'I've Decided.'

“I’ve had something on my mind recently…”

Himiko looked expectantly; an expression of 'continue' laced her face.

“What if you had to change, to become some kind of monster unwillingly? A… vile creature.”

“Vile?”

“Disgusting.”

“Oh.”

Silence ensued inside the small slide.

‘Why did I think telling an 11-year-old this would fix anything? She doesn't know the struggles I'm hinting at, the result of becoming such a monster.’

Mentally slapping and berating himself, Ken was getting up and leaving. He planned on ignoring any possible protest from both inside and outside his mind and forgetting this conversation even happened.

“Well...I’d live.”

Ken, caught off guard, looked at his blond-haired friend as if she had four heads.

“I mean, if it's permanent, then that's your life now. Whether you're a monster or not doesn’t matter; sometimes even the most innocent-looking humans can also be monsters. So what matters should be you on the inside… right?”

Himiko’s lonely expression was washed off with a soft ‘Thanks’ from Ken, who didn’t like seeing that look.

‘Naive.’ That was his initial thought.

‘The thinking of a child, pure and innocent yet unaware.’

Ken had such thoughts swirling around inside his head, yet he didn’t plan on listening to them.

'Sometimes optimism is needed to continue forward; besides, she does have some semblance of logic to the words.’

"Thanks; I hope you always view me as me.”

Giving a blinding smile, Himiko replied, “Of course, after all, you're my very best friend.”

Once finished a quick tap on Ken's hand and her scurrying down the slide caused their little game of tag to continue.

And Ken relished the much-needed distraction before continuing on the path he'd decided after their conversation.

.

.

‘So here I am, finding myself in a shady building with shady figures at such a shady hour.’

Ken stood before the surprisingly clean-looking building amidst the dilapidated structures of the neighborhood.

Its brick façade exuded an antique charm, contrasting sharply with the worn-out buildings surrounding it.

Having just visited an information dealer under a bridge, Ken had obtained the location of this establishment through persuasive means, possibly involving physical altercations.

This place served as the hub for real information, where transactions occurred through intermediaries like the man Ken had encountered under the bridge.

They gave that guy information and ‘items,’ and in exchange, that guy went all around the district selling them.

He would give the place a cut of the money, and they would continue the exchange.

This was the place Ken could go if he needed some real answers.

Without further ado, Ken walked inside.

His black jacket and pants, along with the barely recognizable white shirt, oddly didn't stand out in the place with all the adornments of people.

Some dressed in the skimpiest outfits that could barely be considered 'clothes' while others wore full-on animal costumes with certain parts cut out to allow some 'fresh air' down there.

Moving his gaze, Ken saw a ‘dance center’ down the right wing where most of the more 'Exotic' figures congregated, as well as games consisting of pool, dart throwing, and others on the left surrounded by an incessant amount of alcoholic beverages.

Despite the eclectic atmosphere, Ken bypassed the distractions and headed straight for the bar/lounge area.

Ken approached the bar and took a seat, his black attire blending seamlessly with the eclectic crowd.

The bartender shot him a glance but Otherwise did nothing to indicate Ken's age.

“Your drink?”

“Barrel Proof Bourbon Whiskey.” Ken's request prompted another scrutinizing gaze from the bartender.

Resisting the urge to shiver, Ken looked straight into the piercing eyes, causing them to awkwardly shift to the glass he was cleaning in his hand.

“I-I’m afraid, sir, we don’t have that in stock currently.”

“I’m sure you have it in the back.”

“Would you like to check?”

“Delightfully.” Standing up, Ken was led to a back door.

Before he went through, he looked behind him to find many curious stares looking in his direction.

Guided behind the door and down a few hallways, he was left at the beginning of a long corridor and was told to walk straight until he reached the end.

As he walked through the hallway with only the sound of his footsteps and the occasional creak of the wooden floor being comfort to his ears, Ken couldn’t help but think about the instructions he was told.

‘When walking up to the bar, you’ll be asked what you want. After saying Barrel Proof Bourbon Whiskey and staring the bartender in the eyes, you'll have to ask to go to the back rooms. Eventually, face a door with guards dressed as bouncers.’

Confirming this, Ken saw two men dressed in black suits standing in front of a rather unusual door.

Made of pure steel, or at least in appearance, with gold wavy lines running down from top to bottom all the way through.

“Are you lost, sir?"

The question, delivered in an aggressive tone, betrayed the guards' vigilance.

‘After being in contact with them, you’ll reply-'

“I’m afraid so; this doesn't seem like the backrooms."

The two guards traced his facial expression, his eyes moving around, the elongation of the word 'seem,’ even the questioning tone he spoke with at the end.

Every nuance of Ken's response was part of the unspoken code.

Finally, they nodded to each other and said, “You can enter, sir.”

The door opened ever so slightly, letting the specs of orange come into his vision.

Inside, a space the size of an office could be seen, along with a man sitting down in a luxurious leather chair atop a rug made of bearskin.

‘But please don’t use this method. The other method allows you to get information from the bartender without meeting the boss, and it saves needless time.’

With the glare from the sun going down, Ken’s eyes reset, allowing him to see the man.

Middle-aged with squinted pink eyes, short gray hair, and a well-groomed mustache and goatee, he exuded an aura of wealth and authority.

His attire, consisting of a partially unbuttoned shirt, brown dress pants, and a blazer, hinted at his flamboyant persona.

And that was further solidified by the fat cigar that rolled off of his teeth and the purple-framed gold sunglasses that he wore inside.

With his feet perched up on the desk, he was undoubtedly the boss Ken was aware of.

But before he could even take a step inside, the man spoke, “Who told you?”

Despite his weasel-like and laid-back appearance, he seems to take matters of security quite seriously.

