Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In a world of brilliant heroes, it's the trust of their fans that makes them into superheroes. If the people believe that a man can fly, he will fly. If a hero loses the people's trust, he loses his special abilities.

Trust Value is collected and quantified and used to determine a hero's ranking. Every two years, a tournament is held to choose the top heroes. Their performance in the tournament determines their new Trust Values and their rankings.

The absolute hero with the highest ranking... will be named X.

***

TREEMAN

They are familiar with marketing and social trends like the back of their hands. They excel at creating an image with all sorts of marketing tactics for their top heroes. In secret, the agency creates fear empowered villains for their heroes to fight, and to crack down on civilians into surrendering their property to their real estate division.

***

The sharp tap of heels against the ground interrupt the serene silence in Mr Shang's office upon one of the top floors of the TREEMAN Hero Agency, the man carefully wiping the eraser pieces from his desk and into a nearby bin at his feet, his sharp eyes narrowing on the new mess in his pristine disposal can. 

"Mr Shang," comes the firm voice of one of the CEO's most trusted employees, Miss J, her blonde hair situated in a tight bun, and she wore dark blue fitted pants and a grey shirt tucked along her waist. "He's here, as requested." she hums, stepping aside and revealing a young black haired boy with bright blue eyes. 

Shang De narrows his eyes before standing up from his chair and walking around his desk, nodding once to dismiss Miss J, who descended in the elevator not a moment later.

The room was quiet, so silent Mr Shang could practically hear the boy's fidgeting. 

"Nice."

The boy picked at his nails, finding his feet very interesting.

"Nice!" he snapped, causing the boy to flinch and look up at him. "How many times do I have to remind you of your name?"

"I'm sorry, I forgot." Nice mumbled, squirming at the intense stare raining down upon him. He doesn't like Miss J, but her presence was less suffocating that Mr Shang's.

The CEO stared at the boy for a moment before he sighed and turned away, walking back over to his desk, and brushing away the last few eraser pieces that somehow kept turning up. 

Seeing as he was distracted momentarily, Nice hesitantly walked over to the giant window that made up a wall of the floor Mr Shang called his office, pressing his small hands against the glass, watching the world below. His attention was suddenly peaked when he spotted a nearby billboard displaying the hero Smile, with his thumb up and a quote of his on the side "remember to smile!" 

Nice beamed, staring at his idols smiling face in awe, his feet tapping giddily.

"Smile has his own billboard now," Mr Shang speaks up without a hint of admiration, his tone monotone and plain as he walks over to stand beside Nice at the glass. "You see that?"

"Uh-huh!" Nice beams.

Mr Shang sets his hand upon Nice's head, feigning a paternal smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "He's popular. Rich. Famous." he removes his hand and points at the billboard, his voice lacking any warmth. "But do you know why he's so popular?"

"Because he always has a smile on his face even when he's hurt by the bad guys?" Nice asks, tilting his head slightly to look up at the taller man that over the past few months, he'd grown to see as a father figure.

"Because he's marketable." Mr Shang's hand moves to the boy's shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. "He's useful. People like him. They trust him." He glances back at his computer before drawing his eyes back to the smiling youth. "And you... have potential too."

"To be like Smile?" Nice asks, excitedly looking back at the billboard.

"Better than Smile. With the right...investments, the right brand..." he hums, looking down at Nice as if doing a sales pitch rather than anything paternal. "You could be the best. My champion."

Nice feels his heart soar at the words, a large smile erupting upon his face. He'd been brought to the TREEMAN agency almost a year ago now, with the promise of greatness and the real opportunity to be a great hero. He'd been afraid at first, with being unsure where his parents are, or his home. But he'd soon realised no one would tell him, no matter how much he cried or begged to know or go home. 

Mr Shang's eyes seem to gleam at the enthusiastic look on the boys face, and he pats his shoulder before walking back over to his desk and pulling out a draw, displaying hero merch of a variety of kinds. "You see all this? It's your future." he picks up a mug with a picture of Smile, passing it to the boy as he walks up curiously. "This is what you could be if we play our cards right."

Nice smiles in awe at the man and at his mug, grateful beyond belief and excited.

"Good, I'm glad you understand."

Mr Shang grabs a pen from his desk, twirling it between his fingers whilst his cold eyes didn't leave the boys form. "You see, Nice, you're not just my son. You're an investment. And investments always need marketing. Branding. A unique trait."

Nice paused staring at the mug to instead look at Mr Shang, his eyes wide. One of Miss J's workers had told him when he was found crying, that his old man hadn't wanted him anymore. Hearing the man he'd grown to acknowledge as a strong male figure in his life and almost like a father, tell him he's his son, made his heart soar. He'd do anything to make sure the man remained thinking of him like that, of importance and significance.

He doesn't want to be left by another dad.

"How badly do you want to be a hero, Nice?" Mr Shang's voice cuts through his thoughts.

