"I asked you a question! Why are you alive instead of my wife and son?! Do you think that just because you're a Hero, you deserve to live more than others?!"

What the old man was saying doesn't make sense at all, and it didn't need to. It doesn't have to—they were grieving, and Adam understood that feeling clearly. Grief…

…grief is love without reason.

And so, he let them be. And when the others realized Adam wasn't reacting, wasn't defending himself at all, they… joined in.

"Are you here to mock us?!"

"Shouldn't you be dead?!"

"Why do you get to walk away when they didn't?"

A dozen of them screamed at him. He couldn't hear most of their words since they were drowning each other's words, but he knew what they were trying to say. Those were words, after all, he'd been saying to himself his entire life.

And if anything, he might actually agree with them.

To his surprise, however, there were actually people who didn't agree.

"What are you guys doing?! Stop it!"

"It's not his fault! He's a victim here, too!"

"Heroes were just normal people! He suffered more than any of us know!"

"And are you people stupid…? He's a Hero. You do know he can squash us like bugs, right?"

"P-please… I don't want to die. Stop being stupid, you motherfuckers."

But of course, there were also others trying to stop them because they feared him. Adam was still a Hero—if he snapped, they were all in danger… they thought.

Still, their pleas to stop were overpowered by the barrage of accusations and blame being thrown at Adam. They were screaming, crying, with some even wanting to lunge at him.

They did, however, stop as soon as Adam stepped forward. Everyone backed away instinctively… leaving the old man who started all of this to fend for himself alone.

The old man didn't care, however, and even kept his eyes glaring at Adam. The others became extremely nervous, some looking away for what was to come.

But, of course, Adam wasn't going to do anything from their vivid imaginations—no.

"What were their names?" Adam asked quietly, and the old man looked confused.

"Your wife and son," Adam repeated. "What were their names?"

"L…Ling and Prince," the man whispered weakly, almost choking as his family's names left his lips. "Prince… Prince was twelve. They were… they were in the city because he… he wanted to buy a toy and… they didn't have to die."

Adam was quiet for a moment. "Ling and Prince. I… don't know them."

"You…" The old man's face twisted with rage. "Then what right do you—"

"I… saw several women. Mothers, with children, maybe not even their kids." Adam looked to the side, as if recalling a memory and actually seeing it happen again.

"I saw a woman protect a young boy with everything she had. And the boy did the same. They were… brave. Braver than I was, both of them were."

"You…" The old man's mouth opened, but no words came. "You think that could've been them…?"

"I met someone younger. A little girl. She was so afraid, all of us… all of them were... but they fought anyway. They all fought together." Adam's voice grew softer. "I saw someone, a large man, carrying two people to safety. I saw someone driving the very car I just moved, using it to save people."

"That... that sounds like my husband," a woman whispered from the crowd.

"My son… my son was a fireman. That's him. I'm sure of it," another voice said.

"The girl... was she blonde? Did… did she have a mole around her left cheek?"

Adam glanced at those who spoke. In a way… he was lying, telling a story from only the good fragments of his memory that might not even happened. Back then, he was busy surviving and running away. But right now, the truth… didn't matter, it didn't.

Not for him, and especially not for these people.

"I… don't know any of their names," Adam said, staring at his palm as he sighed. "But I knew what they chose to do. They chose to fight so they could go home. We're all standing where they made that choice."

Adam looked around at the rubble, at the bloodstains still visible on broken concrete. And there and then, everyone saw their own reflection in his face—the weight of loss, the burden of… being alive.

"My… my—" The old man broke down, his knees giving out. Adam caught him gently, supporting his weight as the man sobbed into his shoulder. "Do you… do you think they passed peacefully?"

No.

No. But Adam didn't need to say that, not at all—the old man, everyone here knew just how brutal the Game was. But… there was a sense of comfort in imagining.

Adam didn't answer. That wasn't what any one of them needed. It has been more than two months since the 242nd Game. These people weren't here for answers.

They were here for… they were here for…

I… don't know.

Adam doesn't know. The only thing he does know… was that he was there, too.

He closed his eyes, placing his hand on the man's shoulder as he continued to sob.

And without noticing it, the other people began to approach him too. They circled around them, letting out whatever emotions, whatever feelings they needed out.

And if there was one more thing they all had in common aside from the inescapable, but departing grief… it was that they started to reach out.

To Adam.

They wanted to hold him. Him. The Hero who carried their pain like his own.

Once again, unknowingly, Adam became a spark for something—not hope exactly... but understanding.

[...]

[The Administrators are watching you with even more curiosity.]

[The Administrator, Mikhail, has come back and is proud of what you are becoming. Mikhail is thinking of bestowing you a gift.]

[The Administrator, Laphael, is confused… wondering if you have met each other before.]

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