The shopping mall was alive with noise and motion, a constant current of footsteps, laughter, and the low hum of music drifting from every direction. Neon signs flashed above rows of polished storefronts, and the mingled scent of coffee, perfume, and fried snacks hung faintly in the air.

  Akio walked beside Aira, carrying a few paper bags while she darted ahead every few seconds, stopping to inspect displays with that quick, restless energy that always made him smile despite himself.

  Vigilante culture had long since woven itself into the fabric of everyday life. It wasn’t unusual to see kids wearing replica masks or vendors selling makeshift gadgets inspired by the city’s more daring outlaws. Some vigilantes were seen as folk heroes, others as glorified criminals—but everyone, in some way, had an opinion about them. The authorities still labeled them illegal, but the public had long accepted them as part of the urban mythos.

  And none were more famous than the Dawn Hound.

  They passed by a bright display window stacked with Dawn Hound themed merchandise. Shirts, posters, enamel pins, even a full-scale replica of the vigilante’s double-ended weapon sat glittering under the store lights. A small crowd of teens gathered nearby, arguing passionately over which model of the mask was more “authentic.”

  Aira stopped mid-step, her eyes lighting up. “Oh my god—they have the new one!”

  She hurried toward the display, pressing her hands to the glass before slipping inside the shop. Akio followed at an unhurried pace, watching her with quiet amusement.

  The store was filled with merchandise. Every wall was plastered with vigilante imagery—posters of masked figures in dramatic poses, each one slightly exaggerated for style. Aira made a beeline for a rack of replica hound masks and grabbed the nearest one.

  “Look at this!” she said, slipping it over her face before striking an overly dramatic pose. “How do I look?”

  Akio regarded her silently for a moment, expression neutral, though the corner of his mouth almost twitched. The replica was decent, surprisingly faithful to the real thing, but still off. The curvature of the visor was too sharp, the silver streaks painted half a centimeter higher than they should’ve been, and the light crystal embedded in the bridge of the mask was slightly misaligned.

  The ventilation slits are uneven, he noted quietly. And the alloy plating on the real one doesn’t gleam like that under warm light.

  “It’s close enough, right?” Aira asked, tilting her head as if to gauge his reaction.

  Akio smiled faintly. “Almost perfect.”

  “Almost?” she pressed, lowering the mask. “What’s wrong with it?”

  He shrugged lightly, keeping his tone casual. “The proportions are a little exaggerated. Probably made to look flashier under lighting.”

  Aira examined the mask again, frowning. “You think so? Huh. Guess that’s what happens when it’s all bootleg merch.”

  “Technically,” Akio said mildly, “it would be difficult for an outlaw to file for brand rights.”

  She laughed, the sound bright and unrestrained. “Fair point. You know, I can’t tell if people love the Dawn Hound because he’s good at what he does or because he has good PR.”

  Akio looked back at the wall of merchandise—posters, keychains, stickers, each stamped with his stylized insignia. For a moment, he imagined the absurdity of endorsing his own merchandise line.

  Maybe I should start charging royalties, he thought dryly.

  He turned back to Aira, who was still turning the mask over in her hands, admiring the craftsmanship. “Either way,” she said with a grin, “you have to admit—he’s got style.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “Ugh, I wish I could ask the Dawn Hound himself about the design,” Aira said as she leaned closer, studying the angular lines around the eyes. “Why a hound? There has to be some tragic story or deep symbolism behind it.”

  Akio tilted his head slightly, watching her through calm eyes.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Is there? he thought. I just wore it because it was convenient at the time.

  She held the mask up against the light, expression thoughtful. “One day, when I find out who he is, I’ll know.”

  He offered a quiet, unreadable smile. “Guess it’ll remain a mystery until then.”

  Aira sighed, slipping the mask back onto the rack. “Yeah, but I want to know so bad. I know everyone does! I’ll definitely unmask the Dawn Hound one day.”

  Akio’s lips curved faintly. “I’m sure you will.”

  They left the shop together, stepping back into the afternoon light. The air was warm and hazy, carrying the smell of roasted coffee and street food from the nearby stalls. Aira stretched her arms above her head, humming to herself as she scanned the rows of stores. Akio trailed beside her, his calm demeanor an anchor to her restless energy.

  Then, a small group of people spotted them across the plaza.

  “Wait, are you Aira Avenis?” one called out, waving as they hurried closer.

  Aira blinked, startled for half a second before recognition flickered. “Oh yeah! That’s me!” she said with a bright smile.

  Within moments, she was surrounded. Questions came in a blur—about her articles, her interviews, her thoughts on the vigilante scene. Akio stepped slightly aside, assessing the group out of habit.

