The wind rushed under the concrete arch, carrying the scent of cold asphalt and gasoline. I stopped dead, my breath short.

  There, sitting on a low wall, legs dangling over the void of the road below, stood the silhouette I never thought I'd see again outside of my classified reports. The man in bandages. He was there, motionless. The white strips covering his face and arms glowed faintly under the sallow light of the streetlamps. No costume, no badge. Just that aura of a calm predator that had struck me so vividly in front of the burning house.

  My heart skipped a beat. The receptionist had said he didn't exist. If he wasn't an Association Hero, then what was he? He had a power, he had saved my life... and yet, I could almost feel the icy pressure he radiated from here.

  "You look pretty solid for a ghost," I croaked, my voice raw.

  He didn't flinch. He slowly turned his head toward me. Even though I couldn't see his eyes behind his black glasses, I felt his gaze pierce right through me.

  "A policeman who doesn't know when to quit," he replied in a deep voice, devoid of all emotion. "That's an endangered species these days."

  I stopped a few meters away, hands clearly visible. I knew I wouldn't have the strength to stop him if he decided to run... or attack.

  "They say you're not on their registers. That you weren't there. So, you're not a Hero?"

  He let out a dry, joyless laugh.

  "Their registers don't contain me. I am not one of their costumed watchdogs."

  He stood up in a fluid, almost inhuman motion, towering over me.

  "If you keep looking for the truth where they told you to close your eyes, they will end up eliminating you. You will regret having learned it."

  "Who?!" I asked, my fist clenched.

  He remained silent for a long moment, his invisible gaze weighing on my shoulders.

  "You already know the answer."

  He turned away and began to walk off at a leisurely pace. I trotted to try and catch up, refusing to let him slip away like that.

  "Wait a minute! I'm not finished!"

  He kept walking, imperturbable. I managed to get right behind him.

  "Where are you going?"

  He paused for a second, without turning back to face me.

  "To find the last thing that keeps me alive."

  His words hit me like a physical blow. The last thing that keeps him alive? I stood frozen for a moment, unable to tell if he was talking about a person, an object… or a hope so fragile he didn't even dare name it anymore. Part of me wanted to ask; the other part was terrified of the answer.

  The man in bandages resumed his walk, as if none of it mattered, and I found myself following him without thinking. Perhaps out of curiosity, perhaps out of instinct… or perhaps because I felt that if he disappeared now, I would regret never understanding the weight he carried.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  We left the massive pillars of the bridge behind and ventured into narrower streets. Here, the atmosphere shifted. It was no longer the glittering city center, but a modest residential neighborhood, where the scent of rain on asphalt replaced the smell of gasoline. I glanced at his silhouette silent, almost ethereal. What could still keep a man like him alive? The question gnawed at me, yet I still didn't dare ask it.

  A strange sensation gripped my gut. The contrast was jarring. What was a guy like him doing in a place so... normal?

  "You'll see soon enough," he whispered without looking back, anticipating my question.

  We arrived in front of a primary school. The walls were painted in bright colors, slightly faded by time. But as soon as we passed through the gates, a wave of unease spread. Parents waiting for their children abruptly pulled away, their gazes shifting or filled with disgust. The whispers cut out instantly. This man, with his bandages and dark aura, looked like a monster amidst the strollers and the laughter of children. One mother pulled her child close to her, as if the very air around us had turned toxic.

  Then, the bell rang.

  "Daddy!"

  A joyful cry pierced the heavy silence. A little girl, about eight or nine years old, scrambled down the school steps. She had short, bright blue hair and large eyes sparkling with happiness. Laughing, she pointed to a gap in her smile she had just lost a baby tooth.

  She literally threw herself into the arms of the man in bandages. He, the "ghost" of the hospital, knelt with infinite gentleness to catch her. He no longer seemed threatening. He just seemed... home.

  I stood petrified on the sidewalk. The shock took my breath away. This shadow savior who had saved me... was a father.

  "So that's it..." I whispered to myself, my heart tight. "The last thing keeping him alive."

  The man in bandages didn't flinch. He stood tall, immense and dark against the cold metal of my weapon. Behind him, the dull thud of Hina's backpack sliding off her shoulders echoed like a clap of thunder in the silence of the room.

  "Daddy?" she asked, her voice starting to tremble. "What is the man doing? Why does he have a gun?"

  "Answer me! Who are you?!" My voice rose an octave, betraying my instability.

  A long silence followed, broken only by the little girl's ragged breathing. The man in bandages slowly tilted his head toward the portrait, as if greeting a painful old memory a life that had been ripped away from him. He knelt down to adjust his daughter's backpack. She didn't seem intimidated by my presence, nor by the shifty glances of the other parents earlier. She held her chin high, a quiet pride showing she was used to defending her father's honor on the playground.

  "My name is Hina!" she chirped, stepping toward me with a mischievous smile that revealed her missing tooth. "Are you a friend of my daddy's? You look tired."

  I stood there speechless, stammering a polite reply as they began to walk. I followed at a distance, heart heavy. Seeing this "monster" from the hospital hold this little girl's hand with such delicacy shattered all my certainties.

  When they arrived at a modest little house tucked away in a quiet street, the man opened the door and let Hina in. Then, he turned to me. A silent gesture of the hand an invitation to enter his sanctuary.

  I crossed the threshold, the air thick with the scent of old wood and tea. But my steps froze instantly in the entryway. On a small cabinet, a framed portrait sat under dimmed lighting. My blood ran cold.

  In the photo, a man in a white lab coat was smiling, his gaze kind. It was him. Doctor Tanashi. The man who ran the hospital's department. Right behind him was a high school girl who looked exactly like him... the spitting image of an older Hina.

  My brain went into overdrive. How could this respected doctor be linked to this shadow warrior covered in dressings? Fear and confusion exploded inside me. Without thinking, my police instinct took over. My hand lunged for my belt, and I drew my service weapon. The barrel trembled slightly, but it was aimed straight at the chest of the man in bandages.

  "Who are you really?!" I screamed, my voice cracking from the adrenaline. "Why do you have Doctor Tanashi's photo? What did you do to him?!"

  "The Doctor you met at the hospital... that wasn't me," he began in a hollow voice, a vibration of contained rage shaking his words.

  He took a step toward me, totally ignoring the threat of my weapon. I felt panic rising, but I couldn't pull the trigger. Not in front of the child. He pressed a gloved hand to his bandages, clutching the fabric against his skin as if he wanted to tear off his own flesh.

  "Look closely at the photo, Kenji. Look at the man I was before they turned me into this monster."

  He paused, his black glasses locked onto my haggard gaze. The truth then fell, glacial, shattering my last certainties into pieces:

  "The one you saw at the hospital was a double. A lie. Because the real Tanashi... is the man standing before you."