Meeting Henry

How Henry and I met huh? Let's see if I still remember, I have a bad memory at recalling things.

Aha! Here it is.

It was a weekend evening...I think, I decided to take one of my usual nighttime walks through the city. The full moon bathed the streets in its gentle light, and the cool breeze was a soothing companion, chasing away my worries.

At that time, I hadn't yet become a student at the school I'd registered for, waiting for my admission.

As I strolled through the quiet streets with few passebys, an incident nearby captured my attention. 

A group of young, well-dressed men exuded an air of affluence. An elderly beggar woman approached them, her frail voice pleading for some assistance, but they ignored her, even pushing her away.

But what truly caught my attention was when a young boy in a hoodie darted past them and snatched the old woman's begging sack.

"A thief! Please, someone help me," the elderly woman struggled to cry out as her voice quivered.

Without hesitation, the young men, about three of them, gave chase after the boy, their shouts echoing in the night.

"Stop that kid, he's a thief!"

"Hold him!" They yelled as they signaled for anyone ahead to stop the boy. Most pedestrians paid little heed, and those who did couldn't catch up as the boy sprinted past them.

"Hey! You kid, how shameless can you be, stealing from an old beggar?"

"You better stop running, because if I catch up to you, I'll make you regret it!" Realizing that no one was coming to their aid, the men resorted to threats.

"Hey kid, hold him down, don't let him escape, he's a thief!" One of the men shouted at me just as the boy approached.

I initially feigned ignorance and pretended not to hear them. However, as the boy neared me, he tapped my shoulder and swiftly hoisted himself up.

*Huff, huff*

"Wh... where did he go?" The men asked in strained tones as they reached me.

"I think he went that way," I pointed in the direction he'd fled.

"Hurry up, I know that route leads to a dead end," one of the men said as they rushed toward the path I'd indicated.

*People are quick to pass judgment on others, often ignoring their own flaws. It's ironic how some people seize any opportunity to be called a 'hero.'*

If they had simply given the woman some money to replace her stolen sack, they could have saved themselves the trouble. But no, they were determined to catch the thief and become the heroes of the scene. It's worth noting that these were the same individuals who hadn't offered the beggar a single coin and even shoved her aside. What a bunch of hypocrites.

After a few minutes, the boy walked out, a sly smile on his face.

It didn't take a magician to guess what had occurred. He had bested those men, each of them at least level 5 martial artists, as evidenced by the drop of blood on his fist.

The boy approached me with a grin and tapped my shoulder.

"Thanks, kid," he said, but I interrupted him.

"Don't take it out without my permission; you put it in there without my consent," I stated, pointing to the small begging sack tucked into my shirt pocket.

He appeared somewhat taken aback but quickly composed himself.

"So you noticed. What gave me away??" he inquired.

"Let's say I'm sensitive to touches. When you tapped my shoulder, I knew you'd deposited the old woman's sack in my shirt pocket," I remarked, eyeing the tiny bag nestled there.

"What else do you know?" he probed.

"I also know that you intended for them to corner you in the narrow path, and that you had a plan, either because you're physically stronger or because your plan had a near 100% success rate," I explained.

"How...?!" He appeared startled.

"Well, if you're going to make individuals as wealthy and powerful as they look chase after you, it means you have a reliable escape route. But choosing a path that's a dead end suggests one of two things: either you're suicidal, or you can defeat them. I'm sure you're not the suicidal type, so I went with the latter," I concluded.

"..." He was dumbfounded at first but soon burst into laughter.

"Pfft, hahaha!" His laughter was long and somewhat obnoxious, drawing the attention of passersby, much to my annoyance. I detest being the center of attention, but what I loathe even more is when the attention isn't admiration.

"Alright, you got me, but why did you rule out the possibility of me being suicidal?" he asked.

"Simple. If you intended to commit suicide, you wouldn't have taken the trouble to steal for the old woman in the first place, 'Mr. Robin Hood,'" I teased.

"..." Again, he gaped at me.

"Look, kid, the old woman's money sack is empty, and you wouldn't tell me you'd stolen her bag without checking if there was anything in it. Your initial plan wasn't to steal from her; your target was those men. My guess is your plan had three phases: first, you steal it, and they give her some money to replace what's taken. Second, they chase you, and you steal from them. But if they do neither and ignore her, you would seek them out personally," I deduced.

"Okay, dude, that's enough; you're starting to freak me out. Are you some kind of mind reader?" The boy asked.

"No, just a boy who happened to witness everything that transpired and put the pieces together. The blood on your fist was a big giveaway, too," I noted.

"You're quite sharp. Now, please, may I have the sack?" the boy requested, somewhat dismissively. He seemed increasingly uncomfortable; who wouldn't be when a complete stranger unravels your meticulously planned strategy in a matter of minutes?

"I'd like to see the face of the kid with such a clever stealing strategy," I said, encouraging him to lower his hood.

"Uh... fine, but my appearance stays a secret," he said, hesitating slightly before pulling down his black hoodie.

Beneath the hood, he revealed a striking chiseled face with red eyes and black hair. Running my fingers through a section of his hair, I said, "You're not very skilled at dyeing your hair; it's no wonder you didn't hesitate to uncover your identity. Your fake persona isn't perfect, but don't worry, I won't expose you, unless the price is really, REALLY good," I joked.

"Oh... hehe, how careless can I be?" he laughed awkwardly, knowing he had no way to defend himself. Moreover, he would only prolong our conversation and attract more unwanted attention.

I handed him the sack, and he left to meet the elderly woman, but not before turning to me and saying, "I like you. We make quite the team, don't we? I'd like to spar with you next time."

"I'm just level 3, and you're level 4," I replied matter-of-factly.

"Levels don't matter. Who knows? You might end up beating me like I did to those older men," he retorted.

"Well, I don't really want to fight you," I admitted.

"If you say so, let's do our best to stay out of each other's way. But if we ever meet as enemies, a fight might be inevitable," he warned.

"Sure, I have a bad memory, so I doubt I'll remember your face," I quipped, and he waved and smiled before approaching the woman.

I watched as she embraced him, and he gently led her to a nearby restaurant.

"We do good things for the wrong reasons and bad things for the right ones. In a situation like that, we're both the hero and the villain," I mused before continuing on my way.

After I completed my registration at the school, I recognized him immediately. His red scarlet eyes were unmistakable, though he tried to conceal his identity. At times, he acted as though he expected me to recognize him.

A person with that level of skill and strength wouldn't lose to Emma. I hadn't witnessed the confrontation in the narrow pathway, so I didn't know whether he had defeated those men on his own, with help, or through some clever trap. However, whatever had transpired, if it had worked against level 5 opponents, it would work against Emma. He had lost intentionally, and I was eager to hear why, though I had my own suspicions.

One thing I knew about him was that he was exceedingly cautious. He planned meticulously and could deceive almost anyone. If he lost, there was a reason, and if he won, there was a reason too. It was all part of the equation in his mind, leading to an outcome in his favor. But I was eager to hear why he had lost.

*Ding*

The door to the infirmary chimed open.

It resembled a hospital, complete with ward rooms. The people who had come to collect him wore the number '13' on their uniforms, indicating that he was in ward thirteen.

So, I made my way there.

*Click*

The door clicked open.

"What on earth?" I muttered in reaction to what I saw.