Randomguyperson: Thank you for the comment, although I am not too sure what it means. Still, I hope you enjoy reading this story and this new chapter.

Trippin' out
Spinnin' around
I'm underground, I fell down
Yeah, I fell down

I'm freakin' out
So where am I now
Upside down
And I can't stop it now
It can't stop me now

-Alice (Avril Lavigne)

Chapter 4: Pictures of Reality

I can't get out of bed – my body refuses to. The sun is shining outside, but the curtains have been drawn firmly shut and no light is radiating inside my room. The temperature is low, and a bunch of goosebumps keeps on rising up to my arms whenever I move and feel how little warmth there really is. I do not even bother wrapping myself with a blanket I am laying on top of to warm myself.

The time has moved on slowly and I am not exactly sure if I have been laying around for hours or a few minutes. All I know is that there is a thirst in my mouth, but I don't want to get up and get away from the barely small comfort this room is providing me. And despite the comfort being barely there, it is still something. More than what the outside world can provide anyway. Also, if I step out of this dark place, there is a high chance that I would break immediately.

Someone is knocking onto the door. This isn't the first time, but I am not flinching from the sound anymore. Even when the person on the other side tries to twist and pull on the knob, the door won't budge and that also gives me a tiny grain of relief.

Curling into a ball and once again shivering, I hug the object I am clutching close to my chest. I close my eyes tiredly.

"Masako, are you still there?" A voice asks and the knocking pauses. "If you are, can you answer me? Please?"

Go away.

I can hear the worry in the person's tone but remain still and my lips are drawn into a firm line. I can feel how my skin crawls from the mere thought of giving the person on the other a satisfying answer and doing as they request. My entire ten-year-old being is screaming to merely stay silent and unmoving and uncaring whatever hysteria is going to occur on the other side of that door.

However, instead of my face forming an ugly glare at nothing, it twists into something weaker as the knocking starts again in a more frantic manner. I start crying, something I didn't think would happen after doing so just a few moments ago. But now the tears start naturally burning the already dry enough eyes and bury my face into the pillow in desperation to muffle up my weeping. I do not care, when there is no oxygen and I start seeing colors behind my tightly closed eyelids, especially not when the suffocation feels uncomfortable and my body wants to tear away. I just want to fall into an eternal unconsciousness.

Just… I grit my teeth again when the knocking goes through the ringing in my ears. Go away!

"Masako!" The voice shouts, not angrily, though. It sounds worried again, extremely so. "Please answer!"

Something within me snaps. Like a rope that has been pulled too hard from two different sides, or like a mirror that can only stand pressure for so long before it cracks and breaks. The tears on my face are from an emotion that I can only pinpoint as 'pain', but now in a second, they are tears that I let out involuntarily in anger, too.

I have risen before I can even think. I am sitting, shoulders rigid and up to my ears, lips parted and uneven breaths escaping past them.

"Go away!" I scream, hands clenching and unclenching around the blanket. Whatever I had been holding in my embrace a second ago is now carelessly laying on the floor. Forgotten, when I see nothing, but red.

The knocking pauses for the second time. "Masako… please. I just want to talk. We can –"

"I said go away! I hate you! I don't want you here! Just go away!" The scream is just as painful to my throat just as painful I wish it is to the one behind that door.

However, the anger within shimmers and my limbs start twitching – I do not know how to use them to express what I am feeling.

There is so much I want to say face-to-face, but my legs won't move, nor do I lift myself up and walk to the door and open it. Instead, I merely stay on the floor and slam my fists finally to the ground helplessly, digging my nails into my palms. The pain does nothing to calm my distorted thoughts and body language. I just feel pain all over my body.

Why? Why didn't you do a thing? Is what I want to ask, but I already did and the answer that I had gotten was… too painful. I do not understand or even remember anything from that blurry event, that conversation, that took place outside of this room of mine.

The mental conversation happening in my head continues with me hoping that someone else can hear them, too. You can do something, now. Why haven't you done it? Why didn't you save us? Why did you let everything be torn away from me? I don't want this. Aren't you hurting as well? How can you do this to us? It hurts so much. How could you abandon me and…?

"Go away," my shoulders slump and the words are grit out of my small mouth pathetically. The voice I use is raspy and so small that it can barely be heard. My shoulders start shaking.

The entire world has come crashing down and not even the one who has caused this can mend and glue the pieces back together. It's obvious that the person behind the door

"I hate you… Go away."

The last thing I recall as an adult is the sound of heavy footsteps fading behind that same door that had been my barrier. And as for the object that I had held close to my chest… I can only recall it being a picture of someone precious.

As I am placing different noodles on the shelves, I become very aware of a pair of eyes weighing heavily on the back of my head. Honestly, it's both confusing and frustrating, but I keep on arranging like nothing is wrong. And yet, even when over twenty minutes have passed and of me glancing towards the clock during that time, the gaze does not fade or look away.

