[Third Person's PoV]
Seiko arrived back at the inn much later than she had originally planned. The moon was high above the horizon, casting a cool silver glow over the quiet building nestled in the hills. She moved silently through the room, careful not to disturb the silence as she traversed through the living space in case Clark was asleep.
She paused, noticing the terrace door slightly ajar. There, just beyond the glass, stood Clark—leaning over the railing, arms resting heavily on the wood, eyes lost in the distance. A soft breeze ruffled his hair, and the pale moonlight reflected off his thoughtful expression. It was a look Seiko wasn't used to seeing on him. Usually, he wore annoyance like armor, sarcasm like a weapon. But now... now he looked oddly human.
Raising an eyebrow in mild surprise, she made her way to the mini-fridge, grabbed two cold drinks, and quietly stepped outside. She didn't announce herself—Clark seemed far too deep in thought to notice her anyway. With a mischievous glint in her eye, she gently pressed the chilled can against his cheek.
Clark jolted in surprise, instinctively turning to a defensive posture. But when he saw her, his body relaxed, and he let out a breath of relief.
"Woah," Seiko said with a hint of amusement. "If you didn't even hear me coming, you must've been seriously deep in that noggin of yours."
Clark looked flustered, rubbing the back of his neck as he accepted the drink. "Yeah… a bit. Thanks," he muttered.
"Wanna talk about it?" she asked, leaning her elbows on the railing beside him.
"Not really," Clark replied, taking a sip from the can and averting his gaze.
"Alright," Seiko said casually, not pushing him. "Then how about telling me what happened with the Yokai? How'd that go?"
Clark sighed dramatically, though his lips twitched upward. "I kicked its ass, obviously."
With that, he launched into a casual recounting of his encounter—though, as the story unfolded, it wasn't long before Miku slipped into the narrative. Seiko listened patiently, occasionally nodding, her gaze never leaving his.
"I see," she said once he was finished, a subtle smile tugging at her lips. "So it's the superhero thing that's got you like this."
Clark clicked his tongue in irritation. "Tch. Don't say that word."
Seiko chuckled. "Why not? Isn't it every little boy's dream to be a superhero? You know—cape, secret identity, fighting evil in the name of justice?"
Clark visibly grimaced at the thought.
"That's a no, I take it?" she teased.
He sighed, glancing out at the stars. "No... I actually loved that stuff. Still do, kind of. Stories where someone throws themselves into danger to protect people they don't even know. Where the good guys win, and the world's just a little less broken because of them. I admire that."
"But you don't admire yourself," Seiko concluded softly. "It's not the idea of heroes you hate—it's the idea of you being seen as one."
Clark didn't respond. His silence was answer enough.
"Can I ask why?" she continued, her voice barely above a whisper.
He took a long sip of his drink before replying. "Because I know me. And I'm not... good. Not in the way that matters. Take a simple scenario—say a kid falls down in front of me, scrapes their knee. What do you think I'd do?"
Seiko smirked. "Laugh."
Clark let out a laugh. "Exactly! That shit's hilarious. I'd just stand there, point, maybe even take a picture while the kid cries."
His smile faded. "That's not what a real hero does."
Seiko tilted her head, watching him carefully. "Alright then. What if someone's trapped in a burning building? No way out, and the flames are seconds from taking them. Would you still stand there and laugh?"
Clark frowned. "That's not fair—"
"And your example was?" Seiko raised an eyebrow. "Your scenario involved no danger, no stakes. Just a scraped knee. Yet you already decided that made you unworthy. If mine's unfair, so is yours."
Clark opened his mouth, then closed it. He let out a slow breath and leaned against the railing.
"Fine, I see your point. But still… it doesn't change anything. I don't want to be someone people look to like I'm supposed to have all the answers. Like I'm some perfect, unshakable figure. Because I'm not. I'm selfish. If it came down to saving the world or saving the people I care about, the world would have to burn. Every time."
He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "I'm not exactly smart or a genius. I'm reckless. Impulsive. I make decisions in the moment and half the time I don't even think them through. I wouldn't hesitate to kill someone if they deserved it. I don't trust myself to make the right call when it matters most."
Seiko said nothing, sensing there was more.
"And then there's the pressure," Clark added, quieter now. "Everyone expects you to be better. Stronger. Wiser. They start projecting this image onto you—like you're some kind of savior. And you're not. You're just trying to keep it together. I already struggle being myself. Trying to live up to someone else's version of me? That's not just hard—that's suffocating."
