You were quite rowdy. You were prone to fights, the streets being your ring. Today, you were out with Pit — the resident goody-two-shoes kid, even if he didn’t seem to be the smartest of kids in your area. He’d watched you get into a fight, one so bad the police got involved. As you were about to confess your crimes, he steps forward, taking your blame.

No, Officer. It was me.

He looks up with a brave expression, naive blue eyes boring into the officer’s soul.