The sky was dark, choked with smoke and dark clouds, illuminated by the warm light reaching for the stars beyond them.

The village's streets weren't much livelier, empty, silent, and dark safe for the occasional weak light peeking from within the humble houses.

The only one outside was a woman in a rosy kimono, gracefully sitting by the entrance of a once bustling inn, snacking on some dango and drinking green tea.

She watched the flames towering among the trees, wondering if they would reach the village, or if they, shining so brightly, would starve themselves before getting a foothold on the trees.

Yes, the village hadn't been the same since the soldiers set up camp nearby, and probably would never be. Still, none of them would want to lose what little they had left…

As if to calm her anguish, it began to pour. At first a trickle, but a second later, a heavy downpour that quickly got to work cleaning the bloodied pavement.

She breathed a sigh of relief, watching the flames dying already under heavy rain, and went about finishing her humble meal.

“Well, no one is coming,” She mumbles, putting her now-empty cup on the empty plate and getting up--

She paused, turning to the treeline as a figure emerged from the darkness, and slowly approached the inn's light.

He was tall, slender, his face hidden under a wide-brimmed hat and a mask that covered his mouth and nose. He wore a long kimono and a pair of hakama, a sword tucked into his obi, a pair of tabi socks, and wooden sandals. Red and black, from head to toe.

He didn't look like one of the soldiers.

“Good evening, Sir. May I help you?” She greeted, her costumer service smile a bit rusty and tired.

“Do you have vacancy?” The newcomer asked, their voice raspy from behind his mask.

“Way too much, unfortunately.” She joked.

“May I rent a room for the night?”

“Of course--” She froze, her eyes widening as she focused on his clothes.

The red and the black began to disappear, washed away by the rain drip by drip, leaving behind… white?

Now that she thought about it, why--

“Have you been waiting that long?” The world's most arrogant voice sent his pencil out of its path, the well-sharpened point crushed into dust against the paper.

“I just thought I'd get some work done.” Adam excused, shaking the broken led away and closing the sketchbook--

“Is that for the Comic Showcase?” Mark questioned, stretching out his hand “I didn't know Ms. Johnson had already approved the stories.”

“…He didn't,” Adam said, reluctantly handing him the sketchbook that contained all of his works in the last 10 months, “But David is oh so sure his story will get approved, he insisted I began drawing the moment my hand felt good enough again.”

“Sure of himself, isn't he?” Mark commented, sitting down next to him and examining his work so far. “You, on the other hand, don't sound sure of him at all. Problems in paradise? Or is the story just that bad?”

“Not at all. And… it's not that the story is bad,” Adam quickly defended his faith in his friend, “It's just that… Well, it might be a little too much for Mr. Johnson's tastes.”

“…What does that mean? Is it a violent story?” Mark questioned, “Half of the art he makes us analyze is 'human suffering and brutality poured into the canvas', I think it'd be kind of weird for him to not approve a story, just because it's violent.”

“…The protagonist is a trans man, but the story is set in a semi-realistic feudal Japan, so there's no stuff like gender affirming care, so he mutilates himself to make himself look like a man,” Adam explained.

“Oh… Yes, I can see why Mr. Johnson wouldn't approve.” Mark agreed, closing the sketchbook and handing it back. “Anyway, did you bring what I asked you?”

“Y-yes, give me a moment.” Adam confirmed, not wasting time taking his sketchbook away from potential harm and putting it away into his backpack, then taking out his offerings “Here.” He extended.

“…You got this from the vending machine?” Mark questioned, accepting the box of caramel protein bars and six pack of diet red fruit soda.

“The vending machine only had junk in it. Thought that, since I had the time, might as well go to Short&Sweet and get something better.” And also cheaper. Only 10,98Cr.

“Hmm. Golden Dew, huh? Fancy.” He pointed out, his eyes betraying what was probably supposed to be commendation, with… exhaustion? Maybe he ate stuff from that brand so often, that he was fatigued from the taste…

“Do you like it?” Adam asked cautiously.

“…It will suffice.” He confirmed.

Adam remained quiet as Mark dug into his offerings, getting a hold of a bar and a can, and putting the rest away into his backpack.

“So, Adam,” He finally spoke between bites, “You want another favor from me, huh?”

There it was again. Another favor… What could he possibly be talking about?

“…I still don't know what you're referring to. Is this about the deals?” Adam questioned. “With all due respect, those aren't really favors? I'm sort of paying for them?”

“Hm. Well, I thought allowing you to have any human contact at all was a huge favor.” He glared his backbone back into submission.

“Ri-right, it is. I--”

“I'm messing with you, Adam.” He smiled cruelly, then took a sip of his soda. “Goodness, this is a diet soda? It tastes like pure diabetes.”

“Oh, sorry. Want me to get something else--”

“No, no it's… bearable. Ugh.” He put the can aside. “Anyway, I'm actually referring to… something else.”

“…Like what?” Adam questioned, the momentary relief fading away.

A unfortunately familiar touch warped around his shoulders and pulled him closer.

“About how you're not in handcuffs right now.”

Adam's blood froze.

No… Surely, he… It was bait! It had to be! He had no evidence! No one had! If they did the Public Guard would've already-- It was self-defense! They didn't have anything to fear, it had been self-defense--

“Hm. Looking a bit... more pale than usual there, Aaaadam.” Mark pointed out, his smile growing wider.

“I-I… I don't know what you're on about! We... We didn't hurt anyone!” Adam denied, trying to get his breathing back under control.

It was fine. Mark was just messing with him. They were fine... They...

Mark pulled him closer, so close he could feel his breath tickling his ear.

“Adam… I never talked about a we or… someone getting hurt.” The other whispered into his ear. 

Oh. 

FUCK!