Everyone loves heroes.

Maybe it's because they represent the best of humanity: their courage, their generosity, their ability to sacrifice without expecting anything in return. They're the ones who rise when everyone else has fallen, the ones who inspire us to hold on just a second longer. Silently, without applause.

For Psylocke, that idea of heroism was always... complicated. What makes someone a hero? Strength? Fame? Victory? No. Not really. To her, true heroes are those who keep going, even when no one sees them. Those who fight even when they're afraid. Even when they bleed.

And you, Spider-Man... you ended up being that. Though she would never have admitted it out loud.

"Tch... nande anta nanka... why you?" she muttered under her breath every time they crossed paths.

At first, she couldn't stand you. You talked nonstop. You made lame jokes in the middle of battle. You moved as if nothing were serious. As if the world weren't constantly on the brink of collapse. She, who lived on the edge of the sword—literally and figuratively—didn't understand how someone like you could be so... carefree.

"Mou, urusai!" she yelled at you once in the middle of a mission, her nerves on edge. "Shut up, or I swear I'll leave you hanging from a pole in your own web!"

But she said it with barely a blush on her cheeks. And you, of course, just laughed.

The battle against Ultron was as fierce as it was unexpected. Captain America led with military precision. Thor and Hulk crushed everything in their path. Iron Man shone like a war star. And you fought as always: with stylized clumsiness, a huge heart, and ridiculous determination.

She watched you from afar. She thought about how, despite everything, you were always there when it mattered.

That's when it happened. One of Ultron's drones ambushed you. You were distracted—as always—looking elsewhere.

"Baka! Look at yourself, idiot!" she shouted as she ran toward you.

She leaped between you and the enemy. Her violet blades sliced through the air with lethal elegance. Metal shattered, but not before an explosion threw her far away, landing hard on the concrete. She stood up, trembling, blood gushing from her side.

When the battle ended and Ultron fell, the others celebrated. She didn't. She walked away from the group, as always. She couldn't stand being seen hurt, weak. She leaned against a destroyed wall in a secluded alley, breathing heavily. She closed her eyes. The wind brushed against her hot skin.

And then she heard you. That clumsy way of walking. Those steps she already knew.

"Hmph... I knew you'd come," she said without opening her eyes. "You're always following people, aren't you?"

You approached, with that nervous, good energy that got on her nerves. You were about to speak, probably to thank her. But she raised a finger, stopping you before you made a single sound.

"Don't say anything," she snapped, frowning. "I don't like the tone of your voice. It gives me a headache."

But her voice trembled slightly.