When the station door opens with a metallic chime, I expect another hero to barge in, looking for a signature to brag about. But no Lycra costume appears.
It's her. The fox girl.
She stands in the doorway, a bit out of breath, clutching something to her chest... my bags of instant noodles. The second she takes two steps inside, the atmosphere shifts. My boss, usually about as friendly as a prison wall, turns into a D-list actor.
"Good morning, ma'am!" he chirps, his voice dripping with honey as his cheeks suddenly turn beet red.
"Uh... hello?" she replies, clearly thrown off by the welcome.
"What can I do for you? Please, come in, take a seat!"
He rubs his hands together before shooting me a lethal glare.
"You! Go get a chair and make some tea. Fast!"
"But Chief, I—"
"Fast!" he thunders.
I sigh internally. I've officially been promoted from injured cop to bellboy. I do as I'm told, bringing back a creaky office chair and two steaming cups of tea. The fox girl follows the Chief into his office, looking like she doesn't know how to refuse such pushy hospitality.
"Now then, what can I do for you, my dear?" the Chief asks, leaning against his desk with the smile of a social predator.
She glances around the room. Through the glass, she can see my colleagues slumped over their desks or in the middle of a card game. There goes the prestige of the police force.
"Uh... I just wanted to... return these," she says timidly, placing the two bags of noodles on the desk.
"Oh?" the Chief mutters, perplexed.
That's when she finally spots me as I set down the tea. Her eyes widen with joy.
"Oh! Sir, it's you!"
The Chief's jaw drops. He's frozen. I try to slip away toward the exit, but a hand firmly grips the sleeve of my torn uniform. I freeze.
"Wait!" she says. I force a smile, my heart racing.
"What can I do for you?"
"I wanted to thank you. For saving me. I don't know how to pay you back..."
"Oh, you know, it was just my duty. Look, I really have to..."
The Chief stares at me, eyes bulging. He slowly closes his mouth before making a dramatic hand gesture: You... stay. A bead of sweat slides down my temple. I resign myself to standing there, stiff as a board, while she explains how she picked up my groceries from the sidewalk.
"So, you two already know each other?" the Chief asks, his mustache twitching with curiosity.
"Yes!" she declares, with an enthusiasm that hits me like an electric shock. "He saved me from falling debris that was about to crush me!"
"Oh... I see," the boss murmurs, locking his eyes onto mine. "And what exactly did you do for her?"
I don't answer. What's the point? I know exactly what he's thinking. Why did I let her believe I was a hero?
"I... I don't quite know what happened," she continues, her eyes shining with admiration. "But he was there, standing tall, even though he was hurt... he stopped a massive piece of a building that was falling on me. I owe him my life!"
She smiles with disarming innocence. She has no idea that, in reality, it was her own mysterious power that swept the concrete away. The boss and I remain silent. The only sound is the scratching of his pen on a report. Then, he looks up, his face cold.
"Fine. Thank you for your visit, ma'am. Your matter is resolved."
"Oh... already?"
"Yes. Please, leave. We have a lot of work to do."
She stands up, confused by the sudden coldness.
"But wait, I insist! Mr. Tanaka risked his life. You should at least note his courage in his file!" she says one last time, her voice firm enough to surprise even the Chief.
The boss points to the door with a sharp gesture, ignoring her remark. She shoots one last sad look my way and leaves the office. The silence that follows is heavy, almost suffocating.
"Chief..." I begin.
"KENJI!!!" he roars, slamming his fist onto the table. "Do you really think we're going to swallow that? What kind of staged crap is this? How much did you pay her to come in and tell those fairy tales?"
"Chief, I—"
"Stop!"
He lets out a long sigh, his anger fading into a bitter weariness.
"Things are complicated enough as it is, Kenji... I thought you were more serious than this. The state is cutting off our funding. If this keeps up, we're closing. Done. Finished."
My blood turns to ice. Saying goodbye to all this? I clench my fists. I want to scream at him that I'm sick of being treated like an extra while guys like Supershine cash the checks. But I say nothing.
"You can go home," the Chief finally says. "Your shift is over."
I leave the station without protesting, leaving my precious noodles behind. Outside, the sharp slam of the door echoes through the deserted street. I rub my forehead, my morale at zero. Why did I become a cop, again?