  He’d seen this scene unfold countless times before. Aira was a natural—charismatic, witty, and sharp in a way that drew people in without effort. Her journalism blog, The Skylight Scoop, had skyrocketed in popularity over the past year, and several of her features on vigilante activity had even been picked up by regional outlets. She had that rare mix of insight and heart, able to make chaos sound coherent, to make danger feel human.

  But Akio also knew the cost of that kind of spotlight.

  The nature of her work had painted targets on her more than once. Not everyone appreciated her honesty, and fewer still tolerated her persistence. What Aira never realized was that every threat she’d ever stirred up, every loose end she’d accidentally tugged at—he’d already dealt with them quietly, efficiently, long before they ever came close to her.

  She never knew, and he preferred it that way.

  Even now, it had become second nature to him to quietly observe the people who approached her. To the untrained eye, he looked disinterested, hands tucked in his pockets, gaze idly drifting. But his attention was sharp—cataloguing every movement, every tone, every potential risk. His gaze swept over each face with quiet precision, weighing posture, tone, intent—no hostility, just excitement.

  He relaxed, if only slightly.

  “Hey, Aira,” one of them said, a girl clutching a microphone shaped keychain. “What’s your leading theory on the Dawn Hound? Who do you think he really is?”

  Aira lit up instantly, all enthusiasm and certainty. “Well, from everything I’ve gathered so far, I’d say he’s probably someone in his early forties. Experienced, disciplined, definitely not some rookie.”

  Akio bit back a quiet smile, eyes flicking toward the nearby window display filled with replica masks.

  Close, he thought. Only two decades off.

  Another fan leaned in eagerly. “What about his civilian life? Like, what kind of job do you think he has when he’s not saving the city?”

  Aira tilted her head, thoughtful. “Hard to say. But I’d guess someone ex-military, maybe special forces. He fights like someone who’s seen real battle—wounded, trained, and probably haunted by it.”

  Akio exhaled softly through his nose, his tone inwardly dry.

  The only trauma I have is you nearly exposing me on a weekly basis.

  Aira continued, clearly in her element. “He’s got strategy, restraint, precision—he’s seen things. That much is obvious.”

  Another fan raised their hand. “So who do you think it is? Like, specifically?”

  Aira laughed, brushing her hair back. “I have a few figures in mind,” she said, voice teasing, eyes bright. “But I’m not naming names yet. I need more evidence before I make anything public.”

  A small shift in the group caught Akio’s eye. A few of the fans who had been talking to Aira turned toward him, whispering among themselves. Finally, one of them asked, “Who’s he?”

  Aira blinked, then grinned. “Oh him? That’s my older brother.”

  A few heads turned his way. Akio offered a small, polite smile and a courteous nod. It wasn’t unusual for people not to recognize him; he preferred it that way. He and Aira shared the same sharp features: pale blue eyes, light colored hair. It wasn’t hard to tell they were related, but their energy couldn’t have been more different.

  One of the girls giggled, nudging her friend before asking with a mischievous grin, “Is he single?”

  Aira let out a dramatic groan. “Yes, but he’s a total weirdo,” she said, waving her hands. “He writes soliloquies for fun.”

  Akio raised a brow, feigning offense. “It was a reinterpretation of Kant’s principle on—”

  “Stop!” Aira cut him off instantly, smacking his arm. “See what I mean? Nerd.” She turned back to the group with a helpless shrug. “He’s not even that interested in vigilante stuff, so don’t get your hopes up.”

  The fans laughed, clearly amused. They took a few more photos with Aira, exchanged some quick goodbyes, and eventually dispersed back into the flow of the mall crowd. The noise of conversation and music filled the empty space they left behind.

  Aira turned to him, her grin triumphant. “I told you! Everyone loves the work I do. You can’t tell me people aren’t interested in vigilantes.”

  Akio’s lips curved faintly as he adjusted the strap of one of their shopping bags.

  “This is a biased sample,” he said lightly. “Naturally, the people who follow your blog are already interested in vigilantes.”

  Aira stared at him in disbelief. “You’re so boring. Come on, there’s a new food place nearby—I’m starving.”

  He let her grab his sleeve and tug him along, the corners of his mouth softening as he watched her animatedly describe the menu of this new cafe she’d discovered. Her words blurred into the hum of the crowd around them, but he didn’t mind. There was something reassuring about her energy, her persistence, her unshakable determination to uncover the truth.

  He followed her quietly, amusement and affection mingling in his chest. This was his little sister—the nation’s favorite journalist, set on exposing the Dawn Hound’s identity. And also, his worst nightmare.

  One day you might actually figure it out, he thought, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

  Let’s just hope it’s not today.

  ─ ? NEXT CHAPTER POV ? ─

  Akio