9 Moving on
Four months have passed since Kurayama's bloodthirsty rampage...
Inside of a somewhat empty and small shop, an old cashier was standing in front of the cashing machine with a tired and sleep-deprived look on his face as he stared at a young man wearing a black sweater, black pants, black shoes, and black cotton mask. The young man was staring at the fridge for almost half an hour, opening the refrigerator many times, yet hesitating to take anything, just for him to close the fridge and go back to his intense staring contest with it.
The cashier released a deep sigh before he placed his forehead on the palm of his hand.
'He's staying here forever.' The cashier thought to himself, almost on the verge of losing his mind.
While the cashier was having an internal breakdown, a man wearing a long brown coat and face mask stepped into the shop and started observing his surroundings. He started looking around the shop before he placed his hands on his pockets. He walked in slow and steady steps until he reached the tired cashier.
The cashier quickly smiled and looked at the man, "How may I help you, sir?" he asked in a friendly and professional voice as he eyed the man wearing the mask.
The man casually pulled a gun out of his pocket, cocked it, and aimed it at the cashier, a few inches away from his face.
"What—" The cashier uttered in a wave of panic and fear, almost having a heart attack as cold sweat started running down his forehead.
"Empty the register, don't make me repeat myself." The masked man said in a casual and calm voice as he pushed the gun forward towards the man's forehead.
"P-p-please...I am saving money for my daughter's birthday present." The cashier pleaded, thinking that the masked man may have a shred of humanity inside him.
"Shut up, or I'll send her your head as the present." The masked man stated in an irritated voice as he violently shoved the weapon towards the cashier's forehead, almost knocking him out.
The cashier's hands were shaking as he grabbed a plastic bag to start filling it up with the money from the cashing machine. As he did so, he took a quick glance behind the masked man to see the young man from before casually walking behind him towards the exit. The cashier wanted to scream for help, but he knew that he'd die instantly upon doing that.
The masked man heard many faint and quiet footsteps behind him, making him turn around in a panic as he aimed his gun at this sneaky figure. It was the young man with the black sweater and black cotton mask casually walking towards the exit, unfazed by the robbery taking place.
"What the...? Oi! Emo guy! Where do you think you're going?!" The masked man stated in a loud and threatening voice as he aimed his gun at the young man, making him freeze in his spot.
The cashier saw an opening and slowly started reaching for his baton that was hidden under his desk, but the masked man used his free hand to pull out a second gun from his pocket and aimed it at the cashier, making him freeze in fear.
"Oi, shithead. Turn around slowly and raise your hands in the air. Don't make me repeat myself!" He said in a threatening yet worried voice.
The young man wearing the cotton mask raised his hands in the air and slowly turned around as he glared at the robber with black eyes and red irises, making the robber creeped out yet enraged.
"The fuck you think you're glaring at?!" The masked man said in a loud and threatening voice, trying to intimidate the young man into submission.
"You." The young man replied in a calm and carefree voice as a dark mist started coming out of his body, completely covering it except for the face.
The masked man was paralyzed with fear as the vibe around this young man started changing from a casual one into a bloodthirsty one, a vibe that could only be radiated by a cold-blooded killer.
The masked robber shot the young man six times in a state of panic. Fear overcame the masked man to a point where he couldn't stay calm. The moment he stared at the young man, he felt death staring back.
The young man was unfazed after getting shot six times. The bullets dropped to the ground before the young man glared at the robber one last time, paralyzing him with fear.
He dashed towards the robber and delivered a decisive blow to his face, smashing his mask to pieces and completely breaking his nose and many bones in his face. The punch was strong enough to make the robber fly towards the back of the store and crash onto many beer boxes.
The young man stood still for a few seconds as the dark mist started fading from his body until it was gone entirely. He looked at the robber, then at the cashier, then proceeded to walk towards the exit again.
"Wait! Young man! Who are you?!" The cashier eagerly asked the person who just saved his business and his life.
"..." The young man silently took a quick glance at the cashier as he pushed the glass door open.
"Don't you want to receive your reward?" The cashier asked in a voice filled with curiosity and wonder.
The young man froze in his place, half inside and half outside. He walked backward until he reached the cashier and cleared his throat before talking.
