The morning sunlight seeped through the blinds, warming the kitchen in Charlie's Malibu beach house. Nero sat at the counter, munching on a half-burnt piece of toast. Across from him, Alan was busy inspecting Nero's homework, as usual, while Charlie leaned back on the couch, feet up, nursing his coffee like it was a remedy for all of life's problems.
"Alright, kid," Charlie said, lazily glancing over at Nero. "Day two of middle school. What's the game plan?"
Nero shrugged, trying to seem indifferent. "Survive?"
Charlie smirked, raising an eyebrow. "That's cute. But let me give you some real advice: You gotta make your mark. You know, stand out."
Alan looked up from Nero's homework, already frowning. "Charlie, the last thing he needs is to stand out. He just needs to focus, follow the rules, and—"
"Rules are for suckers," Charlie cut in, waving him off. "Listen, Nero, girls love confidence, even if you have no idea what you're doing. Just fake it. Trust me, it works every time."
Nero hesitated, remembering how his sarcastic quip the day before had earned him a few laughs but also a warning from his teacher. Confidence was easier said than done, especially when you were the new kid. "What exactly should I say?"
Charlie thought for a second, then grinned. "Easy. You walk up to a girl and say, 'You know, I don't usually do this, but you seem special. How about you and I grab lunch?' Works like a charm."
Alan's eyes widened, his face instantly turning red. "Charlie! That is wildly inappropriate for a middle schooler!"
Charlie just laughed, ignoring Alan. "Relax, Alan. It's harmless. It's called building confidence."
Nero nodded, trying to suppress a smile. "Got it. Confidence."
Alan sighed, rubbing his temples. "Nero, just… focus on your studies. Please."
Charlie winked. "And on the ladies. Go get 'em, tiger."
By the time Nero arrived at school, Charlie's advice was bouncing around in his head like a catchy jingle. He felt a little more confident today, not as awkward as the first day, and he was determined to at least try out Charlie's suggestion—what was the worst that could happen?
During lunch, Nero spotted a group of girls sitting at a nearby table, laughing and chatting. One of them, a girl with dark hair and a bright smile, caught his eye. She was definitely cute. Charlie's words rang in his ears—"Confidence. Just fake it."
Nero took a deep breath and approached the table, his heart pounding. As he neared them, the conversation slowed, and the girls looked up, curious.
"Hey," Nero started, trying to channel Charlie's cool demeanor. "I don't usually do this, but… you seem special. How about you and I grab lunch?"
The table went silent. The girl raised an eyebrow, her smile flickering with confusion. Her friends exchanged glances before bursting into giggles. Nero's stomach dropped.
"Oh, um, that's sweet," the girl said, clearly unsure how to respond. "But… I'm good."
Nero's face burned as the girls went back to laughing, though now it felt like they were laughing at him. He gave them a quick nod and backed away, feeling about two inches tall.
What was I thinking?
Nero's embarrassment didn't stop there. Just as he turned to leave the scene of his flirting disaster, he heard a familiar, mocking voice from behind him.
"Well, well, well, if it isn't the Romeo."
Nero cringed as the bully from the day before—tall, stocky, with that same sneer—approached, flanked by a couple of his friends.
"I saw your little move there," the bully jeered. "Real smooth, Caruso. Real smooth."
Nero tried to keep his cool, remembering Charlie's advice about confidence. "Yeah, well, at least I tried. What about you? Your idea of impressing girls is probably throwing a football at their heads."
The bully's grin faltered for a second, but then he stepped closer, crowding Nero. "You think you're funny, huh?"
The air around them tensed. Nero's heart raced. This was not going how he'd imagined. He glanced around, hoping someone might step in, but no one seemed to notice. Before he could even think of a comeback, the bully's fist came out of nowhere, landing a hard punch on Nero's side, knocking the wind out of him.
Nero stumbled back, gasping for breath as pain flared in his ribs. He tried to keep his footing, but the bully's friends closed in, shoving him hard, causing him to hit the ground.
"Stay down, Caruso," the bully spat, leaning over him. "Maybe next time you'll keep your mouth shut."
Nero limped home after school, trying to hide his bruises and his frustration. His attempt to be confident had backfired spectacularly, and now his whole body ached as a reminder. As soon as he walked through the door, he headed for his room, hoping to avoid Charlie and Alan.
But Charlie's sharp eyes caught him. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," Charlie called from the living room, noticing Nero's hunched posture. "What happened to you?"
Nero froze, trying to downplay it. "It's nothing. Just… fell down."
Charlie narrowed his eyes, standing up and walking over to him. "Fell down, huh? You don't fall down like that unless someone helps you fall."
Before Nero could brush it off again, Alan appeared, immediately panicking at the sight of the bruises. "Oh my God, Nero, what happened? Are you okay? Do we need to go to the hospital?"
Nero sighed, sitting down on the couch. "It's fine. Just some kid at school. I'll deal with it."
Alan looked horrified. "Deal with it? You got beaten up! You can't just 'deal with it'!"
Charlie crossed his arms, his face hardening. "Who was it? Tell me the kid's name, and I'll have a 'friendly talk' with him."
Nero shook his head. "No, it's not worth it. I just… I need to figure out how to stop this from happening."
Alan immediately began pacing. "We should talk to the principal. Or the school board. Or—"
Charlie cut him off. "No, Alan, the kid doesn't need more adults butting in. What he needs is to handle it himself."
