"They always say: As kids, we cheered for heroes. As adults, we understood villains.
For me, it was the opposite. I understood both—but I always found evil… fascinating.
A villain takes what they want. If anyone stands in their way, they erase them.
it felt… magnificent.
Or… that's what I used to think."
A room rotting in filth. Plastic bags, juice cartons, and food crumbs blanketed the floor like decay.
On the couch, bathed in the TV's flickering glow—the only light in that sealed tomb—sat a man in slightly grubby clothes.
Thirty-something. Short black hair. Eyes like dead fish—void, drifting.
He mindlessly channel-surfed, thumb jabbing the remote until—_click_—his finger froze mid-press.
A news headline snagged his attention:
_**"BREAKING: Tornado—The Nation's Most Dangerous Villain—Escapes After 15 Years! Authorities Investigate. Heroes Mobilize. Casualties Expected—"**_
He silenced the TV with a flick, empty of intent, then stared at the black screen. Not seeing his reflection. Not seeing anything.
A sudden gust from his unshuttered window whipped the curtains open, flooding the bleak room with light.
But what caught his eye wasn't the sun—nor its glare on the screen—but the _white mask_ on the table.
Meticulously placed. A grinning porcelain face. The only orderly thing in the chaos.
He stared. Seconds later, the curtains fell shut. Darkness returned.
---
Elsewhere, under a midday sun, heroes clashed with a lone figure in the city square.
Tornado.
Hurricane-force winds repelled every attack. Minutes dragged on—until the villain roared:
"I don't WANT to fight! I'm innocent!"
No one listened. _He's a villain.
His heart ached with every blocked strike. His energy waned. His mind frayed—
Pain. Pain. Pain.
Then… warmth.
A tiny voice, pure as dawn, hugged his crumbling soul:
"Daddy…"
He lost control.
---
**Switzerland, July 3rd, 1987. 1:31 PM.**
A cataclysm: A hurricane wide enough to devour a quarter of the city in second. Rain. Thunder. Screams.
And on its fringes—
The thirty-year-old man pedaled his bike _toward_ the storm, the white mask now hooked at his hip.
"A fitting end," he muttered.
The winds seized him. But the mask was already on.
Inside the maelstrom, he saw the truth:
This wasn't mere wind.
Shredded bodies spun like confetti in death's carousel. But somehow… he remained untouched.
Behind him stood Tornado. White streaks in black hair. Eyes deader than his own.
The "strongest" villain._
The world dissolved into white.
---
An endless void. Then—a sunlit meadow. An old man played with his daughter. Warmth. Green. Light.
Until—
Knock. Knock.
Police stormed in. The father—_framed_—was dragged away.
The scene shattered. Red. Blood. Darkness.
Now, two men sat in the same meadow at dusk:
"So… you saw it too?"_
"Yes."
"Then you believe me now?"
A bitter laugh. "I don't know who to trust… But you? You're no villain."
---
Back in the storm, Tornado gripped his shoulders:
_"Please."_
The masked man—_Haruki_—noticed the cameras broadcasting his face nationwide.
Tornado's scream cut through the gale:
_"If you kill me, you'll lose your _humanity_!"_
Not selfishness. Not fear. Just recognition—_he saw his younger self in Haruki._
A pause. Two paths. No right answer.
Tornado smiled softly:
_"Do it. It's better… for you."_
The mask turned black.
---
5:00 PM. The hurricane vanished.
All that remained: A masked man. A corpse. Cheering crowds.
Tornado—dead. The "hero" celebrated.
That day, the Faceless Man was born.
But in his rise… two noble flames flickered, then died.