The dragon donned black tactical pants of a military type, synthetic compression socks, a turtleneck under his bulletproof vest (the one without the "Police" logo), black combat boots with steel toes, and finally, a balaclava with black lenses. This balaclava is specifically designed to conceal the color of his eyes, as his unique eyes could give away his identity. The tactical gloves on his hands were planning to taste blood tonight.
A Glock pistol with a silencer was holstered. Two 17-round 9mm magazines and one magazine containing three tranquilizers.
He was already leaving Internal Security Headquarters through the back entrance, so as not to attract the attention of the locals, although he had already alerted his colleagues inside the building, and they were likely whispering about it. Ryuushiro felt strange and a little embarrassed, but he quickly regained his focus and simply thought—he didn't care what anyone thought. «Even if I have to clean toilets, but it's important to the state, I'll do it despite my pride. Of course, then I'll doubt they'd let qualified personnel do such a dirty job. But now I have a one-in-a-million chance. I have to prove myself, even if it means getting my hands dirty again.»
He couldn't shake the thought of the results of his Quirk's research. It had never shown such properties, and it was abnormal. Of course, he hadn't thoroughly tested it or researched it properly, but he'd lived with it his whole life and knew it well, and what's happening now is completely outside the realm of normalcy.
«Either it's not my Quirk...which is impossible. Or it's actually changing due to something. Late puberty? I don't know of any cases where a Quirk has changed that late. At most, a few children can have it change before they're eight, but that's if they have a late onset. As far back as I can remember, my Quirk has always been fine. I even killed that drunkard who asked me to call him father when I was a kid. How old was I then? Four years old, exactly?»
He stood under the headquarters' covered parking lot, attached his PDA to the mount on his arm, and spread his wings through the specially designed, expanding gaps in his turtleneck. He temporarily removed his flak jacket to allow for the wings to be easily transformed. During his experiments, it turned out that his scales also protected against small-caliber ammunition, so the flak jacket wasn't much use, but it was worth taking along just in case. It was extra protection, after all. Smoothly rising into the air, he rapidly began to gain momentum and altitude, thinking all the while.
«It's surprising that they're sending me, so inexperienced, on such a serious mission, suddenly after learning my Quirk. What a surprise. This is probably a practical test of my abilities. Actually, I think this is mostly Doran's initiative, his goal being to learn more about my Quirk, and Madam President is just a pawn, even if she thinks otherwise." Here, she was shortchanged. But what purpose does he serve this information for, I no longer know. Is he an enemy or a friend?
On the one hand, that's how internal security works. First, you need to know all your subordinates perfectly to maintain order in the intelligence agency's command structure, to perfectly understand their strengths and weaknesses, to identify their intentions. But on the other hand, I can't shake this strange feeling. I don't even know how to put it correctly. Misunderstanding? It's as if I don't understand what my intuition is trying to tell me. Like a nagging wound somewhere on the edge of consciousness. And after the Mammor case, something started to change inside me. After the Mammoru Case, a lot has changed,» — he mused, accelerating toward Naruhata.
Ryuushiro wasn't counting, but he seemed to be flying at a couple hundred kilometers per hour. It was even unclear how exactly his wings could reach such speed. Literally everything indicated that something was wrong with his Quirk. He had never flown so fast before. From a purely aerodynamic standpoint, he shouldn't be flying faster than two hundred kilometers per hour, but right now his speed is like that of a peregrine falcon, the fastest bird alive. And that bird only reaches three hundred kilometers per hour or so for a couple of seconds when it dives, slicing down its prey with the tenacious grip of its talons like a bullet.
And Ryuushiro flies at that speed for quite a while, seemingly constantly, like a rocket. This is alarming. He'd like to conduct further research on his aerodynamics under the supervision of that very scientist. This time, without Doran or Madam President's knowledge. They're playing some kind of game, and Ryuushiro absolutely didn't want to join in.
It's a shame to admit it, but he's already unwittingly found himself drawn into this game.
...
The wind howled in the clouds; his body had already frozen, and the bone-chilling wind sapped his strength. He usually flew above the trees—the optimal altitude for stealth—but that hadn't saved him from being noticed during his last hunt. Thanks to his Quirk, he could use flight without concealing his full power, riding the wind currents like a rocket. Sometimes it even felt as if the wind itself was carrying him forward. Maybe he'd simply been caught in an atmospheric current? Ryuushiro wasn't much of a judge.
