Not half a day has passed and Henry is already wanted all over the city.

Credits where they are due. Those heroes, as in people with real superpowers, something which he thought only exists in comics, along with the police are surely one persistent bunch. The manhunt is already nearing the midnight, yet his pursuers show no sign of slowing down. According from what Henry overheard while he avoided a pair of officers going through an alley, apparently in the public eyes he is already considered a threat which is equal to that of a S-Rank... villain.

Seriously. Heroes and villains? What has the world turned into during those 100-ish years that Henry was "away"? Oh, right. He did pick up a newspaper and look at the date, which is the 22nd century. That machine in the room was indeed a time portal, and he got sent forward 100-ish years.

A man out of time that he is, quite literally.

Nevertheless, no use moaning at what already happened. What is done, already done. Then again, lady Fortuna has a knack in making his life spicy, so no real surprise there. That being said, there is something about these superpowers—which the people in this era call Quirks—that he cannot really put his finger on.

Ducking a hero whose pair of arms are bird wings, who flies just past him, Henry's eye stays guarded on the hero and waits until he is out of sight. Judging the coasts are clear, the man emerges from the shadow of the building and resumes his way towards one of his several commissioned safehouses in Musutafu, all the while hoping they are still there. Lots of thing can happen after 100 years.

Though reaching midnight, the nightlife is still going on strongly in this newly-established city—at least from his outdated point of view—with the streets in the downtown are bustling with hubbubs of the city. Yet, the same thing cannot be said with the place he is currently in. Only some eateries and shops remain open, its streets empty as it is not enjoying the best of reputation and development like other areas within the city.

Putting it bluntly, underdeveloped with a somewhat controlled crime rate, Mimono is neither the best nor the worst choice to settle in. However, with virtually no presence of hero nor hero agency, since small time criminals are mostly left to the police and they could only do so much while heroes prefer to catching ranked villains, this has become a breeding ground for small-scaled gangs, mobs, along underground criminal rings.

Wait, how does Henry know all this when he just woke up in the future? Let us just say he might or might not threaten to break every bone in some thugs' bodies when they tried to mug him. Keyword is tried. It goes without saying he made quick work of them and acquired lots of useful information, much to their confusion—and terror when one mocked him about living under a rock. Furthermore, he got himself some hard cash, alongside a coat, a baseball cap and a mouth mask to make him less conspicuous, being a wanted man with his face pasted all over the Internet and all.

"Still, was it because I accidently killed those motherfuckers?" Henry muses as he rubs his chin with a thoughtful frown while taking a turn at a corner. "Not possible. I made sure to be careful and held back my strength. Crippled them, certainly, but not to the point they were dead."

Henry shakes his head out of the thought. No amount of musing will change the fact he is fugitive in hiding. Not the first time he is on the run, but the events leading to his current situation surely leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Being wanted for saving people? That is definitely his first.

Not that Henry regrets it. If he can reverse time, he would do it again. Because he wants to do it and because he can. Some say it is better to not involve in other's business. But they do they, he does he. Goody two shoes might not be the best kind of person to be, which he agrees. Yet, between that and ignoring a person's plight, he would rather be one of them.

His mama raised him to be a decent man. And he is sure as hell not going to spit on those precious memories by walking away when he could clearly help somebody.

Either way, Henry still has a place to find. Which he should be there soon, given his memories have not failed him yet and nothing changed over the past 100 years.

Moments later, the man finds himself standing before a garage. Its rolling door surface is vandalized with graffiti, though that science-fiction soldier wearing gas mask in WW1-like theme does look quite cool. Kudos to whoever took their time to create this. Glancing at his either side, no sign of anybody, Henry shuts his eye and centers his senses on his ears. No sign of people within the building. Good to proceed inside, as far as he is concerned. The door does not seem to be locked either.

Henry opens his eye and rolls the door open, creating enough to space for him to get inside, before he quickly closes it. The interior is dark and only illuminated by the moonlight which shines through the sole narrow awning window and highlights the bitty bits of dust floating in the air. His eye lands on the light switch near the door, as he promptly turns it on.

