Outside the truck, the thugs were already smashing the windows with their gun butts. If he didn't get out soon, they'd probably start shooting. Cars blocked them front and back, so escaping would be hard.
"Skyl… what do we do?" Gali stammered.
Skyl asked her, "Have you ever been bitten by a mosquito?"
"No. Their mouths aren't sharp enough—they can't draw my blood." Gali answered so fast it almost sounded rehearsed.
"Then have they ever buzzed in your ear?"
"Yeah."
"What did you do?"
"I use my palm," she said, "and slap them dead."
Skyl nodded. "Exactly. Slap them dead. Come on—get out with me."
"I'm scared!"
"I'm scared too." Skyl looked at her gently. "Gali, if we both get shot, you won't have a scratch. I'll die."
Behind him, the window glass was already cracking. The thugs hopped and screamed street slang—basically that they were going to beat Skyl so badly his own mother wouldn't recognize him.
Gali stared at him, stunned.
Skyl opened the door, stepped out, and raised both hands to show he wasn't a threat.
A gang enforcer grabbed Skyl by the shoulder. He looked like a roasted chicken being hauled off a hook.
"Hey," Skyl said. "How's it going?"
"Bro, you made us wait a long time," the guy said. "Stan's Gourmet Food Truck—you're the shy kid hiding in the back, right? You look like you're still in high school. So how much did you make today, huh? A thousand bucks? Ten thousand? Come on—hand some over. One third is fine. And from now on, every month, you give us one third of your revenue. Then nobody in New York bothers you."
Skyl's gaze slid past the big brute in front of him and landed on Gali inside the cab.
"Sir," Skyl said, "with one sentence you can take one third of my hard-earned money. Do you ever feel like that's unfair?"
Two men on either side shoved silver Colt revolvers in his face. The black muzzles carried the sharp stink of oil and gunpowder. "Fair is right here. You see it? Look real close."
Skyl nodded, then smiled. "Want to hear a story?" He glanced at Gali again. She was still in the passenger seat, staring blankly back at him.
"We don't have time to stand here and listen to you yap all day," the bald man in front snapped, eyes flashing. "What are you trying to pull?"
"This isn't my first robbery," Skyl said calmly. "In fact, someone once came for money too. He didn't just want one third of my belongings—he wanted one third of my finger."
Skyl lifted his right index finger.
"He thought my finger had magic. And he wasn't wrong. I know how to turn stone into gold."
The thugs couldn't hold it in. The whole street filled with laughter.
"A cook who can turn stone into gold?" "Do it then! Show us!"
Skyl smiled. "Sure. Come on—step closer. Let me touch you."
The bald man leaned in with a grin, his chest bumping right into Skyl's finger.
Then he became a gold statue—his smug, teasing smile frozen forever in pure, flawless metal.
"WTF?!" The others stumbled back in panic. "H-he killed Toby?!"
They raised their guns—
—and realized the guns had turned into balloons.
"Sht! Sht! Run! This guy's wrong in the head—this guy ain't normal!"
The gang scattered like roaches, diving into their vehicles and tearing off at full speed.
Skyl didn't bother chasing the rabble. He stood in front of the gold statue, patted it lightly on the head, and murmured, "Relax. You won't die. My magic won't last long—about thirteen days."
"During that time, people will try to steal you. They'll chip gold dust off you, saw off your hands and feet. With the restorative magic I put on you, you'll keep healing. Even if they cut off your head, you'll slowly grow back into yourself."
After driving the troublemakers away, he got back into the driver's seat. Gali said timidly, "I'm sorry."
"It's nothing." Skyl sounded relaxed as he started the engine and drove home. "When you're out trying to make it, you run into annoying garbage like this. It's part of life. I'm guessing that statue will make sure nobody bothers us again."
Gali watched his face carefully. When she realized he wasn't angry, she put on an appeasing smile—like a puppy that had caused trouble, circling close to its owner's leg.
"Skyl… don't be mad at me, okay?"
"I'm not mad. Just… disappointed," Skyl said bluntly. "You've always known what you can do. You don't want to hurt people, so you hold back—that's good. But you didn't even have the courage to stand beside me. And when I asked you for help, you kept pretending you didn't see."
"I just… I-I didn't understand what you meant with your eyes."
Skyl nodded and softened his voice. "Don't beat yourself up. If you like being a kid, you can stay a kid forever. I'm the one acting on my own, trying to make you grow up. Growing up isn't pleasant. Sometimes I get those gross parent habits."
He sighed. "The one who should apologize is me. If I'd listened to Pier and closed up early, we wouldn't have met those people. You wouldn't have gotten scared."
Gali just stared, unable to answer.
When the truck got home, she shut herself in her bedroom without a word.
Stan was in the yard mowing the lawn, confused. "What happened?"
"Some guys tried to shake us down," Skyl said. He looked up at the sky, his gaze drifting like a bird. "I said some harsh things to Gali. Now she feels guilty."
He added, quieter, "Sorry, Stan. I let your precious granddaughter see the ugly side of humanity."
The old man turned off the mower and went inside to grab two sodas. They drank in the yard, talking about Gali.
"Ever wonder where she came from?" Stan asked.
"She's Galactus's daughter, right?" Skyl said.
"You can call her that." Stan shrugged. "But really, she's a cosmic tapeworm living in Galactus's stomach."
Stan spoke like he'd rehearsed the thought a thousand times. "One day I was wondering how something that old and huge even reproduces. I even thought maybe he… you know… does it with planets and has kids that way."
Skyl stared at him.
Stan waved it off. "But that idea's kind of lousy. Gods are basically sexless. Even if he has children, it wouldn't be in a human way."
"So, parasite," Skyl said, nodding. "Safe, standard lore. Still… I don't hate your first idea. Who'd refuse a night with the goddess Gaia?"
They both snickered.
Stan took a sip and said, "That day I finished the draft and officially drew her into the page. I sighed, satisfied, and went to drink a soda. Then I heard noise upstairs."
He smiled, remembering. "Turns out it was little Gali. I'd left my reading glasses beside the paper—sunlight hit it just right and set the page on fire. And then she crawled out."
"Huh. That's not a common birth story," Skyl said.
"She's been with me for eight years," Stan said quietly. "Always been good. I thought about sending her back—letting her go to her father. But when I look at her, I go soft."
He stared at the yard like it held an answer. "When you get old, you can't stand seeing a kid's face. It feels like… it feels like… well. You know."
Then he looked at Skyl. "Skyl, do you have a girl you like?"
"No." Skyl thought for a second. "Some girls like me. They're great. But I just… can't get myself to care."
"You should try to love," Stan said. "Drop everything. Make a real connection with someone—straight from the heart. Then you'll understand what I mean."
He tapped his soda bottle. "If your life has nothing worth remembering, it's not a life. It's just a wad of scrap paper."
Skyl pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Why does it have to be love?"
Stan smiled, and gave his answer like it was the only answer that mattered.
"Because love can make God feel humble."
Skyl laughed and cursed him affectionately. "Stan, you old simp. Don't you dare write a plot where I fall in love in this world."
Stan pouted like a kid who'd been told no. Then he waved Skyl off. "Get out. You made my granddaughter sad. Go figure out how to cheer her up—otherwise don't live in my house."
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