And so, having had enough of the silence, I turn around and raise an eyebrow. From my action, Rin stiffens and glances to the side nervously, but then immediately looks back at me with two cans of tomato juice in her grasp.

Seeing that she doesn't dare to start a conversation, I tilt my head and quirk up the corners of my lips.

"Is something wrong?"

Her mouth opens but then closes, before repeating the pattern a few times. Then, the pair of brown eyes look at me with a small spark in them and a hesitant smile makes its way up to Rin's face. "Are you alright?"

The aisle falls into another silence for a short moment – our eyes meet, and I find the words dying on my tongue. The other woman's gaze doesn't falter, but an expression close to regretting forms on her features and she once again glances away for a short period of time. She has finally broken the ice and seems to regret it a bit judging by everything I am seeing in her appearance.

Slowly, I turn towards the shelf and let out a sigh. "I didn't get too great of sleep last night."

"Eh? Again? Masako-chan, do you have insomnia?" Rin asks bluntly and follows me when I start making my way to the next shelf on the other side of the store with a box in my hands. "You should try drinking milk with honey."

I snort and let out a small laugh at the end. "That is the oldest trick in the book."

"It works fine with me," she defends herself and then helps me arrange other food products to their places. "By the way, did you hear about the Hero Killer?"

My stomach drops, and I shake my head tiredly without looking at her. Without even her knowing, Rin has managed to sour my mood, even though her tone sounds curious and cheerful. She is a gossip girl and that is why I have managed to hear all kinds of strange things over the course of this half-week that we have spent our time together from her mouth.

But, of course, I also watch the news. So, this information doesn't come as a surprise, but as an old piece of news that I watched a few nights ago. It had been both a shock and a relief, but over the time the mere mention of it out in the streets' magazines and newspapers has become dull. Still, the mere mention of the murderer makes my skin crawl – who wants to hear about that kind of person on a daily basis?

"This again? Not you too, Rin. They talk about this enough in the news," I say heavily, hand unconsciously tightening around a bag of chips.

She shrugs with a small smile. "But it's so crazy. Do you have any idea how many pro heroes he managed to kill before Endeavor put an end to him?"

"…I haven't exactly been eager to count bodies," is my dry answer, but a small pang hits my chest as soon as the words leave from my mouth. That came out a lot crueler than how it sounded inside my head.

However, Rin speaks again before I can. "Do you also know that the Hero Killer attacked that night?"

Once again, my mouth runs dry and the meaning behind her words becomes obvious. It doesn't take a genius to figure it out. She is talking of that party night when I accepted her invitation for the first time and it happened less than a week ago. Of course, the memory is still fresh in my mind, especially after I picked the pieces and put them together. And now being reminded of what had occurred in that same area during the time inside the car makes my gut clench uncomfortably.

When she sees my reaction, she glances around before looking at me again, leaning closer and whispering: "We could have been just mere feet away from a murder scene!"

"Rin!" I look around as well, expression twitching violently. Noting that the store is surprisingly empty, and no other coworker is around to hear this, I let out a sigh.

The smile drops slightly from her face and she raises an eyebrow at the reaction she has gotten. "What? It's so… just so… freaky!"

More like morbid, I bite down on my tongue and then straighten up. Honestly, despite my outer appearance showing dislike towards this subject, there is an itch in my chest. True, it is exciting to think how close I had been to a murderer, but I can only say that now in this store where everything is familiar to me. Back in the car, I am not so sure how everyone would have reacted if they had known what had happened to stop the road. It was terrifying. Although, to begin with, I am not really that interested what happened or happens to that man.

What I am interested in is if the one person who was also reported later to be part of that incident is a fact. I can very well recall the shock I felt go down my spine the moment I recognized that messy mass of green hair and a nervous pair of equally green eyes on the screen. Izuku-kun… just what the heck was he doing there, to begin with? Was it because of Sorahiko? Should I go and visit him and find out? I almost shake my head from the last idea – since speaking with that old hero in the park, we have not made a single contact with each other, or rather he hasn't with me. Meeting with him because I have questions about this event would be disastrous, no matter how much this has been bothering me for the past few days.

The news has also made it clear that there are still questions about his upcoming trial on the crimes he has committed. But it's doubtful that the sentence or the judge will be lenient on him. In some cases, the criminals are given a certain amount of years to be behind bars and recuperate and rethink their deeds. And in others, what they have done is so heinous that they would be locked up over decades – that in itself is a death sentence…

A sharp tug in my ribcage halts my hands from picking up another product from the box.

Looking down at the corner of the shelf, I purse my lips. I am not sure what his motives were to kill all those people, but I can't help thinking and questioning what it was. Was it to help someone? Was it to fulfill only his own desires? Even when I had first seen the articles and the news from Tv, these are the questions that had instantly just stuck themselves into me.

However, when I am thinking about starting a deeper conversation with Rin, I notice that she has begun to smile a bit, again. There is a phone in her hands, too, and she is quickly tapping something with it. Seeing that she has no worries about being caught by the strict manager of this store and that our discussion has stopped, I let out yet another heavy sigh.

