The first time Ryu sees the city's version of law enforcement actually do something, it's over a broken window and a chicken.
He's in the lower market again, bag over his shoulder, waiting for Jano to finish yelling at someone else so he can start yelling at him. The air is thick with smoke, spices, and stress.
The shout comes from further down the street.
"Hey! I told you you're not welcome here!"
Ryu doesn't turn immediately. He shifts his weight, pretending to study a stack of wilted greens. His eyes do the moving, not his head.
A skinny man is half hanging out of a shop doorway, one arm clutching a struggling chicken, the other raised defensively. The shop owner stands outside, red-faced, waving a hand at a shattered pane of glass.
"You broke my window!" the owner yells. "And you think you can just run off with that?"
"It was an accident!" the skinny man protests. "I slipped—"
"You slipped while stealing my chicken?"
People slow down. Not stopping, but not ignoring it either. The city always loves a show, as long as it's not about them.
Two men in uniform are already on the scene, which is the interesting part.
Ryu has seen them around: blue-grey jackets, caps, little metal badges on their chests. City security, peacekeepers, whatever the official title is. Not soldiers. Not Hunters. The kind of people you call when your neighbor is being an idiot, not when some monster is eating your roof.
They flank the skinny man, not too close. One is older, with a moustache trying to make up for thinning hair. The other is younger, jaw clenched in a way that screams "recently hired and still believes in procedure."
"Put the bird down," the older one says. "Slowly."
The thief hesitates.
The chicken makes its own comment, loud and unhappy.
Ryu watches the distance between them, the weight distribution in their legs. No one here moves like the Hunter he saw. No quiet density, no invisible pressure. Just guys with training and pay that probably isn't worth it.
Skinny man licks his lips. His eyes flick around the crowd, searching for an exit that doesn't exist.
He bolts anyway.
Not backward, not sideways, but straight toward the younger guard.
For a second, Ryu thinks: you absolute idiot. Then he sees why.
The younger guard is softer. Less experienced. Grip on his baton a little awkward.
The thief crashes into him, shoulder first. The chicken explodes into feathers and noise. The guard stumbles. The thief twists, feet sliding on spilled grain, somehow managing to slip past.
It would almost be impressive if it wasn't pathetic.
The older guard moves then, sharper than his build suggests. He hooks a foot out, catches the thief's ankle, and wrenches him sideways. The man hits the ground hard, chicken and all.
The crowd flinches as one.
The chicken escapes the grip, flapping madly. It sprints into the chaos of legs and vanishes into the market, screaming bloody murder.
"Great," the shop owner groans. "Now I've lost the window and the bird."
The older guard plants a foot on the thief's back, not enough to crush, just enough to keep him down. "You really thought that was going to work?" he asks, mildly.
"Please," the man wheezes. "My kids need—"
"Everyone's kids need something," the guard says. "That window needs paying for."
The younger guard finally regains balance, red-faced. He glares at the thief with offended pride.
"Should've just come when we called you last time," he mutters.
So this isn't a first offense. This is a repeat performance.
The older guard pulls out a pair of metal cuffs and snaps them on the man with practiced, tired movements.
"Shopkeeper," he says. "You want to file formal charges or just restitution?"
"I want my damn money," the owner says. "And that chicken. And a new window. And—"
"Pick one," the guard cuts him off. "You know how this goes."
It turns into negotiation. Loud, petty negotiation. The crowd starts to lose interest.
Ryu doesn't. He watches how it's handled.
The peacekeepers aren't cruel. They're not gentle either. They're efficient in that "we've done this too many times" way.
Eventually, it gets resolved: the man is hauled up, marched off. The owner gets promises of partial compensation "from future wages" if the man agrees to work off the debt. Which means he's probably getting attached to some city repair crew whether he likes it or not.
Nobody dies. Nobody gets beaten bloody in the street. Nothing dramatic.
It's… ordinary.
This is what justice looks like at this level, Ryu thinks. Not exam arcs. Just paperwork with muscle.
Jano notices where he's looking.
"First time you've seen them take someone?" the grocer asks, not unkindly.
"Up close," Ryu says.
"They don't come down here much unless they have to," Jano says. "Costs time. Time costs money."
"Crime doesn't pay unless it does," Ryu says.
Jano squints at him. "You're a strange kid."
"That's the rumor."
He takes the bag Jano pushes at him and heads out.
On the way back, he adjusts the strap on his shoulder and thinks.
Hunters live above this system. They can ignore it if they want. They can be used by it. They can break it.
The city guards are stuck inside it.
If you're weak and law-abiding, you hope these guys show up when someone threatens you. If you're weak and desperate, you hope you don't run into them when you're trying to steal a chicken.
