One seventh.

  A mere fraction off the agreed amount for the month. The youth had told himself countless times these people were not to be shorted under any circumstances, but deep inside, he still held some measure of hope in the fact it was his first mistake. An error he truly did not know how he could have prevented.

  They did not care.

  Tasting blood from his lip after being forced down on the table by those who had paid properly, the youth could do nothing but mentally curse any avoidable decision that had led to this result.

  He did not retain even the boldness to scream, whether in pain or fear. For with what little he knew of the human monster before him, it was a fact that things would be even worse had he the impudence to resist in ways as worthless as that.

  Surrounded by those terrified, just like him, into the task of ensuring the sentence. Locked at the front by the image of dread itself, raising the tool of cruel judgment.

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  The twisted thorn was brought down like a guillotine, and the young man could only wait for the eternal reminder of his unavoidable failure.

  That is just… how events should have turned out.

  But at that moment, against all predictions, the thorn of cruelty was forced back by a twilight-colored comet. Their weapon blocked, the monster was also torn from their footing, the echo of shattered glass still present.

  The young man turned to his side, and no wonder how. After all, those restraining him could not help but release him so they could witness that. See for themselves whatever was responsible for such an irrational act.

  Their hand still extended forward, a masked stranger shrouded in half-protected, raggedy attire. To call them a knight or savior would be laughable.

  But such a thought did not seem to be of even the lowest concern to the stranger. Maneuvering through the brutes now on the attack, calling out for the young man in concern.

  The youth ran off. Ignoring pain, discarding the need to give anything in return. He did not have the courage.

  However, in spite of the terror consuming him, fueling his unseemly escape, the young man could not help but turn his head one last time.

  One more glance. He needed another look at least.

  To remember the figure of a hero for the rest of his life.