Shoto hated his father. He hated what he, his father, had done to his mother, to him, to his family. Right now Shoto was on a walk, mostly to clear his head.

It was raining, badly. But Shoto could still see in front of himself. Their was a person, with an umbrella, kneeling down. Shoto walked up to the person.

Hello, if you don’t mind me asking but what are you doing?