It was a strange evening. Arkgrim and I were standing in the middle of the underground concourse, and the smell of roasted meat from the burger stand mixed with the metallic scent from the arriving trains.

  Arkgrim was devouring his double cheeseburger as if it were the last bit of fuel for his personal nuclear reactor. I, however, ate slowly, watching people bustle around, buried in their phones.

  "Well, I'm off," Arkgrim wiped his mouth with his sleeve, crumpled the wrapper, and with an accurate throw sent it into a trash can across the hall. "See you tomorrow, Leon. Make sure you don't suffocate on your thoughts over there."

  "Later," I waved, watching his short figure dissolve into the crowd heading for the Blue Line.

  Sitting in my train car, I leaned the back of my head against the cold glass. There weren't many people. Across from me sat an elderly woman—an ordinary grandma in a knitted shawl, with a string bag from which a loaf of bread poked out. 'A perfect option for practice,' I thought. Quiet, peaceful, probably thinking about her grandkids or what to cook for dinner.

  Click.

  I dived into her head, expecting something warm and simple. But instead, a torrent of such venomous, black malice crashed over me that I almost cried out.

  "...hope you all die... running around, making noise... I hate it... when will a real Dragon finally come and grind this city to dust... worthless nobodies..."

  I abruptly severed the connection. My heart was pounding in my throat, and a flush of heat rushed to my face. The grandma was still sitting motionless, staring into the void with kind, watery eyes. She hadn't even twitched, but inside her was a veritable hell.

  "Damn..." I whispered, wiping the sweat from my forehead. "Looks really don't mean anything."

  When I finally got home, the clock showed it was already quite late.

  "Oh, son, you're back!" my father's voice came from the kitchen. "You're a bit late today. Where have you been?"

  "Just hanging out with Arkgrim," I replied, taking off my jacket and feeling the warmth of the house gradually push out the chill of the subway.

  "Oh, wow! And how did it go? What did you guys do?" my father came out into the hallway, wiping his hands on a towel. Genuine curiosity shone in his eyes.

  I started telling him. About the mall, about how Arkgrim decided to become the "king of dating," and got to the part where that green-haired beauty shoved her bags at him, and he, like a total simpleton, carried them all the way to the parking lot, and then blurted out: "Wait! What's your name?"

  My father froze for a second, and then doubled over with laughter.

  "Hahaha! Seriously?!" he was literally choking with laughter, wiping away tears. "'What's your name?' Oh, what a character that Arkgrim of yours is! Good for him! A true strategist!"

  "Yeah, a god-tier strategist," I chuckled.

  My father, still giggling, straightened up and looked at me slyly.

  "And what about you? How come you didn't find anyone?" he asked, starting to snicker again. "What, didn't want to carry bags either?"

  "I don't have time for girls, dad," I cut him off, walking into the kitchen.

  "Ooh, so angry!" my father playfully threw his hands up. "'Doesn't have time'... Alright, alright, lone hero. But hey... don't lose a friend like that. You definitely won't be bored with Arkgrim, and in our time, that's a rare thing. I'm happy for you guys."

  Later, lying in my room in the dark, I thought over the past day. All this chaos, the escape from Rabuki, the burgers in the subway... It seems this day was the brightest I've had in years. I had gotten so used to my routine—training, the Exterminator Corps, studying, and the constant noise of other people's thoughts—that I had completely forgotten: I'm only seventeen.

  Arkgrim, with all his quirks, black eyes, and stolen forks, became that very window through which I could simply... distract myself. Distract myself from the fact that tomorrow the world might start crumbling again.

  Time flew by unnoticed, and the school semester finally crawled to its end. Over these weeks, the school got used to Arkgrim just as they did to strange news on TV. He became a local celebrity: "that guy with the black eyes who sleeps through math but knows all the answers."

  Despite his popularity, Arkgrim remained true to himself—he was about as interested in social connections as he was in ancient world history.

  "Oh, hey Mrat!" Arkgrim waved cheerfully when we bumped into each other in the classroom doorway.

  Four-armed Mark, who had tried to befriend him about ten times during this period, only sighed heavily.

  "I'm Mark. M-a-r-k. We've been sitting in the same classroom for a month, dude."

  "Ah, yeah, right. Sorry, Mark. Too many letters," Arkgrim shrugged and walked to his desk.

  It was a strange lull. During all this time, there had been only one serious attack in Yokohama—a "Tiger" level specimen crawled out in the port area, but the Third Legion dealt with it so quickly that we didn't even have time to reach the shelter. It seemed the Kaiju had also decided to take a vacation before the holidays.

