After getting to know Don, I hung out with him for the next fifteen to thirty minutes.
"You're incredibly strong, the way you handled those bullies was impressive," he exclaimed. Don picked up a stone from the ground, swung his arm forcefully, and threw it. The stone glided through the air before landing with a satisfying plop against the lake. It skipped three times before eventually sinking on the fourth.
Observing this, Don flashed a smug grin.
"Do you really think so?" I replied as I picked up a rock. Harnessing the strength in my hands, I threw the rock at the lake. It spun through the air, splitting the lake's surface in two, creating massive waves and ripples.
Don's jaw dropped, eyes widening in astonishment. Despite my efforts to control the strength in my arms, the display was overwhelming. I had to be cautious; this body possessed an extraordinary amount of strength.
As the waves and ripples subsided, the triumphant, smug expression on Don's face melted away. With twitchy eyes and a sheepish smile, he muttered, "N-not bad."
"Guess there was no need for me to have held back against you after all. Well, whatever the case, I'll let you have this one. I was just about getting bored of this anyways," he added, nonchalantly.
Dear God, this kid just can't accept defeat, can he? I stared at Don, pondering this. My attention was then drawn to the bruises and wounds scattered across his body. Instead of staying down when he should have, he gathered more bruises.
I took a moment to observe Don's face. "Why didn't you just stay down?" I asked, genuinely curious.
"Hm?" Don glanced at me, seemingly unfazed.
"Why did you refuse to stay down? You would have gotten off with a little fewer bruises, you know," I said, appraising his bruised-covered body. "Doesn't it hurt?"
Don takes a moment, and a grin flashes across his face. "Hm? I don't feel a thing—ackk!" He attempts to put up a front but hits the right side of his chest, doubling over in pain.
Curious, I press on, "So what happened? How did you end up in a fight with those guys?" Dismissing Don's groan, I move on with a different question.
His pain-crumpled face fixes up at my inquiry, and he raises his head. A different light flashes in his eyes as he stares at the surface of the lake, his image reflected against it. "Mitch and his friends are the village's local bullies. I came across them picking on some other kid, so, of course, I intervened."
I lean in, intrigued by his story, "And then what? How did it escalate into a full-blown fight?"
"So you tried to help out a kid getting bullied and ended up getting trashed yourself?" The viscous irony of life — just like me, he stuck his nose into a fight that had no concern for him and ended up paying the price.
"But why did you? Did you personally know the kid getting bullied?" I asked, growing a bit interested. I couldn't understand why people usually did that. It's a familiar trope in novels and shows too. Why would you get yourself in between a fight between others? I might not be in a place to be asking this as I recently joined the group, though.
"Why did you intervene though it's not your business?" I said, probing deeper into the motivations behind his actions.
Don's expression flickered, and he frowned, turning towards me. He quickly responded, "What are you talking about? Why wouldn't I!? I see a helpless kid getting picked on, what kind of hero would I be if I didn't help!? I mean, you tried to help me, though I didn't really need it…"
"You really shouldn't put me in that category," I said wryly. Don looked slightly bewildered as he looked directly into my eyes.
"Tell me, Reo, why did you decide to help me?" He posed this question to me. I blinked my lashes twice, bewildered and a little baffled at the question. But then I thought it through, the meaning of the question...
Why had I helped him?
"...I...I...you were getting beat up pretty badly. If it had gone on longer...best case, you would have passed out..." As I said each word, I began to question myself.
"But even still...why help someone you've never seen before? It's not like the outcome would have affected you in any way. You could have just turned around and continued, pretended you never came across such a scene. But yet you stepped in and placed yourself between the bastard and me. Why?"
Why had I done it? I definitely didn't do it for the sake of playing hero, nor did I wish him to owe me a debt or anything. At first, I had whined about how troublesome it'd have been to interfere. I spoke about just turning around to leave, but yet I stayed and watched. I watched as Don was getting pummeled, blood escaping his lips along with painful groans, his bruised face swelling with every punch thrown at him.
Then, I did something I never could have imagined — I interfered in the fight, not for the sake of debt or anything like that. But because, as I pondered and conflicted about the question, slowly, I began to realize...
"It...was the right thing to do...?"
I couldn't believe I had said that and stared blankly. Don before me smiled brightly, as if satisfied with my answer, with pride.
"Exactly," he said, his warm smile still glowing under his bruised and sullied face. It was infectious. "…so, what happened to the kid you tried to help?"
"O-oh…uh, I-I bought time for him to get out."
I see. In other words, the kid probably went to get help as he watched Don try to brawl it out with Mitch.
I sighed helplessly.
"You said something about a hero?" I glanced at my reflection against the lake surface and said.
"Hm? Yeah, I did. My dream is to become a great hero. One whose mere name can save lives," Don said with a clear light in his eyes, his ambition, kindness, and determination evident.
"You see, I really look up to the hero, the one who vanquished the Chaotic Demon Lord four hundred years ago."
The Legendary Hero of four hundred years ago. I had recently learned about him today, the one who was supposed to have defeated the Corrupted Lord of Chaos, the Demon Lord, or at least that's what the book said. I still find it hard to believe in the tale. There's no possible way someone as strong as the Demon Lord could exist, and even more so, no way could he have been beaten. But then again, I guess it really was a children's book.
Don however doesn't seem to think so...
"Four hundred years ago, the hero was the one who took out the Demon Lord, the vile lord of chaos, and saved the world!" Don said with boasting pride and pure admiration.
I still don't get how the Demon Lord was killed, but it's just a children's…
"The hero had a strong sense of justice and wouldn't hesitate to help anyone in need. I too want to be able to help and save anyone and everyone...no matter who or where they are." Don clenched his right fist and formed a determined smile.
Then the boy added.
"And besides, the hero is very cool and also the most popular. Not to mention, he gets to carry around this sweet-sweet cool sword, a holy sword that can vanquish all evil!" Don began to swing an imaginary sword through the air while making woosh and wish noises with his mouth.
"The most popular, huh. I wouldn't be quite sure." I mused.
The Demon Lord is the one who was said to have been closest to bringing the world down to its knees, according to the story; should be considered the most popular throughout history and the world, right? The hero, on the other hand, merely latched onto the fame of the Demon Lord, actually. If it weren't for him, he wouldn't be considered a hero after all.
Not to be a wet blanket, but the idea of saving everyone seems unattainable. While attempting to do so might be noble, some realities are beyond our control, and the rest of my thoughts on this matter are best kept to myself.
"The hero is that amazing, huh?" I comment, savoring the tranquil sunset by the lake.
"Of course he is!" Don responds swiftly, as if the notion is self-evident.
I can't help but reminisce about a time when I admired a cartoon character, only to later discover, in the cruelest manner possible, that the character was just a hapless performer, constrained by the demands of a meager income. The revelation shattered me, leaving me devastated and withdrawn for days, questioning the authenticity of the world around me.
During that period of introspection, I came to the realization that it wasn't just cartoons that perpetuated deception; rather, the entire world seemed to be built on falsehoods. My trust was irrevocably broken, leading me to believe that perhaps authenticity was a rare commodity.
Recalling the dreaded memory, I sighed.
***
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