The Greek sun cascaded over dark-brown hair, which, with a quick wrap and tug, turned into a rather tight ponytail, holding everything in one place. With a loud sigh and a breath of fresh air invading his lungs, the man stepped out of the airport gate.

He observed the vast differences. The unique accents, people passing by, some waiting for their taxis to arrive or desperately looking for relatives who lived in the capital city of Athens. It occurred to him, that many people found themselves here to enjoy their holidays or catch up with friends or family.

However, his goal was a little different. So, in a way, he stood out amongst the crowd like a sore thumb, one would tell from his rather puzzled expression.

With a sweat rolling down his face, he took a step forward.

"What a long flight..." he commented, stretching his limbs and closing an eye. "I thought I'd never reach my destination." he rubbed below his eyelids. " Tokyo to Athens. Twenty-five hours. Inhumane!" he quickly yelled out, met with a few unsure glances from the passerby. Stepping over the crossroads and further away from all the cars waiting underneath the two-levelled garage of the airport, he moved towards the main street, overlooking the views. Clear blue skies, with a few white clouds dancing around the soft, warm breeze.

The endless monotony of orange and yellow, seldom broken by green fields stretched out in the far distance. It was a sight to behold, something which greatly contrasted the metropolitan, crowded life. In reality, he wished he could simply stay longer, forever dragging his black suitcase and listening to it hitting the edges of the pavement over and over again.

But, he didn't want to distract himself with those thoughts. His goal, after all, was different.

The man looked down, grinding his teeth. His hand landed in his pocket. Digging around, he moved his phone to the side, making space for the small piece of paper that curiously waited for his questions.

Now, with a serious expression, he peered at the things he had already seen beforehand.

It was a slightly blurry picture of a boy with flaxen brown hair, running with bags of food in his hands, glancing back. On the other side of the sheet, was a close-up of his rather sharp features.

The man sat down on the pavement, thinking. "Numerous reports came from Nafplio. A boy, seemingly stealing things with a translucent hand. Something that should be impossible." he reconsidered, recalling the things he had seen in his life beforehand, his eyebrow furrowing against a soft expression. "He's 13 years old, as they said. He doesn't go to school, and continuously wanders the streets of Nafplio, hiding in plain sight."

Looking up, a taxi he called for earlier finally arrived, with the driver rolling the window down, meeting his curious glance.

"Shigeto Moyasu?" he asked, reading the name from his phone.

"Moriyasu." Shigeto corrected him, with a nervous smile.

"Moyarisu." the man repeated. "Okay." he too, bore a smirk.

Shigeto stepped into the backseat of the vehicle, throwing his luggage and his backpack on the other seat, quickly fastening his seatbelt and gazing back at the paper.

"Someone bearing abilities. Something people would be afraid of. I'm sure he's more scared than the citizens filing reports." he stuffed the picture back into his pocket, pressing his chin against the arm that lay near the door's window. "With everything suddenly changing for no apparent reason. I know that feeling all too well."

The car drove above a tilt, with the nearby cicadas cricketing into Moriyasu's ears.

"I'm just here to investigate. To Nafplio it is."

***

It was commonplace for bakeries to open at such early hours. Overlooking the sunrise from the cobbled streets, stretching below the various trees and leaves that made the streets of Nafplio, right next to the few tables and seats, with cloths pinned down by flowerpots, a man would open the swinging doors and start yet another day of hard work.

Hard work, after all, brings great results, and those who fight for what they deserve are met with greatness.

"Another penny earned." The baker smiled, eagerly listening in on the conversations of the passersby or tourists, watching from afar as some older Greek men poured a little Retsina into their morning coffee. A few customers were already sitting on the inside, one of them ordered a sandwich, the other, a small cake.

The earliest hours were always the calmest, despite being the busiest. Maybe it was the purity of such calm sights that invited those positive notions to fly in.

"Nafplio is beautiful." thought the baker, peering out of the window. "I wouldn't trade its gleaming simplicity for anything in this world." He put his hands on the counter and breathed in.

One would describe this simplicity as a backdoor that lets you escape the mundane prosperity of those 'normal' jobs. Yet, it seemed that the baker wasn't there to indulge and analyse these ideas.

He simply smiled.

Someone strolled in, looking at the different types of bread in the back and the cakes that were visible from the get-go.

"Oh! Hello!" the man clapped his hands, his beam growing wider. The lamps outside dimmed into darkness, as the sunlight finally shone into the streets.

"Hello." a rather low voice spoke out of a thin stature. "You sell bread here, right?" he asked, in perfect Greek, brushing back his blonde hair with his hand, looking at the baker with his brown, sly eyes.

"H-Huh?" The man was a little confused. "O-of course we do!" he answered, scratching the back of his head.

