Mysterion always patrolled South Park under the cover of night, the wind snaking his cloak and the silence broken only by the distant murmur of the city. Every rooftop, every alley, and every dark corner passed through his expert gaze; his mission was clear, his responsibility unavoidable: to protect the city even if no one knew his name or his sacrifices. Today, at least, it seemed that calm had decided to settle in for a moment. One of those rare nights where South Park seemed peaceful.

He had checked every corner, making sure there was no trace of crime, no suspicious shadows lurking. His breath, held and steady, accompanied the echo of his agile footsteps on the tiles. Still, Mysterion couldn't relax completely; he never could. The city's safety was his burden, his curse, and he accepted it with the solemnity of someone who knew the people slept ignorantly while he kept watch.

As he began to retreat, determined to return to his secret refuge, his eyes noticed a familiar glimmer: a light escaping from an open window in one of the houses he knew all too well. It wasn't the first time the temptation to approach had spoken to him. A part of him knew he shouldn't, that he should let the night pass without personal interference, but another part—the one that rarely showed emotion—couldn't help but stop and watch.

He stood motionless on the edge of the roof, feeling the cool air brush his face beneath his mask. His instinct told him it was just a brief visit, an unimportant gesture in the long, solitary patrol routine he maintained. His thoughts mingled with a slight, almost inaudible sigh before he decided to take the plunge.

"You should learn to close the window," he muttered to himself, in that deep, measured voice that always carried a hint of irony. "This isn't the first time I've done this... nor will it be the last." Once inside, he moved carefully, making no noise, observing the place with trained eyes.