Union City had never lacked excitement.
Especially at night.
Neon lights flowed like rivers, while giant advertising screens took turns playing highlight reels of heroes and the products they endorsed.
In the latest beverage commercial, Carnival’s figure flashed by.
The small scrolling text below identified him as “Former X.”
Miracle avoided the bustling main thoroughfares and turned onto a relatively quiet side street.
He had just finished a dinner arranged by DOS with several friendly media outlets.
There had been laughter and lively conversation at the table, but deep down, Miracle had not wanted to attend a gathering like that at all.
No one knew his true expression or thoughts behind the mask.
Of the entire gathering, all he remembered was that the dessert afterward had been too sweet—cloyingly sweet.
He needed a walk, some fresh air, to clear the smiling faces from his mind.
The dark blue of his combat suit blended into the night, with only the ring behind his back and the patterns on his body occasionally carrying a faint blue glow.
At the end of the side street lay an old neighborhood, separated from the gleaming city center by only a few blocks, like a forgotten corner.
The buildings were low, the signs worn, and the streetlights dim, but the place was full of life.
The night market carried the scent of cooking oil and smoke. The convenience store shone with harsh white light, while several office workers returning late ate late-night snacks at roadside stalls.
Miracle slowed his pace. Places like this reminded him of the former District 70, of Mrs. Carter’s pancake stall and Jake’s convenience store.
Just as he passed an alley entrance piled with clutter, he heard a burst of stifled sobbing from inside.
A child.
Miracle sensed intense fear.
His steps halted as he turned his head toward the depths of the dim alley.
The alley was narrow, and its far end seemed to be a dead end.
The sobbing was coming from there, mixed with a few low chuckles and sounds of shoving.
"...Hand over the money! You hear me?!"
"I... I don’t have any..."
"Cut the crap! What about the orphan relief payment the Union Community handed out today?"
"I really don’t have it..." The boy pulled out his pockets.
They were completely empty.
Smack! A crisp slap rang out.
Beneath his mask, Miracle frowned.
People who preyed on the weak existed everywhere.
He could have ignored it. DOS’s public relations handbook stated that heroes should prioritize civilian requests involving paranormal phenomena, while ordinary public security incidents were advised to be referred to local police departments.
But he had already walked in.
The several half-grown kids in the alley clearly had not expected someone to enter, and they jumped in fright.
"Fuck! Run!"
"It’s a hero!"
Once they saw that the newcomer was Miracle, they scattered in all directions like startled birds.
The one they had cornered against the wall was an even smaller, thinner boy. A clear handprint marked his face, his clothes had been tugged askew, and he stared at Miracle in shock.
Miracle did not look at the little punks.
He snapped his fingers lightly.
[Sleep.]
In an instant, the several punks rolled their eyes back, as though something had invaded them, and collapsed straight to the ground.
His gaze landed on the beaten boy’s face, then swept over the straps of the battered schoolbag the boy was clutching tightly.
"Are you all right?" he asked the boy, his voice passing through the mask, calm and even.
The alley fell quiet. All that remained was the boy’s suppressed breathing in the corner and the faint clamor of the night market outside.
Lance Blue looked at the boy.
"Can you still walk?"
The boy nodded blankly, apparently not yet recovered from the dramatic turn of events.
"Then let’s go. It’s brighter at the alley entrance." Lance Blue turned and walked out.
The boy hurriedly grabbed his schoolbag and jogged after him, following him all the way to the main road lit by streetlights. Under the warm yellow light, the handprint on the boy’s face was even more obvious.
"Th-thank you," the boy said softly. He stole glances at Lance Blue’s attire, so out of place amid the surroundings. His eyes held gratitude, curiosity, and a trace of fear.
"It’s nothing." Miracle paused. "They said you’re an orphan?"
The boy’s eyes reddened again, and he nodded. "My parents are both dead... Hero Soul Electric saved me!"
Soul Electric?
Lance Blue thought back.
That was the legendary hero who had fallen out of favor.
The champion of the 1st Hero Ranking Tournament, and also the champion of the 5th.
...
As he said this, a little more light appeared in the boy’s eyes. "Soul Electric is the hero I admire most!"
"You’re Hero Miracle, right?!" The boy followed behind Miracle.
"Mm." The response was very soft.
"Miracle is amazing too. With one snap, all those guys fell down!"
Miracle smiled helplessly.
From an inconspicuous pocket in his combat suit, he took out several folded bills.
It was the only cash he had on him. DOS deposited his stipend directly into his account, and he rarely used cash.
He stuffed the money into the boy’s hand. "Take it and use it for now."
The boy looked at the money in his hand, then at Miracle. "No! I can’t take it."
"You don’t need to pay it back," Miracle said. "Go on."
The boy looked at Miracle, tears welling up in his eyes as he held the money and thought for a long while.
He gave a deep bow, clenched the money tightly, and turned to run off. After taking several steps, he looked back once more before disappearing around the street corner.
Miracle remained where he was, watching the direction in which the boy had vanished.
The night wind blew past, bringing the aroma of grilled skewers and faint laughter from afar.
That insignificant intervention had cost him almost nothing, like casually brushing aside a fallen leaf.
But the tears and gratitude on the boy’s face were real.
Lance Blue believed this was what Miracle ought to be.
Small, real, falling upon those who needed it.
He turned, preparing to leave the old neighborhood.
Just as he passed a small cart selling oden and hot soup, a voice sounded beside him. It was smiling, not loud, yet it clearly cut through the nighttime noise:
"You’re pretty skilled at that, little Miracle."
"But using [Miracle Playground] on a few little punks—isn’t that a bit like using a sledgehammer to crack a nut?"
Every muscle in Miracle’s body instantly tensed, and the ring behind his back flared brightly for a moment.
He slowly turned his head.
Under the dim yellow bulb of the oden stall stood two people.
A man and a woman.
The man looked to be around thirty. He wore a simple white denim outfit and had a tall, solid build, rugged features, and an unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. With his arms folded, he watched Miracle with a half-smile.
Most eye-catching of all were the dark red patterns coiling around his bare forearms, slowly flowing as though alive. They resembled cooled lava, or charcoal on the verge of igniting.
The woman standing beside him was about the same age. She had neat, short black hair and wore a fitted black leather jacket and pants, her posture straight and tall.
She held a cup of oden and was sipping the broth in small mouthfuls. Her eyes, likewise fixed on Miracle, carried unmistakable curiosity and appraisal.
At the side of her neck, a bright orange-yellow gleam could faintly be seen, like sunlight sealed beneath her skin.
They were not wearing the distinctive combat suits of heroes, yet Lance Blue recognized them almost instantly.
Ever since Carnival had fallen from his pedestal, the two-person hero team that had continuously occupied first place in the Hero Association rankings—and was expected to become the next X.
Kindling and Flame.
The man, Kindling, removed the unlit cigarette from his mouth. He grinned at Lance Blue, revealing white teeth.
"How come a great hero ranked fourth is wandering around the grassroots alone this late at night? Does that old man Miki know?"
Comments (0)
Please log in to leave a comment. Login or Register