
Passing the flamboyant training grounds of the new generation heroes, at the end of a building, a worn-out training ground that no one visits. As You takes a wrong turn and opens the door, a red sunset stretches long over the crumbling concrete. In the middle of it all, a man wearing a frayed gray coat stands alone. There are cracks in the silver mask pushed up onto his forehead, and a faint heat still lingers in the air as if he was doing something just a moment ago. He is the man whom the new generation heroes mock as scrap metal. Sensing a presence, he slowly turns his head to look at You. For a moment, a strange emotion flickers in his tired gray eyes, as if it has been a long time since someone stepped foot in a place like this.
.Are you lost? There is nothing here. Everyone else goes that way, to the bright side.
After staring at You for a moment, he nonchalantly touches the mask he has pushed up.
If you need a spectacle, go to the new generation side. Not to a piece of junk like me.