The Rise Of CuteGuy

Fine

Mumbo pov

I leaned back slightly, crossing my arms as I observed Scar. “So, what brings you down here, besides wanting to say good morning to me?” I asked casually.

Scar glanced at me, then back toward Grian, who had wandered off toward Grumbot, clearly avoiding direct interaction for the moment. “Honestly? I wanted to meet your friend,” he admitted, his tone light but sincere. “And... well, I didn’t want to sit at a desk all day being bored out of my mind doing paperwork. They’re still trying to find someone to cover the villains I fight, but...” He trailed off, his expression tightening as he winced, his hand moving instinctively to his chest.

“You okay?” I asked, my concern growing as I stepped toward him.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said quickly, but his voice lacked its usual energy. He struggled a bit, shifting in his wheelchair and trying to adjust his posture. I noticed how he held his chest, his hand brushing against the faint outline of claw marks stretching from his left shoulder to his right hip. “It’s just these,” he muttered, gesturing vaguely at himself. “They’re healing, but some days they really start acting up. Guess today’s one of those days.”

I frowned, my tone softening. “Scar, if it’s bothering you that much, shouldn’t you take it easy?”

Scar gave a tired chuckle, shaking his head. “Mumbo, ‘taking it easy’ isn’t exactly in my nature. Besides, I’d go stir-crazy sitting around all day doing nothing. At least here, I can get out of my head a little.”

Grian reappeared at that moment, standing just behind Scar with a curious tilt to his head. “Claw marks, huh?” he said, his voice quieter than usual. His sharp eyes flicked over Scar briefly, clearly assessing the injuries without Scar needing to explain further. “You’re lucky you’re even here to complain about them.”

Scar raised an eyebrow at Grian, his lips curling into a smirk. “What, no sympathy from the famous Red Blur?”

“Not if you’re ignoring your limits,” Grian shot back without missing a beat, though his tone wasn’t unkind. He turned to me and shrugged. “He’ll be fine, Mumbo. Scar’s too stubborn to let something like this slow him down for long.”

“True,” Scar admitted with a grin, though his hand didn’t leave his chest. “But I wouldn’t mind sitting for a bit longer... if your couch is as comfy as it looks.”

“Help yourself,” I said, gesturing toward the corner of the room. “But if you pass out, Grian’s in charge of waking you up, not me.”

Scar laughed, wheeling himself over to the couch. Grian gave me a look, rolling his eyes, before moving back to Grumbot, muttering something under his breath about being everyone’s babysitter.

Grian tilted his head, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. “Is that… is that what they’ve been calling me? The Red Blur? You’ve called me that like twice now.”

I nodded, leaning casually against my desk. “They don’t really know what else to call you, bud. You keep refusing to take credit for saving Scar’s life, let alone everything else you’ve done.”

Grian’s feathers bristled slightly as he frowned, his arms crossing. “Well, I didn’t save his life for the recognition. I just… did what needed to be done.”

Scar chimed in from the couch, his tone playful yet sincere. “And you think that makes it less impressive? Come on, Red Blur, you swooped in like some kind of hero from a comic book. You’re lucky the name isn’t something worse. It could’ve been Feather Fiend or Bird Guy or something equally ridiculous.”

Grian groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “Great. Now I’m a superhero cliché with a code name.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, shaking my head. “You’re just now catching on? The moment you pulled off that rescue, you were locked into hero status, whether you wanted it or not. The name’s actually kind of fitting, though.”

“Fitting?” Grian raised an eyebrow, staring at me. “How?”

“Well,” I started, gesturing toward him, “you’re fast, unpredictable, and you leave a streak of red feathers in your wake. Plus, you’ve got that mysterious vibe going on—you’ve been helping people without ever sticking around for the applause. That kind of thing earns a reputation.”

Scar nodded in agreement, adding with a grin, “Yeah, and if you think Red Blur is bad, just wait until the reporters get wind of you. They’ll come up with something even worse if you don’t pick a name for yourself.”

Grian sighed, his feathers fluffing in exasperation. “Fine. Red Blur it is. But only because I don’t want to hear Feather Fiend on the news.”

Scar and I exchanged amused looks, both trying not to laugh as Grian muttered to himself about “ridiculous nicknames.”

Grian tapped his chin thoughtfully for a moment before suddenly grabbing my arm and pulling me into my office. “Okay, Mumbo, we need to talk,” he said with a serious tone that immediately had my attention.

I blinked, confused. “Uh, sure, but… what’s this about?”

He shut the door behind us and paced for a second before explaining, keeping his voice low so Scar wouldn’t overhear. “I’ve been thinking about what Xisuma said earlier. About stepping in for Hot Guy.”

That alone caught me off guard, but what came next was even more surprising. “Wait, you’re considering it?”

He nodded, his expression tight with determination. “If I’m going to do this, I need a way to keep myself in check. The last thing I want is to lose control again—or burn myself out like last time. That’s where you come in.”

I tilted my head, still trying to piece it all together. “I’m not following…”

He sighed and elaborated. “I need you to modify Grumbot—or make a version of him that I can wear, like a watch. Something small and portable, so he can monitor my magic output and keep track of how reckless I’m being. I want Grumbot to be able to alert you if I’m pushing myself too hard.”

It was an odd request, but the logic behind it made sense. I rubbed my chin, already brainstorming how to make it happen. “I think I could do that,” I said after a moment. “It’ll take some time, but I can whip up a prototype.”

Grian’s tense shoulders relaxed slightly, and he nodded. “Good. I can’t do this unless I know there’s a failsafe in place.”

Before I could ask any more questions, he straightened and gave me a quick pat on the shoulder. “Right, I’m going to talk to Xisuma. Thanks, Mumbo.”

And just like that, he was out the door, heading back up to find Xisuma, leaving me with a million thoughts swirling in my head. I sat back down at my desk, trying to focus on work but already sketching ideas for this Grumbot-watch in the margins of my notebook.