
The silence stretched between them, and Roger sat back in the chair, allowing himself a moment to think it through. He wasn't sure yet what he wanted, but Master Mickey's words were beginning to sink in. Maybe this was his chance. Maybe he could make a different choice this time.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Roger sighed and looked at Master Mickey. "I'll stay for now." he said, his voice quiet but resolute. "But I'm still not sure about this... new life."
Master Mickey gave him a warm, understanding smile. "Take your time. You'll get there, Roger. We're all here for you."
Roger nodded, feeling the weight of his decision settle over him. It wasn't going to be easy, but maybe, just maybe, he could start over.
Roger took a shaky breath, his voice barely a murmur. "I… I don't want to be alone anymore," he admitted, almost surprising himself with the words. He looked down, rubbing his arm self-consciously. "So… I'll stay. At your manor. I just… I just want to be a normal kid, even if… even if it means my magic never fully comes back."
Roger's words hung in the air, and for a moment, he regretted them the instant they left his mouth. He had been fighting against the idea of staying, trying to convince himself that he didn't need anyone, that he could handle everything on his own. But the truth was different. He didn't want to be alone anymore, and he knew that this was the only place where he could begin to figure things out.
Master Mickey's gaze softened, a gentle understanding passing between them. "Roger," he said quietly, "you don't have to be perfect. You don't have to have it all figured out right now. Sometimes, the best way to start over is just to take things one step at a time. And being here... you're not alone anymore. You'll have people who care about you, and that matters more than any magic."
Roger's heart felt lighter at the sincerity in Master Mickey's words. For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to hope. Maybe he could rebuild, piece by piece, and maybe, just maybe, he could finally find the kind of peace he'd been chasing all this time.
"Thanks," Roger said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm still scared, but... I think this is a step in the right direction."
Master Mickey gave him a small, reassuring smile. "You're doing great, Roger. Just keep moving forward, and we'll be here to help you every step of the way."
As Roger sat back in his chair, a faint sense of comfort settled over him. He wasn't sure what the future held, but for the first time in a long while, he felt like maybe, just maybe, things would be okay.
Master Mickey gave Roger an encouraging nod. "Come on," he said warmly. "Let's go see if Minnie has a room ready for ya."
They left the study, stepping into the bright corridor and making their way toward the manor's cozy living room. The place was inviting, filled with soft sunlight filtering through large windows, giving it a warm, welcoming glow. The familiar, comforting scent of baking—perhaps cookies or muffins—wafted through the air as they approached, a subtle reminder of the sense of home that Mickey and Minnie had created here for those in need.
As they stepped into the bustling living room, Roger's gaze locked onto the large TV mounted on the wall. The colorful moving images seemed magical to him, like some kind of enchanted portrait. He blinked, trying to understand it, and finally turned to Master Mickey with a puzzled look.
"Is that… a talking portrait or something?" he asked, tilting his head.
Master Mickey chuckled. "Not exactly. It's called a television, or TV for short. It shows moving pictures—stories, news, all sorts of things. It's pretty popular around here."
Roger nodded slowly, trying to absorb this new information. But his attention was soon drawn to the kids around the room, all gathered in small clusters, eyes flicking between him and the TV. He braced himself, half-expecting judgmental stares or whispers, but none of the kids looked at him with suspicion or disdain. Instead, they watched him with a kind of open curiosity, as though they were seeing him for the first time and were genuinely interested.
A little girl with bright, curious eyes approached him, her head tilted as if studying a fascinating puzzle. "Are you new here?" she asked simply, no hint of judgment in her voice.
Roger felt his guard slip a bit. "Yeah… I am," he replied, his voice softer than he intended.
"Cool!" she said, grinning. "Do you know how to play 'Battle Stars'?" She motioned to a group of kids engaged in a game on another TV nearby.
Roger smiled faintly. "I… don't know what that is, but… maybe you could show me sometime?"
The girl beamed. "Definitely!"
As Master Mickey watched the exchange, he gave Roger an encouraging nod. "You see? People here are pretty welcoming. You don't have to worry about your past. This is a fresh start, and these kids are ready to give you that."