The pendant light hanging from the ceiling illuminates the garage, and surprises him. The garage is not large yet not small either, more than enough to store a family-sized sedan. Contrary to his earlier anticipation, it is unexpectedly bright and clean, cheerfully furnished, making this appears more like a typical teenager room of sort.

Looks like somebody converted his safehouse to a bedroom.

At one corner, the workbench is packed with books and stuffed animals. Although for some reason all of them has at least one stich on their bodies. At the same time, the wall at the said workbench is covered with photos of... random people with cuts and visible blood on them. A bed is placed next to the wall on the other side of the garage with a pink luggage laying besides its headboard; the size is definitely not for him.

Nonetheless, his attention is drawn to the set of desk and computer next to the bed. Henry is thankful whoever is living here did not throw it out or sell it.

Approaching the computer, Henry takes off the coat and hangs it on the chair while doing the same to the baseball cap and face mask and putting them on the desk. He takes his seat, and turns on the machine, melodically drumming his fingers on the desk while waiting. Shortly the desktop comes to life and displays the usual things one would see when using the operating system. Although he does not recognize it at first, until the familiar words "Microsoft Windows" materialize; some things do not change, he supposes.

The update of the operating system should not affect what this PC was originally built for. He places his now-clean palm against the screen. Within a moment, the screen scans his palm and fingers, then switches its display to one which he is familiar with.

[Welcome back, Mr. Wright.]

And from this point onward, Henry sets out to the only thing anyone with common sense would do when they find himself stuck in the future: gathering information. And boy does the future have lots of surprise, and heaps of headaches for him.

Right. Long story short, the first Quirk, previously dubbed Meta Abilities—aka superhuman ability—was recorded manifesting by an infant in Qing Qing City, China. From then on, many would begin to manifest different kinds of superpowers. Fast forward, right now 80% of the world's population has Quirks. Society has evolved, things happened, and at the moment the term "Heroes" is literally used as a career. Being a hero is a job. An actual career.

Then there came the laws in order to regulate the Quirks. Which troubles Henry in a certain extent, although it is still to soon to judge anything. He can understand the notion of banning public uses of Quirks. However, to think... people would be forced to watch a crime undergoing and wait for some heroes to arrive and cannot do anything about it, cannot get involved since that counts as vigilantism, which is against the law, is beyond ridiculous.

Sure, when a hero and a villain fight, they should stay back and let the pros work. But... what if there are situations where people are going to die, and you can save them—granting that you realize what you are getting yourself into and prepared to meet the consequences, even if it means saving people will cost your very life?

This is basically telling Henry sit back and let others around him die when he can prevent it. And of course, he gets the idea that if someone is going to do it, others might join, and that their lives might be in danger. But simultaneously, this law stops people from making a choice to help someone when they can. Yet... yet...

"Fuck. This is infuriating," Henry mutters under his breath and takes a deep sigh; a hand placed on his forehead. "I know this stops folks from throwing their lives when trained and professional heroes can handle most situations. But they can't be everywhere at the same time. This... takes away people's freedom of choices, their desires to help someone. Yet it keeps them safe."

Henry heaves another sigh and leans his back to the chair.

"I can understand the logic behind it," Henry continues quietly, "but is it really the way?"

Freedom or security. Once again, this bloody dilemma is presented before Henry, and recalls many, many, and many unpleasant memories regarding it.

Still, kind of ironic that 80% people have quirk, yet they are banned from using it.

If people are the birds and their quirks are their birds' wings, it does not take a genius to see where this will be heading towards, considering some take their freedom of choices very seriously.

"Then again—" Henry snorts "—it's not like this is going to stop me from doing the right thing. Can't believe I'm going to say this, but the laws be damned. I can't save everyone, obviously, but it doesn't mean I'm going to allow people die in my watch. Never again."

Henry whispers the last part, as he curls his fingers into fist, clenching his hand to the point his flesh turns white. He inhales and exhales, soothing the rising anger which resurfaces from an old memory. That being said, time to meet whoever turned his safehouse into their cozy home.

