On a certain hour of a certain day of a certain month of a certain year, a highschooler walked the pavement, likely on the way to school. The fiery age of 15, a stature that commanded envious glares from the passers-by for they appeared like midgets in front of him, the face of a Greek god, most likely Apollo, because he was a hafu (half-breed) that was the fruit of love between a handsome Greek father and a beautiful Japanese mother - his looks would surely drive any women crazy, probably drop down a few pantsu (undergarments); but while he was not an ordinary boy, he did not think too highly of himself, nor appeared uncaring of his surrounding. Even though he was loved too dearly by his family, if it were not evident from his parents' careful upbringing, the air that he carried about himself could not push back the negativities of life. And so an encounter with one of such was inevitable, it seemed.

"HELP, that person has stolen my bag," an office lady who was a few meters away from the boy screamed. She had been worried since the morning. No matter how much overtime she did, the workload was on an ever increase. No matter how much care she took in her work, she was prone to commit mistakes in even the silliest of ways. For a woman in her early twenties, it was not something a healthy person - a working adult to be precise - could easily shrug off. She, who was a 'valuable' human resource, was expected to contribute to the society; and her family and relatives that lived elsewhere had huge expectations from her since the time she attained adulthood and landed a respectable job. But was it all there was to it!

"Life was being a little unforgiving and this boredom that resulted thus was finding no readily available fix," on many occasions she would think. "If I could redo my present life, would it at least be a little decent the second time around? Would it be a little bit different, if I couldn't ask for more, but without this daily hubbub and rush?" Was it too much to ask for, even she didn't know with certainty.

But it did seem to her that all the jinxes of the world had found a host in her. Add to that a thief that had to push her bad luck even further. The morning was terrible and she could only find her much longed, and probably much needed, repose when she saw Apollo walk in front of him; though not naked, for that would have been an irresistible treat, in many ways, on a busy Monday morning.

This mundane world and this mediocre day were suddenly filled with colorful images. A random thought came over her, and she could only whisper to herself, "love blossomed like sakura; love at the very first sight, although a forbidden one, for society is too cruel and unaccepting." A sudden revelation that harsh could set aback anyone. But she didn't waver because of her own thoughts; nor did she feel embarrassed. She continued, "but, but how is one to forbid themselves to love, even when the feelings keep surging; a burning passion that only makes the heart long for more! If I'm not made with love, if I'm not made to love, why am I still existent in this world?

"Please, allow me to love, to fall in love, even if this love becomes unrequited. I shall continue to dwell but with the feelings deeply ingrained as they grow inside me and take shape. Please life, for once at least be fair to me."

This could have been a reality at some point of time: perhaps not; but it was surely a dream far-fetched for this present, as this real and unforgiving life had other plans for her.

"Somebody, please..." Well, her abrupt cry for help wasn't left unanswered for too long as her Apollo had caught hold of the masked thief by the time she could finish her sentence. Why, didn't heroes show whenever you needed them! Though they might not be much of an eye candy as this one. "When things go out of hand you could only count on a savior like this one to save the day," a soft mumble ran past her lips. "And with this I have fallen for you even harder. Don't blame me if I abduct you and r... Nevermind!"

Here was a boy that came to the assistance of an office lady in distress. Lessons from an Aragaki sensei who taught aikido at the school's very own dojo surely came in handy; a thought that must have ran through the boy's mind. Well, even though he would have grabbed hold of the perpetrator without needing to use the katas (moves of a martial art), his body had memorized the sequences in a well-disciplined manner and could only auto-react to stimulus. The result was evident - commendable to say the least; and if it were someone else they would have taken great pride in themselves for their achievements. But not this boy of humble making. He wasn't taught like that either by his master or by his parents. He was a valuable individual in the making.

But could the same be said of this individual here: a useless person as society called him; a failure of a grown-up; a burden to the already laden society; an existence worth loathing! "What did he do all his life?" a question that many 'useful and valuable' individuals might have raised at various points only out of 'care and respect' they had for their dynamic societal norms; and if someone or something were to disturb those, they were promptly to be eradicated. "A thief had no place in the society. They didn't deserve to live and enjoy the perks for which the hardworking individuals paid to the government from their pockets."

But was it clear to this person! He who was held high by his collar like a weightless doll while on his attempt at stealing, even when he was about to vanish, if succeeded, as if a ghost in the shadows of the night, only struggled for escape but in vain.

Now the duty of this thief's successful capture and surrender to the relevant authority lay with the passers-by, who, though unnerved at first, came to the 'rescue' of the lady. Someone was eager to call the police and so they checked the emergency number in the contacts. The law and order was to be strictly maintained if you asked them. That was what the good citizens were expected to do at the very least.