What surprised him wasn't the question that echoed. In reality, he expected a completely different encounter. After all, a quick glance at the boy would suggest a tourist visiting from Asia, but the answer was far from his assumptions. With a drop of sweat rolling down his head, he groaned, hiding a nervous cough.

"Hehe." the guy laughed, his mouth barely moving from under his sharp nose. "I'm not blind, don't worry. I guess that was a stupid question, and I should've asked you something I'm actually interested in," he muttered.

"Y-Yes, of course!" the baker put his hands together.

"Okay, facts over feelings. You baked this bread just a few minutes ago, right? I can tell when things were made. Like, waffles." he smiled a little.

"Mhm! We make sure our pastries are fresh and good to go! W-Would you like to order something, then?" he quickly asked.

"Hmm," he stepped closer, looking at the menu, seldom glancing at the checkered floor and counting something on his fingers. "Sandwiches?"

"Like. Do we sell sandwiches?"

"What did you think I meant?" the guy smirked, emitting a strangely intimidating aura. The baker immediately clenched one fist, strangely nervous. After all, it was his job to satisfy customers, to do the hard work and earn the penny he deserved.

I'm going to let you in on a little secret here. In reality, the boy couldn't have cared less.

"Of course we do!" he spat out. "We add the finest ingredients from the biggest gardens in Greece. It's not imported, but quite local too!" he sweated buckets, for completely no reason.

The guy scanned through the menu once again, his smile fading away. "Hm." he squinted his eyes. "Nah, I'm not hungry," he muttered, walking to the door.

"What?" the baker suddenly uttered, covering his face.

"Just, looking around, I guess." the boy smiled, stepping out. He put his hands into the big pocket of his comfy orange hoodie, stuffing something else into his black shorts.

The baker sighed, turning back to one of the ovens in slight anger, which didn't come from the interaction itself. It stemmed from the strange customer. His unnatural behaviour, questions one would deem stupid. His cocky attitude.

The blonde guy tilted his head, looking back at the pastries from the tinted, brown window. He took a step back, focusing on one of the sandwiches, at a high price of five euros. It looked tasty.

Tomatoes stuck out from beneath the feta cheese, with a salad atop. Closed in a freshly baked, floury magnificence. What a sight.

With a glance left and right, he stuck his hand out.

"Now,"

He mumbled, as a translucent arm shot out of his real one, quickly crawling towards its destination.

As the palm found a firm grasp over the baked goods, the baker, unfortunately, turned around. His eyes shrank, and he opened his mouth, in pure shock.

"WHAT?!" The baker yelled out, almost falling down to the floor, trying to squeeze through the tight gap. "WAIT!"

The teen clenched his real fist, as the sandwich appeared in its grasp. He looked down at his prized possession, and then at the baker with a beam. "Thanks!" he waved, turning on his heel, and running away.

"WAIT! DAMN IT!!" The big guy struggled, as he hurried to the door, already out of breath. He took off the cook's hat, pushing his hands on his knees, sweating buckets, once more.

"It's him!" People whispered to each other, pointing in the direction the boy ran in. "Rossas Nikki!"

The image of the posters which were spread throughout Nafplio momentarily flashed in the baker's mind. They were all right, it really was that troublesome young man. That delinquent, stealing the goods everyone worked so hard to earn.

But, he looked different than in those pictures.

***

After finding a similar secluded street, Rossas peered back and forth with sharp eyes, before throwing a bag of items over a big, cobbled fence which separated the back of a pretty famous restaurant, resting right by Nafplio's port. He put his shoe on the wall behind, the other on a big garbage bin, before making a leap, with a gleam appearing near his shoes.

He landed on his feet, hastily moving around before stepping towards the side, where all the foul smells came from, and where the dirty mattress he slept on lay. Putting the bag adjacent to a sat-out spot, he laid down, biting into the sandwich, much like a starving animal.

He took a phone out of his pocket, throwing it next to his legs, plugging in small headphones and stuffing them into his ears, swiping around. These two possessions were stolen as well, Rossas once found a claw machine with ridiculous prizes in the city centre, concluding that obviously, no matter how much he'd tried, there was no winning.

It was a fact, after all, and Rossas loved when things were always how he expected them to be. Without changes.

So why was it that someone's life took such a sudden turn?

Using the restaurant's Wi-Fi, he downloaded a few more songs onto the library, enjoying the moment, looking up into the blue skies and brushing off the excess crumbles that found themselves nestled in the corners of his lips.

"Look at yourself, Rossas." he thought. "Well, you can't. There's no mirror, there's no reflective surface, maybe except my phone." he sighed. "Never in my life did I think that I'd have to steal for my own good." he looked at his hand, and a small blue spark appeared near his fingertip. The expression on his face was of indifference. "The sun exists because of the moon, and the moon exists because of the sun. Great things and bad things come and go. Life threw me out then tossed me a bone for my survival."