  December 30th. The last day before the break. There was an unimaginable din in the corridors; everyone was discussing their plans for tomorrow.

  "Arkgrim," I called him as we slung our backpacks over our shoulders. "Listen, what are you actually doing for New Year's?"

  He froze, adjusting his strap.

  "Well... I'll be home," he said, and that same emptiness slipped into his voice that usually appeared when the topic of family came up. "What else is there to do? I'll probably watch the old man try to eat holiday cake with chopsticks because I still haven't returned his forks."

  I imagined this scene, and it made me feel somewhat uneasy. Leaving him in that sterile high-rise on the most important holiday of the year felt wrong.

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

  "Listen," I hesitated, but then made up my mind. "Do you want to celebrate with us? At my place. My dad would be thrilled, he asks about you all the time."

  Arkgrim froze. His black eyes carefully studied my face, as if he was looking for a catch.

  "With you guys?" he asked again. "Well... sure."

  "Well then, it's settled!" I clapped him on the shoulder, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders. "Come over early tomorrow. You can even sleep over, there's plenty of room."

  Arkgrim went silent for a moment. And then his face transformed. It wasn't his usual arrogant smirk or lazy grimace. He smiled—genuinely, sincerely, in such a way that the light of the school lamps reflected in his deep black eyes for a second.

  "Hmm, alright," he said. "Deal, Leon."

  I walked home thinking: to me it's just a sleepover with a friend, but to a guy who remembers nothing but a hospital room and an empty house, this might be his first real holiday.

  "That's very right, son," my father set the towel aside and looked at me warmly. "I was just thinking that it's not fitting for a young man to sit alone within four walls on such a holiday. Especially with his... peculiarities."

  He was clearly referring to Arkgrim's memory loss and loneliness, which I had told him about earlier.

  "So," my father rubbed his hands together briskly. "Since we're having a guest, and such an unusual one at that, the holiday table needs to be top-notch. We'll make extra yakisoba and, of course, order that holiday sushi set you like."

  The whole evening and the next morning, a pleasant bustle reigned in the house. My father grumbled about the dust in the living room; I was making the spare bed in my room, imagining how Arkgrim would grumble about the "pillow being too soft" or something like that.

  December 31st, around five in the evening. It was already starting to get dark outside, and Yokohama flared up with millions of lights. The doorbell rang—short and somehow very confidently.

  "I'll get it!" I yelled, jumping off the sofa.

  Arkgrim stood on the threshold. He was wearing that same light windbreaker (even though heavy snow was falling outside), and his constant backpack hung on his back, from which, to my surprise, the edge of something metallic poked out.

  "Well, I'm here," he said instead of a greeting, walking inside and sniffing the air. "Smells like... meat. That's a good sign, Leon."

  "Come on in, 'king of the food court'," I chuckled.

  My father came out into the hallway, wiping his hands on his apron.

  "Arkgrim! Welcome. Glad you came by. Come in, make yourself comfortable. We've got a big dinner and watching the New Year's show planned for today."

  Arkgrim looked at my father with his black eyes, and for a second it seemed to me that he was scanning him through and through. But then he just nodded and pulled out of his backpack... a set of gleaming table forks, tied together with some dirty ribbon.

  "Here," he said seriously, handing them to my father. "This is... the lodging fee. The old man didn't find them anyway, and I was told you don't visit people empty-handed."

  My father froze for a moment, looking at the "gift," and then burst out laughing again, remembering my story about the stolen cutlery of his roommate.

  "Oh, well thank you!" my father accepted the forks looking as if they were gold bars. "Just what we were missing. Go on into Leon's room, we'll be sitting down to the table soon."

  When we went into my room, Arkgrim immediately flopped onto my bed and stared at the Exterminator Corps poster.

  During dinner, Arkgrim truly transformed. No attempts to dig into the plate with his hands or sarcastic jokes about "old men". He sat up straight, neatly used those very "gifted" forks, and ate unhurriedly, as if trying to savor every piece of yakisoba and remember its taste.

  My father, seeing such diligence, smiled contentedly. He put on "Home Alone"—a good old classic that was a mandatory part of the holiday in our house. Arkgrim watched the movie with some transcendent attention. He didn't laugh at Kevin's traps like normal people.

  "Strange," he muttered quietly at the end of the movie. "He's small, but he held his territory."

  Two minutes before midnight, my father started fussing.