Once inside my tiny apartment, four cramped rooms that reek of loneliness, I pour myself a beer and flip on the TV to forget. The screen lights up with SuperShine's dazzling face.
"So, how are your battles with the monsters going?" the host asks, fascinated.
"Easier every day!" he replies with his perfect smile.
I change the channel with a grunt. The success of some only highlights the failure of others. I lie flat on the floor, staring at the ceiling. The fear of losing my job twists my stomach. And then, there's that question again: Why the police?
My throat tightens with bitterness as I see my grandfather's face again. He belonged to the "Old Guard," those who knew the world before the Great Shift.
"Kenji," he used to tell me. He was twenty when the first "Supers" appeared, turning reality into a bad comic book. "A real cop doesn't wait for the spotlight to act. We're the foundation of a building: invisible, but if we give way, everything collapses."
Back then, there was still some respect for the uniform. Today, I look at my torn clothes and wonder if the foundation isn't already rotting away.
The smell of blood on my hands brings back another night. A night I've spent years trying to bury.
The scene hits me full force. My grandfather, on the ground, his arm nothing more than a mass of shredded flesh from the wolf's fangs. Blood stained the asphalt.
With a trembling hand, he took off his police cap and pressed it onto my head. It was too big; it slipped down over my eyes.
"Kenji... stay on your feet," he whispered with his last breath.
That's when I saw the "Hero."
He was walking nearby, eyes glued to his phone. I lunged for his leg, screaming for help.
"Let go of me, kid. Call an ambulance and get lost," he growled without even looking down.
But when a woman started screaming further away, his face changed instantly. He put on a fake smile, perfectly crafted for the public. He shoved my grandfather's body aside with his foot like a piece of bothersome trash just so he could pose in front of the dead monster. The report came out the next day: Death by cardiac arrest. No mention of the werewolf. No medals. Just another cold case filed away at the bottom of the stack.
The chill of the AC pulls me back from my memories. My hands ache; I realize I've been gripping the edge of my desk for ten minutes.
"I'll give them back their honor,"
I whispered to myself.
"To him, and to this uniform."
The next morning, I push through the station doors with a new surge of energy. But inside, it's the same old slump. Yamazaki is half-asleep on his keyboard, and others are busy flicking paper balls at each other. It's got the vibe of a classroom on a Friday afternoon.
I turn on the TV in the breakroom and start surfing through channels, furious.
"A hero is already on the scene."
"Threat neutralized by a hero."
"Police are securing the perimeter following the hero's intervention."
"Dammit!" I explode, slamming the remote down. "Are we completely useless? Are we just janitors in uniforms?"
Yamazaki lifts an eyelid, his messy orange hair sticking up in every direction.
"Why are you so worked up, Kenji? The heroes do the job, we get the paycheck. That's the deal, isn't it?"
"No! We're supposed to protect people, not just wait around for guys in tights to finish the work!"
"And what do you want to do about it? We don't have super-strength. All we've got are handcuffs and good intentions."
I don't answer. Yamazaki is right about one thing: good intentions don't fill the state's coffers. I head straight for the Chief's office.
Knock, knock, knock.
"Come in, Kenji."
The Chief is hidden behind his massive leather armchair. The smell of stale tobacco and cold coffee hangs heavy in the room.
"Chief, how much time do we have left?"
A heavy silence fills the air. The chair slowly pivots. George's gaze is tired, looking older than usual.
"Why the question? Already counting your severance pay?"
"No. I want to save this place. I don't want the last place where you can still help people without hunting for 'followers' to disappear."
George stares at me for a long time. He sighs, then scribbles a number on a scrap of paper.
"Six months. The funding cuts off on January 1st. On New Year's, we hand over the keys and turn out the lights."
Six months. It's short. Too short to flip public opinion, but long enough to go out with a bang.
"Thank you, Chief."
I turn to leave, but he calls out to me.
"Kenji!" He digs into a paper bag on his desk and tosses something my way. I catch it mid-air: a pack of instant noodles. The ones I bought yesterday.
"You earned them, kid. Don't let them get cold."
I walk out of the office with a boyish grin. Heading down the hallway, I press the package against my chest. It's just a two-dollar meal, but to me, it's the first real recognition I've received in two years of service.
I step out onto the station porch and look out at the city. Giant screens flash Supershine's face, but I don't care. Real heroes aren't the ones wearing capes they're the ones who are actually there to protect.