The day was filled with far more events than he would have liked. And the truth about his lack of clear convictions burned his soul like a pound of salt poured on a fresh wound. Usually, he ignored the opinions of those around him, because then he would have long since repainted his hair black. Or dangled from a noose.

  But for some unknown reason, Makoto's words would not leave his head. No matter how hard he tried. This made him feel particularly pathetic, because only her words had stuck in his head so strongly.

  "Damn it, why the hell can't I get this out of my head? At this rate, I'll have a migraine soon. I need to distract myself."

  Finally entering the apartment, which was usually empty on weekdays, Minato wandered towards the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator and seeing absolutely nothing, his plans for the evening were set.

  Grabbing his trusty kitchen companion, a pink apron, Minato started cooking, which he usually did. Because if Aya-nee was at the stove, at best the food would have no taste, and at worst it would turn out to be homemade curare poison. That's why he was the only one at the stove.

  “I think I miscalculated. But where?” Minato asked himself, looking at the stove and the table with four full pots. He hadn't planned to cook for an entire battalion, but it seemed he had gotten too caught up in the process in an attempt to distract himself from the words he had heard.

  “Jambalaya, paella, biryani, and laulau. I think I went a little overboard,” Minato said with a sigh, throwing his apron aside. It was already ten o'clock in the evening, and Aya-nee still hadn't returned. Usually, when she felt like drinking, she did so either at home or with her colleagues. But in that case, she would let him know.

  “I have a bad feeling about this,” Minato muttered under his breath. And, as if on cue, his phone rang. The screen showed that the call was from his long-lost drinking lover.

  “Aya-nee, do you even know what time it is? You can drink at home.” Minato said as he picked up the phone, but on the other end of the line was a voice he had never heard before.

  “Excuse me, is this Miyamoto Minato?”

  “Yes. And you are...”

  “We apologize, we are calling from the hospital. A few hours ago, Ms. Jikou Aya was hospitalized. We decided to call you as soon as her condition stabilized.”

  For a second, he froze. Even his neutral facade faltered, and his surprise was visible even to the untrained eye. It was such a rare occurrence that even Tsuna hadn't seen anything like it in months, even though he saw Minato every day.

  “Give me the address.”

  Literally twenty minutes later, rushing at top speed, Minato burst into the reception area, where, after asking to see the patient, he rushed to her room.

  His hastiness was not without reason. After all, apart from her, Minato had no one else he could call family. Only when it came to her could Minato openly show his emotions. Fear, surprise. Everything except joy.

  Finally arriving in front of the ward, he knocked uncertainly on the door. Every second of waiting felt like an eternity, and his nerves were already on edge. Like tightly strung guitar strings, they could snap at any moment from the excessive tension.

  If he let his guard down for even a moment, fear would burst out, eager to show its ugly face.

  When he finally heard an affirmative “Come in,” he immediately went inside, where she was sitting on the bed behind a screen. Next to her stood a doctor who, judging by all appearances, was changing the bandage on her face.

  "That's it. If everything goes well, there won't even be a scar, but for now, you need rest. And no alcohol.“

  ”Oh, alright, I get it. Fine, I'll endure it. Thank you very much."

  Leaving Minato alone with the patient, the doctor left the ward, closing the door tightly behind him.

  “Does it hurt a lot?” Minato asked uncertainly, the cold and indifferent mask he wore most of the time gone without a trace.

  “No. The ointments and painkillers are just what I need. My face feels a little numb, but that will pass. I feel like Stallone though.”

  “I see,” Minato whispered quietly. If Aya-nee didn't want to move the screen, there was a reason for it that he could see even through the fabric.

  Her entire face was bandaged, and she actually resembled a mummy, unlike her usual state after a hangover.

  Sitting down on a chair next to the bed, Minato folded his arms. He wasn't sure what to say first. After all, his emotions were running high. Anger, nervousness, uncertainty. All at once. Like waves. And when it came to emotions, there was no one who expressed them worse than him.

  “How did this happen? You taught me how to fight, I can't believe that some punk could have beaten you up and sent you to the hospital.”