Roger took a deep breath, feeling a spark of hope kindling in his chest. "Yeah," he murmured, allowing a small, grateful smile. "Maybe this really could be home."
"Ah, there you are!" Minnie's cheerful voice came from around the corner as she walked in, carrying a tray of freshly baked cookies. She set them down on the coffee table and beamed at Roger. "Welcome, Roger! I heard you might be needing a room."
Roger nodded, feeling a bit shy but also strangely comforted by Minnie's warm, motherly presence. "Yes, ma'am… if it's not too much trouble."
"Not at all, sweetheart!" Minnie assured him with a gentle smile. "We have a lovely room right down the hall, all ready for you. I hope you'll feel right at home here."
Roger couldn't help but smile, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as he glanced at the tray of cookies. "Thanks… this place is really nice," he said softly.
Minnie chuckled and offered him a cookie. "Go on, have one! And if you ever need anything, don't hesitate to let us know. We're happy to have you here."
Master Mickey placed a reassuring hand on Roger's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "See, Roger? You've got something close to a family here now. You're not alone anymore."
For the first time in what felt like forever, Roger felt a spark of real hope. He took a cookie, biting into it and savoring its warmth and sweetness, feeling a little more at ease with each bite. The rest of the day, he spent meeting the other children, playing, and just being a normal kid again. He was happier than he'd been in a long time. That night, as he settled into bed, he found himself wishing this happiness could last forever.
The next morning, Roger awoke in his new room, feeling more refreshed and well-rested than he had in years. The cozy bed and soft pillow had given him the kind of peaceful sleep he'd almost forgotten was possible. He stretched, taking in the warm sunlight streaming through the curtains, and got up to change into casual clothes—a simple T-shirt and a pair of shorts, a big departure from his usual cloak and wizard attire. He smiled, feeling unexpectedly free in the light, comfortable clothing.
After getting ready, he made his way to the dining hall, where he joined the other kids for a hearty breakfast. The long table was filled with pancakes, scrambled eggs, fruit, and all sorts of treats, making the morning feel cheerful and welcoming. He dug in with enthusiasm, chatting and laughing with the others, feeling more and more like he truly belonged.
Later, he headed outside to the playground in the backyard, where kids of all ages were running around, playing games, and laughing. Roger joined in without hesitation, running, laughing, and playing along with the others. For the first time in ages, he felt like a normal kid—unburdened, happy, and surrounded by friends. The weight he'd been carrying around, all the worry and fear, seemed to melt away in the bright sunshine.
As he played, he couldn't help but marvel at the simple joy of it all. It was a happiness he hadn't expected, one he hadn't even realized he'd been longing for. Here, he wasn't Phantom, the villain's minion. He was just Roger, a kid discovering what it was like to be free.
Roger continued to play happily, running across the playground with a light heart, until he noticed a group of older boys picking on a few of the younger kids nearby. Frowning, he rushed over to stand between the bullies and the smaller kids, calling out, "Hey! Leave them alone!"
The older boys laughed at him, sizing him up with smug expressions. "Well, well, if it isn't the 'great Phantom,' trying to play hero," one of them sneered. "What's the plan, Phantom? Gonna lead them down your path to villainy by pretending to be a good guy?"
Roger clenched his fists, anger stirring in his chest, but he gritted his teeth and tried to ignore them. He urged the younger kids to follow him and began guiding them away from the scene, hoping they could just get back to playing. But before they'd gotten far, one of the boys shoved him roughly, knocking him to the ground. Furious, Roger sprang to his feet, his patience snapping. Without a second thought, he lunged at the boy, tackling him.
Suddenly, it was a three-on-one scuffle, with Roger at the center as the boys pounded on him. The younger kids scattered, darting off to find help. Just as Roger thought he'd be overwhelmed, a gruff voice barked, "Alright, ya little nimrods! Break it up, break it up!"
A large, heavyset black cat with a menacing scowl pulled them apart with ease, setting Roger and the older boys on opposite sides. The boys instantly dropped their tough expressions, their attitudes shifting as they addressed the cat.
