The bell rang from the last class—a sound that, for any student, is sweeter than a heavenly harp. Arkgrim and I simultaneously started packing our things.

  "Is that it? Is it finally freedom?" he looked at me with such hope, as if I had just opened the doors of death row for him.

  "Yep," I nodded. "We're done for today."

  "Yee-haw!" Arkgrim practically jumped to the ceiling, throwing his fist up. Looking at him, it was hard to believe that this guy had just cracked the most complex math problems. Right now, he looked his rightful fourteen years. "So, tomorrow at eight again?"

  "There won't be a first period tomorrow," I made his day. "The teacher got sick, so we can sleep in."

  "Ohhh, yeaaah!" he exhaled this with such reverence, as if I had informed him he won the lottery. But then he frowned: "Wait, how do you all know the schedule? Does it come to you in a dream?"

  I froze with my backpack on my shoulder.

  "Are you still not in our group messenger chat?"

  "A group?" Arkgrim blinked. "Is that like a secret society?"

  "It's like a chat where everyone drops homework and news," I held out my hand. "Give me your 'space-phone', I'll take down your number and add you, otherwise you'll keep showing up at six in the morning."

  I took his strange, bezel-less phone. Once again, it amazed me with its lightness and how instantly it responded to touches. Having written down the number, I added him to the class's general chat.

  "There, now you're in the loop."

  "Got it, cool. Thanks!" Arkgrim waved his hand and, without looking back, dashed for the exit. "See you tomorrow, Leon!"

  I stepped out into the parking lot. The cold winter air immediately made itself known, forcing me to pull my head into my shoulders. My father had promised to pick me up today, and I hadn't waited even ten minutes when the familiar old Toyota rolled up to the curb.

  I dived into the warm belly of the cabin.

  "Hi, son," my father smiled, pulling out of the schoolyard. "How was the first day of the new semester?"

  As we drove through the congested streets of Yokohama, I decided to tell him about Arkgrim. I told him about the black eyes, about his incredible mathematical intuition, and, most importantly, about what I had learned from the teacher. The crash, the death of his parents, complete amnesia at fourteen.

  At a traffic light, my father's face darkened. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, looking somewhere far away, beyond the windshield.

  "Well, well..." he said quietly, and sincere bitterness could be heard in his voice. "The boy has a hard fate. Left completely alone, and without a memory on top of that. You wouldn't wish that on your enemy."

  We drove the rest of the way in silence. Each thinking their own thoughts. I thought about how Arkgrim rejoices over candies and freedom, hiding the gaping void in his head behind it. My father thought about something of his own, something adult.

  "How's work, dad?" I asked when we turned into our neighborhood.

  "It's fine," he sighed, tiredly rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Those Kaiju again... Because of today's attack in Minato, half the roads are blocked off. The traffic jams are terrible, the whole city is on edge. People are nervous, deliveries are delayed. Just Tiger everyday life, what can you say."

  I looked out the window at the evening city lights. Yokohama continued to live its bustling life, habitually grumbling about traffic jams and news, while somewhere in another district, the Corps was washing the black blood of monsters off the asphalt.

  Chapter: A Jog with a "Surprise"

  The next morning began on schedule: wake up, freezing air, and the rhythmic thud of sneakers on frozen asphalt. I was already finishing my route and about to turn back home when I noticed a familiar figure in the shadow of one of the alleyways.

  Arkgrim. He was wearing a light windbreaker, completely unsuited for the weather, and was intently occupied with something. I ran closer and froze. The kid was carefully hiding small zip-lock bags with some kind of powder behind a drainpipe, after which he quickly took pictures of them on his "space-phone."

  "Arkgrim?! What the hell are you doing?!" I almost choked on the frosty air.

  He flinched and turned around; his black eyes seemed even deeper in the morning twilight.

  "Oh, Leon! Hey. Well, I got a side hustle. I walk around, place the bags, take pictures. They say it pays well."

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  "Are... are you completely stupid?!" I grabbed him by the shoulder. "Those are drugs! Do you understand that these are 'dead drops'? The police will tie you up and send you to a penal colony, if the Corps doesn't shoot you first!"

  Arkgrim tilted his head to the side, genuinely not understanding my anger.

  "And what's wrong with that? They give me money, the work isn't hard. They aren't forcing people to buy this, right? Oh, are you on a jog? Let me run with you, I'm done already anyway."

  I stood there, dumbfounded by such impenetrable naivety. We jogged toward the park, but I couldn't calm down.

  "Arkgrim, listen to me. Drugs are evil. They cause addiction, they destroy lives. Do you understand the word 'addiction'? It's when a person turns into a slave to this junk."

  He thought for a moment, lightly jumping over an icy puddle.

  "Addiction... Yes, I feel a strange pull from these things. A sticky one. You're right, that's not good."

  "Exactly!" I exhaled. "And it's forbidden by law!"

  "Well, don't worry so much," he suddenly smirked, and something frightening flashed in that smile. "I altered their structure. Now, when someone takes it, instead of a high, such a personal hell awaits them that they'll be afraid to even look at sugar for the rest of their life. It will take all their desire away as if by magic. Forever."

  I almost tripped.

  "What do you mean... 'altered the structure'? How could you alter it just by holding the bag in your hands?"

  "Well, I just took it and altered it," he shrugged, as if we were talking about over-salted soup. "It's just matter. Anyway, forget it."

