"Did you get them?"

"Huh?" 

"The IDs. Hand them over to me before I beat you up," Shinichi poised his weapon in the air. The slipper seemed to shimmer as it sliced through a small ray of light.

"Shit, are you my mum?" Shinichi only affected a battle stance. Irish scrambled through his things. Eventually, he grasped two small plastic cards.

Shinichi swiped them away and carefully appraised both. He narrowed his eyes and held out his other hand. "The rest of the papers?"

The next minutes passed by like this: the only sound that echoed through the treehouse was the rifling of papers, Irish was prostrating, and Shinichi had a severe gaze as his fingers traced over the papers. Usually, Shinichi would take care of this process on his own. Yet with the numerous times they had to create IDs, the acquaintance helping him with the forgery almost got in trouble. And considering the troubles Irish gave him… he decided to dump this task on him.

Everything seemed believable enough. Fake names, fake address, fake date of birth. No discrepancies so far.

Shinichi slid his thumb on the small ID picture that replicated his features. His grip on the plastic card tightened.

Irish could see the exact moment Shinichi's temper shattered.

Normally, Irish was very fond of fire, but the blazing fury that flashed through Shinichi's grey eyes could only be described as terrifying.

"Irish, I'll give you a chance to explain what exactly it is I'm staring at right now." His voice was scarily steady.

Irish could not stop a whimper from escaping his lips. "Am I going to end up six feet underground?"

Shinichi threw the card to Irish. "Perhaps, perhaps not. I will decide once you answer."

With shaking hands, Irish observed the card. It looked normal if you neglect the fact that all the information written on it was false. Then Irish saw the picture. He knew that his chances of survival had greatly shot down.

Shinichi only cared for two things in this world: one, his being alive and two, his face.

Irish had accidentally used a picture of Shinichi that had a clear view of an unsightly pimple on his nose.

Irish closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

He weighed his options. Between Irish and Shinichi, Irish was the mana consumer, having the ability to manipulate fire and having an odd proficiency in innovation. On the other hand, Shinichi couldn't ingest mana stones but he was the trained hunter.

Irish could just go wild and shoot fire everywhere and Shinichi wouldn't be able to touch him for a while. A forest fire would also be a pleasing view to stare at. Shinichi would not share the same sentiment, unfortunately. It would also mean the loss of their treehouse. Creating a new one from its ashes would be too troublesome.

His eyes swept through the entrance of their house. They never installed a door. It was open for the world to peek in and for them to see the blue sky and the hundreds of miles of green leaves of the forest. The golden light of the sun that invaded their doorstep was like a beacon of hope.

He just had to run.

The question is… could he run fast enough?

There were several factors to consider. Irish had just woken up and an exercise of that calibre would take a toll on his body. Good thing was that the distance between him and the open entrance was short: a quick burst of speed should be enough.

Now the floorboards weren't exactly even, not to mention there were nails sticking out. If his foot gets impaled… the pain that would shoot through his body would be worse than death. Irish's mind mapped out a route. His sweat was cold as it fell down his cheek. It was practically a hurdle race.

Then there was Shinichi. Consuming mana doesn't enhance speed, an unfortunate truth for Irish. Although Shinichi's gotten skinnier with his irregular meals, he was still someone who exerted his body everyday unlike Irish who just lazed around. His days as a hunter made him far more athletic than the normal human being. Dodging him would be tricky.

But once Irish reached the entrance and plummeted down the tree house, it would mean safety and freedom.

Irish smiled at Shinichi.

Shinichi's lips curved into a sunny smile.

A strong wind blew and tree branches scraped through the walls of their rickety home.

Irish eyed the entrance.

He ran.

His green hair fluttered at the sudden movement. His dead muscles were awakened and throbbed in irritation. Irish thought of them combining forces and throwing a revolution to his smooth brain for disturbing their sleep. Irish crumpled and yelled: "Muscle cramps!"

The momentum of his dash caused Irish to head down fast, face inches away from impact.

The seconds that came before the inevitable, Shinichi remembered the state of their home and one thought passed through his mind: oh shit.

Shinichi closed his eyes, lips curling into a gentle smile as he accepted his fate.

There was a resounding crack as Irish made contact with the wooden floor. He made an Irish-shaped hole and cleanly fell through it. The rest of the house followed him in his descent. Shinichi wished he'd faint and go back to the dream world. He'd lost his footing and the roof was caved in. The wooden beams swished down and aimed for him but none were powerful enough to give him a merciful rest.

Shinichi relaxed his body. Wooden chips bounced on him but he ignored them all. He let himself flow with the collapse as though he was floating through the waves of the ocean.

Dust rose as the whole treehouse made itself comfortable on the ground.

Shinichi brushed off the debris that landed on top of him. "Ugh, that hurt." He cringed at the ache that wracked his physique. "Irish, you fuck. Now, I might need a nose job."

Irish was standing in front him, a slight pout on his face. Damn mana consumer looked fine, not a hair out of place.

"Will you forgive me if I gave you a healing vial?"

Shinichi wondered, for the millionth time, if he could disown this kid.

"There should be some in my bag… if you could find it under all this rubble."

"Copy that!"