The city of Neon Osaka—always awake, always pretending it wasn't dying.
Every skyscraper blinked in coded light, every alley whispered rumors of power. The air smelled of ozone and burnt circuits, where heroes and villains had long blurred into something corporate, marketable—profitable.
And in the middle of that hollow brilliance stood a young man with his hands deep in his coat pockets. His name was Akin Tarino.
He watched the skyline through tired eyes, neon lights dancing across the lenses of his circular shades. His expression was unreadable, somewhere between cynicism and amusement.
> "You ever wonder," he murmured, "if people even want to be saved anymore?"
No one answered. Not that he expected anyone to. The city itself was his only conversation partner—one that hummed back with broken drones and flickering ads.
He chuckled softly.
> "Nah. They don't want heroes. They want distractions. Heroes just make the chaos easier to look at."
Somewhere below, an explosion lit the lower districts—a faint bloom of orange that painted the night sky like a dying flame. Sirens wailed. Another hero battle. Another tragedy with brand sponsors and hashtags.
Akin's gaze lingered for a moment before he looked down at his hand, now holding a single silver coin he hadn't been holding a second ago.
> "Balance, huh… that's what they all say. But there's no balance in a world that sells salvation by the pound."
He flipped the coin into the air.
When it landed—he was gone.
---
The next morning.
The city buzzed again with life, pretending last night's explosion hadn't happened. News screens showed smiling reporters discussing "heroic efforts," but the footage behind them was just smoke and debris.
Somewhere on the city's outskirts, far from the steel and holograms, a lone figure jogged across the open plains. Dust trailed behind his sneakers, and sweat glistened under the soft morning sun. His red tracksuit fluttered like flame.
Haquin Takeshi.
Codename: Blazing Fart.
Don't ask him where the name came from. Long story.
The boy stopped near a cliff overlooking the metropolis, catching his breath as he grinned into the horizon. His hair, half-dyed orange, caught the sunlight like fire.
> "Man… this place never changes," he muttered. "Still smells like burnt plastic and bad decisions."
He sat down, tying his shoelace, eyes tracing the distant cityscape. Something about it always made him uneasy. Like there was something beneath it—something watching.
The wind picked up, carrying faint echoes of metallic laughter… or maybe it was just the city again, glitching through its own noise.
> "Heroes this, heroes that…" Haquin muttered. "Funny how we still call them that when all they do is fight each other."
A stray breeze rustled the grass beside him.
A faint metallic clink hit the ground near his feet.
Haquin looked down—
A silver coin.
He frowned, picking it up, noticing strange engravings that shimmered and twisted like static. The longer he stared, the more the symbols seemed to rearrange themselves.
> "Huh… what's this? Some kinda old currency?"
He turned it between his fingers—and for a brief second, everything went quiet. The wind stopped. The sound of distant sirens cut off. Even the city lights seemed to freeze mid-flicker.
Then, a whisper—clear and cold—drifted into his ear.
> "The world doesn't need heroes, Haquin. It needs reminders."
The voice was gone as quickly as it came.
Haquin blinked, the world snapping back into motion.
The coin in his hand was gone.
He rubbed his head and laughed nervously.
> "Okay… definitely need more sleep."
But even as he got up, stretching and brushing off dust, something inside him shifted. A spark. A quiet fire that didn't burn with rage or pride—just purpose.
He looked back toward the city one last time.
> "If the world's gonna fall apart…" he said, tightening his jacket, "…guess I'll be the one to light it up first."
The wind caught his words, carrying them into the skyline like prophecy.
Somewhere far away, Akin Tarino watched from a shadowed alley, a faint smile curling on his lips.
He flipped another coin.
> "There it is," he whispered. "The first flicker."
And the coin vanished again—like it had never existed.
---