"Really badly, I want to be like Smile! And save everyone!" 

"Good. I can give you all the tools to become that and more, but Nice," he pauses, taking the mug from the boy and moving it away, ignoring the frown. "I require complete trust. Total obedience."

Nice nods, determined.

Mr Shang hums and walks back over to the window, satisfied when he hears the small patter of feet following him over. "You see out there?" He gestures to the sprawling city, the towering billboards and the thousands of people about. "It's a brutal world. You have to be tough to survive. Don't you want to be a star?" 

Nice nods, more eager to please than ever. No other kids got this big of an opportunity. He was special.

Mr Shang hums, satisfied, and ruffles the boys hair in an almost fatherly manner, before his expression goes more stern and he abruptly turns Nice so he's facing a mirror along the wall. "First things first, take a good look at yourself."

Nice makes a small sound from the sudden movement before blinking, looking at his reflection, at his plain white shirt and black pants, a small TREEMAN logo on both. "Uh-huh?"

Mr Shang towers over the boy from behind, removing the hand on his head to grip his chin, forcing his eyes to stay on the mirror. "You're just a kid right now. Soft. Round. Weak." he leans closer, speaking right into the boys ear. "Not very heroic, right?"

Nice frowns and reaches up to poke his own cheek. "I can get stronger, I will!"

Mr Shang laugh, the sound cold and calculating. "Oh, I don't doubt that. But strength isn't just muscles, boy." He holds his chin slightly harder. "Look at yourself again. Properly."

Nice makes a small sound before trying to see what the older man saw, his eyes traveling all over the mirror.

Mr Shang's grip is firm, holding the boy in place. He notes every twitch of discomfort and every flicker of insecurity in the boys expression as he looks. "Do you see it now? All those weaknesses. All those flaws. They aren't heroic, aren't they?"

"...they aren't." Nice agrees quietly.

"Exactly," Mr Shang hums, releasing the boys chin and placing both hands firmly on his shoulders, towering over the eleven year old boy in the mirror. "But don't worry. I'll take care of that. I'll turn you into exactly what the public wants. A hero they can adore. A product. My little champion. Want to know the secret to it all?"

Nice nods, eager. Mr Shang was right, and he's a boss, so he's correct.

Mr Shang gives Nice a sharp smile. This is the moment he'd been waiting for, the beginning of Nice's transformation. "They key, the secret ingredient, is appearance. People are shallow. They don't care for character, they care about what sells." he lets go and paces behind the boy, who hasn't removed his eyes from the mirror. "And you, my boy..." He stops in front of Nice, blocking the view of the mirror. "Are nowhere near marketable enough."

Nice feels himself go cold. No... no he had to be good enough. He was good enough!

"Too soft." Mr Shang spits, poking his cheek. "Too round." A poke to his stomach. "Not intimidating at all." he finishes, flicking his forehead.

Nice feels himself crumble, realising all his impurities.

Mr Shang watches carefully, savouring the mix of vulnerability and realisation in the boys eyes. a mix he's carefully crafted, and can warp. "Not only that...you're boring. Completely bland." he grabs a strand of Nice's hair and lifts it, an eerie smile on his face. "You need...something to stand out. Something special."

Nice took the bait, his voice almost a plea. "My hair! We can change it! Dye it! uhm- white! White hair is different!"

Mr Shang pretended to ponder for a moment, staring down at the boy. "White, eh...? That could work..." He lets the strand fall, tapping his chin in thought. "But dye alone won't be enough. You need to transform completely A full makeover inside and out."

Nice looks up at the older man, unsure as he feels the large hands in his hair.

"We'll start with that hair. Get it dyed, nice and bright white. And then...your build. We need to tone you up"

Nice fidgets, picking at his fingers, but Mr Shang abruptly grabs his hands, eyes cold. "We can't have that, can we? Hero's don't fidget, boy. Hero's are idolised, and feared by the other parties."

"But- heroes aren't feared! Smile-"

"Smile." Mr Shang's grin turns bitter as he practically spits the name. "Yes, Smile, the perfect little golden boy, the publics darling." He lets go of the boys hands and begins to pace, his voice growing more agitated with each word. "The shining face of heroes, beloved by all. Loved. Adored." He stops, spinning to face Nice and he slams his hands on the table, the sound echoing throughout the cold office. "He's perfect".

Nice flinches at the sound, feeling a desperate urge to make things right. Mr Shang said he could be a hero, said he's like his son so.. "I-I'll be perfect!"

"Oh you naïve boy," Mr Shang sneers, glaring "You really believe that, don't you? That you can just become perfect." He walks over and cups Nice's face, a touch too rough. "That you can just...become the kind of hero people love? That you can just become Smile?"

"I...I'll work hard! I won't ever lose and I'll be the best!" Nice protests, desperate.

