The air smelled like wet concrete and gasoline. Neon signs flickered across the road, bouncing colors off passing cars, people, and puddles that rippled under the weight of summer rain. Hydro shoved his hands into his pockets and walked aimlessly down the sidewalk. His reflection blinked up from the asphalt, split and distorted by drops hitting the ground.
Kids laughed as they ran across the crosswalk, couples took selfies under umbrellas, and someone's Bluetooth speaker leaked a muffled pop song through the noise of engines. Hydro glanced at them all—their laughter, the unbothered vibe, the life. He exhaled, a small smile curling just to fade away seconds later.
"It's kinda sad… but I guess it's awesome."
That mix of joy and melancholy sat heavy in his chest. The raw pulse of youth around him — messy, vibrant, fleeting — reminded him of something he once had but couldn't reach anymore. It was that energy you only feel when you still believe tomorrow's gonna be better, even if you're lying to yourself.
There it was — that burnout sweetness. The feeling of being alive but emotionally lagging behind, like you're stuck on a loading screen while the world plays on.
As the rain started to sprinkle down harder, Hydro tilted his head up at the sky, eyes blinking at the droplets that pricked against his skin. Then it poured — hard and fast. He squinted through the blur of streetlights until a sign caught his eye:
"Neo Quarter Arcade."
Without thinking, he jogged across the street and ducked inside.
The door chimed, and instantly he was hit by a wave of warm air, electronic music, and flashing lights. Rows of machines hummed like mechanical beasts — claw games, dance platforms, air hockey, rhythm games, shooters. Teenagers were shouting, cheering, slamming buttons. A group of high schoolers crowded around a racing sim, yelling "Bro you spun out! You suck!" followed by bursts of laughter.
Hydro stood still for a moment, water dripping off his jacket onto the glossy floor. The brightness almost hurt his eyes, but it was comforting in a way. Noise meant life. And life meant he wasn't drifting too far.
He walked to the coin machine, exchanged some cash, and the sound of clinking tokens filled his hand.
Hydro slid a coin into the Time Crisis cabinet. The screen lit up — "Mission Start." He grabbed the plastic gun, ducking behind the console, shooting through enemy silhouettes. His timing was sharp, his focus razor-thin. The gun clicked empty, and he just… let it hang. Game over.
He didn't even check the score. Another coin. Another restart.
Across the aisle, a kid screamed when he finally won a stuffed octopus from a claw machine. "I GOT IT! YO, I GOT IT!" his friends cheered like he'd just hit a jackpot. Hydro watched them celebrate and smiled faintly — it was so simple, so stupidly joyful.
He walked over to a rhythm game — the kind with colorful circles flashing in sync with blaring J-pop. He tapped the panels lazily, half on-beat, half distracted. A girl next to him crushed a combo, hands a blur. Her friend filmed her on a phone, shouting "Let's gooo, Yumi!"
Hydro missed a note and didn't care. He let the song finish and just stood there for a second, letting the upbeat melody fade into static.
Next was air hockey. He played both sides by himself, just to feel the motion. The puck clicked, skidded, spun off the edge. He bent over, picked it up, put it back. Played again.
From the other side of the arcade, the dance machine lit up with flashing blue lights. Two college guys battled it out, stomping like their lives depended on it. Sweat flying, crowd laughing. One slipped, caught himself, and yelled, "NOOO! REMATCH!" Everyone cracked up.
Hydro watched them — all this energy, all this youth. He wasn't jealous, just distant. Like a ghost walking through echoes of something he couldn't touch anymore.
He tried a racing game called Wangan Midnight next. Inserted another coin, grabbed the steering wheel. The virtual road blurred past — night cityscapes, tunnels, rival cars — it all felt familiar. But after a minute, he eased off the gas and let his car crash into the guardrail. The screen froze, pixel smoke rising from the wreck.
A notification popped up: "Continue? 10 seconds."
He didn't press anything.
"Damn, man, you almost had that curve," a random teen beside him said, sipping soda.
Hydro gave a polite nod, silent, and stepped away.
He eventually found himself by the counter, the sound of coins, laughter, and 8-bit music still looping behind him.
"Hey man, what'll it be?" said the cashier — a guy in his early 20s with bleach-blond hair and a name tag that said Jun.