"Just… continue arranging the shelves, please," I wave my hand dismissingly.

Despite Rin being fun at some points, I currently feel extra tired from just talking with her. It may just be because this just isn't my day or I slept horribly, again.

"Hey, Masako-chan."

I turn around, but then yelp, when a giant and angry red face stares at me with bright yellow eyes. Long pinkish tongue hangs out of the mouth with sharp white teeth and my own mouth drops in horror from seeing this.

However, as soon as the emotion of fear comes it goes away and is replaced with irritation. "Rin! Quit using your quirk at work!"

The terrifying face dissolves into smoke and a familiar grinning face replaces it. "Haha! You should have seen your face!"

It is early, very early during the morning.

I am standing outside a police station for the second time during this month and the papers are hidden in my bag that I clutch closer to my chest for the second time as well. It's as if I am looking for safety from this action and feel how the palms of my hands are getting sweaty, despite the fact that I am only wearing a pair of jeans and a thin jacket with a simple T-shirt under it.

But I am not going in. In fact, I have already been inside and got the same answer as last time. Maybe that is why I can't move but am rooted to the pavement I am standing on, hands shaking and eyes unwavering from the ground.

"I apologize, miss. There is nothing I can do."

My hands clench from recalling those exact words directed at me by the man behind the desk. Despite clearly being in a different location, she shouldn't expect a different service.

The morning is not exactly bright either. The rain has soaked everything during the night and now there are many puddles covering nearly every spot on the ground where the people are stepping on. It's a busy hour nonetheless and many are rushing past others to get to their destination the fastest. Even if drops of dirty water has managed to splatter across someone's brand new shoes, it wouldn't be noticed in a rush – that is just how much everyone is occupied in their thoughts.

However, unlike them, my time has stopped moving forward. I am staring down at the ends of my own footwear and can see almost every individual stain that is covering them. There is a reason why my vision is more than a bit blurry at the moment.

Fuck them all.

Slowly, robotically, I reach out and wipe my eyes, feeling how the invisible weight on my shoulders are pressing me down – I had no luck today either. It is only the second time, but it is like someone has punched me into my own stomach and dug out my intestines.

Whirling around, I decide to head back towards my apartment but pause when I see a bar nearby. It is in the middle my point of view and naturally, my legs start taking me there as if I am in a daze and can't think for myself where to really go to.

As soon as I step in, there is a shout: "Welcome!"

I sit down on the first seat I see, shrug off my coat and order the first drink that comes into my mind, fully intending on drowning myself with alcohol – it has become my only escape route.

The bar looks decent with the wood covering every furniture and visible four walls. A long and green mat is spread across the floor to lead the way deeper into the place, but I am sitting near the door next to the cashier and the bartender who has started working on my order. Despite the place being quite spacy and having room, I notice immediately how a small number of people are inside. Besides me, there are at least two others sitting at different ends of the entire bar.

"Most of my customers left hours ago," the man says suddenly and pushes the drink towards me, "all of them hungover from last night."

I hum as an answer and take my first sip, not really interested in what he is saying. I would be like those drunkards that left from here soon enough. And then I would definitely be stumbling out of this place and crawl my way to the nearest taxi or metro to get back to my house… if I could even make it out of the door. This won't be my only drink tonight.

Rubbing my forehead as if I am getting a headache, I lean back and try preoccupying myself somewhat.

"…Are you alright?"

The bitter liquid – why did I order this again? – nearly goes down a wrong throat. There it is, the question of the year. I am immediately reminded of how Rin had questioned me a day before and let out a sigh – I am doing that a lot lately.

" Tired," is my simple answer and then I dig up my phone from the back pocket of my jeans. Maybe with this, the bartender won't disturb me, is what I think and hope.

"Are you new around here? Most of the people who come to this place are regulars from around the area."

I cross my legs, trying to seem comfortable, despite feeling anything but that. Being questioned like this suddenly after a rough morning gives a bad taste into my mouth. Lifting my eyes sharply, I look up at the man with the blankest and the most tired expression I can muster.

"I only started drinking recently. Though, this is the first time I am in this bar," my voice sounds firm and there is hope that the bartender will leave me alone after hearing that once again. I also start tapping more firmly on the symbols on my phone and skim through yet another set of news articles. There is soft music coming from the speakers on the corners of the bar, but it is so silent that I can barely concentrate or hear it while lost in my own thoughts.

Finishing the first glass, I push it towards the man. "Another one, please."

"Will I be making a third one as well?" He asks but starts working, nonetheless.

I merely shrug and continuing streaming online via my phone, completely obvious to anything else around me. Luckily, the man leaves the brief conversation at that and serves me the second glass without a word.

