The boy remembered growing up in this place.
But now, it seemed that as time passed, those childhood memories had gradually blurred, like watercolor paintings washed away by the rain.
Conflict, strife.
It wasn't so obvious many years ago, but recently, with certain events continually unfolding, the conflicts had begun to intensify…
To survive, the struggle between people slowly began.
The boy loved learning. Though he'd never received a formal school education, he had taught himself a great deal through various channels, reading books and newspapers.
He was also very good with his hands, making many "little gadgets" for himself.
The boy was somewhat thin, but he was clever, able to figure many things out on his own. He trained hard, building his strength so he could at least protect himself when danger came.
He'd read those comics. He'd always loved stories about heroes, ever since he was little.
The images of heroes from those stories were deeply etched in his mind—they could always tell right from wrong, punish evil and uphold good.
He wanted to be like those people in the comics, to become what they called… a hero.
It should be a good thing, at least that's what he—well… Kosma—thought.
But reality was far more complicated than comics.
Just the other day, Kosma had stopped another act of "evil," but this time he was left bewildered.
…
If no one was truly wrong, if everyone was just trying to survive, then who was right, who was wrong, and who was to judge?
As the setting sun hung low, the boy with dark green hair stumbled out of a gloomy alleyway, his spirit broken.
His orange eyes reflected the gloom, the last rays of the dying sun about to cast his shadow long upon the ground.
He hadn't found the answer to that question yet, but he believed he would understand someday.
The boy's shadow grew longer and longer…
"..."
He looked up, his gaze caught by a glimpse of white in the distance.
Hmm, it was a little girl, standing alone on a street corner, her long white hair drifting softly in the wind.
After all, these were not good times.
Kosma had seen too many wandering children; he'd even been one himself. The world was just that cruel.
But he still walked over—not hoping to change anything, just hoping to have a clear conscience.
Kosma stopped a few steps away from the girl.
The little girl's face showed no particular expression.
White hair, she looked about seven or eight years old.
Noticing Kosma's approach, the girl turned to look at him.
"..."
The girl didn't speak. She didn't know what to say.
"What are you doing?"
Kosma asked, keeping his voice as soft as possible.
"Looking for my sister."
The girl replied shortly, seeming a bit blank.
"It's dangerous for you to be alone."
Kosma glanced around. Gangs often prowled this street at night.
"Don't know… but, need to find sister."
The girl continued, "Have you seen her? Pink… hair…"
"No."
Kosma shook his head. People with pink hair were truly rare in this city.
The girl nodded and turned to leave.
"Wait…"
Kosma instinctively reached out a hand, but the girl's steps didn't stop.
He watched the small white figure grow more distant, finally lowering his hand.
She had her own business to attend to, so what could he do… Kosma decided he needed to think about it properly.
The girl walked towards her destination.
The light around Kosma was a pale orange, like the newborn sun, destined to become a brilliant radiance. He wasn't a bad person…
But she had to find her sister…
She wouldn't stop until she found her sister, she wouldn't…
…
There was no shortage of "evil" in the city.
He had met good people, he had met bad people…
"Hmm…"
Kosma woke from his sleep. He rarely dreamed; perhaps he'd dreamed too much in the past.
But last night's dream was unusually vivid.
He had also, for once, seen his own past in the dream…
How rare.
"Another new day…"
The boy stretched, looking around his simple "base"—a deserted basement, its walls covered in self-made gear and tools.
He was doing what he wanted to do.
That's right, he had voluntarily taken on the role of a so-called "vigilante" here.
Of course, there might also be titles like "Hero of the Night," but those weren't really important anymore, as they felt more like nicknames.
And this act of punishing evil and upholding good… didn't seem to give him the feeling he'd imagined—the feeling of being a hero.
It didn't bring him the satisfaction he'd envisioned.
Heroes in comics always cleanly and efficiently dealt with the bad guys, saving the innocent.
In reality, more often than not, he was facing pitiful people forced by circumstance just to survive.
…
But that was alright. If you want to do something, just go and do it.
'Good and evil are separate, non-negotiable.'
That was something he should have understood a long time ago.
So, packing up his gear, Kosma began today's "patrol."
But… today seemed a bit unusual.
Looking up at the sky, it was terrifyingly overcast, the air thick with an unsettling sense of oppression.
It started with a breeze.
But the wind grew stronger, papers and plastic bags dancing in the air.
…It quickly escalated into a howling gale. Shop signs shook violently, street trees were bent and twisted.
At first, people didn't think it was a big deal, just a strong wind blowing.
But as the wind grew fiercer, people gradually began to realize something was wrong, until they saw a tornado forming in the distance, but… it was too late.
A fierce wind raged, tearing across the sky.
A vortex of wind gathered from who-knows-where, the massive whirlwind expanding at an alarming rate. Wherever it passed, cars were flipped, buildings were torn apart, and entire city blocks were reduced to rubble in the blink of an eye.
Screams and wails… these seemed inaudible.
Kosma stared blankly at it all. Yes, he was scared.
He had never seen such a sight—this couldn't be explained by any natural phenomenon.
But fear only occupied his thoughts for a moment, replaced by a strange determination.
The boy turned and sprinted, not away, but towards his base.
He had to gear up fully, he had to do something.
On the streets, people ran in the opposite direction.
But Kosma knew the tallest building in the city—that abandoned TV tower—was where he needed to go now. He had scoped out the entire city from its heights several times before.
The boy kept running…
Faster… a little faster…
He had to be fast, faster still!
Perhaps… this was his chance to become a "hero"—not the glamorous kind from comics, but an ordinary person who could stand up in the face of disaster.
No matter what awaited him ahead, at least in this moment, he chose the opposite direction from the majority—not escape, but confrontation.
…
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