At this rate, the dragon reached Naruhata City in thirty minutes. A fairly quiet, but moderately urbanized city. It was already getting dark, and he landed on the roof of a building. The ventilation was humming.
— Damn. Brrr. So cold. — He began to quickly squat and do push-ups to warm up. His back was invisible, but even his wings had somehow changed shape. They stretched out and were larger. They became thinner, but didn't lose much strength. His wings now resembled demonic wings more than dragon wings. After a brief charge, he continued, pulling out his PDA and opening a satellite map of the city, where he found his location and the desired area. He set off, leaping from rooftop to rooftop with a single flap of his wings.
With a single flap of his black wings, he lifted himself five meters off the ground. Thus, without making much noise, his mysterious silhouette reached the area where the target in the jacket had been spotted.
On the map, he marked the spots where he had been most frequently spotted on CCTV cameras, where he had been hanging out recently. Thanks to the information department. Eventually, he spotted two unknown individuals fighting, one of whom he immediately identified as the hero Erasure (Eraser Head).
«An attack on a hero?» Ryuushiro thought, in no hurry to intervene. The hero's opponent was a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a black cloak, combat boots, and a bandana. He had a scar on his left cheek and a knuckle duster. He didn't look like he intended to hurt anyone, but his appearance was disconcerting. He looked like some kind of thug from a fight club. A street tough guy, that's all. Ryuushiro didn't remember such a hero, and a hero wouldn't attack a hero. Although, perhaps it was for a competition, training, or a duel?
In any case, Eraser Head wasn't losing, and he was showing off quite agile movements. In the distance, he spotted a young man and woman in strange suits running after someone. The dragon grimaced in disgust. Unlike them, at least Eraser Head was wearing a proper suit. Practical, discreet. Colorful suits are already a red flag in heroic activities. A suit itself speaks for itself, what's on a person's mind, what kind of hero is wearing it. And there's no respect for anyone who wears at least a couple of rainbow colors. It's immediately obvious they're being childish and frivolous. You just want to rip their rose-colored glasses off.
Regaining his composure, Ryuushiro continued watching Erasure.
The fight ended as suddenly as it had begun. And the hero simply turned around, picking up a grocery bag from the concrete, which he'd apparently been carrying home.
«Home? Wait, his home registration isn't in Naruhata... Then what's he doing here? Is he also on some kind of mission here?» Ryuushiro quickly compared the data on his PDA. He tried to listen in, but the city noise somewhat interfered with his rather strong hearing. «It looks like they exchanged a few words. We need to interrogate Aizawa Shota, that's his name, according to the hero database.»
The man with the brass knuckles had vanished without a trace, and Aizawa was still wandering down the street with the bag. There was no reason to detain "Knuckleduster" if the hero deemed him harmless. This could easily be left to the pro-hero's responsibility.
...
Aizawa was irritated by the unexpected confrontation with this vigilante. Sure, they're overlooked, their misadventures allowed to go unpunished for as long as they prove beneficial, but one misstep and their luck would vanish like sand in the wind. But what struck him even more was a crucial detail:
«When I activated my Quirk on him and tried to erase his powers, I was utterly surprised. He had no Quirk at all. Quirkless. I've seen that before, and it's clearly not a good sign. A bad omen, damn it.»
The silhouette from the shadows of the alleyway didn't catch his attention. Its outfit consisted entirely of black, and a pistol holstered on its belt. Almost indistinguishable from the shadow itself, the silhouette disappeared into the depths of the alleyway, as if beckoning. The hero was obliged to approach it no matter what. Carrying firearms is prohibited in Japan and is severely punishable. Entering the alley, Shota prepared for battle and a possible trap, holding his ribbons at the ready. A silhouette appeared before him, and he immediately tried to bind it with his ribbon. To Shota's surprise, the silhouette grabbed the ribbon and yanked it toward him, sacrificing the mobility of one arm, but Shota was right there in plain sight. Vulnerable. Following his reflexes, he activated his Erasure Quirk on the silhouette, but it was too late. And to no avail, as the Quirk didn't manifest.
In the end, Shota was bound by his own ribbons, no match for the silhouette in close combat.
— Brrr. So that's what your Quirk is. Your Erasure gave me goosebumps for a moment.