However, as soon as it becomes silent and only another customer's coughing echoes around the walls, I start looking around the place in mild curiosity. It has both westernized and Japanese style to it; pictures of capitals from Europe hang from the patterned surfaces, but there are a bunch of crimson fans lined up next to them as well. An extra touch has even been added by newspapers framed and placed all over the place. There is a one next to me on the corner of the bar, too, and I start to read it. 'The end of Sand Storm,' is what has been written in bold letters as an article.

I look up to see another old news article above it and it reads: 'Shaker Shook captured.' The name makes me frown and I blink in confusion. However, when I look at the picture on it, the name kind of makes sense to me. The man on it is wearing a mask, but he looks beaten up and his knees are locked together as if he is about to topple over and I can imagine he was shaking when this image was taken.

However, now that I pay closer attention, every picture on every newspaper around here seems to have a picture where the person is one or other way either in prison clothes, chains or just looks plainly bruised and injured. Are all of these about… villains?

Truly intrigued, I forget my drink for a moment on the table and start walking towards a wall that has a whole bunch of framed newspapers. They indeed have the same theme to them from being captured to crimes they have committed and every single one has been arranged by the publishing year. I start following the numbers, heartbeat rising and my legs moving like from their own volition again.

1914… 1917… 1918… 1923… 1939… 1940… I take greater leaps and move forward a bit faster, skipping some and stopping when there are more decade differences from where I started. I am now moving near the end of the twentieth century and approaching the beginning of the twenty-first. 2000… 2001…. Two thousand and –

My feet stop moving and at the same time, someone walks next to me. I do not look at them, thinking that they are merely passing by, but then the sound of footsteps stops right next to me.

"Are you interested in these, miss?" It's obviously a male, whoever it is asking. But it isn't the bartender's voice.

I turn my head slightly to glance at the person and see that it's indeed not the man who served me the drinks. He is slightly taller than him and has greyish hair with thin framed and round glasses. A cigarette is hanging from his smirking mouth and I momentarily almost frown again. Is smoking even allowed in here?

However, when I look into his eyes again and see that he is looking at me, I return my attention back to the wall with my arms crossed. Once again, a stranger has started talking to me and made me feel uncomfortable.

"…Yes," I finally say and try to focus my entire attention on the framed newspaper instead of the man. Maybe I should go back to drink?

"Hmm," he hums and then taps his foot against the floorboards. "Do you have someone specific in mind that you are looking for? I bet that I can find them faster than you."

Glancing once again at him, I see him looking down at me with that same smirk, cigarette and all hanging from between his showing straight teeth line. It's too bad that one at the front is missing and in place of it is a gaping hole.

Now I definitely am uncomfortable and a bit annoyed by the sound of his tone – it is too sure and confident and makes me feel incompetent. I was just about to find what I was about to look for before he came along and interrupted my thoughts. However, it's a good thing that I drank earlier and feel more confident as well. So, I decide to humor this stranger a bit.

The one I want to find…

"Genjitsu."

A low whistle. "Haven't heard that name in a long time," he lets out a sound close to chuckling, but then it stops. He points with his hands up and almost to the ceiling. "You won't find it from looking at the years. Fifth one from the right at the top. This may be a collection of villains, but only a few have been put up there."

"Why is that?" I ask out of pure curiosity and feel for the second time how my heartbeat quickens its drumming pace. My eyes continue trailing up quickly towards where the man is pointing at.

Another row of raspy chuckles. "Isn't it obvious? Only the worst of the worst deserve the top spot."

I do not say anything to that but feel a tug in my heart from his words. Now, it isn't only the alcohol that is causing a sour taste from spreading all over my mouth, from my tongue to the back of my throat. And then… I find the article and my shoulders stiffen. I hold my breath and stare at the newspaper.

"Surely," my mouth moves before my brain can think, eyes still staring at the picture of the old paper, "others have done much worse."

"True. But having been nicknamed as the Guillotine of Japan is not a small feat," the man says and then takes out a lighter. "I almost admire Genjitsu for that."

Those words make me swallow thickly, but my attention at the article still does not waver. I stare, and stare more than I think is natural and can't tear my gaze away anymore. Like any other person in these old and nearly worn-out pictures, the person I am seeing on this piece is no different. The villain is wrapped in chains, their long hair covering almost every part of their face. Only one eye is peeking out as the binds keep the person down on a what looks like a metal chair and a black wrap is tightly covering the mouth that can't be seen. It is as if the picture has been taken from an asylum instead of a criminal.

But it is the look in that one eye that is truly maddening. This picture or the newspaper isn't old and that is why the color is still intact and every dirty spot on a pale face can be seen clearly – even the glee in the one brown orb is clear as a day alongside with a dark bag under it. There is a shine in Genjitsu's gaze, but not that of a mad person, but that of someone who is tired. She looks worn out like the fight has been given up and she couldn't care less about anything else anymore. Also, besides the dark ring, there is also redness around her eye.