"Um...Reward?" the man asked in an emotionless voice that had a tint of curiosity.
"Yes, you can get it from the police when they arrive." The cashier stated in a reassuring voice.
The young man looked at the cashier, then at his watch, then looked at the exit. Then released a deep sigh.
"Okay. Hurry up and call them." The young man stated in a somewhat annoyed voice before he sat on the counter, staring at his watch.
------
After quite some time, a police car finally arrived at the scene. The young man handed them the robber in a hurry and stood there waiting. The young man kept waiting impatiently until he cleared his throat to grab the police officer's attention.
"Reward?" The young man inquired.
"Oh, right. Silly me." After he smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand, the officer released a friendly chuckle before he pulled out his notebook. "What's your name, sir?" The officer professionally asked.
"...Do I really need to give my name? Can't I just take the reward?" The young man asked, already knowing of the impossibility of his request.
"Unfortunately, we aren't the ones that give the reward. You know that, right?" The officer asked as he narrowed his eyes and tilted his head.
"...No...not really." The young man stated.
The police officer looked at the young man with curiosity. He was very skeptical of him. However, he didn't bother as he took a deep breath and started explaining.
"Well, it's called a part-time hero. If you solve a crime or defuse a dangerous situation, your name will be written on the police report, and you can receive your award at the nearest heroes government agency."
"That sounds very interesting, but why do you ask my name? Can't you just use your cameras to Identify me, or some weird police tech?" The young man asked in curiosity and a little bit of doubt.
"We can, but a regular police report is different than that of a reward report. The person will be identified, and his name will be written in the regular report because it will stay private, while the reward report can be found on the Heroes Government website.
Police officers have to ask for the person's name to ensure his privacy because other criminals might have a grudge on him and might be followed, or even worse. It's obligatory for us to ask about the name, and respect the person's privacy if he refuses to give such information."
The young man looked at the ground, cleared his throat, and itched the back of his head. "My—... My name is Ishigami Kurayama." He said in a hesitant voice.
The policeman gave a friendly smile to Kurayama before he placed his hand on his shoulder. "Well, Kurayama, nice to meet you. By the way, considering your strength, I would recommend you to take the hero test. Have a good day." He said with a professional smile after tilting his cap.
'Hero test?' Kurayama thought to himself as he saw the police car driving away. He was zoned out.
"Kurayama, thank you so much for your help. How may I reward you?" The cashier eagerly asked.
"... A free milk carton..." He shamelessly replied.
The cashier nodded in agreement and gave Kurayama a free milk carton as a reward.
While Kurayama was walking back home, he looked at his watch to see that it was past ten o'clock.
"Damn it. I'm late for my favorite anime." Kurayama said in an irritated and disappointed voice before he released a low and annoyed sigh.
He reached a small Japanese apartment complex and took out his key to open the door to the apartment. It was an average-sized apartment with a somewhat big living room, toilet, kitchen, and two rooms with one for sleeping and the other empty. He bought this apartment with money that he won in the lottery, but that money has been completely drained on the apartment.
Kurayama fixed a bowl of cereal and milk for himself before he sat on the sofa and started watching TV. Time went by as he kept switching from channel to channel, being slowly murdered by boredom before his watch marked 1:30 AM.
"Alright, it's time for work." He said as he stood up and walked to his closet, opening it and taking out his work outfit. His work outfit consisted of a black coat, black shirt, black jeans, black shoes, and a black cotton mask with a skull painted on the front. It was the same cotton mask, just inverted.
His self-proclaimed job was working as a vigilante.
Kurayama exited his apartment and took a long walk until he reached a five-story building. He grew a dark whip from his arm and used it to grapple onto the roof of the building before he pulled himself towards it. He took out his uniform from a black duffel bag that he was carrying and proceeded to wear it on top of the building, so no one sees him.
After waiting for quite some time, Kurayama finally saw a strange thing happening. He saw a hooded man pointing a knife at a young woman wearing glasses. Suddenly, he covered her mouth and pulled her towards a dark alleyway, away from everyone.
Kurayama's light blue eyes shifted color into black eyes with red irises before he used his whip once again and descended from the building.
