Shota lingered in the shadows of a crowded street, blending in with the passing civilians. His sharp eyes scanned the area as he kept his hood low, avoiding drawing attention. But his breath hitched slightly when he spotted a familiar figure—Hizashi, patrolling the city in broad daylight, as loud and energetic as ever. The hero’s bright blonde hair caught the light, and Shota couldn’t help but watch.

Despite everything, despite the paths they’d taken, Shota still viewed Hizashi as someone above it all. A part of him wanted to walk over, maybe share a word or two, but he knew better. The distance between them wasn’t just physical—it was the world they now lived in, the choices they had made. Yet, there was a pang of regret he buried deep, masked by his stoic expression. Shota’s hand briefly twitched toward his scarf, but he stayed rooted in place, watching from afar.

As Hizashi moved on, oblivious to the gaze of his old friend, Shota exhaled slowly. No matter how far he’d fallen, a part of him still held respect for the man. Even in a world where they stood on opposite sides, that admiration remained.