The stranger's words left Shota frozen in bewilderment. He had been captured so stupidly, and the silhouette was far stronger than it seemed at first glance. Then, when Aizawa was pulled toward him by that unknown man, he encountered a force comparable to a bulldozer. He was pulled like a rag or a feather, without feeling any weight at all. Monstrous force. Moreover, the unknown man knew about his Quirk, which, after the fact, is an anomaly. No one knows Shota in the criminal underworld; at least those who do know him are long gone.
— So stupidly caught...— Shota looked sternly at his holster. — You're not just some guy off the street, are you? A pistol. A bulletproof vest. A fighting style. A mercenary? Intelligence services?
— It's in your best interests to tell me the nature of the conflict with that guy,— Ryuushiro ignored him.
— I don't have to tell you anything.
— Just as you didn't have to attack me without cause. I wasn't threatening anyone. You were only supposed to arrest me for carrying a firearm.These are the most mundane stages of countermeasure application!
— I see. You're a cop,— Shota sighed wearily. — You were carrying a gun, I was nervous you'd use it. You don't see firearms very often, do you?
— ...,— Ryuushiro was surprised, but didn't show it. — In case you don't understand, I'm asking questions here.— Dragon waved him off, adjusting his holster for effect.
— Those aren't rubber bullets, are they?— Aizawa glanced sideways at the pistol. — Are you planning on killing someone? Regular officers use rubber bullets even during arrests.
— Regular officers have their limits,— Ryuushiro showed his irritation. — Get to the point. Tell me what happened.
— Well. He (vigilante) raised his hand to a man who looked like an office clerk. He began to act as prescribed by regulations. It turned out he didn't have a Quirk. You can't pin Quirk misuse on him. Besides, he looks criminal. Maybe you could untie me already?
— Wait. An office clerk? Didn't he have a briefcase with him?— Ryuushiro began untying Aizawa.
— He did. Some figurines fell out... I didn't think it was worth my attention.
A crash further down the street interrupted his thought. Aizawa looked toward the source of the sound, but when he turned around, he no longer saw the mysterious cop who had given him goosebumps. He, a professional hero, had been immobilized so easily, without any discernible technique or fighting style. The trick worked purely because of the surprise and brute force, and this guy is more powerful than that man with the brass knuckles and bandana.
Now wasn't the time to think too much; he needed to go to the source of the sound and see what was there. A thought crept into the back of his mind that the invisible observer was interested in the same thing Aizawa was: Trigger. Friend or foe? Madam President had sent Aizawa here on her own initiative. The pieces were falling into place—this guy had been assigned to Aizawa to oversee the Trigger case. But did Madam President really have such a trump card? Perhaps it wasn't she, but someone higher up? The Ministry? The President? The latter sent shivers down Aizawa's spine, considering the scale of those interested in this drug.
...
Nothing remained of Mario Kugutsu's former, nondescript office clerk appearance. For a moment, his true nature—vile, cynical, psychopathic—showed through his facade. Then Trigger tore him from his human frame, distorting his body horribly: the frail man had transformed into a black, multi-armed giant, devoid of mind. He stood between buildings, lifting cars like children's toys and throwing them with mindless glee.
Koichi, darting below, barely managed to dodge the blows of the giant palms, resembling a cockroach chasing salvation. He didn't immediately notice how one of the hands grabbed Pop Step—Kazuho. The girl screamed, caught in the monstrous grip. The "brass knuckles" struck mid-air, catching himself with the hook of his grapnel on the ledge of the building. Mario winced from the impact, and, as if momentarily realizing what he'd done, dropped her.
— Pop Step! — Koichi gasped, lunging forward, but he was too late. His heart was pounding somewhere in his throat. «I won't make it! Damn it, damn it!»
The next second, a black silhouette streaked through the air—swift, silent. It caught the girl before she fell, and with a few lightning-fast leaps, landed on the roof. Koichi only stared at the sky, confused, unable to believe his eyes.
Ryuushiro carefully released the girl and remained to watch the fight. A guy in a ridiculous sweatshirt with an "All Might" print was fussing around outside, gliding across the asphalt with his Quirk.
He suppressed his irritation, though the urge to scold these impostors for their amateurism almost got the better of him. Their childish bravado could have ended in disaster. But thanks to their noisy bustle, Ryuushiro was able to identify his target.
