January, 1994
Fuyuki.
It was the rays of sunlight passing through the gray curtains of the camper that were responsible for waking a green-haired boy; he tossed from side to side, with drops of sweat soaking through his white T-shirt.
He woke with a start, like someone who dreams they are falling from a skyscraper.
«The same nightmare»
He hadn't told anyone about it, of course.
«I'm a hero, I can't be worrying others.» He repeated it over and over, engraving that previous doubt into his thick child's brain, because after all, being afraid is an inadmissible fact for any ten-year-old child. Right?
He continued with his routine, because perhaps that way his mind would clear itself of the guilt, of the fear, even, though incoherent, of the guilt for not having saved them.
«If only we had arrived a few days earlier, we could have saved them all, put that villain behind bars and leave him without the chance to destroy another family, to commit another murder.»
While he brushed his teeth, he observed his reflection and reflected.
«They were my age, they were so young. They could have been enjoying the summer, eating ice cream, playing superheroes and villains, they would argue over who would win, of course, but in the end they would all meet again to have fun the next day for the rematch, and the next.»
His hair was messy, like a green bush spreading without control, eyes of the same color and diamond freckles on his innocent face, now tinged with worry.
It was evident to anyone who knew him, because even if he were terrible at lying, his overflowing empathy showed itself on his expressive face.
—Hey, Izuku—. A hesitant voice echoed from the bathroom door. There, a girl of his same age leaned against the doorframe. —Are you okay?— she asked, hesitantly.
Izuku took a moment to look at her; she seemed so different from just two days earlier.
Her hair was red, comparable to a blazing flame, reaching down to her neck; her bangs were swept to one side, adorned with a blue hair clip.
Her eyes were green, almost as green as those of the small boy who watched her closely.
He sighed; before, he would have blushed, but now, just by noticing her appearance, he realized that these days, and probably many more, would be tormented by his conscience—conscience of having the power and yet not having managed to change anything.
—A-and I… I'm fine, Gwen.— He turned toward the mirror and carefully observed his dark circles.
He thought about keeping quiet, but out of compassion for Gwen's state, he thought that for once it would be better to put aside so much positivism.
«Maybe if we talk about it, it would be best for both of us.»
—N-not so fine, actually.—
Gwen looked at him closely; until a few moments ago she had been staring at the floor, examining every tiny detail.
—I-I'm worried, we've already experienced what magic can do. We've defeated Hex and Charmcaster, but even they never crossed these limits—
The girl sighed and looked at her hands, magical, with the capacity to save lives but also to destroy them.
She was aware; after all, there were villains who used it for evil.
—Yes, I agree. Hex and Charmcaster were villains, but they never reached these limits; these pentagrams, symbols, or whatever they are, make me uneasy—
Izuku took his time to think, took some water and rinsed his mouth; lastly, he splashed his face.
He made a gesture to Gwen to indicate it was her turn and, this time, it was the green-haired boy who stood by the door.
—So far they've been the same symbols but with different culmination—. The green-haired boy told himself as he averted his gaze; he didn't want to blush when they were thinking about such a horrific crime.
—The only conclusion we can draw from this is that he's trying to recreate something that wasn't within his knowledge; he's new to sorcery.—
Gwen hummed a little.
—I think the same. Someone around our age who has been instructed in sorcery could replicate that "invocation" ritual. Charmcaster, having been trained by Hex, showed similar feats, like that time we switched bodies, remember?— the girl asked, making it impossible to avoid blushing.
—Y-yes—
—Well, the pentagram she used for the body swap was more or less as complex as the one used in these cases, except that Charmcaster could draw them without errors—.
«So it's a novice, probably someone young and impulsive; no one would risk doing something like this if they weren't sure they could pull it off the first time.»
The camper door opened.
—Kids, breakfast is ready—
The voice was deep, that of an adult who had gone nights without sleep.
He forced his voice, exhausted.
Both children moved with concern to the front of the vehicle.
It was simple, but it was enough to get through most of the summer; to the right was the entrance door, with two small armchairs and a table, on which rested three plates of scrambled eggs, bacon, accompanied by three glasses of orange juice.
On the left side (or in front of the entrance) there was a refrigerator and a stove.
—Grandpa, were you patrolling again?— Izuku asked, aware of the effort involved in maintaining his "muscular form."
—Heh, relax, Izuku—. The man reassured him, resting his skeletal hand on his hair and ruffling it. —I'm aware of my limitations; this time I was only out for 30 minutes, but I couldn't find anything suspicious—.
—S-so there's nothing yet; maybe I should take a look just in case—.
With that idea in mind, the boy began to choke on his breakfast.
—Slow down, slow down, don't choke; we have plenty of time.
We won't be able to help anyone if you choke before heading out— the man advised.
—Uncle, hasn't the police had any news on the case, any possible suspect?—
Gwen asked, bewildered. Upon seeing Toshinori's negative response, she continued, incredulous —How is that even possible?!—
—I-it's true, Grandpa—. The boy began to poke at the egg with his fork.
—I-it's not an expert; so many mistakes show that he's new at what he's trying to do; he must also be young, he doesn't seem to fear the possibility of being caught—
—You're right; even I'm surprised by this serial killer's streak—.
Suddenly, his skeletal face grew even more somber; his blond hair, weakened by the passage of time, swayed in the breeze from the open window; suddenly, the years weighed heavier on him. —Izuku, Gwen, the truth is that in this world, there are people who, like many others, are born with a talent. The most ordinary can be of many types—sports, art, even personality or character, people with the ability to captivate anyone. But just as there are normal talents, there are also talents for evil; among them, killing—
—K-killing!? Can that even be considered a talent?—
—Yes, Izuku. In the history of humanity, there are thousands of people who amazed the world with their macabre talent—monstrous people who had the ability to choose, analyze, and eliminate their victims without being captured; of course, in the end, most had a flaw.—
—Arrogance; many were arrested because they made a critical mistake—underestimating the police and overestimating themselves. After years of not being caught, a sense of competitiveness arose in them; they hated being compared to other killers, so they began to break their rules, they began to make mistakes—. Gwen concluded.
—I-if that's the case, that mistake is still far away; we can't allow him to get away with it again—.
He paused for a moment, finished eating, and prepared to share that idea that had been circling his mind since the night before. —I've been thinking…— he said, timidly.
—Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like this?—
—B-before anything else, p-please listen to me!—. He hurriedly stood up from the table and went over to a map he had kept under his pillow.
It was of Fuyuki, with marks at each location of the crime scenes. —T-the houses where the m-murderer broke in are in the same a-area; each crime was carried out every two days, as if the killer were waiting for something—.
—Waiting to see if his ritual worked—
—E-exactly. We suspect he's young, inexperienced, and impulsive—
—Yes, his crime scenes are messy, chaotic; he doesn't break in at a fixed time—he's entered both at night and during the day— Toshinori added. —In these cases we could be sure he's not a student; he wouldn't be able to vary the times of the murders if he were restricted by his studies. So most likely he's of legal age or doesn't have money to enroll; personally, I'd lean toward the second, since the variation in schedule could correspond to someone who doesn't have a steady job, but rather, due to the flexibility, supports himself financially with several part-time jobs.—
—Gwen, could you write these details down on a sheet from the notebook?—
—I'm on it—
She took the sheet and began to write down the information.