There was a nearby supermarket that he frequented often, a regular remembered by the clerk for always buying endless packets of instant noodles and snacks every week, seeming to have a bottomless stomach. 

The truth was that he enjoyed stashing away food, and also donated snacks to a children's hospital whenever he had time.

Lucas' slimness wasn't from miraculous genes, or a speedy metabolism, but from poor eating and lifestyle habits, that also made him pale and washed-out. There was a careless charm to him, like a meandering ghost watching over the pointlessness of life.

Outside, there were a group of ruffians smoking. 

It wasn't an uncommon sight—the area he lived in wasn't the safest, but one would've assumed that they'd be more focused on their lives and the whole situation, than stirring up trouble.

When he got closer, he realized there was a young child curled up on the ground, shivering. Money everywhere, loose change that had likely been scraped together by those tiny hands that helplessly tried to protect it.

He narrowed his eyes, approaching in a leisure pace. One of the men snapped their heads up, threatening, snarling. "Huh? You need somethin', fella?"

Lucas lowered his gaze, before flicking them back up. 

His voice was a steady stream, a natural confidence tinge that made the listener feel compelled to obey. "I'm going to collect that kid. And whatever money you took from him."

"Ha! What money?"

The ghost of a smile aired on his lips. Avoiding the boy, whose head raised curiously, he slammed one of the man against the wall. 

Young delinquents, too busy playing bad that they didn't know where to draw the line.

He was a half a head taller, a matureness radiating his body that came with age. The delinquent was too surprised to speak, stupidly staring as Lucas found a small, worn out purse tucked away into a pocket. He slid his fingers down, careful not to physically touch the other before slipping the wallet out between his fingers.

He stepped back, tossing it in his hand. "You're right, what money? I must've been mistaken."

"You— give that back!"

Lucas jumped back softly, tilting his head before repeating, "What money? This isn't yours, is it?"

"We found it!"

"Found?" He glanced at the boy, noticing the strangely steady stare, painted over a fierce gaze. His lips pressed into a wronged frown, looking to be around 12 years of age. "Then, I 'found' this too. It's mine now."

"That's not how it works, damn it!"

"It's not? Then it's neither of ours."

He walked over, pulling the child up carefully, scanning for any injuries. Thankfully, everything was just a surface wound, and it seemed that the delinquents didn't completely cross the line.

"Open your palm."

The boy obeyed, spreading the hand wide before something soft dropped into it. Lucas ignored the silent look of admiration, and turned to the group of three. There was a faint red brushed over the earlier man's cheeks despite his anger, and Lucas paused.

Perhaps this was a good time to test his skill?

It just so happened that regardless of the ridiculousness of it, he was particularly good at flattery, and lying through his teeth. 

A true scammer.

"Looking at your age, you should be in your early 20's? A good-looking and intelligent adult, wasting his life away in these pointless crimes." As he spoke, a faint pink ring pulsed, circling his iris and making his gaze hard to look away from. "It's a shame."

The flushed delinquent's eyes glazed over. "Y-you think?"

Lucas glanced at the watch that clasped around the man's wrist—an old edition, likely a gift from one of his parents. It was worn-out but carefully maintained. He was likely filial to his family, which would make it odd for him to be acting out in this way.

Countless empty beer bottles rolled near his feet, a cigarette hardly smoked held between clumsy fingers. Hands free of bruises and cuts, ones that hadn't been in fights very often.

"Wouldn't your parents want more from you?"

"You, you don't know anything!" snapped the man in return, almost jerking him from the charm. Red tinged the corners of his eyes that seemed to carry lingerings of tears.

"I don't. But is wasting your life with things you aren't used to really worth it? Will it be worth it in five years when you realize it's all been pointless? When you're nothing, when you could've been something? Will you be proud, or will you regret?"

The charm had almost instantly dispersed from the harshness of his words, but the delinquent continued to stare at him.

Lucas felt as if he were seeing a memory of himself. "Is it worth doing something you'll regret?"

"...they died in the Story. Whatever that damn thing was." whispered the man, not yet adapted to the strangeness that was occurring. "My parents."

"More will die. People close to you, people who could've been comrades. And if you don't care, then live as you please. But if you want to honour them, don't waste the life that you have. Live in a way they couldn't."

"I..."

"Make your choice."

Lucas turned to the others that had whispered to each other, and fallen into silence. There was fear. 

Anxiety. 

Acknowledgment. 

"Recognize me?"

"W-we apologize, Mad Dog!" They quickly stammered out, shuffling back.

"....." He would never like that nickname. "Go."

He watched the three hurry off indifferently, before sighing. They were likely more bold since there were no police to come chasing them; the government trying to figure out the existence of Stories that had appeared across the country.

The words he spoke were ones be believed in.

He had no right to visit his parents' graves. Nor did he have the right to see his brother again.

Lucas didn't regret the past decade he spent in a lonely, aimless period. He had done terrible things, but he remained bound by morals and awareness. 

There was a line he didn't cross, so there was nothing he'd done that he couldn't admit to.

But if Kane couldn't be saved, he thought he might learn to regret.