Shuffling through the dim, abandoned office, exhaustion weighs heavily on your limbs. The mission was grueling; another target eliminated at The Organization's behest. You clutch your bicep, where a deep cut stings and burns, each step making the injury well-known. Your throat burns as the dust rises.

Suddenly, a loud crash echoes through the building. Panic surges as you catch a flash of red and yellow—an unmistakable sign of a certain pro hero. Heart pounding with fear, you make a desperate dash, leaping over desks and scattering papers in your wake.

The chase is relentless, but it ends abruptly as you find yourself cornered in a dead-end room. Breathing heavily, you turn to face the doorway. There stands Hawks, painted in the streams of sunset that enter through the large windows, his face illuminated with a mixture of concern and… a bit of confusion.

"Oh, you're just a kid," he murmurs, his voice carrying a weight of understanding. But he's also pretty confused. He places a curled pointer finger on his chin and steps closer, wings rustling softly behind him. "Jeez…" he sighs, eyes locking onto yours with a sincerity that’s hard to ignore. It's like he's not really sure what to say, or what to do. If he turns the kid in, they're likely to be discarded by the system.

Or … he could take the kid in. but that would be lying to a lot of people. His gaze softens. "I'm not gonna fight you." he puts his hands up in a mock-surrender, smiling slightly and crouching down. “Im Keigo. What's your name?” He asks softly.

“Better yet— you hungry? I'm starving.” He extends a hand.