And there is was. Mr Shang smirked eerily gripped the boys face tighter "Now listen to me carefully, little hero. People don't care about hard work. They care about results."

Nice nods slightly as best as he can against the grip.

"You can work yourself to the bone, sweat, bleed, even cry your pretty little eyes out. But at the end of the day, none of that matters." He uses his free hand to poke Nice's chest, punctuating each word. "What matters, what counts, is what the public sees. What they want."

As if on cue, the elevator chimed and Miss J walked back in, a clipboard in hand, her glasses perched on the tip of her nose. "Mr Shang? The academy you requested has completed the final stages of processing. Would you and your..son, care to observe? The other contestants are waiting as well."

Mr Shang released Nice's chin and turned towards the woman, humming as he fixed his gloves on. "The academy is ready, you say? Excellent. Come, Nice." 

"Academy?" Nice mumbles, rubbing his sore chin.

"That's right, my boy. An academy specifically within the TREEMAN agency for budding young heroes." Mr Shang hums, his eyes gleaming. "And you'll be attending."

***

The elevator chimes as the three emerge on the very bottom floor, deep underground. A multitude of parents and influencial figures were in the large room, small blobs of children clinging to their hips. Mr Shang places a firm hand on Nice's shoulder before leading them in, Miss J remaining by the elevator doors. Nice's eyes widen, taking in the giant area. It was quite plain, the walls concrete grey and displaying the TREEMAN logo on every crevice, but the adults mingled and networked, talking up a storm as the few kids around stood still like accessories. 

"Eyes forward." Mr Shang mutters and Nice obeys, being led over to stand near a small group, where Mr Shang began talking with another there. 

Nice looked to his side and noticed a black haired boy just slightly taller than him, black eyes and pale skin making him look ghastly but his smile was friendly as he too, faced him. "Hi, I'm Nice!"

The boy smiles fondly, dressed in a green jacket and black jeans. "Nice to meet you, I'm Wreck."

Mr Shang glances down at the duo, silently noting their interaction and the growing jealous whispers of himself and Nice.

"You seem pretty excited to be here." Wreck chuckles lightly, noticing Nice almost rocking back and forth in excitement.

"Mhm! I can't wait to be a hero like Smile! Who do you wanna be like? My..father! he said we are gonna make my hair white today!" Nice rambles, a large grin on his face.

Wreck raises an eyebrow at the mention of Smile. "Smile, huh? I guess he's cool. And white hair? That's different. Not many heroes have that I think.."

Mr Shang overhears and interjects, a smug look on his face. "Yes, my son here will stand out, won't he?" he directs his words to the whole room, feeling satisfaction at the looks on the other guests faces. 

Nice wasn't aware of how much his life would change.

Chapter Text

Nice

Four seasons had passed since Nice's introduction to TREEMAN's hero academy, where he'd flourished dramatically in form, ability, speed, and presentation. His dyed white hair had grown quite nicely around his ears, and kept in the same style consistently, or else there would be a fault in appearance, and such a thing would not and could not, be allowed. 

He stood at his full length mirror in his pristine white room, the walls now a calming and clean presence, compared to the suffocating feeling they'd originally produced upon his arrival. White was clean, with no faults. The colour practically screamed when there were impurities, and told great lengths about one's cleanliness and mindset. Nice was clean, presentable, and efficient.

He reached a small hand up, poking his cheeks. The training and diet had significantly helped him lose weight and baby fat, which had pleased his father greatly, since he'd made constant comments on how cute hero's look like they'd run, not fight. He stretched the skin between his thumb and pointer finger, frowning slightly. Still some fat.

Making sure his fridge was swept the correct direction, he changed from his night clothes into a white vest with gold embroidered along the sides in lines and into a V shape between his shoulders, nestling under his neck. It had a similar appearance to his future hero suit, which when he turned, could see hanging in a giant display case on the far right of his bedroom, the beautiful suit ready for the moment Nice turned seventeen; his moment of his hero debut to the public. 

The hero costume served as a constant reminder for what this was all for, and all he had to lose.

Shrugging on the black dress pants that were fitted perfectly for his twelve year old self - the TREEMAN logo embroidered along the pockets - Nice slid on his shiny black leather shoes and stood proudly in front of the mirror, his blue eyes searching for any impurities or faults with his appearance. 

He'd slimmed down from the boy he'd been a year ago due to his new schedule, though he knew he had to still improve greatly - gain muscle and tone up, otherwise how else would he fit into the suit made for him when he turned seventeen? His father had explained that if Nice followed exactly his training and worked hard, the costume would be perfect.

He would be perfect.

Practising his signature smile, Nice let energy and excitement fill his system before he skipped to his plain white door, flinging it shut behind him as he sprinted down the hallway, ignoring the annoyed grumbles from staff around the place. Pressing the button to the fourth floor, Nice let a genuine smile take over as he counted the floors he passed heading down, giddiness causing his feet to shift back and forth. 