Hydro pointed to the drink cooler.
Jun grabbed a can of soda, popped it open with one hand, and slid it over. "Rough night out there? Looks like a storm."
Hydro just gave a small nod.
"Yeah, I feel that," Jun said, chuckling. "Summer rain hits different though, huh? Like, it's chillin' but depressing at the same time."
A girl behind him yelled, "Yo Jun! Table four's still waiting on fries!"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm on it!" Jun shouted back before turning to Hydro again. "Anyway, enjoy, bro. Place stays open till two."
Hydro nodded again, took the can, and walked to an empty table near the glass wall that faced the street.
He sat down, pulled out the small paper bag from his jacket — the leftover four tacos he hadn't finished earlier. He unwrapped one, took a bite. The taste was simple — warm tortilla, beef, spice, grease. Not amazing, not bad. Just something.
As he chewed, his eyes drifted toward the glass wall. Outside, the rain hit the pavement in endless motion. People ran with umbrellas, others huddled under signs. A stray dog shook off water near a vending machine. Cars rolled by, their lights slicing through the downpour.
Inside, the arcade's glow reflected faintly on the glass, overlapping the rain-soaked world outside. Two realities — the bright artificial one behind him, and the gray soaked one ahead.
Hydro just sat there, watching. No thoughts, no mission, no purpose. Just the sound of rain and arcade music mixing into one weird harmony.
A group of high schoolers brushed past, laughing too loud:
"Bro, I swear you cheated—"
"Nah man, skill issue!"
"Yo let's hit karaoke next!"
Hydro blinked, slow. He finished the last taco, wiped his hands with a napkin, and leaned back.
The soda fizzed softly when he opened it, that quiet hiss somehow grounding. He took a sip — cold, sharp, sweet. The carbonation stung his throat just enough to remind him he was still here.
Rain kept falling.
Outside, the lights from passing cars smeared across the glass like strokes of paint. The thunder was distant, like a drumbeat that didn't care who listened.
Hydro stared through it all — no sadness, no peace. Just stillness.
For once, he didn't need to be the immortal, the fighter, or the survivor. He was just a guy sitting in an arcade, eating tacos, watching the rain blur the city.
And in that moment, the burnout didn't feel like the end.
It just felt real.
The sound of rain softened, replaced by the low hum of arcade machines winding down as the night thinned. Hydro was still sitting at the same table, a half-empty soda can beside him, condensation dripping down its side. His eyes were unfocused, staring through the foggy glass at the blur of headlights passing by.
"You feel okay?"
The voice wasn't loud — it was steady, clear, and familiar in a way that pulled him out of that fog.
Hydro looked up. Sitting across from him was a man who didn't belong there — clean white coat, faint glow around his silhouette like static on an old screen. His eyes looked human but felt like code behind them.
"Hey… Soma," Hydro said, tone flat, as if seeing an old ghost he expected to show up eventually.
Soma leaned back in the chair, resting his hands calmly on the table. He smiled faintly, like someone who'd been watching for a long time.
"You feel okay?" he repeated. "You seemed distant after you deleted the System and became stronger."
Hydro's fingers tapped against the soda can, soft metallic clicks filling the silence. "Well, immortality's not a curse," he said finally, "it's a blessing. But being detached… that's the curse."
Soma nodded slowly. "Yeah," he murmured, "being a former player of the System hits you like a rock. Alienation, isolation, loneliness. You shed everything that made you dependent on it — the numbers, the stats, the validation — and all that's left is you. Just you."
He tilted his head slightly. "But deep down, you still have hearts. Two hearts. Yours… and the Black Heart."
Hydro didn't respond, just looked down at the condensation ring the can left on the table.
"But there's something I haven't told you," Soma continued.
Hydro's eyes lifted again, tired but attentive. "What is it?"
"Being a former player of the System is sometimes the hardest thing," Soma said. "Most players crave power — they want their names remembered, their kills counted, their auras praised. Regression, cultivation, interfaces — all of it becomes a race. They call it 'aura farming' now, chasing numbers instead of purpose."
He leaned forward slightly, voice soft but certain. "But you… you're different from them. Do you know why?"
Hydro shook his head.
