I walk down the grand staircase, forcing a smile on my face as citizens greet me. No—aristocrats. These people wouldn’t care if I lived or died on the battlefield. They only care about being seen around me to boost their image.

I walked past a few women, young and old. They all wanted the same thing from humanity’s strongest soldier. That title turned them on for some reason. All it did was ruin me.

I walk past a fairly young woman and freeze. The familiar tang of copper hits my nose. The smell of blood was something I dreaded smelling, but here?

I walked behind her while she was sipping a cocktail. I leaned down close to her ear and watched her shiver as I breathed.

“…are you bleeding?” I whispered to her.

I noticed a newspaper writer looking at us and backed away. There was no way I was going to allow other men to think I had a weakness.