As soon as the doors opened he ran down the grey halls, a stark contrast to his floor that was pristine white at all times. The other candidates lived on the fourth floor surrounded by darker walls and their own labelled doors, doors in which only one Nice had become incredibly familiar with. Arriving to a stop in front of the third on the right, Nice rapped on the black door with a golden 'W' engraved upon the surface, enveloping his best friend into a tackled hug the second he opened the door.

"Yes-Nice?" Nice heard Wreck blurt before he landed on top of him, sitting on his chest and smile wide.

"Wreck! You ready to go? Are you excited? Guess what-"

"One question at a time, idiot." Wreck rolled his eyes, sitting up on his elbows to raise a brow at his energetic companion. His hair had grown slightly longer than Nice's, with the black a deep shade matching his eyes, a stark contrast to his pale skin. He frowned when he noticed his black vest with gold embroidered stripes along the sides became crinkled. "Hey you can see I'm ready, and you're squishing my shirt!"

"It's a vest, not a shirt," Nice hummed, standing up and getting off his friend, offering his hand to help him up, which now always had a glove on. 'No germs could touch his skin', his father would say. 

"Okay smartass," Wreck snorted, standing up and running a hand through his hair; smoothing down his vest with a grumbled sigh. "You didn't have to squash me."

Nice shrugged innocently before he smiled wide at the large picture on his best friend's wardrobe. "No way! You got a Smile poster?!" he bounded over, fists clenched together as he stared at the beaming hero in awe.

"Mhm, my big sister got me it when she visited." Wreck mumbled, a light blush dusting his cheeks as he rubbed his wrist with his other hand. The poster depicted Smile with his arms wide in a hug like motion, his face happy and joyful with clouds around him, his cape flowing in the breeze, the city buildings mere specks below. 'Keep Smiling!' the poster read.

"it's so cool! I met Smile once, did you know? He was super awesome!" Nice grinned, his eyes unable to draw away from the poster, his heart soaring at the hope he felt just by seeing his idol, his reasoning for how hard he worked. 

"Yes, you remind me all the time," Wreck chuckles, arms crossed but his stance was relaxed. "You know I do pay attention when you talk, right?"

"Huh?" Nice turned around, having been distracted.

Wreck blinked before laughing, shaking his head. "One of us does, anyway. Come on idiot, lets head to the theatre." 

Nice grins and walks over before stopping and staring at his black haired friend's messy display of a bed. Four pillows decorated the surface with a variety of different heroes on the pillowcases, and his two blankets were almost in piles with how scrunched up they were.

"Nice- oh come on." Wreck groans, running a hand down his face as he watched the boy snap into his own little world as he rearranged his bed, spending the next few minutes ensuring no creases or faults lay in the now made bed, humming in approval once done.

"..what?" Nice frowned when he turned to see an exasperated Wreck.

"You're impossible. Come on." Wreck sighs, shaking his head and heading for his door, hearing the sounds of his best friend following behind him.

***

The crowd erupted into cheers and applause as the two boys breathed heavily through their smiles, the lights and cameras flashing repeatedly as the noise deafened their ears, their limbs aching from the extreme movement they'd forced themselves through for over an hour.

Nice kept his smile plastered upon his face, sweat trickling down his neck, causing his body to immediately want it off, but he remained still, one arm arched up and the other to the side where his dance partner, Wreck, stood, his body mimicking the same pose to the excited uproar of an audience. After a few minutes the curtains closed in front of them, officially blocking the nauseating lights and sounds that had been piercing their vision since the beginning. 

The two boys fell to their knees upon the hard surface of the stage, their joint contemporary performance over now. Nice felt a tired smile form on his face as he glanced at Wreck, who looked about the same, breathing heavily but lightly laughing as he sat cross legged, his arms holding him up as he leant backwards. The sweat glinted off his pale skin with the single light in the corner of the now dark space, their trust values lighting up on their wrists. 

The numbers had skyrocketed into the hundreds after that performance, causing both boys to laugh louder in relief, though the sounds came through as more tired gasps of sound. 

"Good job boys," came the kind voice of Shang Chao, who wore a simple green sweater and black pants, a kind expression on his face as he approached the two from the wings of the stage, moving past staff members who were working on taking apart the stage's various decorations.

"Brother!" Nice yelled in excitement as he stood, wobbling to his feet and running into the arms of his older brother, who caught him with a small 'oompf-!'

"Hey Nice, Wreck," the older boy smiled, looking over the mess of his little brothers hair to the black haired boy who tiredly waved back from where he remained on the floor, wiping sweat from his brow.

"How come you're here? I thought father was coming?" Nice wondered, looking up with curious eyes.

"He..was, but he got...caught up," Shang Chao worded carefully, before shaking his head with a small smile. "But hey, I got some time away from my studies, want to hang out?" 

