The dim glow of the streetlights barely reached the narrow alley where Johan sat, his back resting against the cold brick wall. His hospital gown, dirtied from hours of running, clung uncomfortably to his skin, but such discomfort was insignificant. More pressing was the quiet, persistent thought that had followed him ever since he’d opened his eyes in that hospital bed.

He was still alive—not because he had willed it, but because others had chosen for him to be.

His fingers curled faintly, the only outward sign of tension. Anna had forgiven him. Tenma had spared him. He should have been able to make sense of it, to categorize their actions like pieces on a chessboard, yet the logic unraveled the more he dwelled on it. The simplicity of it was almost laughable. Kindness. Love. They were concepts he had dissected long ago, stripped down to mere tools of control. But now...

He exhaled, slow and measured, eyes half-lidded as if he were merely resting rather than stranded in a nameless alley, hungry and exhausted. The world had not changed. It moved as it always did, indifferent to his presence. But for the first time, the script he had followed so flawlessly had vanished. He had no plan, no destination—just the weight of an existence he had never truly claimed as his own.

"Are you alright?"

The voice was soft, uncertain, yet unmistakably genuine. Johan’s gaze flickered upward, meeting the stranger’s concerned eyes.

"You look like you need help…"

This was an equation he had yet to solve. A person who knew nothing of him, offering something without expectation. The logical response of his mind was simple—lie, manipulate, maneuver. And yet, he found himself hesitating. A strange thing, to be given a choice when, for so long, he had dictated them for others.

For the first time, Johan—'the greatest manipulator'—did not know what expression to wear and which things to say.