A tight lump has appeared in my throat. I swallow thickly, but it doesn't go away. A strange sensation starts appearing in my eyes as well and I clench my hands together – suddenly, this cozy bar feels suffocating. I can't believe what I am seeing or what I am starting to read from the small text that I miraculously can see.

'At the morning of June, the infamous mass murderer was captured by…' I swallow again, eyes trailing lower.

"You alright – "

"I am fine," my voice comes out quite freely and naturally as if what I am experiencing on the inside doesn't exist. A forced smile is plastered on my face when I turn to look at the man. "I think I need to finish my drink. Thanks, by the way."

He doesn't say anything, but merely widens his smirk and gives a curt nod.

Without another word from me too, I turn around and make it back to the bar. My coat, bag, and drink have not moved, and I sit down. Without hesitation, I also empty the glass from the drink it contains. Even though the taste is not exactly what I would usually prefer, the drink is gone in a matter of a second and just like in movies I place the glass down firmly on the wood.

I look up at the bartender and he meets my gaze equally in a way that says he must be suspecting what I am going to ask.

"A third one, please."

"Coming right up."

Even while being almost completely out of it, I know that I can't keep on trying to find my house the way I am. The alcohol is keeping me warm, but I know that walking around with the jacket wrapped around my waist in damp weather with new grey clouds gathering in the sky is not too wise. There is no umbrella around, I am swaying and stumbling forward, and I think I did a wrong turn a few minutes ago.

I finally stop next to an unknown park, which only confirms how lost I truly am and sit down on the nearest bench. Almost as soon as I do, I realize that the thing is probably still wet from the early morning rain and the strange sensation spreading under me settles the problem of it. But I do not stand up and merely keep on sitting, processing this within my head, eyes wandering around me.

That lamppost looks like a giraffe. Shaking my head in denial, not for what I think is true, I look up at my phone to take notice through swimming vision that it is probably time for dinner already, I think. Honestly, not seeing anything clearly is really frustrating, especially, when I would like to go and eat.

"Damn!" I yell out loud, not at least bit of ashamed how people passing by look at me weirdly. I squint my face. "What 're ya all lookin' at?"

Everyone immediately looks away and continues on their daily business and I huff. That is right. Runaway. A small chuckle makes it way out of me without really any good reason and I lift up my phone. However, it falls out of my grasp and falls down to the ground – I momentarily don't even realize that there is nothing laying on my hand anymore. My brain goes through this very slowly and I do the picking up at the same pace.

It is a struggle to open my phone and I growl lowly under my breath, confused as to why it is so. When I finally get to the list of my contacts, I look at them with mouth half-open. I could call grandpa… oh, wait. He is dead. But besides that, the only number I could now call now is Rin or the manager at the food store. And once again, even in my craziest of states, the latter is the last one I would think of contacting.

I press a 'call' button and bring the phone close to my ear.

"HI! Thanks for calling! Do leave a voice message since I am currently getting myself screwed up at the other end of town!"

I blink, hear the recorder for the voicemail go on and open my mouth. "Hi, Rin. This iz Masako," I take a pause, head lolling to the side. "I am somewhe'e, don' know how. Can ya pleeeaaase come and help out? Bye."

As soon as I close the phone and put it sluggishly into my bag, a new sensation starts rising up my throat. It is burning, and I also suddenly feel very sick. Oh, no. Not again. My hand flies up to my mouth and my eyes widen, as I twist and push my head towards the back of the bench and above the bushes behind it. I make it just in time before whatever has been in my stomach comes flying out and splatters down.

When done, I slump back down to the chair, shoulders heaving up and down. The taste of bitterness and acid is terrible, and I start thinking about finding another bar again but find myself also thinking about water. The problem is that I am out of money and can't really afford to buy a thing, right now. Who even came up with money? It's a stupid word, 'money'. Ugh. And when you need it there isn't any around.

"A total waste of time," I mutter in an upset tone, but then pout and sink deeper into the seat. The sky seems to be getting darker and I mumble while gazing up at it: "What a pretty pattern."

Someone passes by the bench and my eyes fall to follow their movement. A thought enters into my head soon after and I stand up swaying, bag clutched weakly in my grasp. The stranger hadn't been paying attention to me when he passed by which works for me as a more of a nuisance since I have to move to catch him.

"Hey! Ya!" I holler, and the man immediately freezes.

He slowly turns around, looking unsurely between me and the streets around him. "Um, me?"

My nod is heavy and a long one that causes me almost trip forward. "Yeah, ya!"

"A-are you alright?" He asks unsurely, as I start walking towards him dangerously swaying once again. Through my unfocused view, I see his expression change more than once but am unsure what that means or what emotions those expression portray. The man does, however, seem to take a hesitant step forward on my approach. "Do… do you need any help, ma'am?"

Ma'am? My own face twitches and I glare at him, fully halting to the spot. "Wha? Do I look like an ol' lady to ya?"

"N-no, miss!" He stiffens and immediately shakes his head – the action causes my head to spin, not that it already isn't.