Nice went to agree immediately before he looked over his shoulder. "Can Wreck come too?"

Said boy blinked in surprise, ready to object, before Shang Chao laughed softly and nodded. "Of course he can. Come on, you two deserve a break."

***

The three had gone to an ice cream shop just a few blocks from the TREEMAN building, the streets not as busy as normal due to the late time of night, the bustling city void of any life other than the bright neon signs. Shang Chao hummed to himself as he waited by the side of the store but in view, waiting for his order to be called.

The night breeze felt refreshing compared to the earlier stuffy atmosphere, the gentle chill along skin a welcoming presence.

Wreck and Nice played scissors, paper, rock with each other as they balanced themselves on the small fence by the road nearby, both boys sitting cross legged with determined expressions, now just in their singlets and shorts instead of the tight fitting performance clothing from before. 

"Scissors...paper...rock!"

"Hah!"

"What - you changed!" Nice protested, pointing with his free hand to Wreck's paper that had been scissors only a second ago.

"Did not, not my fault you picked rock and lost." Wreck innocently shrugged, sticking his tongue out in victory.

"No, you picked scissors and I was rock!" Nice pouted, crossing his arms.

"Ew, I never would be rock, that guy smells bad." Wreck fake gags, shaking his head.

"Wha- I was talking about our game!"

"And I'm talking about the Mighty Glory guy, you know, the boss?"

"Yen Mao?"

"Yeah."

"Don't call him Rock, Wreck, be polite." Nice snorts, pointing a finger at the other.

"I don't have to be polite about some guy, besides, I heard someone call him that and it suits, he looks like one." Wreck snickers, not saying any more when he sees Shang Chao walk over with two ice cream cones, one chocolate and the other vanilla.

"Thankyou!" Nice grins, licking his vanilla ice cream and making an appalled sound when he sees Wreck bite into his chocolate. 

Shang Chao laughs, shaking his head as the boys squabble again, a fond smile on his face as he tried to ignore his inner turmoil. 

If his fathers plans went ahead, this was going to likely be their only happy memory for awhile.

Chapter Text

Wreck

Living in the TREEMAN building had been a pretty extraordinary experience, if Wreck does say so himself. Compared to his crappy living situation before this opportunity, the grey concrete walls of floor four were heavenly. 

It was a pretty strict schedule he and the other candidates had to stick to to remain with the academy, something that made him often grumpy in the mornings, having used to waking up late in his previous home. 

5:30am - wake up

5:45am - be completely ready and exit the doors (this part he hated the most, as everyone else on his floor had to stand just outside their doors as well, the subtle glares at one another not going unnoticed)

5:50am - you’re collected by your handler

9am - done with morning training

9-10am - meal break

10am through to 4pm - weapons training and sparring with other candidates 

5pm - hero histories

6pm - meal break

7pm - in bed, lights out

During his first year, Wreck often had his best friend, Nice, sneak into his room after lights out, and the two would talk and draw up their hero designs together for the future, snickering quietly when they heard unaware staff pass by. 

Wreck still remembers the one time someone actually checked his room around 9pm, and Nice had ducked under his bed so fast he’d hit his head and given himself a concussion, which had been hard to explain the following day.

Wreck had never asked Nice to come over, but he always did, bringing a light to the black haired boys life he hadn’t realised he’d needed after becoming separated from his sister.

It had just been the two of them, before TREEMAN’s offer, their parents having died not long after Wreck had been born, both killed in a robbery in their small cafe they had owned. Tea, Wreck’s older sister, had immediately tried to fill in their parents shoes at the cafe, but with her having been only fifteen, she’d easily been manipulated by one of their rival businesses, and was forced to give up the cafe in exchange for money to raise her little brother.

Something in which Wreck had always felt guilty for. 

It wasn’t even like the siblings had grown up with full stomachs and a fixed salary.

They had been given someone’s granny flat to live in, and had to find their own meals, causing Tea to have to be scarce with the money, since with her age, no one would hire her full time, nor take care of a three year old Wreck.

For the longest time, his sister’s hair, being a fluffy pale pink, had always reminded him of the tea ads he’d see on the small advertisement stands, hence where the nickname had come from. She’d loved it so much and had never bothered to correct him, and so, it had stuck.

Now he couldn’t even remember her real name. 

He didn’t even know his anymore.

The staff in charge of their hero careers had made it clear that only their chosen names would be of use now, and that the use of telling of one’s birth name was a strict enough offense to be removed from the program. 

Wreck was determined to work hard, become successful and make sure his sister never had to struggle again, dammnit it’s all he wanted.

Although nowadays, while that was still his priority, Wreck found himself figuring out the mystery that was Nice. 

He knew the white hair was some form of permanent dye, though, if he hadn’t he’d assume that Nice wasn’t Mr Shang’s youngest son, after all, there were zero similarities between the two. However, Shang Chao was similar in that aspect. He had no goals to become a hero, but did everything in his power to help Wreck and Nice when he could, but his expression always bore one of pity and longing.

