In the heart of the School of Heroes, where the walls smelled like buttery popcorn and the floors creaked like a pirate’s wooden leg, there lived a boy named Hunter. Hunter wasn’t the fastest runner or the strongest lifter, but he had the kindest heart—big as a hot-air balloon and just as bouncy. His superhero cape, a hand-me-down from his big sister, was the color of strawberry jam and had a pocket that always crinkled like a bag of chips.

One morning, the school bell DING-DONGED so loud it made the pencils on Hunter’s desk do a little dance. Today was Chore Day, the day all young heroes had to prove they could keep their promises. Hunter’s task? Watering the Golden Glow Flowers in the school greenhouse. They were as tall as giraffes and smelled like bubblegum mixed with rain.

"No problem!" Hunter said, giving his cape a dramatic swirl. Whoosh! The fabric tickled his nose like a feather duster. He grabbed his watering can—painted with glittery dinosaurs—and skipped toward the greenhouse. But on the way, he spotted his friend, Pip the Prankster, juggling three frogs near the fountain. Splish-splash! The frogs wore tiny hats and looked very confused.

"Hunter! Help me teach these frogs to tap dance!" Pip giggled, his cheeks puffed out like a squirrel storing acorns. Hunter’s watering can slipped from his fingers. CLANG! It rolled away, leaving a trail of water like a snail’s slime. "Uh-oh," Hunter muttered, scratching his head. The frogs hopped onto his shoes, leaving little wet footprints that felt like cold jelly.

By the time Hunter rescued his watering can and shooed the frogs (who had started singing sea shanties), the sun was high in the sky, warm as a freshly baked cookie. He rushed to the greenhouse, but—OH NO!—the Golden Glow Flowers were drooping like sad spaghetti. Their petals had turned the color of old socks, and the air smelled like sour milk. Hunter’s stomach did a somersault. He’d forgotten his chore!

Just then, Professor Sparkletoes floated into the greenhouse, her boots squeaking like mice. "Hunter!" she said, tapping her clipboard. "The flowers look… thirsty." Hunter’s knees wobbled like jelly. He opened his mouth, but only a tiny squeak came out. Eep! His cape felt suddenly heavy, like a wet blanket.

Then—SNIIIIFF!—Hunter smelled it: the sharp tang of burnt toast. That meant only one thing: Pip’s latest prank had gone wrong. Sure enough, a trail of smoke curled from the cafeteria. BANG! A pot lid flew into the air like a flying saucer. Professor Sparkletoes gasped and zoomed off, her cape flapping behind her like a flag in a storm.

Hunter took a deep breath. The air smelled like melted cheese now, and his watering can felt slippery in his hands. "I… I forgot to water the flowers," he said, his voice small as a mouse’s whisper. His cheeks burned like two little suns. But then—something strange happened. The Golden Glow Flowers perked up just a tiny bit, as if they were listening.

Professor Sparkletoes returned, her hair sticking up like a porcupine’s. "Well," she said, crossing her arms. "At least you told the truth. That’s the first rule of being a hero." She handed Hunter a new watering can—this one sparkled like a disco ball. "Now, let’s fix this together."

As Hunter watered the flowers, the petals turned back to their sunny yellow, and the greenhouse filled with the sweet smell of cotton candy. Pip skidded in, his face smeared with soot. "Hunter! Your cape saved the cafeteria from my exploding grilled cheese!" He held up a half-melted sandwich, gooey as slime. "I owe you one."

Hunter grinned. His cape felt light again, and his heart did a happy flip. Maybe he wasn’t the best at remembering chores, but he *was* good at something even more important: telling the truth. And that, as Professor Sparkletoes said, was the real superpower.

That night, as Hunter snuggled into bed, his cape draped over a chair, he heard the Golden Glow Flowers rustling softly outside his window. Swish-swish. It sounded like they were whispering, "Thank you." And Hunter fell asleep with a smile, knowing that even heroes make mistakes—and that’s okay.