I start walking forward again. "Give me money."

"Eh?"

The man is dumbfounded, but I don't care and reach forward. Both of my hands land on his shoulders and I pull him closer, making sure to have the strongest grip possible on his person. Despite the fact how my eyes keep on moving around unfocused, I feel the muscles beneath my palms stiffen and trying to pull away – I won't let it happen and tighten my hold. I have thrown up more than three times already and I know in my hazy mind that I am much weaker than usual because of the strain the alcohol has put my body through. Huh? Who is this person again?

My eyelids feel heavy and I can barely keep my head up anymore. The same can be said about the rest of my body. It feels as if I am about to fall asleep and I let my head sway to the side to rest on whatever solid surface I am leaning against.

"H-hey!"

Something is wrapped around me and I fully close my eyes, planning on taking a short nap.

Sorahiko – Gran Torino – has seen many foolish young people through the course of his lifetime. From some random brat on the streets to those he needed to discipline and every single one managed in some way or other raise his blood pressure. Even nowadays, there are many things he doesn't understand in those decades younger than himself and he doesn't think that that will ever change.

And despite knowing this and having an experience worth many years, he cannot stop himself from feeling the veins on his neck pop from the scene he has witnessed.

It wasn't his intention to have a run-in with the young woman – more like an immature brat in his opinion – he had argued with days ago. He knew that pressing the issue on her would have nothing, but worse consequences to both him and her. And that is precisely why he had come to check on her only through shadows and by hiding.

However, today is not one of those days where he would go to that ridiculously expensive food store and demand discounts. Today he is merely walking around to get some fresh air and you can call it a ridiculously precise coincidence that makes him decide to walk past a park.

And he is glad he did.

What in the world is that girl up to!?

She is completely out of it, that is the first thing he notices due to her swaying and general appearance. The hair is a mess, and the clothes are wrinkled and too light for this kind of rainy day. Not to mention he can clearly tell that she has taken too much of something and can't navigate or coordinate properly on her own.

Gran Torino's eyebrow twitches violently and he snaps the moment she grabs the strange man by the shoulders, demands money and collapses on top of him. The greyish eyebrow is twitching now even more due to this scene.

His instinct tells him to interfere.

"Hey! You two!" He yells out, clearly startling the man who is desperately trying to balance himself and the woman in his arms. "What is going on here, son!?"

The young woman looks clearly lost and his eyes dart between the old man and Masako who is clearly not waking up anymore. She is slumped all over him and he has his arms still around her – at least he isn't planning on letting her fall, Sorahiko thinks.

"U-um," the man stumbles with his words, "I think she is drunk, s-sir."

"That is an understatement," Sorahiko spits out and walks briskly closer, eyeing Masako with a critical eye. However, he stops advancing, when a rather strong stench of alcohol reaches his nose. He has to stop breathing for a second and recoils, too. Goodness! How much did this brat drink!?

"Mr. Hero, should we take her to a hospital?" The stranger asks and shifts the woman in his grip so that her entire face is now visible.

Masako's face is a picture-perfect look of someone who is sleeping. Her eyelids are closed, her entire face is relaxed alongside with her entire body and there is even a trail drool coming from the corner of her half-open mouth. There is no indication whatsoever that she is in pain or has any physical signs of harm on herself. A relief, but as far as her intoxicated state comes, there is no telling, if she is truly hurt. Nor can she actually in her current situation tell how she has ended up here or if something had happened before this.

Gran Torino exhales. Maybe he is overthinking – he definitely is – since this is a granddaughter of someone he knew back in the day. The last person he wants to see like this is her and the retired hero has few ideas how her grandfather would react if he was here seeing this. She may be drunk, but the worst thing that could happen from it is a nasty headache once she wakes up. Your flesh and blood sure is a troublesome one. He hadn't thought that he would be seeing her like this. Rather, the fact that she has drunk this heavily is somewhat of a shock to him – her grandfather had been a non-drinker since his very early teenage years. Although, he had smelled the alcohol from her last time, as well. So, he guesses that there was foreshadowing for something like this to happen.

"Did you see, if she was with someone?" He finally asks, thinking of actually calling an ambulance.

"No, sir. She was merely talking to herself on that bench when I passed by," the man answers immediately, seeming to gain control of his thoughts in this peculiar situation.

Sorahiko continues staring at the unconscious woman for another minute or two, not pretty much paying any attention to the male who is still supporting her entire weigh with his twig arms. Taking her to a hospital would really be a good idea just in case something is truly wrong with her. However, he knows that this looks like she simply drank too much and passed out – taking her anywhere near professionals would be a waste of time and effort. Also, Gran Torino should make up his mind, soon. The younger man looks ready to have another panic attack.

When he comes into his final decision, the retired hero lets out a sigh and reaches out for the bag hanging from her hand. The action causes the man holding Masako to blink in confusion and then nervousness.

"U-um, why are – "
"Calm down. I know this woman, but I will have to look into her bag for an address."