Thus, the busy yet quiet street suddenly became a place of commotion. Following which arrived two sturdy looking policemen who looked first at the tall boy, then at the perpetrator, and finally at the lady in need. They waved their hands at the people gathered near: a signal that the matter was to be left in their hands. The crowd dispersed as fast as it emerged; the silhouettes of the good citizens scattering and disappearing from sight as if they were never there, as if nothing had happened on that day. Their duty was done and the thief was in the capable hands of the law.

Seeing the police the thief led out a cry for mercy and rambled about his needing money to help his bedridden sister. Now tears followed his speech and perhaps some snot too - a broken voice that could melt away hearts and a grieve-stricken snotty face that told of the misery that led to all this. But he didn't falter; oh, no he didn't, as if the memory of his sister on her sickbed gave him courage to make the final effort, whether it all be futile in the end. He kept struggling but his struggle for escape only increased to a pitiful wriggling as what might have appeared to an onlooker. Such a shame! His efforts only amounted to this.

His captor was an earnest practitioner of aikido; he the captive, a feeble existence that knew a little bit of evasion due to his friendship with some of the thugs of the street. There was absolutely no comparison between the two, though both human in appearance, still miles apart when it came to natural disposition. One was made for the greater good of the society; the other... Well, let's leave it at that, for now.

Nonetheless, there was a very large fundamental difference between these two - the difference of good and evil, which had only grown apart with time. The distance between these two was unfathomable: their driving forces altogether very different. To cut the distance he only needed to tell the truth and it was not an unbelievable story if he thought so himself. Even a 15 year old boy wouldn't fail to understand his dilemma, no matter how much of a 'justice freak' he was. But there was just one fatal flaw.

Though his story would have been convincing to the general public - even to this boy and this office lady - it was a mere farce in front of these police officers. They knew who the masked thief was, and by far had found him guilty in various cases of theft, pickpocketing and shoplifting. It was unfortunate that his story couldn't melt away the ironclad hearts of these two.

"You again, Nakamura," said the younger policeman and shook his head in disagreement and distaste. A bulky man in his late twenties, who would have easily been mistaken for a Yakuza if it weren't for his uniform. His gaze was fixed to the perpetrator as if a hawk to its prey. But behind his fierce appearance had a deeper and calmer personality and a voice as mellow as a brook. But was it to stay so?

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"NOW THAT MAKES IT TWENTY. ARE YOU EVEN SERIOUS ABOUT CHANGING YOUR WAYS?" - Oops, a storm is coming! - "YOU'RE IN FOR A BIG TROUBLE NOW, PUNK! SAY YOUR PRAYERS. I AM GONNA BE YOUR JUDGE..." Hah, the scolding of a train that started and that wouldn't have ended very soon. It would have sucked to be Nakamura at that time. Although he rightfully did deserve it.

Well, the other officer that came looked at the boy, as if looking into the depths of his young mind; and commended on his efforts when he understood him a bit, while he shook his hands in a wholehearted way. He was a man in his early fifties; certainly an agreeable character, most likely on the way to retirement, but not to be considered too old, for he was as healthy as a man in his late thirties. He who possessed sound judgement; an eye that could gaze into someone's soul; a nose that could sniff out trouble from miles away; and a disposition that could get the grasp of a situation in a matter of seconds; was certainly a super cop from a crime fiction.

Now that he had had his fill of profiling, he turned to see the victim of the offense. A careful gaze that he gave at the lady so as not to excite her, grasped the situation from her viewpoint. For a young woman, she certainly didn't lack charms, but what she did lack was confidence, and perhaps some rest. He could easily sympathize with her - she, who looked no older than her own daughter; a girl that had just recently climbed the stairs of adulthood and found a place in the society, which she must have earned on her own. The intricacies of this so-called society might be new to her, even tiresome at times; but she must understand them carefully and walk her path by herself. "Any kind of help in this regard would only be a hindrance in the long run,"he thought. "Ganbare! (Do your best)"

Though he knew what had occurred, even when looking from her point of view, he asked her for the full details as the legal system directed; for he might have missed something down the road to investigation. And when he heard everything that tallied with his own understanding, he gave a slight nod in discernment and agreement. He then promised her that justice would be delivered, while telling her to be extra careful when walking on a busy street. "Take care, miss," he said and slowly walked towards his subordinate.

Meanwhile the younger officer was done with what he was trained for in a situation like this. He was a bit angry at the thief as his sweet time of sipping some coffee at the desk while watching the streets was taken away by this habitual perpetrator. If this day could have been made worse by anyone then it would be by this good-for-nothing. "What did I do to deserve this?" grumbled the policeman and held the other end of the handcuff.

