"Turn right."
Gin followed Unknown's instructions, leading them into a large storage room. The place was cluttered with crates, metal shelves, and scattered equipment. While Gin rummaged through whatever caught his interest, Unknown scanned the room with a more focused gaze, clearly searching for something specific.
"So, what was all that?" Gin asked, not looking up from a crate he was prying open.
"What was what?" Unknown responded absently, still shifting through items.
"That fight with the Mind." Gin leaned against a stack of crates. "Even though I saw everything from a bird's-eye view, I still didn't fully get what was happening. Only that watching you made me feel like I was losing my damn mind." He chuckled. "Made me wanna look away."
Unknown paused. "Oi. That last bit sounded like an insult." Gin smirked but said nothing.
In truth, what Nicholas did wasn't especially complicated—at least, not for him.
The moment he understood the Mind's ability, he adjusted his entire strategy. During the 'games,' Nicholas suspected that the Mind had an almost unwavering confidence in his own judgments. Most likely due to his ability to peer into the human mind. Once he formed an opinion, he wouldn't second-guess himself easily. Nicholas exploited that flaw by deliberately feeding him a persona—a reluctant hero, rough around the edges, but ultimately predictable.
Then, when the confrontation came, Nicholas shattered that carefully constructed perception.
The effect was immediate. The Mind hesitated.
That moment of hesitation was all Nicholas needed. From there, he kept the pressure up, never allowing the Mind to regain control. His constant circling wasn't just intimidation—it was calculated. By keeping the Mind's focus locked onto him, he ensured his opponent didn't have time to form a new opinion, leaving him stuck in a loop of doubt.
From the games they'd played and his observations of the Mind while he was traveling the vents, Nicholas had deduced something crucial: the Mind needed a clear picture of things before making decisions. Disorienting him was key. Keeping him off balance, forcing him to question rather than act, was the real battle.
Then there was the nonsense.
That was another layer of misdirection. Nicholas's mind normally ran a hundred miles a minute—overthinking was his default state. But by forcing his thoughts into chaotic noise, he overwhelmed his own mind just enough to throw off the Mind's ability. It wasn't easy, shutting off rational thought while still functioning, but for a few crucial moments, he managed.
The fireball? That was just another trick.
He had placed a small wisp of darkness in the air, subtly keeping the Mind's gaze away from it by simply going the opposite direction. When the moment was right, he altered the wisp, shaping it into a fireball to distract him while he moved in.
But the real goal? Freeing Gin.
Everything else—the misdirection, the disorientation, even breaking the Mind's weapon—was secondary to that objective. Nicholas had already won the fight before it even started.
It wasn't a clash of strength. It was psychological warfare.
And Nicholas had played the Mind like a damn fiddle.
"Well?" Gin prompted, growing impatient with the silence.
Ah. Right. Nicholas had just analyzed the entire thing in his head without actually explaining any of it.
"Nothing special," he finally said. "It was a psychological battle. I won."
Gin squinted. "That's it? That's your whole breakdown?"
Nicholas shrugged. "That's all there was to it."
Gin scoffed. "So basically—just deception. Got it." He crossed his arms. "I'm guessing that fireball was your power, which I don't really get how it's related to those weapons you can make, but what were you even yapping about? Seriously, just listening to you talk so much made me wanna shoot myself."
"...Well, that was uncalled for," Nicholas muttered. "I was keeping him distracted. And if you really wanna know—" he sighed, "—it's a skill I developed after nearly a year of bickering with an Ice Queen who constantly insults me."
Gin raised a brow. Nicholas smirked. "It allows me to spout complete nonsense and retorts without thinking."
Gin froze mid-search, turning to stare at him.
"...You a masochist or something?"
Nicholas blinked. "What? How did you even come to that conclusion?"
Gin shrugged. "You spent a year willingly getting insulted and decided to turn it into a skill?"
Nicholas threw his arms up in the air. "Not like I wanted to! Also, I fought back with my own clever retorts."
Gin snorted. "Sure, buddy, whatever, let's you sleep at night."
Nicholas glared. "I swear, sometimes you talk just to piss me off."
Gin's tone became more mocking. "Yeah. And?"
Nicholas groaned, resisting the urge to bang his head against a nearby shelf—until he caught sight of what he had been searching for.
A vial holder.
Inside, rows of small glass vials held that same strange black liquid he'd seen before.
What the hell is this stuff? Nicholas frowned, picking up a sealed vial to examine it more closely. He'd noticed some of the guards carrying them earlier, always carefully tucked inside foam padding. Most likely to prevent breakage.
But why?
Would it really be that big of a deal if one of these shattered?
… Probably.
He tilted the vial in his hand, watching the liquid shift. It appeared to be a non-Newtonian fluid with about as much thickness as blood. Maybe even denser. Monster blood? That was his first guess, but he dismissed it almost immediately.