«Perhaps it was luck. I need to keep an eye on them—they might do something else useful.»
The chaos grew with each passing second, until finally the Pro Hero intervened. It ended with almost no destruction. Ryuushiro watched with relief as Aizawa neutralized the giant simply by disabling his Quirk with a glance. His "Erase" had proven its effectiveness once again.
Mario, now human again, muttered incoherently as they cuffed him.
It was a shame there was almost no time left for interrogation. Although, given his condition, interrogation would have been unlikely to yield much.
«That's how Trigger works... It distorts a Quirk, turning a person into a monster. Someone is clearly behind this. Someone powerful and influential. We'll have to sort this out—without witnesses, lawyers, or unnecessary noise.»
— It's okay, a walk in the fresh air will help," he muttered, as Kazuho, behind him, hastily tried to apologize and thank him for saving her.
— Uh... did you say something?
Ryuushiro turned around. The girl was unharmed, though she looked, to put it mildly, ridiculous in her suit. He gave her a cold, predatory look, and she involuntarily cringed.
— Cute,— he chuckled and stepped straight into the void.
— Hey! It's high up there!— Kazuho's voice was drowned out by the sound of the wind.
He plummeted downward, accelerating so fast that the air hummed, and below, Aizawa, bending over the bound criminal, didn't even have time to turn. All he heard was the rustle of wings and the whistle of air. A dark silhouette, like a bird of prey, flashed above them.
— Like a peregrine falcon...— he muttered, recognizing the flight pattern.
— What was that?!— Koichi gasped. — And where's Pop Step?!
It seemed as if a fighter jet had just passed by—the wind had knocked him off his feet, and the criminal had vanished. All that remained was a scattered suitcase containing harmless All Might figurines. Police sirens were already wailing somewhere nearby. Aizawa, struggling to his feet, realized one thing: the cop had acted without a protocol. And, apparently, he knew what he was doing.
— Damn...— Aizawa, still recovering, had been thrown back by the speed, having been so close to the apprehended criminal, his ribbons holding him back. But now...his ribbons simply weren't there. Someone had carried the criminal away at monstrous speed, wrapped in his ribbons. There was no doubt who it was. That cop, most likely even an undercover agent. It was immediately obvious, even without words. He was operating covertly. Only a small, open case with scattered All Might toys lay nearby. The police siren was rapidly approaching.
...
Mario Kugutsu opened his eyes, confused, not understanding where he was. Why was he hanging upside down over... a cliff on the famous Tokyo Sky Egg!
— Ahhhh!...Fuck! I'm going to puke right now...— Relieving himself of the extra weight in his stomach, the man tried to figure out who was holding him so tightly by one leg, one step away from free fall. — Who are you?! What do you want?! What is this, the Tokyo Sky Egg?!
— It's very beautiful here. I like it.— Ryuushiro sat, his legs dangling in the air.
— What a fucking time to enjoy the view! Let me go!
— Okay.— Ryuushiro let go of his leg, and the man fell down the glass.
— Ahhhh!! I didn't mean that! — The man began sliding down the glass, trying to hold on to the window bars.
— Oops, looks like I've attracted attention.— Ryuushiro saw the janitor inside the Tokyo Sky Egg, quite shocked by what was happening, run to call security. — Want to fly? — Enormous yet thin wings appeared from behind, dwarfing part of the tower. Mario frantically clutched at every centimeter of space at first, seeing the terrifying, almost devilish wings, but lost the strength to hold on and plummeted.
Ryuushiro had Shota Aizawa's ribbon tied around his arm; he'd give it back later. The dragon took a step forward and free-fall, grabbing the man's hand and speeding toward the nearby forest.
Throwing him into the foliage, Mario Kugutsu plummeted straight into the trees, breaking branches and smashing into everything in sight. He was already tired of screaming. He could only let out hoarse, painful sobs.
— You know, I love this part of the forest.— It's the furthest away from the cities. No parks, no roads... How long were we flying? Twenty minutes? Did you enjoy it? You've probably never flown like this in your entire pathetic life, worm. — Under his mask, Ryuushiro grinned in a bestial grimace. — Run, fuckin meat. While I'm giving you the chance. — With a final hiss, Ryuushiro spread his wide wings as Mario Kugutsu struggled to his trembling legs and watched him flee.