The older officer returned and crosschecked the handcuff. He nodded his head in approval and began walking. The junior followed and gave a slight push to the handcuff. The thief though was lost somewhere in thoughts - first held up by a menace, no, a monster, indeed a monster of a highschooler; and now being handcuffed by this disaster called the police, "my life is f**k*d, ain't it!" the thief muttered in anger.

While he was about to be taken away, he glared at the teenager and cursed him for his downfall. Oh, how he wished he never had appeared before him on that day. If that were true he would now be having a date with his ex-girlfriend in an underground bar. The money would have certainly lasted for a few days. He would have visited a few love-hotels with his ex while at it, or maybe even soaplands to hunt down a few beauties, like this office lady, in the pleasure district. "Curses, how abominable of you to even show up to destroy my sweet time with my ladies! I hope your life gets f**k*d and you never get anyone to talk to about your doom. Curse you to hell, b*t*h!" his soul resounded.

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"DO I HEAR A CURSE?"

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"DO I HEAR IT AS CLEAR AS DAY?"

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"Who is it?" Nakamura looked here and there with bewilderment. He tried to locate the source of the voice but to no avail. Copious amounts of sweat ran down from his forehead to his chin; his eyeballs as if running left and right to mark the first person available that could have been the speaker. At the same time the questions echoed inside his head - the questions emanating from no clear source and his own question asking the owner of the voice their identity.

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"TELL ME YOUR GREATEST DESIRE"

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"AND I SHALL BESTOW UPON YOU"

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The voice seemed to come from a mannequin that stood in front of him. The shop where he last lifted a pair of jeans but was unluckily caught by a member of the staff; did they have this mannequin before! He never cared earlier when he tried to steal but now it seemed that was not the case. The questions remained, and echoed and echoed, as if eating away at his soul.

A sinking feeling inside the heart and a shooting pain in the mid of the brain was all. The voices echoed and echoed, now with a hysterical laughter.

He grabbed his head tightly and led out a terrible scream, "STOP!" The shooting in his head was now replaced with crushing. Someone or something was crushing his brain inside; an invisible force, yes, an invisible force it must be, "S-STOP."

"Hey, hey now! Don't suddenly start screaming like that," the older officer warned. He directed his subordinate to secure the perpetrator so as not to let him escape. The nearby pedestrians ignored since they had no time for a petty criminal. There were better things to do in the meantime; like going out on a date with someone, rushing for a job interview, or going to school or college; things which mattered the most to common yet good citizens of the society. "The scums of the society were better off dead;" a unanimous voice from within could have been heard in the distance, not through the ears on the outside, but through the ears of the mind.

"What now, seeing the images of your made-up bedridden sister or something!" the younger officer said with an utter derision. He still could not forgive him for taking away his sweet little break time. "Get moving, jack***. I'll show you your four by one. Don't worry, your made-up bedridden sister will show up to see you in your cell." He ridiculed him upon his foolishness and laughed with a sense of pride. By doing so he might not have felt good on the inside, but there was a face he had to maintain, one with a good reason too.

"Hey, calm down officer Tennouji," said the older officer, "he is a perp; maybe a good-for-nothing that only knows ways to steal but still you're taking it too far..."

The younger officer looked at the older policeman and then at the thief. "Hey, did you hear that? I'm getting told by officer Hirasawa because of you. Do you feel any remorse for what you have done with your life until now?"

He then looked forward, as if avoiding eye-contact willingly; and though it might not have been sincere, he apologized to his senior.

The older policeman knew Tennouji from the day he came to work under him. "He may be rough on some edges but he is not useless, and definitely not a fool. I have seen, met and worked with far more fools who think of themselves otherwise. But, he knows what he's expected of and does jobs commendably. He is not a fool; definitely not a fool, to say the least." The older officer thought. And then he said to Tennouji, as if with the intention to cheer him up, "let's get this work done and then have some coffee at the station. I shall prepare it."

The subordinate rejoiced on hearing the idea and gave a cheerful smile, something that his senior was accustomed to. "Thank you, officer Hirasawa," he said. "But obviously I shall prepare it." This statement could have been very well prepared in advance, but only Tennouji knew.

"Cause I'm your senior?" said the older officer; a confirmation that he might have wanted, for his junior wouldn't neglect their present standings. "Nope," the younger policeman however remarked, "cause you really suck at it." A bitter truth; but a truth at the very core. And then they both laughed at each other's crudity: one didn't fail to talk back even though as a sham; while the other was actually very bad with the manual espresso coffeemaker, a truth he took without any offense. The tense mood had subsided for now.

"Well, do you see that? Definitely not a fool," the last thought of the older police officer before the police station appeared.