"But I wish I would've been normal," he muttered to himself, hearing as all the people inside the restaurant laughed over their meals and time spent together.

He peeked his head out, taking a glance through the dirty window. Seeing food he couldn't afford, students skipping lessons and hiding underneath the tables. Some were playing ball together, yelled at by the owner, others were chatting and even discussing the way to avoid telling their parents about the awful grades they got in maths.

He put his hands into his hoodie's pocket. "It can't be helped." he thought, sitting down and forcing a smile. "It's a fact."

***

A few hours later, adjacent to Moriyasu's coach arriving in Nafplio, Rossas set out towards the city, carefully observing the main, cobbled streets, waiting as cars passed by before he could strike. Walking under the various trees and roses stretched above the alleys, avoiding the ice cream shops full of tourists, the young man stood in front of a small Alfavita convenience store, counting something on his fingers.

Before taking a decisive step in, the boy took something out from behind, namely, a dark hairband. He ripped off the pricetag and stuffed it into his dyed, falling locks. "Alright, that ought to do it," he concluded, before wandering into the store with a half-smile, stuffing both hands into his hoodie's pocket.

The tourist, Shigeto, took out a map of the city, scratching his elbow and thinking for quite a few seconds. In all honesty, he wasn't precisely prepared to act upon his plans. Barely hearing the news, he stormed out of the apartment in mild excitement (despite it being his own). He whipped out a laptop and reserved the nearest flight, gathering information and clues in the meantime, even asking people around in the airport, despite fearing awkward interactions.

Other than the small apartment his cheapskate friend booked, Moriyasu was rather clueless about where to search or begin his journey. The job of a journalist, after all, means taking risks in order to provide factual and honest evidence, but would hectic plans be considered risky?

Shigeto didn't have an answer to that question. He headed towards the small Alfavita store to quench his thirst and add a little energy he could use to think things through.

He quickly strolled down the food aisle and focused on the big, blue fridge at the other end of the store. After intensely analysing its contests, Moriyasu concluded that he either couldn't recognize half of the drinks or wasn't sure if the price was justified. He didn't know much, as mentioned earlier, so his attention quickly shifted to the person standing in front of the other fridge.

Rossas' eyeballs almost popped out of his head due to how intense his stare-off with a small Coke bottle was. He reasoned, he asked himself if this was the choice he was to make. He seldom glanced at the cashier or at the cameras which overlooked from above.

Moriyasu tilted his head, admiring his decision-making, which matched his. However, to him, it was obvious that the teenager knew what he was doing. Who else would put that much thought and effort into a bottle of Coke?

"Should I ask him?" Moriyasu reasoned, his trembling finger creeping towards the boy. "Um, excuse me?" Moriyasu spoke, in a bit of a broken English.

"Hm?" Rossas muttered as if alerted, his eyes shrinking. "Yeah?" he responded in English, scratching his cheek and hiding a hand back into his pocket.

"Oh!" Moriyasu thought. He didn't necessarily expect such an instant response. Furthermore, he was rather surprised at the boy's crystal clear and sharp accent, which confused the first glance that met him.

"He's Asian too?" Moriyasu thought while the boy blinked as if impatiently waiting for an answer. Shigeto quickly went back to his earlier notions. "E-Ekhm, sorry!" he spoke, waving his hand while a drop of sweat rolled down his cheek. "Can you help me with this?"

"Cherry Coke?" Rossas leaned in. "Not necessarily my favourite." he snickered, smirking.

"Price," Moriyasu uttered.

"Sorry?" Rossas shook his head.

"How much is it in-"

"Ah, don't worry." Rossas turned around, kicking his shoe on the cold and patterned floor, leaning against one of the walls. "It's pretty cheap."

"O-Oh!" Moriyasu was already embarrassed with even the simple thought of having to demand such answers, so he wasn't going to delve deeper. In reality, he should've checked in the first place while his cheapskate friend constantly reminded him to do so.

But, through all of this, Rossas saw an opportunity.

"This too." he snatched one bottle from the other fridge. "It's pretty cheap."

"Should I get two?"

"One for me and one for yourself." Rossas smiled. "I helped you out there."

"Ahh..." Moriyasu scratched the back of his head. Was this a thing in Greece? He, obviously, couldn't tell.

"You get it, right?" Rossas closed one eye. "Mom won't even give me any money. School sucks, I need something nice to refresh my boring and awful days."

"O-Okay." Moriyasu gasped, with a shaky breath. "I'll get you that Coke too." he sighed.

"Mhm." Rossas smiled.