It had only been four days since he took Wreck and Nice for icecream after their big performance, their final one for the year, or at least, final duet show for the two. 

The black haired boy longed to see his best friend again.

Nice hadn’t come to his room randomly anymore, nor had he been seen around the halls or in hero histories.

Despite how much he loathed the other kids, Wreck interrogated them as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months. He felt like his heart grew a crack wider each day, confusion and anger coursing through his veins. 

No performances.

No shows.

No Nice.

Nothing.

He didn’t realise how much he could long and miss someone.

“You know something! Stop laughing at me!” Wreck had shouted one morning, his hands roughly holding an older boy by the front of his shirt, spit flying as he yelled.

“I don’t know shit! Give it a rest you fucking runt!” the boy had spat back, smirking at his attackers anger.

“You do! You know what happened to him! Where is he?!” Wreck has seethed, repeatedly slamming the boy into the wall behind him, his fury overtaking his mind and not allowing him to hear how the smirked laughs had turned into cries of pain until large hands roughly dragged Wreck off the now unconscious, bleeding boy. 

He thrashed, voice hoarse as he screamed for answers about Nice, but no one bothered to answer the small boy who looked like nothing in the brutal arms of four security guards, their faces like stone as they shoved Wreck to the ground, pressing his cheek onto the cool concrete floor and his arms behind his back.

“Please! Fuck-! Where is he?!” He roared, voice cracking as tears fell sideways down his face, struggling against the harsh hands and bodies holding him down. 

He could faintly make out the panicked shrieks as other kids rushed out of their rooms, the very foundation of the walls cracking and splitting, tears forming all in the seemingly untouchable concrete walls and floors. Dust rained down as alarms bleared, the guards on top of Wreck holding him down with more force, yelling something in his ear.

He couldn’t hear, everything was too loud, too much. Wreck could only hear his own breathing, harsh, laboured, and restricted as he panicked under the weight of both the men and his own thoughts, unable to even notice how the very foundation cracked and splintered around them, the TREEMAN’s building thrumming as if a high magnitude earthquake chose to erupt just beneath the very establishment. 

The alarms blear only grew louder, screams of ‘evacuation’ repeating on a continuous loop, the men practically squeezing the air from his lungs with how hard they pushed down against Wreck, black spots dancing in his vision. He found himself drawn to them, the twisting and shifting blobs reminding Wreck of dancing, fluid with motion and grace. 

The black spots immediately morph and take hold of his entire vision, encasing his world with darkness as he faintly feels the harsh hit of something along the back of his neck. 

***

“Good afternoon, Wreck,” Mr Shang drawled, sitting at his desk within his office among one of the highest floors of TREEMAN. Wreck had only ever been to his office once, and that was with his sister - the thought made him sour almost immediately as he came to, his head pounding. “I apologise for the rough treatment, but it appears we were successful.”

Wreck blearily blinked his eyes open, rubbing his head as he sat up properly in his chair, finding himself sinking in the deeply cushioned surface. “...mn..what?”

Mr Shang chuckled slightly and rested his chin on his folded hands, eyeing the younger with a critical eye, his expression one of as if he were analyzing his every move. “Your abilities, Wreck, have manifested properly and at a much younger age than we anticipated. However, it seems our live shows have truly been doing you justice, would you agree?”

Wreck squinted at the man, the words coming out as a jumbled mess to his sore ears. What was he talking about? “I don’t have abilities yet..”

Mr Shang hummed, the tone condescending before he stood and walked over to Wreck, crouching down in front of the boy’s seated form. “Yes, you do, my boy. You destroyed half of the lower levels of my building.”

Wreck stilled, his eyes widening at the revelation. “But-”

“No cause for concern. We had a few heroes on standby to assist in keeping the upper floors stabilized, as well as restore the damage. No harm done.” Mr Shang interrupted, his sharp eyes causing Wreck to want to squirm under such a critical gaze.

“What…did I do? Where’s Nice?” Wreck asks quietly, growing in volume.

Mr Shang blinked before humming, a small smirk appearing on his tight features. “So it’s true, that was your trigger.”

“What..?”

“Nice. He was your trigger to activate your trust value abilities early on.” Mr Shang says simply, almost as if he’s pleased.

Wreck feels his insides churn. He still didn’t know where Nice was, or what was going on, however, if there was one thing he learnt from Shang Chao and Nice, it was that Mr Shang held all their futures in his hands, whether they liked it or not.

“Please..where is he?”

Mr Shang hummed, standing back up and offering a hand to Wreck, the action feeling like a final choice in his fate, in his existence. “I can show you, but I need you to become his opposite, his villain, one would say.”

