Yummy!

For several seconds, neither of us said anything.

The alley had gone completely silent after Shane's two lackeys ran away, leaving Amachi sitting against the wall while I stood several feet away holding the fruit cake I'd nearly committed a felony against my adoptive father's secret stash to create.

...

Okay.

Now what?

(Congratulations. You successfully defeated two third-rate villains using the ancient technique known as nepotism.)

Shut up.

(Now go talk to him.)

I know!

I glanced at Amachi, whose clothes were covered in dust, with a fresh bruise forming near his cheek and one side of his lip split open enough to leave a thin trail of blood running down his chin.

His knuckles were still scraped up, though strangely, they looked much better than they had last night.

Despite all that, his expression was strangely calm.

Actually...

A little too calm.

Like getting cornered and beaten in an alley was nothing worth getting upset about.

"Uh..."

Great start, Fourth.

Absolutely incredible.

Ten out of ten social skills.

Amachi slowly raised his eyes toward me. "What?"

"...You okay?"

He stared at me for a second before looking down at himself. "No."

Ah.

Right.

Stupid question.

(Masterful conversation.)

I will kill you.

I cleared my throat and stepped a little closer. "Can you stand?"

"Yeah."

Amachi planted one hand against the wall and pushed himself up, but the moment he put weight on his leg, his body wobbled slightly and my hand instinctively moved forward.

"You sure?"

"I'm fine," he said, immediately steadying himself before I could touch him.

...

Okay then.

Personal space. Noted.

Amachi brushed some dirt from his shirt while I glanced toward the entrance of the alley.

"Those guys..." I hesitated. "Why didn't you fight back?"

He stopped brushing himself off.

The atmosphere changed, although not dramatically; Amachi didn't glare at me or get angry, he simply went still and stood there silently for several seconds before finally answering.

"Didn't feel like it."

"...Seriously?"

"Yeah."

That was obviously a lie.

I'd watched this lunatic spend years challenging Shane despite getting beaten almost every single time, and I'd also seen him punching rocks in the middle of the night until his hands looked like something out of a healer's worst nightmare.

There was absolutely no way I didn't feel like fighting was the whole explanation.

But judging from his face...

Yeah.

Pushing him probably wasn't going to get me anywhere.

"Alright." I shrugged. "If you don't want to tell me, whatever."

Amachi glanced at me, and for the first time, there was a tiny shift in his expression.

Surprise?

Maybe.

Whatever it was disappeared almost immediately, so I decided not to mention it and instead lifted the cake toward him.

"Want some?"

Amachi looked at it. "What's that?"

"Fruit cake."

"Okay."

...

That was it?

He reached for it immediately.

I stared at him.

No suspicion, no questions, and apparently no concern whatsoever over the fact that some guy he'd barely spoken to had appeared in an alley carrying homemade food immediately after watching him get beaten up.

Amachi's survival instincts continued to impress me for all the wrong reasons.

"Here."

I handed him a piece of cake packed with fruit I'd taken from Zaw's secret stash—orange, apple, raisins, and a few other things I couldn't really identify.

Honestly, I'd stopped caring after the third handful.

Fruit was fruit, and fruit cake needed fruit.

Simple.

Amachi took a bite while I watched him chew.

"So?"

"Good."

My eyes widened. "Good?"

He nodded and immediately took another bite. "Really good."

YES.

Absolute victory.

The ultimate friendship strategy had succeeded.

(You gave him cake.)

Exactly.

(A revolutionary achievement for human civilization.)

Jealousy is an ugly emotion.

Amachi continued eating.

And eating.

And eating.

Apparently, years of social isolation could be defeated by fruit cake.

Why had nobody told me this sooner?

"Hey, slow down."

"I'm hungry."

"Fair enough."

He kept eating while I leaned against the wall, feeling absurdly proud of myself because all those hours spent alone in the kitchen had actually paid off.

Even stealing—

Borrowing.

