As I thought, she's not Lena, Elias thought to himself, the notion falling into place like the final piece of a long-unsolved puzzle. The girl — Vera — may have worn a face eerily similar to his sister's, may have mirrored her age, her tone, even her stubborn energy... but she wasn't Lena. Not the one he buried in his heart three years ago.
"What's got you so down, Elias?" came Albert's voice, cutting into his thoughts. The older man stood behind the counter, polishing a glass with a weathered cloth. His gaze, though slightly dulled by age, remained unblinking — clear and unwavering like a steel needle poking through gauze.
"Just distracted by a thought," Elias replied, cool and composed.
Albert raised an eyebrow with exaggerated skepticism and glared at Elias with mock severity. "Do you remember that favor, Elias?"
At that, a thin bead of sweat ran down the side of Elias's temple, the only crack in his otherwise impassive demeanor. "Ah, Albert, you can't be thinking—" he began, trying to deflect with a weak chuckle.
"This kid was in the same state I found you in. I can't be a caretaker for you all, can I?" Albert replied, gruff but not without warmth.
Elias's guarded expression softened, a slight grin tugging at the corner of his lips. His eyes drifted for a moment, distant yet vivid in memory.
He remembered the rain.
Cold sheets of it, crashing down on the dark alley where he had curled between two old buildings — forgotten, unnoticed, just another shadow on the street. Albert had stumbled upon him that night, thinking at first he was just another homeless wreck beaten by the world.
But it hadn't been sadness or despair that filled Elias's eyes. No.
It had been fury.
At that time, it wasn't sadness nor was it grief. It was burning revenge, Albert recalled silently as he glanced at Elias once more. The memory still fresh — Elias's drenched clothes, his fists clenched, and most hauntingly, those eyes. Cold. Hollow. Raging.
"Sure thing," Elias said at last, his face settling into its usual emotionless state, the brief grin fading like smoke.
The tension in the air dissolved with his words. The bar, once brimming with energy, slowly mellowed. The crowd that had gathered near Machy and Vera now began to disperse — some chuckling, others simply returning to their drinks. Even with the occasional laughter or roar, the atmosphere shifted into something quieter. A place of brief, drunken peace amidst chaos.
"However," Elias said, lowering himself onto one of the wooden stools at the bar counter, "for now, I'm here for information."
Machy and Vera still sat nearby — the former now practically melted into the counter in a drunken stupor, the latter blinking slowly with glazed, unfocused eyes.
Albert nodded. "I see that you've accomplished the most recent tasks," he said dryly. His eyes motioned toward the back of the bar, where a dusty, wall-mounted television played soundlessly.
The screen flickered dimly, its color faded with age. On it, a female news reporter stood in front of a gated industrial site, her voice barely audible over the low hum of the bar.
"The reports say that just last night, noises were heard from this abandoned factory, where a nearby civilian reported the noise," the reporter was saying.
The camera cut to blood-streaked tiles and yellow tape. "As the authorities arrived, they found countless bodies—" she paused, hand to her earpiece. "Oh, apologies. Many body parts scattered. This is said to have been done by an unknown villain. In this massacre, part of the A-Class Hero's body, Flirode, was discovered."
"How violent," Albert muttered with a sigh, setting down the polished glass. "If you continue like this, they'll know it's the same person every time."
Elias gave no response. Just silence. No denial. No explanation. Just the stare of a man unrepentant.
Albert watched him for a moment, then gave a resigned shrug. "Hmm. I can't seem to stop you anyway."
He reached beneath the counter and pulled out a thin envelope, placing it lightly on the bar. "For your next target... Apparently, since the Hero Association has labeled you as Vigilante 7A, they've dispatched Divider — an A-Class Hero — and Vilostar, who's also A-Class."
The mention of names didn't faze Elias. His eyes remained on the flickering TV, where the image had shifted to a photo of the late hero, Flirode — now just another casualty in a trail of calculated retribution.
No one knows where Albert gets his information, Elias thought, but no one dares to ask. As long as it's trustworthy — which it has always been — that's enough.
Albert smiled faintly, his eyes meeting Elias's one more time.