JohnnyZ
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[Life is Good] Chapter 58
🕑 Added 2025-03-14 05:39:07 +0000 UTCExams. So much weight in that word, so much suffering woven into the heart of every student.
But screw it—praise be to Tzeentch—I did it! I walked out of my last exam for the day in a state of euphoria. Who would've thought I'd ever feel this hyped? It wasn’t even about passing the exams, really—it was the sheer anticipation of free time and all the ways I planned to fill it. Hell, I didn’t get half this rush on my first night patrolling, but today? Today, I closed out all my math subjects and physics. Absolutely glorious.
Back in the day, I did consider trying to weasel out of school, going full, “We don’t have time for games! We need to fight!”—but I was, figuratively, told to fuck right off by literally everyone. Magneto, Xavier, hell, even moms Judy and Betty got in on it. Not that I was really mad about it.
I mean, they had a point—education is kinda important if I don’t plan on being a full-time brawler or retiring as a househusband. Who knows? Maybe one day, I’ll say “screw this superhero gig” and apply for a job at Oscorp. Sure, Harry could probably get me in through nepotism, no doubt, but the thought of working there without even finishing high school? That’s just embarrassing. Better suck it up and push through. Otherwise, my only option would be moving to Canada and chopping wood for a living. College, though? That can wait—18, maybe 20 sounds like a good time for that.
Halfway to the training halls, I stopped. Weird feeling. Like someone called me. I glanced around—empty hallway. Not a soul in sight. Strange. I don’t even know how to describe it—like a silent shout in a familiar voice. I stood there, confused as hell, until I felt something stir inside me. The Flame. For real, sometimes it feels like that thing is alive. And honestly? I’m almost certain it’s got some kind of primitive intelligence or emotional response. Happens way too often that I feel it growling in sync with my bad moods. Like an aggressive little cheer squad—Blood for the Blood God, huh?
Anyway, I had a hunch—this was Blaze reaching out. Or at least hinting that we needed to talk. I wasn’t sure how, but Ghost Riders had something like this in the original lore, right? Some kinda mark? And honestly, it was about time—I had way too many questions piling up about the Flame. Plus, I really needed to know how the hell she managed to bypass my defensive abilities. Only problem? We forgot to exchange numbers. Yeah. Real smart.
Guess that meant I needed Yuriko.
Sensei greeted me with her trademark deadpan expression, lazily smacking a shinai against her palm. But her brow did quirk slightly when I walked up instead of heading straight to the locker room.
“Sensei, good afternoon,” I said, not expecting a reply. If I was lucky, I’d get a nod. And only if she was feeling chatty. “I need to head into the city. Gotta meet up with that flaming skeleton on a bike.”
She crossed her arms under her chest, giving me a look that was both expectant and just a little amused.
“I need to talk to her—you get it,” I added, throwing in a dash of irritation. Oh yeah, I caught her ‘recurring’ joke about ‘ladies,’ I just didn’t find it that funny. I rolled my eyes dramatically to drive the point home. “I’ll make up for the missed training. Learning more about the Flame could be useful.”
A few seconds of silence. A nod. The shinai went back to the rack, and the corner of Oyama’s lips twitched.
“I’ll drive.”
And, as always, the woman of few words marched toward the exit.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Logan checking out Yuriko as she walked off. He noticed me watching. I smirked. Wagged a finger. Tsk, tsk, tsk, my guy.
Logan pulled his classic “I am so fucking done with you people” face. I fake-snorted in response. Of all people, my dear Sensei couldn’t care less about Wolverine’s rugged charm. Too boring for her. Heh. Though, to be fair, they did have some similarities.
Oh, and speaking of Logan’s problems—Jubilee had definitely seen that little exchange. I was calling it now: within the next few hours, rumors were gonna fly about two mutant men locked in a fierce battle for the heart of one enigmatic Japanese woman. One was a seasoned warrior, the other a brash young upstart. The sheer pain on Logan’s face when he hears about it? Priceless. Yuriko, though? She wouldn’t even react. At most, a hmm. More likely, she’d just give the gossipers a blank stare and move on.
We sat in the car. Yuriko started the engine, leaned back while the car warmed up, then gave me a sidelong look, one brow slightly raised.
“A cafe’s probably best,” I mused. “She’ll find me on her own… I hope.”
She lifted her other brow. I just shrugged. Hell, I could be wrong. But I’d rather be overprepared than underprepared. Last thing I needed was Blaze showing up at the school and causing a diplomatic incident with the mutant population. I could’ve warned everyone ahead of time, but honestly? It was just easier handling this with Sensei. She was strict, sure, but over time, we’d… I dunno. Gotten closer? She trusted my judgment. Treated me more like an adult than most.
The drive was quiet. City streets rolled by under the afternoon sun. Hopefully, the day would stay calm—no fights, no disasters, no unexpected bullshit. Just a chat with the Ghost Rider, then a trip to meet the special forces. Oh yeah, I brought my suit for that. It was chilling in the trunk in its little suitcase.
