Finally outside.
I walk aimlessly, hands shoved deep in my pockets. I scan every passerby, every dark alleyway, hoping to catch even the smallest sign of distress. But the moment my gaze meets a civilian's, they turn away abruptly. They pick up their pace as if my uniform makes them want to run.
"Too quiet," I mutter.
It's the aftermath of yesterday. No screams. No alerts. Even the pigeons look bored. The monsters must be catching their breath, or the Heroes have already scorched the area clean with their flashy displays. I eventually collapse onto a bench in the middle of the city park. It's the perfect place to brood; here, unless I'm picking up litter, I don't see how I'm supposed to save a police station.
"Excuse me, sir?"
I look up. The white-haired woman is standing right there, clutching a small white fox with blue eyes to her chest.
"You again?" I say, startled.
"Oh, by the way... I didn't catch your name yesterday."
"That's right!" she exclaims. "My name is Okiku Sarayashiki. It's a pleasure, Mr. Kenji!"
I jump slightly, my heart skipping a beat. How did she know my first name? We had only met for a few minutes under a rain of rubble.
"What? How do you know my—"
"It's on your badge, sir," she says, pointing at my chest.
I look down. The shiny piece of plastic mocks me. I was so used to blending into the background that I'd completely forgotten I wore my name in plain sight over my heart. A wave of heat rushes to the back of my neck. Being a cop also means being a target for mockery when you're this distracted.
I let out a heavy sigh of self-disappointment. Well done, Kenji. She gives me a curious look, a bit worried by my sudden change in mood.
"I have my reasons, Saraya."
"Sarayashiki!" she corrects me, puffing out her cheeks.
I don't answer. My eyes drift behind her despite myself. Yesterday, she had a massive tail, a presence that was almost supernatural. Today? Nothing. Just an ordinary girl with her pet. She notices my staring.
"Sir? What are you looking for?"
"Nothing. An optical illusion, probably."
I lie back on the bench, exhausted, throwing an arm over my eyes.
"I wanted to thank you again," she insists.
"For the injury... I feel guilty."
"It's my job, Saraya. Forget about it."
The sound of rustling paper makes me open one eye. Spread out on the wooden bench are ten ten-thousand-yen bills. One hundred thousand yen. The price of my rent and three months' worth of noodles. My hand trembles for a split second, driven by a raw instinct for financial survival. That was the price of my peace for the next six months. But if I took this cash, I'd be no better than those money-hungry heroes and their corporate sponsors. I shove the bills back toward her.
"Take it back. I'm not for sale."
Her eyes go wide, genuinely surprised.
"Wow... I didn't think you'd refuse. You're really a man of integrity, Mr. Kenji. You can't be bribed, can you?"
Her words were like a spark on a powder keg. I exploded.
"You think this is easy? Do you have any idea what it's like to live in my shoes, you spoiled brat?!" I yelled.
My voice shook with suppressed rage. Refusing that money was tearing my guts out, and there she was, handing out compliments like it was all a game.
"I'm here to help, not to collect tips. Keep your money."
I turned away abruptly, my back stiff, so she wouldn't see how badly I wanted to turn around and pick up those bills.
"You say that, but you look like you think no one wants your help," she whispered with an uncanny perceptiveness.
Her words hit me harder than a physical punch. I froze, brow furrowed and eyes shut tight, taking in the truth she had just laid bare. She had read me like a botched police report.
"It's the truth," I hollowly replied. "To them, without powers, we're just extras."
I turned back around. She shrugged, but her gaze remained locked onto mine, indifferent to my previous outburst. An idea began to burn on my lips a wild, selfish idea. This girl had a strength capable of sweeping concrete aside with a flick of her wrist. What if I helped her realize that she was the source of that miracle? What if I turned her into a real protector, far from the arrogance of Pro Heroes?
She could be an ally. Better yet, she could be living proof that the police still matter. If I could train her, maybe I could save the station.
I straightened up, my face turning serious.
"Saraya. You have something inside you. A power you don't even know about."
I pointed at her chest. My voice was low, charged with a tension I could no longer control.
"What happened yesterday... it wasn't me. It was you. You have a gift, Saraya."
CLACK.
My head snapped back from the impact. The slap was so violent my ears started ringing.
"I have NO power!" she screamed.
Her voice was broken, laced with a dark rage that felt like pure hate. I looked up at her, my cheek burning. Saraya was trembling all over. She stared at her own hands for a second too long, her gaze flickering between terror and disgust, as if her own palms horrified her. This wasn't a normal angry reaction. It was a reflex. A trauma.
"If this is a joke... it's not funny," she spat.
Her fury wavered. She took a step back, her trembling eyes fixed on me as if I had just awakened a monster. Without another word, she clutched her fox to her chest and fled through the park alleys without looking back.
I stayed there alone on my bench, my cheek throbbing.
"What just happened...? And what did I do wrong?"
Sniff.
Confusion tightened around my throat. I didn't even feel anger, just a vast emptiness. I wanted to be sincere, for once.
Back at the station, the welcome was predictable. Yamazaki nearly choked on his coffee when he saw the red mark on my face.
"HAHAHAHAHA! Kenji! So, the white-haired girl has a solid arm, huh?"
"Did you get orbitally rejected or what?" another colleague added, roaring with laughter.
I didn't answer. I sat at my desk, staring at the blank computer screen. My colleagues' laughter echoed like distant insults. My cheek was burning, but it was Okiku's terrified expression that refused to leave my mind.
"Why is everything such a struggle...?" I whispered, my voice choked.
I rubbed my face, feeling the moisture welling in my eyes. It wasn't the slap that hurt. It was realizing that even when I try to open a door, it just slams back in my face.