  "I don't know, to be honest. Like any worker on a Friday night, I was sitting and drinking with my friends when suddenly we heard a loud noise outside. When I went outside, I saw some idiot spraying acid from his hands in a fit." Aya recounted calmly, as if her face didn't look like it had been burned in a fire.

  “I doubt that such a degenerate could have defeated you,” Minato concluded just as calmly. He had long lost count of how many beatings he had received from her, only rarely overcoming her. That is, when she was sober.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “He couldn't. I quickly slammed his head into the ground. But then he injected himself with something. And his Special reached a new level. Of course, I'm a master of drunken martial arts, and my kung fu is stronger, so the second time around, I broke his cabin properly. But he managed to hit me in the face and body.”

  “Tsk. Son of a whore.” Minato cursed. His attention was caught by something that the hooligan had injected.

  It could hardly be anything other than the serum he had already heard about today. The thought that he couldn't help someone close to him made his blood boil. He clenched his fists so tightly that they almost bled. Of course, he was a realist and understood that, being in a different place, he would not have been physically able to help. But realizing this did not help at all.

  “Did it at least not get in your eyes? Otherwise, you could go blind.”

  “No. In a couple of days, I'll be as good as new. Until then, bed rest and no alcohol... ugh.” She uttered the last words with particular longing. “Be careful, okay? Don't get involved in anything stupid. Better take a taxi.”

  Even in her condition, she thought first and foremost about his health, not daring to complain. It was obvious to anyone that she was in severe pain. Still, she felt lousy because she knew that no matter what she said, Minato would blame himself anyway.

  "Okay. Get well soon. I've already prepared a bunch of stuff, and it would be sad if it went bad and you didn't get to eat anything.“

  ”Heh, three times more motivation to get better. Booze and your food are like yin and yang. And remember, L...“

  ”Let it be, yeah?"

  Getting up from his chair, Minato slowly walked out of the ward. Taking one last look at Aya, he closed the door behind him.

  Wandering through the night city, his thoughts were in complete disarray, and Makoto's words echoed louder and louder in his head. To such an extent that they could be considered a new voice in his head.

  And they already had plenty of those. Old rivals are not needed. Even loud music in his earphones couldn't distract him. And so, he walked through the city, his face blank once again, until his feet carried him to the place where he had fought with Makoto yesterday.

  “What the hell did I forget here?” he asked himself, as if hoping that someone would give him a reason to be there.

  He was about to leave when suddenly, under that very bridge, he noticed a crowd of bandaged hooligans from yesterday.

  There were several dozen such gangs in the city. Most of them were just punks that the police dealt with, but there were also some who were as dangerous as the yakuza in their prime.

  The spontaneous idea to go up and ask about the serum came to him on its own. And if they resisted and didn't say anything, he could just beat them up. That's what he usually did with such elements of society.

  Minato's footsteps echoed under the bridge, and the whole gang of twenty-five people instantly turned to face him. There was a hint of fear in everyone's eyes. It was as if they expected Minato to come and beat them up just for fun. Everyone was afraid, except for one.

  A bald guy with lots of piercings in his ears, who stared intently at Minato. His biceps were bigger than Minato’s head, and his muscles were almost bursting out of his tank top.

  “What do you want?”

  "Are you the boss of these victims of a torn condom? I have a question for you. Who's distributing this damn serum? That's all I want to know."

  Looking contemptuously at Minato from above, the guy stood up. Over two meters tall, he loomed over Minato like a rock, but seeing no fear in the latter's eyes, he asked.

  “Why do you need to know? Do you want to buy some?”

  “Do I look like a lobotomy victim? Do you think I'm that stupid? I want to find the person behind all this and shut them down.” Minato replied without a hint of doubt.

  In response, the big guy's fist slammed into his face with all his might, causing the sturdy bridge structure to shake like a house of cards. Still, Minato stood motionless.

  “Know your place, puppy.” the big guy growled arrogantly, pulling his fist back only to see Minato staring at him with the same defiant look.

  “I'm asking you nicely, tell me where to find him, and I'll leave,” Minato said emotionlessly, like a broken record.