About halfway there, I felt that pull again. Stronger this time. Clearer.
Yuriko picked a pretty low-key cafe. Not surprising—mid-afternoon, barely any customers. We ordered tea. I got a cheesecake. Oyama, meanwhile, scrutinized the menu like it had personally insulted her, then just shook her head in disapproval.
The waitress? Oh boy. She could’ve been Yuriko’s long-lost sister. The sheer level of not giving a fuck radiating off her was palpable. No wonder this place wasn’t popular.
Halfway through my decidedly mediocre cheesecake, the Flame inside me flared again—so strong this time that I felt the direction Blaze was coming from. A couple of minutes later, the cafe door swung open.
And there she was. Same leather jacket. Same confident stride as she headed straight for us.
“You mind if I sit?” she asked. Except the way she said it, there wasn’t really a question there.
"Good afternoon, Miss Blaze, of course, have a seat," I offered her a polite smile. When you're dealing with supernatural somethings, politeness is key. Oyama, meanwhile, gave the biker lady a slightly intrigued look before giving a nod. Damn, Yuriko being the picture of friendliness? Now that’s rare.
"This is Yuriko Oyama, my Mentor," I introduced the Japanese woman.
"Pleasure to meet you," Joan Blaze nodded, surprisingly friendly for someone with a permanent case of resting bitch face. "I don’t mean to be rude," she glanced at me, then back at Yuriko, "but we need to have a... personal conversation. Would you min—"
Oyama didn’t even let her finish. She just got up and moved to the next table, face still set in her usual I-don’t-give-a-shit neutrality.
"...I hope she’s not...?" Joan gestured vaguely, obviously thrown off by how fast Oyama had noped out.
"Nah, nah!! She’s always like that," I chuckled, half-closing my eyes. "I genuinely can’t think of anything that could offend her." I paused, then shrugged. "But I can guarantee that if she was offended, she wouldn’t have left. Miss Blaze, I’m actually really glad to see you—I’ve been wanting to talk to you too."
"Just Joan, kid," she snorted. "I’ve been doing some digging, and turns out, we’re not exactly strangers. We’ve got a... "—Blaze hesitated, like she was trying to find the right words— "a shared trait." She gave a wry, humorless smile, like she was apologizing in advance.
"Uh-huh... Yeah, I kinda noticed that," I said, immediately wary. I mean, the shared trait was obvious, but what the hell did she mean by not exactly strangers? "And what do you mean by that?"
"We’re family—distantly, sure, but family. Seventh-degree cousins or whatever. Your mother, Judy? We share a great-grandmother," she explained. Seeing my face twist in pure disbelief, Joan let out a dry laugh—one that carried zero joy. "Don’t look at me like that—I didn’t binge-watch too many telenovelas. I was just gathering info on you. Turns out, we’re distant relatives. And given what you showed me, plus those... visions..."
She trailed off as the waitress—Miss Personality Vacuum—walked up to our table. I ordered another tea. Blaze got coffee and an omelet before our server vanished again, exuding pure I-hate-this-job energy.
"Haven’t had anything since morning," Joan explained, for whatever reason. "Anyway, Tobias, start from the top. What’s going on?" She locked eyes with me, her face serious as hell. "I really don’t understand what’s happening, and I’m hoping you can clear some things up."
"Miss—uh, Joan. Which beginning? When I got my powers?"
"Yeah, kid. Your powers, that military cu…—Stryker, right? I’m guessing she’s some kind of psycho who—well, you know," she rubbed her temples, wincing. "You said you were a mutant, but, Toby, you’re wrong. That fire—you were covered in it when we rode into the city. I know that fire way too well, and it’s definitely not a mutation. Take this seriously, and tell me, in detail, how you got those powers. Trust me, the price for them is very high, no matter what you think..."
...Huuuuh??
Wait.
Ohhh, I see what’s happening. Blaze thinks I made a deal with him. The classic, goat-legged, trident-wielding, deal-making motherfucker.
Shit.
Alright. Time to play dumb. I gotta act like I have no clue where her powers come from.
So, I told the truth—just the version of it I’d say if I genuinely didn’t know Blaze’s backstory. I gave her a rundown: I gained a power that absorbs energy, got captured, ended up in a lab where my abilities evolved. Mutants confirmed I was one of them (they did run tests, after all). And finally, I mentioned that I only got the Flame after that ride on the Harley, adding that it acted weird as hell and that I needed her insight.
Blaze sat in thoughtful silence for a while.
That’s when our food arrived. She started eating in a weirdly absentminded way. The omelet looked like absolute garbage. Jesus. This cafe was a dump. How the hell was it still in business? Did the owner just not care about profit? Even the tea had a weird dusty aftertaste.
"This food is trash," Joan muttered, echoing my exact thoughts. "Alright, Toby, I’ve got a few more questions—answer honestly, okay?"
I nodded, signaling my full cooperation.
"You said your powers manifested when you realized you loved your classmate?" Blaze’s face was the picture of skepticism.