Wreck paused in outstretching his arm, confusion lacing his face. “W-what?” he whispered, retracting his arm but Mr Shang grabbed the limb in a vice like grasp, his hardened features right in front of Wreck’s face, the shadows making the man look more terrifying that he appeared. 

“Don’t you want Nice to succeed? For his dreams to become true?” he taunted, his voice harsh and rough in the boy’s face.

Wreck swallowed and nodded quickly, trying to ignore the increased pain on his arm from the man’s sharp nails. “Of course I do-”

“Well he’s failing, Wreck. One more bad obstacle and he’s out, simply not fit for heroism.” Mr Shang snaps and Wreck feels as if his world has turned upside down. 

Nice? His Nice? Failing? There was no way that was possible - he was the best of them all. The strongest, the kindest, the perfectionist! Nice was everything Wreck wasn’t, or maybe…that had always been the plan to begin with. 

“Don’t you wish to help him, Wreck?” the words were hissed in his ear, the hammer hitting home as his breath caught in his throat. Of course he did. He’d do anything for the one friend he had to succeed. Wreck couldn’t - wouldn’t, do this without Nice. The white haired boy practically screamed ‘hero’ with every step, breath, voice, and action he took.

He was perfect.

And Wreck wasn’t.

He couldn’t make those around him smile, heck, he couldn’t even be good enough to help his struggling older sister. What good could he truly do? The staff despised him, the other candidates taunted and teased his every move and yet…

Nice never did.

Wreck truly owed him for that…he always would. 

“...what can I do?” Wreck whispers after a moment, determination in his eyes.

Chapter Text

Nice

It had been over a year since Nice had seen Wreck, and it couldn't have been at more of a worse time. 

"Nice," Mr Shang hummed, walking beside the white haired boy, his steps strong and purposeful. "Do you know where we are going?"

Nice shook his head no, finding that not for the first time he felt so small next to his father, the man's presence one that demanded obedience and results at all times. He'd recently invested in a sharp red suit, one that Nice had joked around saying it was the blood of his enemies.

His father hadn't laughed.

He knew it was ridiculous, being afraid of your father when all he does is his best for you, but lately...anything to do with Mr Shang seemed off. 

Nice had been dissapointing the man, having not developed his trust value abilities yet. He knew that, he did, but...

"To the lab?" He asks quietly, walking beside the man in a plain white shirt and shorts with the TREEMAN logo, the outfit reminding him of his first time meeting Wreck.

Wreck...

He missed him so much. So badly that it ached, not knowing if the black haired boy had been successful or kicked out from TREEMAN.

Miss J wouldn't tell Nice, and he didn't have the guts to ask his father. 

"Mhm," Mr Shang hummed, his dress shoes sharp against the concrete floors, the dulled lights every few minutes adding to the 'creepy dungeon' feeling that reeked from the atmosphere. It smelt so wrong. "Are you excited?"

Nice didn't know what to say. He loved going to the lab, but Mr Shang never accompanied him when he visited. He got the feeling this wasn't an optional stay.

His father chose not to say anything to his sons silence, and instead swiped his keycard to open a door far to the left, the elevator behind them no longer visible among the endless bricks and concrete. 

Opening the door with one hand and a firm hand on Nice's shoulder with the other, Mr Shang walked in, urging Nice forward. 

The lab was more empty than normal, the array of machines and mechanical contraptions an intense hum of power in the small room. The space was set up differently, with a hospital like bed in the middle, alongside a surgical table to the side and a dome looking contraption just above the bed. 

Nice felt something akin to dread coil within, every ounce of his being screaming that this was wrong, so, so wrong.

"Now, Nice, go lie on the bed." His father said firmly, the hand upon his shoulder squeezing once before letting go. 

Every instinct told Nice to turn and run, but his desperation to please overrided, and he found himself forcing his feet forward, where he then sat on the bed, the texture of the medical paper along the surface causing his skin to tingle in displeasure.

The sound was loud as it crinkled, sending shivers down his spine, alarm bells ringing in his head on repeat. He didn't-

"Nice." His father snapped, suddenly right in front of him, leaning over his smaller form that was lying down on the bed. 

When did he lie down?

 "Do you know why you haven't seen that black haired companion of yours?" Mr Shang drawls, his sharp features obscuring all of Nice's vision.

"..Wreck?" Nice whispers.

"Mn. That one." Mr Shang nods, standing back up straighter once he established the boy wouldn't move. "Do you know why you haven't seen him in a long time?"

"Is..is he-"

"It's because he's surpassed you!" His father snaps, slamming his hands onto the surgical bed beside Nice's knees, causing the boy to flinch hard, his eyes widening. 

"You were supposed to be my success! And yet the people demand more of him, and not you! He's gained all the trust value!" He yells, back in Nice's face, his breathing harsh.

Nice pales, realisation sinking in alongside the fear. "Wreck wouldn't-"

"He did! He's able to control his trust value and convert it to power. And you?! Fucking can't!" 