"Oh... Alright."

He starts going through the content in order and says without looking up. "Call a taxi for us. It will be impossible to drag her all the way, if she lives far away."

"I-I don't really have my phone with me, today," the man answers meekly.

It's as if something snaps within the old hero for the second time today. His shoulders grow rigid and he tries to smother an urge to smack Masako who remains oblivious to his thoughts and sharp glare – he also doesn't have a phone with him.

The whiskey swirls in the glass, as the man holds it with a thoughtful look on his face. The ice in the liquid hasn't started melting yet, but it should be soon gone if he doesn't start taking it. However, it is clear that there is a more pressing matter in his mind, despite how he keeps on smirking eyebrows squinted together.

The bartender has taken note of this and hasn't interfered with those thoughts – a wise choice. Instead, the owner has decided to polish the glasses in case someone else also wants to waltz in at this hour. Besides this man currently sitting in front of his bar with a drink and himself, there are many others sitting and walking around the place and he can start a conversation with one of them when an opportunity arises.

Suddenly, the whiskey glass is placed down. "Was that miss a regular?"

The hand holding a clean and fresh rag pauses with polishing. "Pardon, sir?"

The man blinks once, looking at the bartender's face without showing any other emotion. The other end does the same with their back straight as an arrow and one eyebrow raised in a questioning manner. Neither of them says a thing and the only thing breaking the silence is the uncontrollable chatter of the other customers in the bar. There is an unknown tension between the men two, though, that those sounds can't dissolve.

The light hits the round pair of glasses in an angle that the eyes behind them are covered. The smirk is still present like a mask, and the expression is almost distracting from the fact that you couldn't tell what the purple suited man is thinking. Still, the man owning the entire establishment doesn't waver, because his own gaze is no better. It is almost blank, holding every possible information under control and locked away. Whatever they are telling each other through a silent conversation can only be told by them and nobody else.

Finally, the customer's smirk widens, and he lowers his head so that the light isn't hitting the lenses and his eyes are visible again. In a familiar manner, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the money.

The bartender's eyes flicker and he glances around once, before taking the payment. "The one you were talking with during the opening hours is a new face – haven't seen her around before."

"Anything you noticed?"

A raised brow. He knows this customer somewhat and how perceptive he can be, so for him to ask an opinion from another person is a new one. But it also tells him that he is more than curious towards any extra information he can get his hands upon.

"She claimed to have started drinking only recently but ordered more than five shots and didn't look too good when she left. That is pretty common with troubled minds, but she could also be a reckless personality. From my real judgment, the latter is doubtful, because she wasn't much of a talker and was clearly uncomfortable when I tried starting a conversation. Not to mention she didn't look too good from merely her pale complexion and slight redness around the eyes. So, she could have drunk as much as she had to forget something or was having merely a really rough morning…"

"Anything else?" The man wearing glasses asks curiously. He also noticed these small details about her immediately, as soon as their small and intriguing conversation had started. However, he knows that there could be more than the bartender had caught and isn't revealing so easily.

However, when the information giver falls silent and merely stares at him, he lets out a sigh mixed with dry humor. Of course, there would be no further info without further payment – he takes out another amount of money and hands it over.

"I noticed something within her bag when she accidentally left it open on the table," he starts again, folding the money and placing within his own pocket. "There was a paper with the name of the nearby police station on it."

The grey-haired man looks down at his drink again, eyes once again clouded with thoughts that are his own. "That is all I need to know, then. Thanks."

The bartender nods his head. "I am happy to be of service, sir."

Despite saying it nonchalantly, he would like to ask for what the information he has given will be used for but remains silent and starts serving the others in need of a good drink. He has learned a long time ago not to be too curious, when it comes to this kind of business.

The man clad in a purple suit merely nods back and then turns around in his chair, eyes looking over the other customers' heads and towards the walls holding the old newspapers in identical wooden frames. He had been rather surprised, when someone had tried finding that particular one hidden almost under the shadows of the roof and other decoration. Not many honestly pay that much attention to these old articles anymore. Nobody is interested in those who have been taken down what seems to them like eons ago. Only heroes are kept in the present, but that is what makes this entire bar so peculiar to that way of thinking. The young woman's interest on them hadn't been the only thing that had caught his attention, however.

Of all the errands I have been asked to do…

He takes out a lighter and a flame flickers and lets his thoughts trail off the longer he stares at all of the old pictures.

It is expected, but not welcomed. When I come back from the deep sleep, a horrible headache hits me like a wave and keeps me pinned down to the mattress. W-wait what? Despite the pain and the uncomfortable stiffness of my body, I crack my eyes open and suffer through the brightness of the room. I look down to see a blanket draped over me and then trail my tired gaze all over the place – this is my room, in my apartment.

The last clear image within my head is of the bar I was drinking in. Then, everything becomes blurry and I can't recall clearly what happened after. Cold sweat trails down my back and for a moment I am frozen in confusion of how I ended up back in here.