"I know you're behind the door, lass," Henry calls coolly as he rotates the chair to face the door that leads to the back of the building, with his nose picking up the undeniable feminine scent and... some blood in it. "I mean you no harm, I promise. Just want to meet the person who refurnished my place, that's all. What say you?"

Henry looks at the door intently and relaxes his posture. Shortly, the knob turns and the door opens slowly, slightly creaking. Henry's amber meets a pair of bright yellow which belong to who seems to be a teenage girl dressing in a typical Japanese school uniform. And—why is she blushing?

Also, what is with the heavy breaths... and that thirsty expression?

No, not that water-thirsty kind. The other one; the kind that guarantees some bed action.

"I've finally found my true love~!" the newcomer suddenly exclaims.

Henry blinks. "Uh... Excuse me, what—"

Before Henry can say anything else, the girl basically zips and sets herself straddling on his lap. Both her arms wrap around his neck as she leans her face forward, dangerously close to his, with her cat-like beam slowly grows wide. From the corner of his eye, he perceives how short her skirt is—Japan really has a thing for short skirt, huh?—and that it almost displays whatever she is wearing under it.

The girl measures him from top to bottom. Her eyes mainly focus on his wound, before they finally settle on the stump on his left arm and his left eye. Her blush deepens.

"I knew it. You're who I've been looking for all this time!" she says, giggling delightedly. "Wh-When I smelled your blood, I already knew you're gonna be someone special. And I was right!"

"Uh..."

"These cuts right here, just perfectly deep! These gunshots! Oh, oh! Your arm and your eye!" Then all of a sudden, the girl pulls out a knife and hangs it over his head. "You're already cool, but you'll look cooler if you bleed more, my love~!"

...Why are most women he has met in his life always the crazy ones?

That said, despite the utterly maniacal declaration—not to mention she is not really right in her head—oddly enough Henry can clearly see the frank affection in her bright eyes without any malevolence. It is genuine for sure, but she really has some twisted sense of showing it. Perhaps an issue related to her Quirk? Blood must play some sort of role here, that is certain.

It certainly explains those photos on the wall. Not to mention, the way she always seems to have this smile on her face that looks off. It is genuine, yes, but how she is expressing it screams the aftermath of having one's emotions repressed before. Uncontained and uncontrolled.

Several flags are already raised in his head.

Staring at the manically-beaming girl, Henry sighs, deadpanned, and proceeds to flick her forehead. The girl let out an admittedly adorable yelp, as she slightly reels backward and rubs the spot where she was flicked.

"My love's being mean to me~," the girl whines with a pout.

"Sorry, but I have no desire to go to prison any time soon," Henry says dryly. "Frankly, you should find someone else around your age. I'm actually a lot older than I appear."

"It doesn't matter~." She places her palms on her cheeks and sways her body on his lap. "No one's as cool as you. Plus, you don't have to worry about it. I'm 15, and that's perfectly legal here~!"

Right. Japan and their questionable consent age. 16 is borderline criminal, and this 15 year-old wants him? God have mercy on his soul.

"Hard pass," Henry denies flatly, which does not faze her. "Either way, you'll be disappointed, since I'm going to fix my body soon. Are you going to be okay with that?"

The girl looks disappointed for a moment but soon returns to her usual and twisted cheerfulness. "It doesn't matter! I can always cut you again once you're done healing~!"

"...Do what you please. I'm too bloody mentally tired for this."

Ignoring the triumphant beam on the girl's face and letting the girl embrace him, Henry rotates both him and the girl on his lap back to the desk, careful not to let the desk hit her. He opens the drawer, removing the false bottom and grabs a syringe with the same crimson color back in that room. The girl's gaze follows his hand curiously, although says nothing and seemingly contented as she watches he injects the serum with a low grunt.

Henry breathes out and puts the syringe away. "Since you like cutting, mind helping me?"

Her eyes brighten like a cat immediately. "Yes! What do you need?"