  Such arrogance and haughtiness only infuriated the big guy. He had already raised his fist for another blow when he suddenly stopped. No, not because he saw determination in the boy's eyes and took pity on him, but because he wanted to clarify one thing.

  “Kid, is your ability innate?”

  “I'm not sure myself, but I think so. Why do you ask?”

  "Then I'll knock you down right here. Let me hammer something into your young, maximalist head. Everyone you see here was born without abilities. Each of us has suffered a lot in our lives, just because we are different. More insignificant than those like you. That's why we've come together, that's why we voluntarily use this serum. We don't want to suffer these humiliations, we won't turn the other cheek. If they try to crush us, we'll crush our offenders in return. Like bugs.“

  ”Tell me where you found it."

  “Some may be beaten just for fun, so what? Are we supposed to put up with it? We will protect each other because now we will stand up for ourselves." The big guy's hand curved inward like a spring. It was obvious that he wanted to smash Minato's head into the ground. And even the looks from the other bullies didn't make him realize that he was crossing the line.

  Finally reaching maximum power, the big guy punched Minato in the face with all his might, and after the usual blow, there was an enhanced recoil from the spring that shook the bridge to its foundations, causing some of the beams to creak as if they were about to fall on their heads. And yet, even after such a blow, with blood flowing from his nose and the corners of his mouth, Minato stood motionless.

  Clenching his bleeding fist tightly, Minato felt that a little more and the bones in his hand would crack. Usually, anger is the strongest emotion that bursts out. But only if you overflow his cup of patience.

  If he had received the information while being beaten up, he wouldn't have said a word. He would have taken the blows without complaint. But he couldn't stand this bullshit about justice and righteous motives. Moreover, he had seen with his own eyes how the guys from this gang used their abilities for nothing. So he couldn't bring himself to feel sorry for them.

  But he could break the cup of patience.

  Minato's fist crushed the big guy's face like a sheet of paper, pushing his nose into his skull. Knocking the bald thug to the ground with one blow, Minato pulled the needle out of thug’s ear and kicked the big guy in the most vulnerable part of his head. In the temple. Again and again, Minato kicked the leader's head like a soccer ball, feeling the skull gradually crack and threaten to fall apart. He slammed it into the concrete base of the bridge, and when he got tired of that, he grabbed him by the ear and pressed the needle against his eye, just a few millimeters from the pupil.

  “Do you think I care about you and your gang of tar rats? Do you think I give a shit about your principles, views, justice, and philosophy? I'm sorry to disappoint you.” The coldness of his voice only emphasized the unstable state he was in.

  "Someone close to me was badly hurt today. She tried to hide it, but I'm not stupid. I heard her voice breaking from the burning pain. And I'll beat you until you tell me where to find the bastards who spread this bullshit. Believe me, I have more than enough with needles and hands alone. So spill it, or this will be the saddest day of your short life."

  To emphasize the seriousness of his intentions, Minato removed the needle from his eye and drove it into his elbow joint, hitting all the necessary nerves to cause as much pain as possible to the whimpering and crying healthy man, whose bravado was nowhere to be found.

  "I'll tell you! I'll tell you, just please don't hit me! Enough!“

  Kicking him one last time, Minato roughly drove the needle back into his ear.

  ”I'm listening carefully," Minato muttered, spitting blood on his head. Even though he said it in a calm voice, anyone could hear that he was on the verge of a furious scream.

  “They like to trade it in abandoned buildings. But it's better to try your luck in Shibuya. They lure interested people into the back alleys!” Seeing the intense gaze, the big man just curled up on the ground, covering his face with his hands. Like a child who had just been beaten with a belt. "I don't know! I swear that's all I know!“

  ”See? It's not that hard." Minato said calmly, almost mockingly, as he walked away, each member of the gang avoiding him as if he could easily tear them to pieces, like a hungry beast cornered.

  Makoto's words echoed in his head, growing fainter and fainter until they faded away completely. Maybe he didn't have a particular reason to fight, he didn't have a savior complex. And he didn't have a desire to prove anything to anyone. He was not a hero, not a messiah, but a man with his own weaknesses.

  But his desire to protect the person most dear to him was more than enough. For that, he would risk his life without hesitation.