"Please put my old clothes in a bag, Sir."

Several days later, Adam stood in a cramped thrift store, his reflection caught in a dusty mirror behind the counter. The clothes he wore now were different—a charcoal wool coat that hung properly on his shoulders, dark trousers that didn't sag at the knees, and a button-down shirt that actually fit.

Well, new-ish. They were still from a thrift store, but since Adam wasn't bad looking at all, it worked out extremely well for him.

The old man behind the counter folded Adam's discarded garments, glancing at Adam from time to time. How could he not, when Adam's old clothes clearly had signs of blood on them?

Even the leather of the boots was breaking apart.

"I'd say that's quite the upgrade, son," the old man chuckled at Adam's current choice of garments, shaking his head as he stuffed the clothes into a paper bag. "You attending a party or somethin'? Don't see many your age stepping foot in here. Most kids just go here to make a mess."

"Hm…" Adam's eyes wandered across the cramped shelves while the man worked. There were jackets, books with cracked spines, and mismatched china. Adam was about to grab the paper bag from the old man, but then his eyes caught a pair of black leather gloves hanging behind him.

"I'll take those too."

The old man followed his pointing finger and grinned.

"Good eye. Real cow leather." He unhooked them and set them on the counter. "Not like that new stuff they keep getting from one of them Leaks, who knows what animal they took it from. And who the fuck even came up with that name? Leaks?"

"Yeah." Adam didn't really know what to respond to the old man. He'd been talking to him since earlier while he was shopping, and Adam just nodded every single time.

"That fancy bike yours? Are you riding across the country or somethin'?"

Adam glanced through the window at his bicycle chained to a lamppost. "Something like that."

"Ha!" The old man slapped the counter. "Don't try lying to me, boy. I've been in this business longer than you've been breathing."

"Uh…" Adam blinked at him, unsure how to respond.

"I can spot a Game vet from a mile away," the old man continued, his voice growing softer. "You've got that look. Detached. Lost. Like you're always looking for somewhere to run and hide into."

He leaned against the counter. "Seen plenty of folks in my long life, and you all carry yourselves the same way."

"Oh?" Adam blinked. "Do we all look the same?"

"Yep. You all look like you're running away from something." The old man looked Adam in the eyes. "My military buddies had the same expression when they came back. Same thousand-yard stare."

"You… were in the military?"

"Nah, just a cook on one of the bases. Fed plenty of soldiers, though, watched them come and go. Come back… but they never truly return." The old man tapped his temple and then at his heart.

"Somethin' there is missing. Never—"

Music suddenly rang from somewhere on Adam's backpack.

"Ah!" The old man chuckled, finally handing the paper bag over to Adam. "You should take that call. Won't keep you any longer, son."

"Thank you." Adam raised the bag and turned around. Before he could even take a single step, however, the old man said something again.

"Before you go, there's a sort of museum for your folks about five miles south of here. Museum about the Game, or somethin'. Might be worth a visit." The old man's weathered face creased into a smile as he saluted Adam.

"And welcome to Dallas."

Adam nodded and walked away… but just as Adam's hand touched the door handle, the old man called out again.

"Oh, and son?"

"Yes?" Adam turned.

"There's a good barber just down the street. Might want to consider it."

Adam paused, blinking as he looked at himself in the mirror again. His straight, long black hair reached to his shoulders—no. It had gone past it.

"I like the long hair," he said.

"Makes you look like a pretty boy," the old man laughed. "I guess that's one of them Chinese haircuts, huh? Or was it Korean? Young women today swoon over…"

Adam stepped outside before the old man could say anything else. He quickly opened his backpack, revealing multiple phones scattered inside—some still in plastic packaging, others clearly used. His fingers scrambled through the collection until he found the one ringing.

Moving to the side of the street, he flipped it open.

[Your order's been dropped in place, darling,] a voice said immediately. It was hard to determine whether the voice on the other line was male or female, and the buzzing didn't help at all.

"Thank you." Adam sighed and nodded. "I'll place the money there."

[Oh, I know you will. You're one of my most trusted clients, honey. Hm hm. I trust you more than my absent mother.]

"Okay…? Thank you."

Adam was about to end the call, but the voice on the other line became louder.

[Are you in trouble, sweetie? First time you've asked for so many IDs. Got me up here all curious.]

Adam sighed, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

"Everything's fine," he replied.

[Fine?] The voice snorted. [Honey, who installed the cameras up in your apartment? Me. Who were those men in suits that came two weeks ago?]

"...You were spying on me?" Adam's eyebrows lowered.

[Honey, I thought you were six-feet-under and burnt by those god damn angel aliens from hell when the Game happened. Of course, I'd be curious if you were alive. And also, those cameras are expensive. I got them back. So, I'm gonna ask again. Are you in trouble?]

"You… won't be able to help." Adam sighed.

[Government?]

"You could say that."

[Shit. Then I won't pry any further. Bad for business, you know?] The voice behind the line chuckled. [Anyway, if you need anything else—you know who to call, darling.]

"...Thank you."

Adam dropped the call, stared at the phone for a moment, then crushed it between his palms like it was made of paper. He tossed the pieces into a nearby trash bin before pulling out a smartphone.

"The museum, huh…" Opening the map application, he searched for the Game museum that the old man mentioned.

Well, even if he didn't mention it, Adam was going there in the first place since the drop was there, and at the same time, to learn more about the Administrators.

And of course, there was also a fancy restaurant right next to it that served Wagyu beef.

***

Thousands of feet above the land, in the cabin of a private jet… Clementine's voice erupted in frustration.

"We've been here almost a week! When are we going home, Sis?"

Sylvie glared at her sister and then quietly apologized to the flight attendant who had just handed her a cup of coffee. The stewardess didn't seem to mind, however, only chuckling and bowing her head to her.

"Tine, please stay put," Sylvie whispered loudly to her sister. "You're making the people uncomfortable."

"Stay put? Stay put?!" Clementine's voice rose higher. "You told me you're only here to pay your respects to the dead. We've been here a week, Sylv. A week. Why are we here?"

Sylvie didn't really answer her sister, only glancing out the window as she sipped her coffee.

"Ugh. And these Americans love creating drama. Have you seen their comments about you? They're literally interviewing the families of the defeated team and trying to make them blame you. I mean, c'est quoi ce bordel?! Why not blame the American who killed that Creep when they were about to win?"

"Tine…"

"I mean, seriously. I only just watched the videos when we got here…" Clementine leaned closer to her sister. "But did you see? My god… poor guy."

"Tine!"

"What? I mean, these so-called Heroes are evil. No offense to you, Sis."

"You're a Hero too."

"Psh! I'm just C-tier!" Clementine rolled her eyes, leaning back to her seat. "Not as lucky as my sister with her precious S-rank status."

Sylvie sighed deeply. "Most people who enter the Game are dead. You're lucky. We both are."

"Psha…" This silenced Clementine for a moment, but only a moment. She sank deeper into her seat, crossing her arms like a petulant child.

"And seriously?" She scoffed, planting her head on the window and looking down at the empty fields below. "When you said we were getting on a plane, I thought we were going home, but instead we're heading to Texas. What are we even going to do here? Farm?"

"We're…" Sylvie looked away, taking another sip of her coffee. "Just sightseeing, you know?"

"Right…" Clementine squinted and stared her sister straight in the eyes. "...It's a boy, isn't it?"

"What?!" Sylvie almost choked on her coffee.

"I knew it! I fucking knew it!" Clementine leaned forward and slapped her sister's knee. "You met someone during the Game! I knew it!"

"No!" Sylvie pushed her sister away. "It…

…it's not like that."

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