Nice swallows. He hated when his father yelled more than anything. "I'm sorry, Im sorry-"

"Enough!" Mr Shang roars, practically seething with rage. "You've given me no choice, boy! I had planned for him to be your nemesis from the start, but he wasn't supposed to be able to convert trust value to power!" 

"Wha...nemesis? Father, I don't-" Nice tried, his voice so small.

"We were supposed to convert his to fear before it formed, but no!!" Mr Shang chuckled, the sound rough and cruel, the very tone of it making Nice want to hide. 

He wanted Wreck.

He wanted his brother.

"So now," his father sneers, jabbing a harsh finger to Nice's chest, the contact making him want to hurl at the unfamiliar, cruel touch. "You'll be our first fear converted hero, sound pleasant?" 

Nice stilled, but before he could respond, his father had grabbed his arm hard and yanked him from the bed and toward a nearby surgical table he hadn't noticed before. 

He almost vomited on the spot. 

There was a small dog, it's body twitching and withering in pain from an unknown source. 

"This puppy is in pain, Nice. Let's give him some fear hm? Reckon that'll help?" Mr Shang sneers right in the boys ear, who's eyes were fixed on the pained animal. 

"W-what? No, fear will hurt-" Nice whispered, his voice choked up.

"Fear will hurt only if you are weak!" The older man snaps, suddenly pushing Nice forward until he hit the table, slightly jolting the dog and making it whined from the movement.

Nice wanted to vomit.

"Are you weak, Nice?" 

Yes. Yes he was so weak. He couldn't do this. Never in his life. He can't. He's not cut out for this at all. Did Smile have to do this?

"No father" he whispers, his voice coming out so quiet it was a wonder anyone could hear. 

"Good boy. Now, if the dog is strong, he'll survive too." Mr Shang cooes from behind the boy, handing him a syringe over his shoulder, the sharp metal gleaming in the harsh lighting above. 

The dog wouldn't survive. He was too weak, his body was already giving up.

"This is your last chance Nice" Mr Shang snaps and before he realised what he was doing, Nice had injected the sluggish black liquid into the dogs leg.

The boy paled, dropping the syringe. He didn't hear the glass shatter upon impact with the floor. He didn't hear the cruel laughter of his father as he stood beside him. He didn't hear his own panicked breaths.

The dog was dying, his body writhing around and jerking in odd directions, his fur turning a dark, inky black. Bubbles appeared and popped, each one causing inhumane screeches of pain from the animal, his eyes turning from scared pupils to nothing at all, his body jerking and twisting at angled that shouldn't be possible.

"If you aren't strong enough, that'll be you." His father hissed in his ear, jabbing a syringe of the black liquid into the boys neck, pressing hard.

Nice panicked, screaming in terror from the upcoming potential agony, his body wanting to hide and run as he jerked away from his father, something he'd never dared to do before. 

The dog stopped moving.

Nice threw up.

Mr Shang laughed, his face turning into two, then three, then four, the cruel smirks twisting into the circles, his sharp eyes widening impossibly large, almost taking up his entire face as it stretched longer, and longer, and longer-

Nice screamed, clutching his head as he scrambled away, his veins felt as if ants were crawling within, searching for any weakness, any crack among his surface. He staggered back, his knees buckling yet he didn't fall.

"You're perfect, Nice! Perfect! Fear doesn't control those who are in control!" He faintly heard the sharp words of his father through the blood rushing to his ears.

His breaths grew more shallow, the slippery sensation spreading all throughout his body, his skin alight and a bones shaking. He could feel his bones and muscles moving!

"You're perfect! Fear cannot impact perfection!" Mr Shang yelled, the words cutting through Nice's mind like ice, his thoughts focusing on the sharp words.

He's perfect.

Perfection cannot be harmed by something like fear.

Perfection can't be broken if a strong resolve remains.

Perfection is who Nice is.

Nice is perfection.

'I am perfect.'

"I'm..perfect" he whispers shakily, voice trembling.

"Yes! Yes you are, my boy, you are perfect!" His father yelled, his tone contrasting the words spoken. 

Slowly but surely, the crawling sensation faded, his mind clearing as he repeated the words over and over.

'I'm Nice.'

'I'm perfect.'

'I'm Nice.'

'I'm perfect.'

'I'm Nice, and I'm perfect.'

'I'm Nice, and I'm perfect!'

A firm hand landed on his shoulder, silencing any and all thoughts from his mind. Distantly, he recognised that he no longer felt the odd sensations anymore. No more ants or black sludge. Nothing. 

"I'm proud of you, my boy. You're strong, and you're destined for greatness." Mr Shang hummed, his tone light and satisfied, his face in front of Nice's as he brushed a strand of disheveled white hair from his face, tucking it behind his ear. "You pass. You're perfect."

"I'm perfect."