"Pete, sir, that kid over there, he's Phantom! He's just pretending to be a hero to mess with the younger kids, maybe even corrupt them. We couldn't just let him get away with it!"
Roger's face flushed with frustration. "That's not true! They were the ones picking on those kids!"
Pete turned to Roger with an unimpressed look. "So, you're Phantom, eh? Thought I recognized trouble when I saw it," he growled, crossing his arms. "Seems like these three brats have got it right—you're nothing but trouble."
Roger tried to protest, but Pete wasn't having it. Without warning, Pete grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. Roger squirmed, kicking his legs as he was lifted off the ground. "Hey! Let me go!" he yelled, struggling in Pete's grip as Pete started walking away.
But Pete kept a firm hold, ignoring Roger's protests as he carried him off, leaving the playground and the commotion behind.
Pete strode purposefully through a quiet, hidden section of the manor grounds, carrying Roger without a word, until they reached a set of old, weathered cellar doors. He wrenched one of them open and carried Roger down a narrow stone staircase, which opened into an underground tunnel dimly lit by flickering torches. Shadows danced on the walls as they descended deeper into the tunnel, an eerie silence filling the space.
They arrived at a row of iron-barred cells, remnants from another era. Without ceremony, Pete flung Roger inside and let him stumble to the ground before slamming the door shut with a loud clang. Roger shot up and grabbed the bars, his heart pounding as he stared at Pete's back, his hands gripping the cold metal tightly.
"You can stay put here, 'Phantom,'" Pete sneered. "Seems like the safest place to keep a troublemaker like you out of everyone's way."
Roger's eyes burned with anger. "Let me out! It's not my fault!" he yelled, his voice echoing through the empty space. Pete merely turned away, ignoring him.
As Pete walked off, Roger's frustration and anger reached their peak. "I hate you!" he screamed after him, his voice trembling with fury and helplessness. "You're no better than Scar! You're not heroes! None of you are!"
His voice echoed down the tunnel as Pete's footsteps faded away. With a strangled, frustrated sob, Roger sank to his knees, still clutching the bars. In the dim light, his rage gave way to a crushing feeling of isolation. Here he was, hoping for a fresh start, only to be thrown into a cell as if he were still in Drekmore, still nothing more than Phantom in everyone's eyes.
Feeling the weight of his situation, he let his hands slip from the bars, his shoulders slumping as he sank back against the cold stone wall, trapped and alone once more.
As Roger sat alone in the dark, his anger simmered, intensifying with each passing second. Every thought of injustice, every memory of betrayal, every echo of the cruel taunts of "Phantom" replayed in his mind. The anger built, swelling like a storm inside him until it could no longer be contained. He felt something ignite, a force deep within that he had never sensed before.
A strange, electric pulse surged through his body, growing stronger with each heartbeat. His frame shuddered, muscles expanding and thickening, his back hunching as his bones seemed to stretch and shift. His once-calm features twisted, his mouth stretching open to reveal razor-sharp, fang-like teeth. His claws lengthened, gleaming in the dim torchlight as his hands curled into fists that could barely contain the newfound strength surging within them.
Roger had transformed—a hulking, feral beast, more powerful and terrifying than he'd ever imagined. His clothes ripping and tearing as he grew.
With a primal roar, he lunged at the bars, slamming into them with a force that rattled the walls. The echo of his growls and snarls filled the tunnel as he pounded against the unyielding iron, claws raking at the bars and walls in a frenzied effort to break free. Each impact sent tremors through the cell, his newfound strength bending the metal ever so slightly as he continued to thrash against his confinement.
He roared again, a sound that reverberated through the dark depths, more beast than boy. Fueled by fury, he attacked the bars with a relentless, almost unstoppable force, determined to tear down whatever stood between him and his freedom.
Author's Note:
Hope you have enjoyed this episode. Please send your reviews and comments my way!
Keep Cyclone Blaze your thoughts and prayers.
Stay tuned for episode 31!