***

Now, with the noon sun slowly setting, Shigeto and Rossas sat in front of a restaurant. Moriyasu looked rather tired, exhausted from the stress, and the boy was unbelievably happy, digging into a stack of waffles, sometimes overlooking the bag of food and other items he managed to essentially steal from Moriyasu's nervous attitude.

"You... sure do like your waffles," commented Moriyasu, watching as one waffle joined the other in a cacophony of slurps and bites.

"Of course!" responded Rossas, with his mouth still full. "They're my favourite! Thank you!" he added, rubbing his face, with a shit-eating grin. He glanced left and right, making sure no one stared too intensely.

Over the few weeks that were occupied with his new lifestyle, Rossas learned one thing. The best place to hide is right in front of the seeker.

Moriyasu sighed, scratching his own hand, and lay on the other side of the table. "Y-You mentioned school earlier."

"Ah, yeah I did." Rossas nodded.

"It's late now, but when we met it was noon. D-Did you skip your lessons?" he muttered, with an unsure beam.

"Ah?" Rossas reacted, swallowing a piece. "Well. I guess so."

"Hm." Moriyasu raised, squinting his eyes.

"Are you gonna judge me for that?" the boy grinned.

"N-No. I just never did when I was your age. Education's important."

"I'm more of a firm believer that experience teaches you how life works."

"I guess you could say that, of all people." Moriyasu thought. He remembered the sight of his strangely empty wallet after a short day, constantly having to remind himself that the boy was going to give him back the money in the evening. Rossas, as you might have guessed, lied.

Through all those distractions and stress, a thought surfed back to Shigeto, a notion of the thing he was to do in the first place.

"Okay, then." Moriyasu put his hands on the table. "If you can't pay me back-"

"I said I'll give you all the money later, trust me!" Rossas uttered, eyes shrank.

Moriyasu raised a finger, with a strange expression. He wasn't necessarily the most confident in his own words, which is certainly a trait that doesn't suit the great journalist he's trying to become. "Tell me just one thing, okay?" his angered expression slowly turned into a soft, welcoming smile.

Rossas, holding onto the fork like a madman, moved back in his chair, carefully observing the man. He knew what was coming.

Moriyasu dug into his pocket, unearthing the piece of paper with a photo of Rossas, which, strangely, didn't match the boy that sat in front of him. "You ever heard of him?"

Rossas analysed Moriyasu's body movement. His unsure and shaky hands coated under a thin, beige, linen shirt. His trembling legs denied the tough demeanour he put on. He was sure that if anything were to go wrong, Shigeto wouldn't be a foe. Or, in other words, an obstacle in his path.

His eyes moved to the picture, and with a bite of a waffle, he opened his mouth. "Yeah, obviously."

"Rossas Nikki," Moriyasu spoke, tapping near the face of the photo. Rossas closed one eye. "He's... kind of the reason that I came here in the first place."

"International cop?" Rossas thought, furrowing his eyebrows with a neutral expression. "Tsk. He wouldn't act like this. What else could it be, then?"

Shigeto raised one foot, drawing near.

"You came to Greece all the way for him?" Rossas asked, swinging his fork around. "I think it's our problem, not yours."

"I don't really care about the things he's doing."

"Oh, you got me interested." Rossas put his hands together.

Moriyasu raised a careful eyebrow, slightly tilting backwards. "T-This is ridiculous, I'm sorry." he shook his head. "I haven't even asked your name. I'm a terrible journalist, aren't I?"

"There's my answer." Rossas tapped twice, thinking, his gaze landing on the sign behind the man. "Evander." he spat out.

"Okay, then, Evander." Shigeto gulped. "Have you seen him anywhere?"

"A couple of times," Rossas replied. "Running between streets as people called for his name."

"Did you, ekhm, this will sound f-farfetched... see anything-" Moriyasu stopped. "Magical?"

"Pff, what?"

"It's been on the papers and flyers around town. That's the whole thing about him. A boy stealing things with a translucent hand." Moriyasu recalled. "Don't they call him unnatural?"

Rossas closed an eye. "I think he'd have a good reason if people wanted to treat him like shit. I don't care."

"P-People are always scared of things they don't understand, and always will be until it becomes natural."

"Until it becomes normal," Rossas uttered, breathing out, hiding his hands in his pockets and folding one finger.

Almost said too much.

"I get it," Rossas added.

"I don't really blame him," Moriyasu spoke, and Rossas' eyes shrank. However, he quickly looked away, to not raise any further suspicions. "As I said. It's other things I'm interested in. Those abilities, his surname too. It strikes a memory for me."

Rossas blinked a couple of times, carefully clenching his jaw. However, he had to keep it up. "I don't think people will be interested in a report that concerns the things they don't want to see." he tapped his own side.

"It's not just about the report." Moriyasu gritted his teeth, unwillingly. Rossas gulped. "I..." he stuttered, clearing his throat.

"I knew his father."