"Can you please cut open the stump," Henry requests, "and pluck out my damaged eyeball?"

"Anything for you," she complies easily, before looking sheepishly suddenly. "And, uhm, would you mind if I taste your blood once I'm done? Pretty please~? I promise I'll be a good girl~!"

"...Sure."

"Yay!" The girl suddenly rubs her nose against his. "You're the best!"

Thus, she gets to work with glee. Henry meanwhile gapes and processes what happened. The gears in his brain turn, working tirelessly. Before long, he blinks and sighs.

"Well, that was unexpected."

As soon as the girl makes a surprisingly clean cut on Henry's stump, with the blood starts to gradually form on the wound, she swaps her whole attention to his damaged left eye and once again shows off her skill with the knife, the level can be easily compared to a season surgeon's—which Henry has no idea if he should be impressed or concerned—and begins to extract the busted eyeball.

"You're quite good with the knife," Henry comments neutrally. "Where did you learn to do this?"

"Such a silly question. I cut up people, what else~?"

He pauses, looks into her frank eyes. Alarms raised in his head. "...Have you killed anyone?"

"Maybe one or two~," the girl admits gleefully. "Oh, their faces when they squirmed~. Their struggles and their terrors~. They looked so beautiful back then. A shame they didn't last so long~."

Henry is rendered speechless.

The girl promptly licks and slurps the eyeball in her hand blissfully, seemingly savouring the taste of his blood before she tongues the bloody edge of her knife once she is done with the eyeball. Not so long after, she breathes out a contented sigh, on cloud nine.

At least she does not eat it.

"Hah~. I wish I could drink this everyday~," she says longingly.

As the girl is now in her own little world, bones, muscles and flesh begin reconstructing from his left arm's stump. Bones emerge first, then comes the veins and muscle, before finally flesh and skin. His left arm is whole once more. He clenches and unclenches his left hand, feels the blood flowing across his arm. The wounds across his body gradually heal themselves. Yet regarding his left eye, its socket only stops bleeding, with no new eyeball to fill the hollow.

Henry rubs his left wrists, getting the feel for his hand again, as he turns his attention to the computer screen, more precisely one of the articles that is being displayed on it.

One is titled, "Bloody tragedy at middle school," and comes with a photo of a girl who seems oddly similar to this girl—no, murderer on his lap. The differences are that her long blonde hair is not tied into buns in the photo, and that her smile looks a lot tamer, albeit it seems fake.

Three months have passed since the middle schooler who cut her classmate and injured him badly. The culprit is still on the run. The investigation in the case continues.

Henry glances at the photo, then at the girl straddling him, back and forth for a moment.

"Say," Henry says, gaining her attention, "is that you there?"

The girl blinks and tilts her head to where he is looking. "Yup! That's me!"

"...I see."

Right now, Henry can put an end to all this. Hand to the neck and snap. It will be quick and painless. Just like that. Nothing more, nothing less. This will not be the first time he kills a child, nor it will be the last. Just another body to add in the long list of whom he has killed before. It will be easy to just put her out of misery and prevent more deaths, knowing that she is not going to stop from the looks of it.

But is it really worth it, to just end her here? His rational mind, his logical side is telling him it would be the right course of action. At the same time, though, when Henry looked into her eyes, aside the genuine affection, there is something else too in there.

A desire to be accepted for who she is. And she is looking for it from him.

How does Henry know that?

Because he sees his younger self in those eyes.

She's a demon child.

"...Why did you do it?"

"Hmm~?" the girl tilts her head, confused.

Henry sighs. "Why did you hurt your classmate, and kill those people?"

"Because I had feelings for him~," she replies fondly. "When I saw all the bruises, and the blood on him, my heart couldn't stop racing. He looked so cool, so I desired more~. I wanted to see that side of him more, so I cut him~! And his blood, it tasted so delicious~. I wanted more, more, and more. But they... stopped me. Because to them it wasn't normal."

Her expression turns icy as she speaks the last part, before it returns to her usual cheerfulness.