Even borrowing a ridiculous amount of fruit from Zaw had been worth it.

Although...

I had definitely used too much.

Way too much.

Future Fourth could deal with that problem.

Present Fourth was winning.

Several minutes passed before Amachi suddenly stopped, blinking slowly once, then twice, before shifting his gaze from the cake to me.

"Fourth."

"Hm?"

"You're moving."

I frowned. "I'm standing still."

"Oh."

He continued staring at me before slowly tilting his head.

"...Still moving."

...

What?

I stepped closer. "Amachi?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

He said that while visibly swaying.

My eyes narrowed as I noticed his cheeks looked redder than before.

Not bruised-red.

Actually red.

His eyelids were drooping too.

"Why's your face like that?"

Amachi touched his cheek. "Like what?"

"Red."

"Oh."

"...Do you feel weird?"

He thought about it for a few seconds. "Warm."

"Anything else?"

"Tired."

"Anything else?"

Amachi stared directly at my face.

"Two Fourths."

My blood went cold.

"...What?"

"There are two of you."

"THERE ARE NOT TWO OF ME."

He squinted harder.

"Maybe one and a half."

That was somehow worse.

(Oh.)

My other self suddenly spoke.

What?

(You got him drunk.)

My brain stopped.

...

No.

Absolutely not.

That's impossible. Almost all the alcohol should've evaporated when I baked it.

(Almost.)

Fruit cake is supposed to use fruit soaked in alcohol! I argued.

(I'm aware.)

And I baked it! Most of the alcohol should be gone!

(I'm also aware.)

Then why is he drunk?!

My other self went silent for a moment.

(Maybe he's just ridiculously weak to alcohol.)

...

I slowly looked at Amachi, who was now staring at his own hand with an unusual amount of concentration.

Yeah.

That explanation was becoming disturbingly believable.

"Amachi."

"Hm?"

I crouched in front of him. "How much of the cake did you eat?"

He looked at what remained.

"A lot."

"Very informative."

"Thanks."

That wasn't a compliment.

I immediately grabbed the cake away from him. "No more."

"Why?"

"Because you're drunk."

Amachi blinked. "What's drunk?"

I stared at him.

...

Of course.

"...You know what? Just lie down."

He accepted that immediately and rested his head against the stone wall, and for a few moments, neither of us spoke.

Then Amachi broke the silence.

"Fourth."

"What?"

"Why did you help me?"

I glanced at him. "Huh?"

"Before."

His voice was quieter now, his words coming out slower.

"Those two would've left eventually."

"After beating you unconscious?"

"Probably."

"That's not reassuring."

Amachi shrugged. "You could've gotten hurt."

"So?"

He looked directly at me.

"So why?"

I scratched my cheek.

The real answer was simple.

Zaw told me to become friends with Amachi.

Become friends with Amachi.

Get the recommendation.

Enter Hilbert.

And letting my one-way ticket to the academy get beaten half to death would've been incredibly inconvenient.

(Wow. Such compassion.)

Shut up.

Of course, saying any of that out loud probably wasn't the smartest way to earn someone's trust.

So...

Time to make myself sound like a decent human being.

"I just didn't think it was right."

Amachi blinked, so I continued before he could say anything.

"Two guys ganging up on someone who wasn't even fighting back? That's pathetic. I couldn't just stand there and watch."

(Oh, that's beautiful.)

Quiet.

(Should I start calling you Saint Fourth now?)

I'm trying to build trust here.

(By lying.)

Strategic wording.

(Lying.)

I ignored him.

Amachi stared at me for a few seconds. "...Even though you could've gotten hurt?"

"Yeah." I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile. "Seemed better than doing nothing."

(You were hiding behind a wall for almost five minutes.)

HE DOESN'T NEED TO KNOW THAT.

"Oh."

That was all.

No suspicion, no dramatic questioning; he simply accepted it.

Then—

"Thanks."