The Wendigo—one of the most unpleasant things he had ever fought—bled smoke, not liquid. That thing might've been an exception, but it still cast doubt on his theory.
Regardless, this was worth investigating.
Nicholas carefully pocketed a vial, wrapping it in a foam sheet he found nearby. He took another for good measure, in case he lost one or needed to give one to the police. He'd still like to keep one to himself.
Satisfied, he turned—
Cold metal pressed against the back of his head.
He froze.
'Oh… you gotta be shitting me.'
The gun's presence was unmistakable. But what sent a chill down his spine wasn't the weapon itself.
It was the person holding it.
Gin.
No—the Demon.
"Can't say I didn't warn ya…" The Demon muttered, voice low, almost amused.
Nicholas's expression was hidden behind his mask.
But internally?
Stupid. Fucking shit. Idiot. Moron.
…He was furious at himself.
He'd let his guard down.
"How much did you hear?"
Gone was the usual cocky, carefree tone of the Demon's voice. What Nicholas heard now was something else entirely—flat, hollow, devoid of warmth.
"...Enough."
A heavy silence settled between them.
"Why did you help me?"
Nicholas hesitated. What was the right answer? The safe answer?
"Because I wanted to. Simple as that."
Another silence followed.
Then—smack. Nicholas heard the sound of a palm meeting a forehead.
"Fuckin' hell… You really aren't making this easy for me, huh?"
Nicholas clenched his jaw but stayed silent. He was backed into a corner, and he knew it. Trying to form any kind of protection would take at least a second or two, but it'd take the Demon less than a second to pull the trigger.
Think.
He had miscalculated. He had assumed Gin wouldn't turn on him—not immediately, at least. But here he was, a gun pressed to his skull.
"What are you?" The Demon mused, almost thoughtful. "Here I thought you never let your guard down at all and yet…"
Nicholas exhaled through his nose. How was he even supposed to answer that?
"...A cynical bastard who prides himself on seeing the worst in people."
That made the Demon pause.
"What? Don't you mean the best in people?" His voice lost its edge, just slightly.
Nicholas shrugged. "Nope. I said what I said. I see the worst in people. And you…?" He tilted his head slightly. "You're not as bad as you think you are."
The Demon shifted, but the gun didn't move from its target.
"You're a good guy," the Demon said after a moment. "And good guys don't last long in this shitty world." He sighed, his voice tired in a way Nicholas wasn't used to hearing. "Unknown stuck his nose into the wrong places, despite not being a hero. No one's watching his back, no one's keeping him safe. So the order came down—to erase him. He crossed the Big Man once. Who's to say he won't do it again?"
Nicholas hated the way Gin was talking. It was out of character.
That's why—
"For what it's worth… you were fun to be around."
Nicholas barely had time to react.
"Goodbye, Unknown."
BANG.
The gun fired.
Nicholas instinctively flinched, bracing for the impact— But the bullet never hit him. Instead, it zipped past his head, burying itself into the shelf beside him.
Nicholas turned slowly, mind still catching up to what had just happened. The Demon—no, Gin—stood there, eyes empty, face unreadable.
"Unknown is dead," he said flatly. "Couldn't be bothered to bring in his corpse."
Then, without another word, he turned and walked toward the exit.
Nicholas stood frozen in place, dumbfounded. He didn't know what to say—what to do.
The Demon paused in the doorway, looking at him over his shoulder—only, it felt more like he was looking through him.
"Whoever you are under that mask… stay as that. I owe you for saving my life, quite a few times. But this?" He exhaled. "This is the best I can do. If you value your life, don't cross paths with me again. If you do…"
He let the threat hang.
"Enjoy your life, will you?" Then, with a lazy peace sign, he muttered, "Goodbye, leader."
And just like that, he was gone.
Nicholas stood there for a long moment before he finally crouched down, gripping his head. A wave of dizziness hit him all at once. He exhaled shakily. "Haaah~ I'm so tired," he muttered. He scratched his thumbs.
After gathering his bearings, he made his way to a window, vaulting over obstacles with practiced ease. Upon reaching it, he formed a gauntlet over his hand and smashed through the glass. The shards scattered like fractured stars as he leaped through, landing smoothly outside.
The pleasant glow of dawn greeted him, casting long shadows across the cityscape. He checked his phone—5:34 AM.
"You're in the home stretch now…" he murmured to himself before chuckling dryly. "At least Gin didn't awaken like I thought he would. That's something positive, right?"
"I suppose it could be interpreted as such."
Nicholas's eyes widened. In an instant, his instincts took over. A dagger formed in one hand, while the gauntlet on his other shifted, sprouting claws.
Not too far from him stood the Mind.
Nicholas let out an exhausted sigh, the weight of the night settling over him.
"Seriously? Give it a break already, man," he muttered, his tone carrying a sharp edge.
"Oh, don't be like that…" The Mind chuckled, his gaze not even on Unknown but on the rising sun. "I just wanted to play that game you mentioned."
