Is this a side effect of the alcohol?
Caspian's heart reeled as he realized she had misunderstood him. He took no more time to think. Instead, he acted, returning her back into his arms.
Why did this keep happening? Was he destined to make everyone cry?
His selfish desire to have them all while they would agree to share him, paired with mistakes like this, left him unable to find an obvious answer, no matter how much he wanted one.
"My sweet Suiko, this is a misunderstanding," Caspian whispered, his chin resting against her silken, spiky hair as she buried her face in his neck.
Suiko's arms remained at her sides. "How so…?" she asked, her voice small and muffled.
"I was going to say that I can't do this with you, that being… sex, at least our first experience together, shouldn't be one where either one of us is intoxicated.
Ah, this isn't coming out right. I hope you can forgive my poor choice words from the past, now and the future."
Seconds continued to tick by and she still hadn't moved or said a word.
"You there…?" he asked.
Caspian then felt her hands press against his upper back, followed by some unintelligible mutterings.
"What was that?"
"I'm too e-embarrassed to look at you. I feel like such a ditz for reacting like this."
"This is a side of you I didn't expect," Caspian said, stepping back. When he noticed a single tear streak on her face, he gently wiped it away with his thumb. Suiko lifted her head, her eyes meeting his. "This might be too forward, and too soon, but… I promise you, I can't imagine any future without you."
Suiko's lips curled upward, a hint of her usual confidence flickering back to life. "Too forward? From you? That's rich," she said, taking his hand. "Know this Caspian. If you're gonna say s-stuff like that, you better mean it. I don't do half-hearted promises."
¤ ¤ ¤
Hours later, far from Y-City, where the relentless sun baked the streets, R-City endured a raging thunderstorm.
On an upper floor of Handsome Castle, Sweet Mask stepped into a small room, his mood soured after yet another wasted meeting with a group of talentless newcomers.
This room was his private retreat, a space reserved for him as he could sometimes be here from morning until night during the busiest times of the year. Across from the entrance of the room, large windows lined the walls, rattling under the force of the storm.
Beside the window sat a small square table, his personal laptop resting on top.
Sweet Mask locked the door behind him and strode forward. Reaching the table, he pulled back the single cushioned chair across the blue carpet and sat down.
Not a single newcomer gave a single care toward justice or heroism. Zero potential. But that doesn't matter anymore. I've already found the direction to follow.
Sweet Mask powered on his laptop. The moment the screen lit up, several missed video calls from the Hero Association flashed before his eyes.
What now? More pointless questions about what happened a week ago? Thinking of…
Ever since encountering that 'Lord Boros' and witnessing the events of that day, a part of him had longed to return and destroy that great evil. Thankfully, the logical part of his mind remained in control. For the first time against a non-Ugmon, he wasn't confident of victory.
Since the aliens seemed to obey Caspian, Sweet Mask shelved the issue for now and focused on scheduling his next publicity tour.
But first, he needed to address the situation in front of him. With a single press of the laptop's keyboard, he initiated a video call.
Almost in an instant, his video call was answered. Appearing on the screen was an older, suited Hero Association executive — the same one he usually communicated with.
Sweet Mask tapped his finger against the smooth surface of the table. "What is it?"
"Sorry to disturb you, but we have a matter regarding the S-Class Rank 16 Hero Genos."
"Tell me." Sweet Mask's finger halted, his brows furrowing.
The executive cleared his throat and said, "Well, we've received several reports and also obtained multiple pieces of footage regarding Genos' strange behavior." He quickly reached forward and tapped something offscreen. "Here, I'm sending you the information now."
Sweet Mask opened the files he received and his eyes widened. "What on earth is he doing?"
On his laptop screen, he watched several video clips of Genos enacting extreme acts of odd behavior. From standing too close to people, to blocking entrances, to sitting at the one empty seat in a packed restaurant, and even following strangers around with an unsettling, robotic precision that left everyone visibly uncomfortable.
Is he malfunctioning?
"Have you contacted him and made an inquiry as to why he's behaving like this?"
"Yes…" The executive's expression turned odd. "His exact response was 'This is the very important training my master has tasked me with. Don't bother me with this kind of non-emergency type nonsense again.'"
Training for what? To ruin the image of all heroes.
Sweet Mask decided it would be best to observe this behavior in person if he wanted to make heads or tails of it. There had to be something deeper going on here.
"What was the nature of the reports? Official complaints?"
The executive shook his head. "No complaints. Only questions asking if this was some kind of event or promotion of the Hero Association."
"Fine. As long as no complaints are filed, just leave it be. I'll handle this matter personally myself. Is that all?" Sweet Mask asked, already extending his hand to terminate the call.
"Yes, but is there any chance you come here in person today?"
"No. I need to prepare for my upcoming publicity tour."
"Publicity tour? Where?"
Sweet Mask looked up, his piercing yellow eyes narrowing as the wind howled outside, driving sheets of rain that lashed against the windows in chaotic, unabated bursts.
"W-City."