  "Alright boys, quickly, outside!" he commanded, throwing on his jacket. "Leon, look what I stocked up on this year."

  We stepped out into the yard. Sparse snowflakes swirled in the air, and joyful shouts of people could already be heard from the direction of the port. My father pulled several large boxes of fireworks from the garage.

  "Let's do it together! One, two, three... KABOOM!" my father yelled.

  The sky over Yokohama exploded with thousands of lights. Golden sparks, blue flashes, and thunderous claps filled the space. It was beautiful, but in a world where the sounds of explosions usually mean approaching death, this noise felt different.

  I looked at Arkgrim and went cold. The bracelet on his wrist wasn't just blinking—it was shrieking frantically, flooding everything around with an alarming red light. Arkgrim was doubled over, his hands trembling slightly, and such pain darted in his eyes as if a red-hot needle had been driven into his brain. He reacted to the roar of the fireworks as if it were an attack.

  "Arkgrim!" I jumped over to him. "Quick, the pills! Take them right now!"

  He nodded with difficulty, breathing raggedly. He was in no mood for a holiday.

  "I'm... going inside..." he wheezed, barely moving his legs.

  He disappeared behind the door, and I watched him go for a couple more seconds, feeling the festive mood being washed away by a wave of anxiety. He wasn't an ordinary human after all, and this world—with its loud joys and bright lights—caused him pain.

  I returned to my father. He stood, looking at the fading glow in the sky, and there was a tired but kind smile on his face. The roar of the fireworks died down, leaving behind only the smell of gunpowder and frosty silence.

  "Well, son," my father put his hand on my shoulder. "Happy New Year. I wish you all the best. May your health not fail you, and... may your dream come true, but only in such a way that you remain in one piece."

  "Same to you, dad," I said quietly. "Happy New Year."

  The morning of January 1st was quiet. Yokohama seemed to have died out after the night's riot of colors and explosions. I was sitting in the kitchen, lazily picking at my plate. My father had gone out on some errands.

  The silence was broken by the rustle of footsteps. Arkgrim appeared in the doorway. To put it mildly, he didn't look great: his hair was messy, and his black eyes seemed even deeper due to sleepiness. He silently trudged to the table, collapsed onto the chair opposite me, and simply laid his head on his folded arms, closing his eyes.

  For a while, we sat in a silence broken only by the clinking of my spoon. And then he spoke. His voice was dull, sleepy, but prickly notes cut through it.

  "Do you still want to join that Exterminator Corps of yours?" he asked, without lifting his head.

  "Yes," I answered immediately, without a shadow of a doubt.

  "You're such a fool..." he exhaled into the tabletop. "You don't understand what awaits you. You're just playing 'hero'."

  I froze, gripping the spoon a little tighter.

  "Hey, are you even listening to me?" he continued, finally cracking one eye open. "You have the opportunity to live a good, quiet, happy life. With your father, in this house, in a world where you can just eat burgers and take walks. But no, you want to play savior."

  "That's enough, Arkgrim!" I pushed my plate aside. "I'm not going to 'play' hero. I'm going there to destroy Kaiju, to protect the weak. So that what happened in Tokyo fifteen years ago doesn't happen to anyone else."

  "YOU ARE A FOOL," Arkgrim sharply raised his head, and the sleepiness instantly vanished from his gaze. Only a frightening seriousness remained. "You say that as if it's easy. 'Protect the weak'? That's the dumbest goal I've ever heard. The weak will always suffer, Leon. That's the law. By trying to protect them, you'll just burn up yourself, and no one will even remember your name a week after your death."

  "You speak as if you know what you're talking about!" I flared up. "Where does all this cynicism come from? You're only fourteen!"

  "Unlike some people, I don't live in illusions," he cut in. "I see things as they are. Without that glossy veneer from your autographed cards."

  He stared at me point-blank, and at that moment I felt truly uneasy. It seemed as if it wasn't my weird classmate sitting in front of me.

  I took a deep breath, trying to calm the trembling in my hands. Arguing with him now was useless—we had worlds that were too different.

  "Alright, enough, Arkgrim," I pushed the plate of breakfast toward him. "Here, eat."

  Arkgrim went silent. His gaze softened; he looked at the food, then back at me. The tension in the air began to melt slowly. He picked up a fork and reluctantly started eating.

  "You're still a fool, Leon," he grumbled more calmly now, sending a piece of omelet into his mouth. "But your dad's food is tasty. I'll give you that."