"Probably. Mutations often trigger from something important, something that causes strong emotions. Not always," I emphasized, "but often, yeah. And back then, my powers were barely noticeable—I didn’t even realize I had them for a few days. But on that day? I felt weird. And there’s a gap in my memory—like, a few missing hours. Sometimes, mutants get a feeling before their powers activate. One of my teachers, for example, had growing discomfort in his eyes—then pain. And, well, turns out his mutation was eye-related. But again, that’s not always the case. Sometimes powers just flip on," I added, thinking of Rogue.
"Okay, this is important," Joan leaned in, suddenly tense. "Did you ever—even jokingly—say that you’d sell your soul for her to love you back? To anyone? Friend, stranger—anyone?"
Her expression was dead serious.
I made a show of thinking hard.
"Uhh... Nope. We literally started dating the next day," I smirked, throwing a teasing look at her. "You sure you haven’t been binging telenovelas?"
"What? Oh—no, no! I mean, yeah, I have watched them, but that’s not—ugh," Joan muttered, clearly lost in thought again. "Okay, and you’re saying this Flame—it only appeared after our ride?"
"Yeah. Before that, I could manipulate energy, but it wasn’t... sentient."
Blaze pinched the bridge of her nose, then took a sip of coffee.
And immediately grimaced.
With pure, undisguised disgust, she stared at the cup. Then at me.
But this time, it wasn’t just disgust—it was betrayal.
"This is some bullshit," she muttered. "And this coffee tastes like ass. What the hell were you two even doing in a dump like this?!"
"Well, we were expecting you. I could feel you… calling me? Looking for me? I’m not really sure," I shrugged, a little uncertain. "So, we picked the most unpopular spot we knew. As you can see, we’ve got the place all to ourselves."
"Huh. You could feel it..." Joan leaned back in her chair, staring up at the ceiling like she was contemplating life’s mistakes. Then she glanced back at me, eyes full of skepticism. "Alright, next question—who’s the guy who looks like a sketch in pencil?"
"No idea," I admitted honestly. "I’ve seen him in my dreams. One time, he showed me an image of you riding your bike, but through your face, I could see a burning skull."
Joan’s expression darkened.
"Why did you say those words to the colonel and that psycho right before you killed them?" Her voice was sharp, but a second later, she softened a bit. "Don’t get me wrong—I’m not judging. Hell, I probably would’ve finished them off myself. But why those words, specifically?"
That… was a good question.
Did I think it sounded badass? Was I just quoting something from a movie or a comic?
"Probably because they felt right?" I mused. "That woman… she tortured a lot of people like me. And the guy… twenty-nine murders."
"Twenty-two murders," Joan corrected. Then she gave me a long, suspicious look.
And that’s when I realized my fuck-up.
I bit my tongue.
At the time, only nineteen were confirmed. The other three had just come to light recently—I’d seen it on the news. And as for the remaining ones… those might never be discovered.
But I knew all twenty-nine.
I remembered them too well.
"Where’d you get twenty-nine from?" Joan asked, voice steady but eyes sharp.
"Slip of the tongue," I shrugged as casually as I could. "I read about the nineteen in the papers, must’ve mixed up the numbers." I even threw in my most innocent, honest-looking smile.
Didn’t work.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Yuriko—who’d been shamelessly eavesdropping with her enhanced hearing—visibly grimace.
"Are you sure, kid?" Joan’s voice was quiet but pointed. "This is serious. I won’t push, but don’t lie to me. I want to help you, believe that. This Flame of yours—it’s not just some cool power-up. It’s not a weapon you can just throw around when you pull the trigger. It’s worse. Much worse."
I hesitated.
On one hand, I knew I wasn’t a Ghost Rider—not exactly. I’d stolen a sample of her power, the Hellfire, and now I could generate it myself. And it wasn’t like regular energy—not like electricity or heat. It was… something else. And yeah, I definitely needed Joan’s advice on handling it.
But should I tell her everything?
Tell her I saw Cletus Kasady killing people? That the "gift" I got came from the Sketched Man? That I was now terrified of using it?
No.
No fucking way.
There were too many people around me who’d taken lives. What would they think if they knew I could see their personal graveyards?
And Logan? Jesus, Logan probably had a cemetery in his past. If I ever saw that? I’d lose my goddamn mind.
"I can’t tell you that," I admitted, my voice firm. "But it has nothing to do with the Flame."
I cursed my own loose tongue, but I wasn’t about to keep lying. I met her gaze head-on.
"There are some things I just don’t want to talk about with anyone."
Joan held my stare for a few seconds, her face unreadable.
For a moment, I thought she was about to tear me a new one.
But then, after an internal struggle, she let out a deep sigh and leaned back.
"Alright. Your call…" she muttered. Another pause. She stared down at her half-finished coffee, looking like she was debating whether it was worth the risk. Then she firmly shoved the cup away.
"Okay, then—let’s talk about what you feel when you use the Flame."