His hands clenched around the can, knuckles white. "The idea of being someone's hero—someone's role model? That terrifies me. Because I know I'll fail. And the worst part is… I don't want to be that person. I don't want to pretend to be something I'm not. Smile when I don't mean it. Offer hope I don't have. Lie to everyone, lie to myself, until I crack under the weight of it all."
There was a long silence after that. Just the sound of cicadas humming in the distance and the soft wind brushing against their clothes.
Seiko set her drink down on the wooden railing and reached over to gently tug Clark's head toward her, pulling him into a firm, no-nonsense embrace. His face squished awkwardly against her side, lips slightly parted from the pressure.
"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice muffled and indignant through compressed cheeks.
"Shutting you up and giving you the hug you clearly need," Seiko replied flatly, running a hand through his thick jet-black hair with surprising tenderness. "You've got way too many thoughts swirling around in that head of yours, kid."
Clark grunted but didn't pull away.
"Listen," Seiko began, her voice softer now but still holding that blunt edge of hers, "so what if you're selfish? Big deal. If the day ever comes where you have to choose between saving the world or saving someone you love, and you choose the world, I swear I will hit you so damn hard with dear ol' Nessie you'll be spitting teeth for a week."
Clark gave a huff that might've been a laugh.
"There is nothing wrong with putting yourself and the people you love first. You've got every right to prioritize your own safety and happiness. Don't let anyone—anyone—guilt you into thinking otherwise."
She let her hand rest on the back of his head, her fingers gently threading through his hair.
"As for killing," she continued, her tone turning more serious, "I think you're still a bit young to be thinking that far down the line. But if it ever comes to that, if you're really left with no other option, I want you to stop and ask yourself: Is there anything else I can do? And if the honest answer is no—if there's truly nothing else—then… do what you have to. Just make sure it's your decision, not one made in anger or panic."
Clark didn't say anything, but his breathing slowed, and Seiko took it as a sign he was listening.
"And you talk about not being smart, not being the guy who makes the right choice in the moment. Well, who says you've got to decide alone? You've got me, don't you? You'll meet others too—people you trust, people who've got your back. You don't have to carry everything on your own shoulders. Nobody should."
Seiko glanced down and saw that Clark's gaze had dropped, his expression softening as a quiet, almost shy smile tugged at the corner of his lips. It wasn't much, but it was real.
Her heart ached at the sight.
She smiled too and gently pulled him closer into the warmth of her side. "And Clark," she said, "no one is forcing you to be a hero. If this life, this path, is causing you more pain than it's worth—if it's damaging you—then don't walk it. You have the great gift of free will. You have a choice—"
"But that's the thing… I don't think I do."
Seiko froze. Clark's voice cracked—not from frustration or sarcasm, but from a vulnerability she had never heard in him before. It was raw, quiet, and so heavy it felt like it could shatter.
He leaned into her fully, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her torso. The motion wasn't dramatic. It was desperate.
"The voice…" Clark whispered, "They're growing louder by the year, the constant cries for help before they are dead, it's not just from the adults but children as well. I try to ignore it as much as I can but sometimes it just becomes too much, I'm selfish, yes, but I'm not heartless, they affect me as well. It is why I sometimes pretend not to care since maybe, maybe it might just become real and I won't have to be bothered by people constantly dying.
And then there was that little pink-haired girl. She called me her hero. Said it like it meant the world. I hated hearing it. I hated how it made me feel like I had to live up to something I'm not. But then I saw her back with her family, and… I felt glad. I was happy for her. And that scared me. Because it meant I cared.
All of these things, it's all making it seem like I really don't have a choice and I really won't if I have to keep hearing everything for the rest of my life, I can only take so much. So please don't tell me I have a choice because at this point it might just be the one power I don't have"
Seiko didn't speak immediately. She felt like her throat had closed up.
Slowly, she lowered herself down to one knee, bringing herself level with him, and wrapped him in a full embrace—gentle but fiercely protective. Her eyes glistened, and for once, she didn't try to be strong.
She just held him.
"You're right," she whispered finally, her voice thick with emotion. "Sometimes, the hardest choices are made for us… against our will. I'm so sorry, Clark."
A single tear rolled down her cheek, falling into the darkness of his hair as she held him tighter.
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