Alan looked appalled. "You mean he should fight back? Charlie, that's not the solution!"
Nero, who had been sitting quietly through the argument, finally spoke up. "I don't want to fight. But… maybe I need to learn how to defend myself."
The room went silent for a moment. Charlie and Alan exchanged a look, unsure how to respond.
Suddenly, from the kitchen, Berta chimed in, having overheard the conversation. "You know, kid," she said, leaning casually against the doorframe with a sly grin, "there's this MMA gym down the street. If you want to learn how to handle yourself, that's the place to go. Or," she added, with a mischievous smirk, "I know a guy who can hook you up with a nice, discreet... firearm. You know, just in case."
Charlie raised an eyebrow, already amused. "MMA or a gun? Real subtle options there, Berta."
She shrugged. "Hey, I'm just offering practical solutions. You want the kid to defend himself or end up a punching bag every week?"
Alan, of course, went straight into panic mode. "A gun?! Berta, he's thirteen! He can't just walk around like he's in the Wild West!"
Berta rolled her eyes, unfazed. "Oh, relax, I'm just kidding. Sort of. But seriously, the MMA thing's no joke. They'll teach him discipline, how to stay calm under pressure, and maybe how to avoid being a human punching bag."
Alan threw his hands up. "Discipline? It's still fighting! We're not sending him to a cage match!"
Berta shot him a deadpan look. "Yeah, because letting him get his lunch money stolen every week sounds so much better."
Nero, who had been quietly listening, now perked up. He wasn't keen on fighting, but learning to defend himself—maybe that was something he could get behind. He nodded slowly. "I think I want to try it."
Charlie, grinning ear to ear, clapped him on the back. "That's the spirit! Plus, get good at it, and you can throw in some flashy moves to impress the ladies."
Alan sighed deeply, rubbing his temples. "Fine. But no guns, Berta. And we're looking into this MMA thing properly."
Berta smirked, turning back to the kitchen. "Yeah, yeah. But remember, the offer's always on the table."
As Nero sat on the couch, still feeling the bruises from the fight, he couldn't help but replay the day's events over and over in his mind. He had been trying to follow Charlie's advice, to act confident, to stand out—but it had backfired spectacularly. The embarrassment of the failed flirtation was bad enough, but the bully's punch left a lasting impact—both physically and mentally.
Charlie, seeing the kid's frustration, leaned in closer, his tone surprisingly genuine for once. "Look, Nero. Sometimes you win, sometimes you don't. But trust me, you never let anyone see you down for long. If you're serious about this MMA thing, I'll back you."
Alan, who had been nervously fidgeting, finally found his voice. "We're not just letting him dive into some violent sport without research, Charlie. MMA can be dangerous, and Nero's… he's still young!"
Berta, still leaning against the doorway, let out a snort. "Alan, stop being such a helicopter parent. MMA's not just about fighting. It's about learning control. I bet Nero could use a little of that." She glanced at Nero with a smirk, adding, "And it wouldn't hurt to know how to take down that little punk at school next time."
Charlie nodded in agreement, his grin returning. "Yeah, imagine this—next time that bully comes at you, you just give him a swift kick to the leg and boom—he's down."
Alan gasped. "Charlie! We are not promoting violence!"
Charlie shrugged. "Self-defense, Alan. There's a difference."
Nero couldn't help but smile, despite the situation. The idea of learning MMA didn't sound half bad. In fact, it made him feel a little more in control—like maybe he could finally deal with things on his own terms, instead of relying on sarcasm or trying to avoid trouble altogether.
"Okay," Nero said, standing up and wincing slightly from the pain in his ribs. "I'll give it a try. But… no crazy moves just yet."
Charlie grinned. "That's the spirit. We'll sign you up for that gym Berta mentioned. And don't worry, kid—you'll be doing flying kicks in no time."
Alan opened his mouth to protest again, but stopped himself. He looked between Charlie and Nero, knowing that pushing too hard would only make things worse. "Fine," he said reluctantly. "But we're going together to talk to the instructors, and I want to make sure this is a safe environment. No reckless stunts. And no… flying kicks, Charlie."
Berta gave Nero a wink. "You're gonna do great, kid. Who knows? Maybe you'll even knock some sense into your old man while you're at it."
Charlie raised his soda in a mock toast. "To Nero, future MMA champion and breaker of bones."
Alan, groaning, finally retreated to the kitchen, muttering about how this was all spiraling out of control. But deep down, he knew that maybe—just maybe—Nero learning self-defense wasn't the worst idea. Especially with Charlie's "influence" around, the kid needed all the discipline he could get.
That evening, as Nero lay in bed, the day's events still fresh in his mind, he couldn't help but feel a strange mixture of anticipation and nervousness. The idea of learning MMA seemed empowering, but he also knew it wouldn't magically solve all his problems.
Still, the thought of being able to defend himself gave him a sense of control that he hadn't felt in a long time. Maybe this was the answer he'd been looking for—not just sarcastic quips or Charlie's advice, but something real. Something that would help him handle the ups and downs of school—and life.
As he drifted off to sleep, he imagined what his first day at the MMA gym might be like. He wasn't sure what to expect, but for the first time in a while, he felt like he was taking charge of his own story.
And that was something Charlie had been right about all along.
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