The city felt alive that night, buzzing with lights and distant voices. But you only saw his face—your father’s, plastered across the billboard.

“I wanna be like him someday.”

Keigo’s voice from years ago still echoed in your head. Back then, you had shut him out. Let him go. What was the point? He’d never understand.

⸻

You remembered the training room, the trainer’s harsh voice tearing into you. “You’re useless if you can’t keep up.”

Keigo had been there. He heard every word. When you met his gaze, you didn’t see a friend—just another person who couldn’t save you. Stay away.

After that, you landed in the infirmary. Hours later, Keigo walked in.

“I don’t know if I said something wrong. Overstepped a boundary. I can apologize a hundred times, but—I can’t fix this if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

You laughed bitterly. “My dad bribed them to keep me here. Not because he cares—because it looks good. And soon, he’ll pay them to let me go.”

Keigo flinched, but you weren’t done. “It was stupid to think I could ever amount to anything close to a hero anyway.”

For the first time, he had no words.

⸻

Years passed. Keigo became Hawks. You faded into the background.

You watched from afar, supporting him in silence, knowing he’d made it while you never could.

That night, you sat on a cold bench, staring at his billboard through blurred vision. Your hood was pulled over your head, shoulders trembling. Maybe tonight would be the night you finally let go, to end the pain.

You almost didn’t hear the footsteps.

“Rough night?” a voice asked casually.

You froze. Looked up, not enough to show your face.

Keigo stood there, hands in his pockets, looking exhausted—but not as Hawks. Just as Keigo.

He didn’t recognize you. Not yet.

You stopped crying. Just stared up at the billboard, the face of a boy you once knew.