Finally, Ryuushiro felt like a predator and had a hunt he'd been hunting for a long time.
— I wonder how far you can run in a minute? Just try not to use your Quirk! I want to fight you at full strength! — he shouted after the retreating man.
This method of emotional pressure is a very effective torture method. You force the target to experience constant stress for a long time. So-called distress. This would break anyone, and if it didn't work, it would serve as a good foundation for other methods.
The man shuffled his legs with all his might, scraping his face and arms on branches and bushes. It was pitch black at night, and there was no time when a winged abomination was chasing you. Adrenaline gave him a slight boost at the start, but after a couple of minutes of running, he began to slow down. The trigger's cooldown was taking its toll, and he couldn't use his quirk. He cursed everyone for leaving all the doses in the case; maybe he could survive now if he had just one more dose. Then he could forcefully activate his quirk.
All that was left of his suit were shreds, and his skin was covered in bleeding scratches and abrasions. The boss definitely hadn't prepared him for this! But Trigger was so alluring! Why not share it with the others?! They don't understand the thrill! It was a shame he didn't have another dose of Trigger with him now; maybe he would have had a chance to fight back.
Finally, logic and rationality returned to him from the adrenaline. After running a couple hundred meters, he decided to hide somewhere in the ground, under a bush. — There's no point in running far; it flies too fast. No one will be able to find me! Only maybe the police sniffer dogs, and as far as I can tell, this demon had a wing mutation Quirk. They won't find me, and I can escape! I just need to hold out a little longer.
There's no better hunt than when your prey resists, trying to delay the inevitable. Ryuushiro could smell the adrenaline and cortisol in the air. Sweat and blood were clearly driving him toward his goal, but he deliberately delayed the process by walking. Slowly, but inexorably. Only when he entered another thicket did he remove his balaclava, revealing sweat-matted golden hair, and sniffed the strong spring of air hidden in the bushes. His glowing eyes stared straight at his prey, who had previously thought Ryuushiro would pass him by.
— Hello
Two reptilian pupils, glowing in the night, stared straight into Mario's soul. His heart pounded, pumping a fresh dose of adrenaline into his blood. His body couldn't contain itself and, grabbing the nearest massive rock, ran at Ryuushiro at high speed.
Seeing all his movements in the darkness, he intercepted the rock with one hand and slammed his fist into Mario's stomach. All the air left his lungs, and he doubled over in pain.
— Oh, come on, I was just petting you.😁
Mario whined, tired and devastated, in despair. — Please... What do you want... please, enough already...
Seeing a willingness to negotiate, Ryuushiro began asking questions.
— What's the name of your Boss, the one who gave you that drugged crap?— Ryuushiro loomed over him.
— He... I don't know where he is. He's very cautious, but often referred to by his peers as the Demon King.
This nickname shocked Ryuushiro. He'd heard from Japanese history that, at the dawn of Quirks, a man called himself that way appeared. He united organizations, businesses, criminal structures, the police, and the government under his power, and essentially ruled the country for a time, unofficially. That was over a hundred years ago. However, the era of the Demon King and anarchy had long since passed, replaced by a heroic system of governance. He was no longer needed, and his influence waned, and after a series of defeats, he disappeared from view. Until now.
Under his rule, the country resembled corporate gangsterism and the mafia more than a proper government. That's why he's considered a villain. Rumor has it he possessed a Quirk that could grant and take away other Quirks. He was even deified, much like some do today with All Might. «Does this ancient villain really still exist? Why haven't the intelligence agencies and the government eliminated him? Did they never reach the underground, or were they simply paid to keep quiet? Such an influential villain probably has some offshore accounts and some cash in reserve.»
Ryuushiro's moment of confusion was enough for Mario to rise to his knees, pull his small knife from his sock, and strike. He'd rather try to escape and die than be forced to talk about the Boss again. Ryuushiro covered the impact site with scales, partially transforming. The knife didn't penetrate, protecting the vital organ, but it went tangentially, creating a small cut.
— I fuckin kill you! — Ryuushiro hissed in anger and pain, twisting Mario's arm behind his back and forcing him to the ground, point-blank. If he had his way, he would have torn him to pieces already, but first he needed to find out all the details. He pulled handcuffs from his bosom and shackled the criminal. The dragon should have done this from the start, but he'd let his guard down due to the hunt and the sudden detail about the Demon King.
