The wind howled through the ruins of City A2.
Darren stood at the edge of the wreckage, overlooking what remained of a home he barely had time to know. Fires smoldered in the distance, but the worst was over.
Claw Man was dead.
And for the first time in days, the sky was calm.
He clenched his fists.
The Hero Association would come now—after the damage was done. After the blood had dried. They'd label it a tragedy, assess the wreckage, maybe even send a low-tier cleanup crew to record the carnage.
But they wouldn't care about the people who died here. Not really.
Darren turned away from the broken city. He couldn't stay.
There was no food. No water. No shelter.
And no one left. He went out to go to City A3. At least it was the closest low tier city to City A2. City A3 wasn't rich, but compared to A2, it was paradise.
There were people here—laughing, walking, working. Neon signs flickered over ramen shops and pawn stores. The air smelled of smoke and spice, and no sirens screamed in the distance. For Darren, it was jarring. He had just come from hell.
Still wearing blood-stained clothes and carrying nothing but his will, he entered unnoticed. The city barely gave him a glance. That's how the poor survived.
But even as he kept his head down, the whispers started.
"Hey, did you hear?"
"They say Claw Man is dead."
"No way. Not possible. He was Class Demon, right?"
"Some say it was a rogue C rank villain. And besides there was no hero to save them. I hear that no one survived his raid. To bad they didn't subscribe for any Super hero."
Darren walked past an old TV shop where a flickering broadcast played on a dusty screen.
[Breaking news: Reports suggest the villain known as Claw Man was killed during the destruction of City A2. No registered hero has claimed responsibility. Investigations are ongoing.]
No name. No credit.
He didn't care.
He didn't do it for fame. He did it because someone had to. With the idea of buying heroes, he thought it as a mess. Hunger eventually caught up to him.
Darren ducked into a small ramen shop tucked between two rundown buildings. It was quiet, lit by dim orange bulbs and a faint smell of garlic and miso. He took a seat at the corner, trying to stay invisible.
A moment later, the stool beside him creaked.
A woman sat down. Darren glanced sideways—and froze.
Long violet hair. Sharp eyes. Graceful, elegant features.
It was Fubuki—also known as Blizzard of Hell. Leader of the Blizzard Group. B-Class Rank 1.
She ordered without looking at him. "One miso with extra spice. And tea."
Then, her eyes flicked sideways, locking on Darren. He quickly looked away. Her features was extremely tempting. She smirked.
"You don't belong here," she said calmly. "Your energy is too wild. You fight like a beast."
Darren's eyes narrowed. "You spying on me or something?" How the hell had she read through him? Damn! What the hell?!
"I don't need to. Everyone's talking about a mysterious fighter who killed Claw Man. No registered hero. No organization. No permission."
The ramen arrived. She picked up her chopsticks not looking at Darren's direction.
"So," she said, gently stirring her bowl. "What's your story, mystery man?"
Darren hesitated.
He could lie...He should lie...But instead—
"I'm just someone who survived the attack in City A2."
Fubuki took a sip of tea and studied him for a long, quiet moment.
"You're strong. But you're raw. Untrained." She tapped her chopsticks together. "If you don't find control, you'll break yourself." Darren already knew who she was from his previous life.
Darren met her gaze. "I'm not joining your group, if that's what this is about."
She chuckled. "Not yet."
They ate in silence. And then, Fubuki leaned closer. He stared at her outlined boobs and smirked widely.
"But I will say this… If you killed Claw Man, you just made enemies. The Hero Association doesn't like freelancers. Neither do other villains themselves."
Darren didn't flinch. "Then let them come." He said coldly.
Fubuki stared at him, her expression unreadable—until a faint smile touched her lips.
"You're dangerous," she said softly.
He didn't answer. Then he stood up light .As he stood to leave, Fubuki spoke one last time.
"You'll need allies. Even Saitama didn't climb alone." He paused.
"Saitama?" he repeated.
"Rank 39, B-Class. Bald guy, lazy. But don't be fooled." Darren nodded faintly and stepped out into the street. He already knew him. She didn't know who she was talking to.
But then he knew on thing. The wind of the game had shifted. The world was watching now. He was going to be a prey soon enough. Only time would differentiate it clearer. He tucked his hands in his pocket and left the store.