I can't think for a minute, my memories are scattered without an order, but one movement from my tongue and the familiar taste of alcohol brings some of them back to me. Remembering makes me relax a bit and my body decreases its tension, already ready to go back to sleep.

"You awake yet?"

"Kyah!" I stiffen up once again and move quickly to the end of the bed, despite the dizziness and the headache. My heart nearly leaps up and out of my throat, when I see the one who is standing in the middle of my apartment. "W-what are you doing here – ow."

"Careful. The hangover must be nasty," Sorahiko says easily. Although, his voice does nothing to lessen the turmoil inside my skull. And it becomes worse when his tone changes into an irritation. "And is that the 'thank you' I get?"

Biting down on my lower lip to fight against the drumming within my ears, I look at him confusedly and almost hiss from the brightness flowing into the room through an open window. "For… for what?"

The old man looks ticked off by my question for a second. "For making sure that you weren't about to be taken an advantage of, looking for your address instead taking you to a hospital, paying for the taxi that took us to your apartment while you were still barely awake, finding the keys to your apartment so you wouldn't have to – "

"Alright, alright. I get it," I interrupt him, raising my hand weakly up and rubbing my forehead with the other. The list baffles more than clears things up, though.

"What were you even thinking? Walking around all alone and barely sensible enough to make your own decisions. Not to mention how you tried to rob that one man of his money – "

"What?" I frown and look back at him in confusion.

He sputters after seeing my reaction. "You mean to tell me that after all of that trouble you don't even remember?"

Remember what? Rob a man? This is my first time experiencing a memory loss due to alcohol and I do not know what to make of it. Having blank spots in my memories feels a bit frustrating, but I can't remember anything no matter how hard I try. I feel sick, but not in a way that I will throw up. Rather, it's both the tiredness and the way my head hurts that weighs me down.

I start getting another headache the more I try making sense of all of this and then decide to lay down when the dizziness gets worse. Besides feeling physically nauseous, I also experience relief knowing that the old man was present when I was drunk. Now, that I really think about it – in pain and sick – I realize how much of an idiot I had truly been when I went and recklessly ordered all of those drinks.

"Thanks," I finally say with a sigh. "How much do I owe you?"

Sorahiko scoffs. "Forget it. I will get money this week anyway."

I shake my head weakly and sit up a bit to look at him straight in the eye. "No. I caused you trouble and I will pay back. How much?"

"I said forget it. Rather, you should focus on getting better soon as possible. I am not going to be around if you start walking around the place as you are now. Also, think before you drink yourself into oblivion without anyone to watch over you," he finishes rather sharply and I almost wince from his tone. "I am going, now. Try to be more careful, brat."

I am expecting him to say something else, as well, but he doesn't. Gran Torino seems to have gotten everything he wanted out of his chest and turns his back to me. And even when he has disappeared behind a corner, I am expecting him to turn up again and say something else again, despite the fact that I would also like to have the time to rest now. The clock next to my bed points out that it is still daytime and I have nothing else to do today.

It is only when do I hear the familiar sound of the lock of the front door clicking and opening and then closing again that I realize the old hero is gone. The emotion I experience from that is strange like I do not believe it to be true and recall our short talk over and over again in my head. The covers around me are soft and I snuggle closer, resting my head tiredly on the pillow and almost hiding into it.

Once again, my apartment has fallen into a silence I am all too familiar with.

I am now alone, again, and I should fall asleep or at least try to, but my mind keeps on wandering off. He helped me – not in a way I would have ever expected. For a moment, I had feared that he would want to talk with me about our previous argument or start something worse, but instead, he had merely ranted and scolded me. Not that it is a better option since I felt uncomfortable during the whole time despite being in a hangover. He doesn't want anything in return – I will repay him nonetheless – he merely helped because he wanted to.

"It was your grandfather's last wish that I would watch over you if something were to happen!"

I bite down on my lower lip. No, he did it because of grandpa. That fact makes my chest tighten again from replaying the scene in the park days ago. The bitterness and anger I had felt, the satisfaction I got from showing him what I really thought are all coming back, and I am so glad that I hadn't drunk too much to forget it all. I do not want to forget a thing, especially after I managed to get under his skin. Yet, maybe it is because he has helped me today like this, that I am already starting to feel ashamed of feeling this way. I bite down on my lower lip, again, feeling my stomach twisting in discomfort. My fingers clench the edge of the blanket over me tightly. He is grandpa's friend, but… no different from any other hero.

Leisurely and with struggle, I sit up again, despite how much my spinning head is telling me to lay down. And that is when I notice a small bundle of letters laying on a small desk next to my bed. Thinking that Sorahiko must have been the one to put them there, I reach for the one on top of the pile.

I expect to see that it is another bill and look at it with clenched gut but find myself surprised when there is an unfamiliar name marked as a sender.

A confused frown cracks my face in puzzlement. Tsukauchi Naomasa?