— Who makes Trigger? Answer me, scum! — he kicked him hard.
— I don't know! Kha!...I get my doses through a middleman!
— What middleman?! Speak! I swear I'll tear you apart if you don't tell me! — Ryuushiro lifted him above him, pinning him against a tree. His gaze fell on his tear-stained, snot-streaked, pitiful face, trying to hide from the predatory gaze.
— Some guy with a scar on his face! Cough...
The dragon loosened his grip, allowing him to speak.
— Black hair, tied in a ponytail... the Scarred Man.
— Where did you see him?"
— Mostly in Naruhata. I swear, that's all I know!
That was enough information, but Ryuushiro also asked how he'd introduced himself, just in case. He'd been recording the entire interrogation on a voice recorder as his only evidence.
«He saw my face. I can't let him go.» If a greater force was involved, then it was simply unacceptable for the Demon King to know about himself. Ryuushiro had no doubt this villain had enough connections and resources even within the HPSC, let alone the police.
His hands tightened around Mario's neck, his eyes bulging as he tightened his grip.
— You...are...m-monster.... — the man whispered, taking his last breath. Mario Kugutsu twitched convulsively, gasping for air. Pointless. Ryuushiro looked straight into his eyes. Fear of death was evident in them. One squeeze and the neck broke, and the lifeless body stopped thrashing against the tree trunk.
The body fell dead onto the grass and dirt, staining Ryuushiro's boots. His predatory eyes darted tiredly and panickedly from side to side. There was no longer any confidence in them. Only sadness. Inhaling and exhaling, Ryuushiro closed his eyes and tried to calm himself, listening to the sounds of the night.
«I'm underpaid for this,» he came to a simple conclusion. Trying to overshadow his emotions with money doesn't help much, but it's better to joke. Although it's quite obvious. Getting only 500,000 yen for this kind of work is not enough. It's above the market average, but it's disproportionate to the effort he puts in.
Okay, so it seems this is his destiny. To do a job that none of the corrupt staff rats would ever dirty their hands with. What do ordinary police officers have to say about that? They sit at their stations, patrol, eat donuts, following the example of their American colleagues, and everything is fine.
«Okay, breathe in and out. Calm down. This is neither the time nor the place to be thinking about money. I just killed a man. Killed him too easily. Like snapping a twig in half. Normal people wouldn't feel good after that. And I'm normal.» Ryuushiro decided to leave the body here; forensics and bloodhounds would find it later.
«Ultimately, you're to blame for this, idiot. You lived like meat, and you died like meat. Serves you right.» The dragon flew away, while his heart tried to calm the pain and the growing storm of anger, sadness, and hopelessness in the face of the life taken. Death didn't frighten him; for some, it was even more of an escape from a painful life, but those eyes... the look of a dead man was imprinted on his consciousness. Here was a man, and now he's gone.
Returning to headquarters, Ryuushiro handed over his equipment, wrote a quick report, reported it to Doran, attached a sound recording to the report, and went to the medical center, got stitches for his wound, and the dragon headed home. Weak and tired. Along the way, he considered grabbing some alcohol and getting drunk, something he always abstained from. His alcoholic adoptive father wasn't the best example, so he always despised alcohol. But he changed his mind. Alcohol is harmful to the entire body, even in small doses, and the fleeting, impulsive urge to drink should be suppressed. The dragon decided to stop at the grocery store for a break. He'd grab some rabbit or turkey, which he'd always loved for its tenderness and unique flavor. He'd also grab some milk, juice, and vegetables.
Ultimately, as he was pulling out the meat, his gray, devastated gaze conjured up images of human flesh, not rabbit. He even imagined the severed finger of the murdered Mario Kugutsu among them. He ran to the toilet and vomited.
«Stop thinking about that idiot! I called him meat a couple of times. I wasn't planning on eating him!»
His dragon side didn't mind, seeing humans as fodder for the hunt, but his human side was haunted by the loss of a human life, even if it was the dregs of society. The dragon knew the answer. Time would heal this wound. He just needed to lose himself in the routine.
He returned to the table and began to eat. His starved and exhausted body demanded food and rest. After a shower, he tried a breathing technique to calm himself. He took a sleeping pill, because he felt he wouldn't be able to sleep that day, and he had to get up early.