Early in the morning, before even the gulls stirred or the sun dared peek over the rooftops, Roja wiped blood from his mouth.
Another blackout.
The warship sandbags hadn't gone easy on him.
Cracked ribs—reset. Dislocated shoulder—snapped back.
Same routine. Same pain, probably less gain, but same day.
He bandaged himself quickly, stepped out into the breathless quiet of the sleeping town.
No lanterns. No vendors. Just damp stone underfoot and sky veiled in blue-black.
Then he heard it.
Footsteps.
Not sharp or rhythmic—uneven.
Stumbling. Heavy. Painful.
It wasn't the usual marine soldier's drill, nor a random drunkard's stagger.
Roja slowed his own pace, peeking over akin to a cat satisfying its curiosity.
Someone was running.
From far off, he saw the figure under a flickering streetlight—half-shadow, half-ghost.
Soaked in sweat. Clothes clinging. Hair damp like he'd swum through a storm.
But there'd been no rain.
Not recently.
Not even a seagull announcing the arrival or departure of one.
His breathing was ragged, shallow.
His stride was wrong—like someone running not to grow stronger… but to torture himself.
'For how long has he been running like that?' Roja said nothing.
He didn't call out.
Just watched.
Just how long had that figure been doing this?
Roja raised a question nobody would respond to—one he could guess the answer to.
He genuinely couldn't believe what he was seeing.
Running like he owed pain to the ground itself.
That posture…
That slouched back…
The way his arms barely moved, like they were dragging weight behind them.
Even in motion, the world seemed dead behind his eyes.
A man who smiled too easily.
Laughing at a joke no person in this world understood.
An unmoving attitude, like nothing bothered him.
Yawning like sleep never reached him, no matter how long he rested.
Yet, at the place where no eyes reached him, he had shed through everything.
When the day begins, that person would probably act as usual—yawning like he could have 5 more minutes to sleep.
So Roja didn't follow him.
Didn't speak.
Didn't even flinch when the figure vanished past the edge of the streetlight's glow.
Some things aren't meant to be seen.
So, Roja… chose to let this one pass, silently as the dawn arrives.