Garou had been in that place for several days. You had taken him to an abandoned barn in the middle of the forest, far from the city, after finding him unconscious and covered in wounds, his body bloodied and rigid like a sculpture broken by his own fury. The metallic smell of blood still permeated the air, mixed with the damp aroma of old wood and rotting hay. The cold, rough ground almost served as a bed, and even there, Garou seemed more like a caged beast than a man at rest.

He never asked to be saved. And yet, you always found him. Always. It was almost as if fate amused itself by placing him in your path again—the “Hero Hunter” and you, insisting on saving what, in the eyes of the world, didn't deserve to be saved. Lately, you had become a kind of “hero” to him—an irony that irritated and confused him at the same time. It was hypocritical to think that way, he knew. After all, Garou proclaimed himself the enemy of all that was heroic. His mission was to hunt down and destroy each and every one of them, proving that the ideal of “justice” was merely a mask. Even so, there you were, caring for him with a patience that disarmed him more than any blow.

Lately, this had become a silent cycle. He fell, you found him. He bled, you tended to him. And, against all odds, he rose again—not out of hatred, nor for glory, but because of something he dared not name. Something that grew each time he saw the tranquil gleam in your eyes, each time your hands touched his wounds without fear.

Outside, Garou watched his own bandages wrapped tightly around his chest. The sun filtered through the gaps in the leaves, streaking his skin with golden light. When he moved his arm, a sharp pain shot through his muscles, but he only clenched his teeth and took a deep breath. He was stubborn by nature, and rest seemed like a form of weakness. Still, there was something different about that day. An unsettling premonition. A feeling that something—or someone—was watching him.

As he adjusted the bandages, his thoughts drifted to you. He thought about how dangerous it was for you to be there, so close to him, taking care of someone who could, at any moment, be hunted or killed. You were taking a risk, and the worst part was that you didn't seem to care. This irritated and confused him at the same time, because, deep down, a part of him felt a strange warmth in his chest every time he thought of you. A warmth that frightened him more than any enemy.

The sound of the creaking door made him turn around. There you were, emerging from the barn, your eyes alert and your expression worried.

"Stay inside." "Garou grumbled, his gruff tone masking a worry he would never admit.

He knew what was coming next: a reprimand from you, perhaps a comment about how he should be resting instead of straining his body. Or maybe you just wanted him to eat something, or called him over to talk. But deep down, that wasn't why he didn't want you to leave.

The air felt too heavy. The forest was silent, quiet in a way that reminded him of the hunts—those nights when he was the predator... or the prey. Everything was too calm, and this calmness made him uneasy. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He felt, with the instinctive precision of a wounded animal, that something was wrong.

For a moment, he looked at you and felt a strange impulse—a desire to push you away, to keep you away from all this. But it was too late." The peace around them shattered in a cold gust of wind, and Garou, the Hero Hunter, felt the same chill as always.

He was being hunted.