"Besides, blood makes people look so beautiful, like you, my love~. What is wrong with wanting to see people in their best~? Aren't we all want to look the best~? So I helped them~."

"...I see." Which Henry places a hand on her head. "You really like blood, don't you?"

"He he he. I do~." Then, the smile on her face disappears, and is replaced by a cold stare. "Are you one of them as well, my love? Do you think I'm also not normal?"

"Except the part cutting and killing people, or pretty much generally hurting people, your fascination in blood is pretty normal," Henry admits. "After all, blood plays a significant role in our life, and has always been in an important part throughout the history of humanity. There is nothing wrong if you are interested in it. But surely there must be a better way to express this, yes?"

The girl's eyes go wide for a moment, staring at him with her mouth agape. She drops her knife and his damaged eyeball, before she suddenly wraps her arms around his waists and buries her face into his chest. Moments later, he hears a soft sob—which he promptly returns the embrace, and rubs her head soothingly.

It's not too late. I can't give up on her yet, Henry affirms to himself. "They told you it's not normal, and that you're a freak just because you like blood, didn't they, lass?"

The girl only nods weakly.

"I understand. It's going to be all right now," Henry whispers soothingly. "You're not a freak to me. In my eyes, or eye in this case, you're a completely normal young lady who's being deeply misunderstood. You said you like my blood, right? You can have it everyday, but in moderation, okay? Wouldn't want to die from blood loss and all."

The girl sniffs and pulls her head back, looking up to him with the now-red eyes. "R-Really...?"

"Under some conditions, of course," he continues. "No more cutting, stabbing, and killing. Generally don't hurt and kill others unless it's absolutely necessary. And no, hurting others just because blood makes them look beautiful is not justified. Can you do that?"

The girl looks conflicted, darting her eyes around, flinching slightly as she meets Henry's stern gaze. A moment later, she gives him a weak nod.

"I-I'll try. For you, my love."

"Try what?"

She gulps. "I... will try not to hurt and kill others."

"Good lass. That's all I need to hear."

Henry pulls the girl into another embrace. At the same time, he feels a bit guilty taking advantage of her current vulnerable state of mind. Though, to truly stop her from going down this destructive path any further, it needs to be done. Of course, she has to answer for what she did. But if the authorities got their hands on her, they will surely throw her into the cesspool called Tartarus, which is basically a supermax prison for the most dangerous villains and criminals alike.

They take the issue using Quirk without license very seriously here. If one is considered a criminal for using Quirk without license, then what would this girl be when she has killed already two people, possibly with her Quirk too?

The statement from her mother makes it sound like her parents already gave up on her. But he will not. Not when his mama did not give up on him when he was branded as a lost cause.

A lot of works needs to be done, mainly addressing the main issues. Which Henry has a vague idea it has something to do with her Quirk, and that this... society as a whole already wants nothing to do with her, based on how the article paints her as a monster and people seem to agree with it.

Nobody seems to ask what made her this way in the first place.

And it terrifies him.

She committed crimes, true. She has to face the consequences, true. But people just do not stab and suck somebody's blood without any proper reason. People just seem to ignore the core of the problem and start pointing fingers so callously.

Either way—

"Right. I should probably take a shower." Henry takes a sniff at his arm. "I smell like a rabid dog."

"Eh~? But why?" She immediately stops crying and whines as she looks at him again, pouting.

"Personal hygiene is important, young lady."

"...Fine." Her pout intensifies as she averts her gaze from his.

"Either way," he continues with a grin, "I'm Henry. What's yours?"

"Toga! Toga Himiko!" Toga introduces joyfully; her smile seems a lot brighter than the ones which she usually showed earlier. "But you can call me Himiko, my love~."

Henry releases a defeated sigh. "Of course, we're going to fix that infatuation of yours first."

In response, Toga, or as she would prefer, Himiko, simply tilts her head, blinking. She is really dead set on this true love thingy, is she not?

That said, Henry is not looking forward to what the future has to offer; not at all.