I blinked. "...What?"

"Thanks."

"For helping?"

He nodded.

A small smile slipped onto my face before I could stop it.

That part, at least, wasn't fake.

"...You're welcome."

(Aww. Maybe you're only ninety percent terrible.)

I'll take it.

Amachi stared at me for another moment.

"Why are you smiling?"

"I'm happy."

"Why?"

"You thanked me."

"Oh."

His eyes slowly drifted closed again.

"You're weird."

“You're one to talk.”

"Still true."

"You're surprisingly rude when you're drunk."

"What's drunk again?"

I stared at him.

"...Never mind."

A tiny laugh escaped him.

My eyes widened. "You laughed."

"No."

"You just did."

"Maybe."

There it was again.

That strange difference.

When I'd watched Amachi from a distance, he'd always seemed like the same angry, stubborn idiot I'd known since childhood, but sitting here with him now, he wasn't quite the person I'd imagined.

For a while, neither of us said anything as Amachi rested against the wall, his face slightly red from whatever tiny amount of alcohol had somehow survived inside the fruit cake, his eyes half closed and his entire body looking exhausted.

Probably a combination of getting beaten, training too much, and possessing the alcohol tolerance of a newborn rabbit.

Still...

There was still one thing bothering me.

Maybe he'd give me a real answer this time.

“Amachi.”

“Hm?”

“Why didn't you fight those guys?”

He slowly opened one eye. "What guys?"

"...The two guys who were beating you five minutes ago."

"Oh."

He thought about it for a moment.

"They weren't worth it."

I blinked. "...What?"

"They're weak."

I stared at him.

That's it?

That was the reason?

"You let two people kick the crap out of you because they're weak?"

"Yeah."

"HOW DOES THAT MAKE ANY SENSE?!"

Amachi frowned slightly. "You're loud."

"Of course I'm loud! I just risked getting beaten alongside you because I thought you were in trouble!"

"I wasn't."

"You were lying on the ground!"

"They weren't strong."

"THAT DOESN'T MAKE THEIR FISTS IMAGINARY!"

Amachi seemed to seriously think about that.

"No."

"Exactly!"

"But they're still weak."

I grabbed my forehead.

This guy...

This absolute idiot...

"So what? You just let weak people beat you?"

Amachi shrugged. "Fighting them doesn't make me stronger."

That stopped me.

"...Huh?"

"They're weaker than me," he explained, his words gradually slowing as exhaustion dragged at him. "If I beat them, I learn nothing."

"So you just... don't care?"

"Not really."

"They were insulting you."

"Okay."

"They punched you."

"Yeah."

"They kicked you."

"Yeah."

"And that doesn't make you angry?!"

Amachi tilted his head. "Should it?"

...

I genuinely had no idea how to answer that.

(He's either incredibly mature or incredibly stupid.)

I'm leaning toward stupid.

"You know, normal people don't consider getting beaten less troublesome than fighting back."

"I'm tired."

"That is not an explanation."

"It is to me."

I sighed and leaned against the opposite wall.

At least that mystery was solved.

Sort of.

Amachi apparently didn't care about fighting people weaker than him because there was nothing to gain from it.

For a moment, neither of us said anything.

I could've left it there.

Honestly, I probably already knew the answer to what I was about to ask.

But the conversation was finally going somewhere, and I wasn't about to kill it now.

"Then why?"

Amachi tilted his head slightly. "Why what?"

"Why do you care so much about getting stronger?"

He went quiet, his eyes drifting toward the ground as, for once, he didn't answer immediately.

I already had a pretty good idea what he was going to say.

Zaw had told me about Amachi's past. His village had been attacked by demons when he was little, and his parents had died along with most of the people there.

So, yeah.

Boy loses everything to demons, spends the next several years obsessively training, and repeatedly challenges the strongest kid around...

It wasn't exactly a difficult puzzle.

If I had to guess—

"I want to be a hero."