If you're Ryu, you quietly classify them as "useful background factor" and move on.
Later that week, he sees the other side.
Not the law. The absence of it.
Sister sends him to deliver a note to a small workshop hugging the edge of the industrial quarter. The air there tastes of metal, oil and tired dreams.
The workshop is closed when he gets there. A sign on the door says "Back later." No time given. No one in sight.
He considers waiting. Then he hears raised voices from the alley behind the building.
He shouldn't go. The grown-up answer is always "turn back, go home."
He goes.
The alley is narrow, shadow pooled at the far end. Two men stand near the back door of the workshop. One has the kind of build you get from lifting heavy objects for years. The other has the kind of build you get from leaning on people who lift heavy objects.
"You know how this works," the second man is saying. "You're on this street. You pay."
"I paid last month," the first man replies. His voice is rough, edged with exhaustion more than fear. "And the month before that. And the one before that. I can barely make rent as it is."
"That sounds like a you problem."
Ryu freezes near the mouth of the alley. Not close enough to be obvious. Close enough to hear.
Protection racket, he thinks. Of course.
The second man steps closer. He's not huge, but his presence is heavy in a way the peacekeepers' wasn't. Not Nen-heavy. Just confident in a world without referees.
"You like your machines?" the man asks. "You like your windows, your tools? It'd be a shame if something happened."
"Is that a threat?"
"It's a possibility."
Ryu scans the ground. Loose brick. Bottle shard. Nothing that helps him. Not that he plans to help. This is not his fight. He's a seven-year-old with a letter and an overactive brain, not a vigilante.
You interfere here, you die, he reminds himself. Or worse, you make it worse for him.
Threat guy shoves the workshop owner lightly. Just a reminder of physical facts.
"We're not unreasonable," he says. "We're just… adjusting to the times. Prices go up."
Funny how everyone says that when they're squeezing someone.
The workshop owner's jaw tightens. "I'll get you the money," he says. "Just… not today."
The thug considers, then nods once.
"Two days," he says. "Then we come back. With more people. We'd hate to cause damage. Bad for the neighborhood."
He pats the man's cheek like they're friends and walks toward the street.
Ryu steps back, melting into the side, lifting his bag just enough to look like he never stopped walking.
The thug passes him at the alley mouth. Their eyes meet for half a second.
The man's gaze weighs him and discards him.
"Watch where you're going," the thug says lazily.
Ryu dips his head. "Sorry."
The man snorts and keeps going.
Ryu walks the opposite direction until he's sure he's not being watched. Only then does he loop back, knock quietly on the workshop's front door.
A few seconds later, it opens a crack. The owner's face appears, lined and wary.
"We're closed," he starts, then sees Ryu fully. "You're…?"
"From the orphanage," Ryu says, holding up the letter. "Sister sent this. She said to give it to you, not the door."
The joke is weak, but it lands just enough to loosen the man's shoulders a millimeter.
He opens the door, takes the letter. His hands shake very slightly.
"Thanks," he says. He hesitates, then adds, "You didn't… hear anything, did you?"
Ryu plays dumb. "Just doors and machines," he says. "Sound carries weird here."
The man studies him, trying to decide if he's lying.
He is. Obviously.
"All right," the man says finally. "Tell Sister I got it."
Ryu nods and leaves.
On the way back, he feels the city differently.
Before, it was layers: orphanage, markets, station, pit, liaison office.
Now he can see the web between them.
Peacekeepers who show up when there's a public scene and write reports about broken windows. Thugs who show up when no one is looking and "adjust" prices. Hunters who could wreck both and probably don't bother unless it affects their jobs.
People like the workshop owner sit in the middle, hoping none of these forces decide to lean too hard.
This is what Nen will sit on top of, Ryu thinks. When I finally touch it, it won't be floating in a clean shounen bubble. It'll be sitting in this mess.
He doesn't feel heroic. He doesn't feel inspired.
He feels… informed.
Back at the orphanage, Sister asks, "Did you find him?"
"Yeah," Ryu says. "He was there. Looked busy."
"He always looks busy," she says. "Did he seem… all right?"
Ryu thinks of the man's shaking hands, the almost-shove, the "two days."
"He seemed tired," Ryu says carefully.
Sister exhales. "Everyone is," she says. Then, more briskly: "Wash up. We need help with dinner."
He goes.
That night, he listens again to the city breathing through the walls. Thuds from the pit. A siren somewhere distant. Laughter too loud to be happy. His own thoughts, too sharp to be comfortable.
He's still just an observer. No Nen, no card, no power.