“Some guy under Musutafu Bridge, short black hair, huge long overcoat, worked for your company for years.”

The boss nodded to the men who showed Ken inside; they nodded back before leaving, probably to deal with the ‘traitor’ who had no doubt fled the area by now.

Resuming his entrance, Ken walked in and sat on the couch opposite the desk; the material provided a level of comfort Ken had never experienced.

Trying not to get caught up in the vestiges of it all, Ken moved forward, hunching over to face the boss.

“You may know already, but I’m Giran, boss of this establishment and friend to all. So, what can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for something.”

“I’m afraid that's going to cost extra for a retrieval or location mission.”

“No… I want to hunt, but my target must fulfill certain criteria.”

“Oh, an assassination mission; you should have said that earlier. Yes, that kind of request is normal, so lucky for you, no extra fees.”

The man spoke with overly theatrical performances and constant movements of his hands, expressing his mind.

While sitting up and adjusting himself, Giran lightly said, "You don't seem like the type to take such missions."

"You don't seem like the type to be selling information to people."

A dark, low chuckle could be heard at Ken's words as Giran had to cover his face with a hand to hide his expression.

The maniacal side sealed Ken's thoughts regarding the man, Eccentric.’

"You know I like your type—witty, smart, and brazen. The kind to make you surprised on an otherwise predictable day."

He set some papers in order but otherwise straightened his hands and hunched over, giving Ken his full attention now.

"So, what's the specific criteria?”

“They need to be alone; not many should be looking for them if they disappear; someone needs to deal with the scene after; all the loot is for me, including the body.”

That gave Ken another look, but ultimately, Giran looked away.

“A man of science, eh? I’ll see what I can do.”

Ken was about to stand up and leave when he saw Giran open his computer and immediately get to typing.

Despite the unusual behavior since people like this tend to take weeks to find, Ken sat back down and was presented with a photo 3 minutes later.

“This here is Minerva, one of the main figures in the former C.R.C. She led a sizable portion of the anti-human group and created the A.R.S. Abnormality’s Reign Supreme.”

'Does she also have a penchant for shitty nicknames?'

Ken observed the photo of Minerva, noting her striking appearance.

Dressed in a green camo-colored military uniform, her emerald-colored third eye atop her forehead added an air of mystique.

Despite her unconventional features, her regal demeanor and commanding presence were undeniable.

That, along with the fur on her collar, gave her a majestic royalty feeling, as if you were supposed to bow down to a noble creature such as her.

In the second photo, he saw the same woman; however, this time bangs were covering her forehead, which solidified his analysis from before.

Looking up, Ken pointed to the third eye while raising his eyebrows.

"...That’s...her quirk.” Rubbing the back of his head, Giran said,

“The reason her mission allows everything to belong to the killer yet is still available is because of the lack of information. Her quirk is unknown, and her whereabouts are irregular.”

Giving an unimpressed look, Ken was about to leave.

He too wasn’t interested in a searching mission; he didn't even have the skills in that department!

Luckily, Giran's next words dispelled his worries.

“But don't worry. The client, seeing that the mission hadn't been accepted in days, searched and found some critical information. In three days, at 10 p.m., she’ll be at Loading Dock 13, down by the port. That’ll be your opportunity to strike.”

‘Loading dock 13, it’s near a sewer hole, right? I can use that to sneak around, avoiding the guards.’

“You're lucky. The client contacted me hours ago, telling me this. I was going to use it to lure new customers.”

“But you get it first. You should be one of the only ones on the mission since the client is quite high up and spent quite a bit of time looking for this information.”

Ken thought about it for a moment.

Giran could be lying, and the lack of knowledge about who Minerva is was concerning, but...

“I agree.”

Shaking Giran’s hands and signing a contract, Ken read over it meticulously, scanning for any extra clauses and the like.

After reading so many times, Ken closed his eyes to ease his mind-pounding headache.

The next thing he knew, he was walking along the crappy street, the uneven surface hurting his feet.

‘God, not getting enough sleep does numbers on you. I barely even remember walking out of the building.’

Turning around to scan the environment, Ken noticed that his enhanced senses made him aware of the added mass traveling along the roof and the conversation his pursuers were having in their earbuds.

Wanting them gone, Ken went into a crowded mall before making sharp turns.

Using his small height to his advantage, he easily blended into the crowd, slipping through tiny nooks that were unavailable to others.

Once he ditched his trail, he started walking back until he got inside an abandoned construction building, his current sleeping place.

Laying down on the scrappy sleeping bag, he went through his current plans.

Yawn

By now the sun was out fully, so he was trying to finish this before he went to sleep.

'First, I’ll need to buy some fast food with the 1000 yen I snagged off the security guard. Then I’ll look around and ‘question’ some people ‘nicely’ about who Minerva is. Giran only gave me preliminary information, likely wanting me to pay for additional knowledge.’

Ken shivered thinking about the slimy man; his hands, ego, and decor made him think he was being played at every notice.

Promising himself to get 'missions' from the bartender next time, Ken continued.

‘What is she like? Some of her famous exploits? Most importantly, her quirk, suspicions, anything, any information is better than none. Once I'm done, I’ll scout out the loading dock, getting a feel for the place and noting the more hidden places.’

YAWN

'Her quirk could be some wacky type that'll kill by looking in her direction, or it could belong to the lame version where she can shoot a beam or something out of her eye.'

Regardless Ken would have to come up with a plan, one suitable for every application she could pull off.

So to narrow down his planning, he had to know the ballpark—the range in which her quirks and abilities lay.

‘Then... I-I’ll-’

With his thoughts coming to a close, Ken went to sleep, trying to get more than 5 hours of rest and get rid of his headache.

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