Nicholas stiffened. "Oh yeah? Well, I don't see a reason to play your games right now."
The Mind finally turned to face him. "I figured you'd say that. How about this?" He clasped his hands together. "If you win, I will answer any question to the full extent of my knowledge. If your question is beyond my understanding, you may ask another until you receive a satisfactory answer."
Nicholas narrowed his eyes. There were no loopholes in the offer, nothing for the Mind to twist in his favor. And that made Nicholas uneasy. It felt like the Mind was surrendering himself.
"And if you win?"
A second passed.
"Nothing."
Nicholas stared at him, baffled.
"I see you have doubts," the Mind continued. "But as you can observe, my men aren't here, nor am I armed. Physically, I cannot harm you or anyone else."
Nicholas scoffed. "This is the perfect and ideal opportunity to get some information, but I can't help being suspicious. Surely, you understand, right? I mean, ideals are just that—ideals. They look perfect, yet are anything but—"
The Mind raised a hand, signaling him to stop. With the other, he massaged his temple, looking almost frustrated.
"That will be quite enough." He exhaled. "Simply put, I wish to play because I will learn more about 'Unknown'—and perhaps the child behind the mask." His gaze sharpened. "You are… intriguing. A complexity I cannot understand. A contradictory contradiction—"
Nicholas immediately cut him off. "Alright, alright. Whatever. The game I had in mind was for you to pick a subject, and I'd ask you a question about it."
The Mind tilted his head. Pondering it for a little while. "How about this? You may ask me any question, so long as the answer is clear and objective. For example, if you were to ask me, 'What color is the ground beneath us at this very moment?' I would answer, 'Grey.'"
Nicholas nodded. "Got it. And I've already got my question."
"So soon?"
Nicholas smirked. "Here it is." He cleared his throat.
"What is… the true identity of the vigilante Unknown?"
Silence.
They stared each other down. The moment stretched. Then, the Mind laughed. A genuine laugh—not mocking, not malicious.
"Ohoho~ A very excellent question," he mused. "One which I am incapable of answering."
Nicholas raised an eyebrow. "So… that means I win?" Unsure of his supposed victory given how... 'anti-climactic' it felt.
The Mind's chuckles faded to an amused hum. "Hm? Oh, yes, of course. An excellent question, indeed. However…" The air grew heavy again.
"I would advise against asking such a question to any of my siblings—should you ever cross paths with them." His tone was laced with amusement, but there was an unmistakable warning beneath it. "They can be quite the sore losers."
Nicholas narrowed his eyes.
"...How rude of you to think me a sore loser," the Mind sighed. "I have accepted my defeat wholeheartedly."
Nicholas exhaled sharply. "Thank God you can't read past the surface."
The Mind brightened slightly. "Oh, I can read past the surface. I simply choose not to. It's rather boring. Takes the fun out of learning about interesting people." His tone flickered with amusement. "Though reading surface-level thoughts can be entertaining in its own right."
Nicholas stiffened. His grip on his weapons tightened ever so slightly. His body trembled—not out of fear, but from the sheer weight of the implications.
The Mind watched him with an almost childlike curiosity.
"You needn't worry…" He waved a hand dismissively. "I do not know your name." Then, as if confirming it to himself, the Mind added, "That doesn't mean I won't attempt to find it out in the near future."
Well… that was deeply unsettling.
"Go on now, ask your question."
Nicholas hesitated for a moment, debating what to ask. He sifted through countless possibilities, trying to pinpoint something useful—something that wouldn't just satisfy his curiosity, but would matter.
And after much pondering…
…
The Mind exhaled, his tone as smooth as ever. "I do hope my explanation was satisfactory."
Nicholas shrugged, turning away. "It'll do." He started to leave, but before he could, the Mind's voice called out once more.
"Oh, and child, before I forget…"
Nicholas paused, his back still turned.
"Enjoy your youth," the Mind continued. "Make lots of friends, focus on your studies, perhaps even confess to a girl. Youth is an extraordinary thing. One you can only experience once. There is no reason for you to get involved with this Villain District. Or with villains in general." His voice took on a strange weight—not a threat, but something… different. "So please, do try to leave this vigilante life behind. It's not for you."
Nicholas didn't answer. He merely waved over his shoulder and kept walking.
He didn't think about how the Mind had figured out he was a minor. He didn't question why someone so detached and calculating would suddenly show concern for his well-being. He didn't ask why he had to enjoy his youth, as the Mind had put it.
No thoughts. No questions. Not until he was outside the Villain District. And once he was… he found himself frowning, hands stuffed in his pockets, mind whirling.
What was so special about youth?
"Is youth really all that?"
A breeze rolled past him, carrying the scent of early morning dew. The city stretched ahead, a vast and ever-moving beast.
He had a feeling the answer to that question was far more complicated than he wanted it to be.