  I decided to temporarily close this topic—my brain simply refused to accept the fact that the kid next to me might have just performed an alchemical miracle to punish drug addicts.

  "Wait," I shifted my gaze to his clothes. "Are you really not cold? It's minus ten outside, and you're in a thin jacket."

  "Nah, feels warm. Even a bit hot," he looked absolutely alert; there wasn't a drop of sweat on his face.

  "And... your conditioning is damn good," I noted, catching my breath. "We've been running for five kilometers at a decent pace, and you aren't even out of breath. Is your heart even beating?"

  Arkgrim laughed ringingly, and a competitive fire flared in his eyes.

  "You call this 'good conditioning'? We're barely crawling!"

  He suddenly straightened up sharply, and I felt the air around him seem to thicken.

  "Now this—this you can call a jog!" he yelled.

  In the next second, Arkgrim simply vanished. More accurately, he dashed off with such speed that I only saw a blurred black shadow. The speed was off the charts—humans don't run like that, not even elite Corps athletes.

  "Hey! Stop!" I yelled, trying with all my might to pick up the pace.

  My lungs began to burn like fire, my throat felt raw from the cold air; I squeezed every drop out of myself, trying to at least keep him in my field of vision. And Arkgrim easily flew ahead, jumping over fences and benches, laughing at the top of his lungs. For him, it was a game, but for me, it was a brutal realization: this "weak teenager with amnesia" had just left me, a Corps soldier-in-waiting, far behind in a cloud of snow dust.

  I was almost completely out of breath when I saw Arkgrim suddenly stumble and collapse into the snow. Frightened, I braked and ran up to him. He lay on his back, arms spread wide, and silently looked at the gray winter clouds.

  "Hey, what's wrong?" I held out my hand to him. "Come on, get up, you'll freeze. Did you fall on purpose or what?"

  "No... it's just..." he waved his hand vaguely, trailing off. "Doesn't matter."

  He easily jumped up, dusted himself off, and we ran on, but at a normal pace this time. Soon we reached my house.

  "Arkgrim, come on in," I offered. "At least warm up with some tea."

  He nodded and stepped over the threshold. I barely managed to grab him by the elbow—the kid was about to stomp right onto the carpet in his dirty sneakers.

  "Stop! Where are you going? Take your shoes off."

  "Ah..." he froze, looking at his feet as if seeing them for the first time. "Sorry, forgot. I think I... this is my first time visiting someone ever."

  While I was putting the kettle on, my father came down the stairs, yawning lazily.

  "Son, do we have guests?" he froze on the last step, seeing Arkgrim. The sleep instantly flew from his face. "Oh, so you are Arkgrim? Nice to meet you."

  "Hello," the kid replied politely.

  "Leon, why are you keeping the guest on the threshold?" my father started fussing, ushering Arkgrim into the kitchen. "Have a seat, we'll feed you right now. And why are you dressed so lightly? You'll get sick, it's not May outside."

  "I won't get sick," Arkgrim looked around with curiosity. "You have a... big house. Cozy."

  My father placed a plate of breakfast in front of him.

  "And where do you live?"

  "In a high-rise on Shimoto Street, building seventy."

  "Ah," my father nodded understandingly. "I know that area. The 'Anthill'. And how is it there?"

  "To be honest, it's crap," Arkgrim cut in truthfully. "Everyone's angry, loud. And I have to share a room with some old man."

  My father smiled involuntarily at such bluntness.

  "Listen, we're taking Leon to school now anyway, want us to drop you off too?"

  "Sure," Arkgrim agreed, digging into the food.

  While my father was getting ready, we went up to my room. Arkgrim slowly walked along the walls, and his gaze caught on a large poster with the Exterminator Corps emblem.

  "And what's this?" he asked, pointing at the grim soldiers in bio-armor.

  "That's the Corps. They destroy Kaiju. Our main defense."

  Arkgrim stepped closer, studying the details of the poster.

  "Suicide soldiers," he said quietly, and his words seemed to make the room colder.

  "What do you mean?" I frowned. "They are heroes. And I... I will become one of them someday."

  "You have strange goals, Leon," Arkgrim turned to me. "To help others, protect the weak... It all sounds nice, but..."

  "But what? It's the right thing to do. It's how it should be."

  Arkgrim stayed silent, shifting his gaze to my shelf, where a box of collectible cards stood.

  "And what are these pictures?"

  "Oh, they're from the Corps chocolates. Inside each pack is a card with a Legion hero. I've almost collected the entire Third Legion," I proudly pulled out the album. "Only missing Mon Fun. A very rare card, it's almost impossible to pull."

  Arkgrim glanced briefly at the bright cards and looked at me again with his black, impenetrable gaze.

  "The Corps, cards, posters... Leon, I get the feeling that you just want to play hero. You do realize that reality and these pictures are different things, right?"

  A lump formed in my throat. His words struck at the most painful part—my own doubts, which I had hidden deep inside for so long.

  "I realize that," I answered dryly. "And I'm definitely not 'playing.' I train every day for this."

  "Sure, sure," Arkgrim shrugged and headed for the exit. "Let's go, or your dad is going to be waiting."

  I stood in silence for a second, looking at my poster. Why did the words of a fourteen-year-old kid who doesn't even remember his past make me feel like a child with a toy sword?