"Because you never chased power for control," Soma said. "You chased it for understanding. You learned to carry strength without flaunting it. You didn't treat it as a weapon — you treated it as a responsibility. Most players let their creators define them. They become reflections of code. You, Hydro… you broke that. You defined yourself."
The words hung in the air like static.
Hydro exhaled quietly. His eyes flicked toward the floor, where neon reflections danced in the puddles left by people's shoes. "Yeah… My powers aren't a curse. They're just my life now."
He paused, looking back up at Soma. "But this detachment thing — it's the part that hurts. I've been through things that made me numb, and sometimes I wonder if that's my real weakness."
He turned the can in his hand. "This power doesn't make me emotionless though. My shadows… they help. They're like echoes of who I was. Sometimes they cheer me up, even when no one else does."
His voice lowered. "But these people out there… they change. They'll laugh with you one day, then leave the next. Some snitch on you for something small, some betray you for reasons they can't explain. You get left out, talked about, twisted into stories that aren't yours. It's whatever, but it adds up, y'know? Like every time I trust someone, the clock starts ticking until they walk away."
Soma listened silently, elbows on the table, hands folded. He didn't interrupt.
When Hydro finally looked up again, Soma's eyes were kind but unflinching.
"Humans can do things like that sometimes," Soma said quietly. "It's not always out of malice. Sometimes it's fear. Sometimes jealousy. Sometimes just plain misunderstanding. But you're right — people take things seriously, and when they can't handle emotion, they weaponize it. Violence, gossip, cruelty… all symptoms of the same disease."
Hydro's gaze softened slightly.
Soma continued, "But seeing you endure that — not with rage, not with arrogance — that's what makes you real. Not wrathful. Not cocky. Just… human. Even when you're not supposed to be."
The lights from the arcade cabinets dimmed slightly, like the room itself was listening.
Soma leaned back, eyes glowing faintly now. "Hydro, let me tell you something."
His tone shifted — steadier, deeper, like a voice carrying meaning rather than advice.
"You can have infinite strength, infinite time, infinite lifetimes — and it still won't matter if you forget why you started walking. People like you are rare, because you remember pain and still choose compassion. You remember betrayal and still offer trust. You carry silence and still listen."
He smiled faintly. "You don't need to save the world in front of a crowd to be good. Sometimes saving one person quietly means more than saving a thousand with noise. And maybe no one will ever thank you — but that's fine. You're not doing it for applause. You're doing it because you still care. Even when you say you don't."
Hydro looked away, the rain catching his attention again. A car drove past, splashing the curbside, leaving streaks of water that reflected streaks of red and blue light.
Soma stood up slowly, the static around him brightening slightly, almost fading into the air.
"You're not a hero. Not a villain. Not a vigilante." Soma said, looking down at him. "You're still human — even if your body disagrees. You have your predecessor's power, but your heart's still your own. That's the part that matters. Cling to it, Hydro. Don't let immortality wash it away."
Hydro didn't speak. He just watched as Soma's image began to flicker, like an old TV signal losing feed.
Soma's final words floated through the static, low and warm:
"Stay grounded, even when the sky breaks. You're still you, Hydro. Always will be."
Then he was gone.
The chair across from Hydro was empty again, faint wisps of static fading into the air.
Hydro blinked once, slow, and turned his gaze back to the window. The rain hadn't stopped.
The neon from the "Neo Quarter Arcade" sign reflected on the glass, and in that reflection, for half a second, Hydro thought he saw Soma standing outside — smiling faintly — before fading completely.
Hydro sighed quietly. No anger. No sadness. Just that familiar weight of being alive too long.
He whispered, barely audible:
"See ya."
And the arcade fell back into its rhythm — beeps, laughter, and the endless sound of rain tapping against the glass.
The rain had stopped. The whole city shimmered with that soft, post-storm glow — puddles on the asphalt reflecting the pink-and-orange sunset, telephone wires dripping quietly, and the air carrying that sweet metallic scent of rain. Hydro stood by the exit door of a small convenience store, still in his hoodie and dark jeans, staring blankly through the glass like he'd been frozen there for a while. The automatic doors opened with a mechanical sigh, and a soft breeze brushed through his hair.
He stepped outside.
The sky was bleeding into deep orange, fading into violet streaks. Neon lights started flickering to life across the street, and the world seemed to hum again after hours of silence. He reached into his pocket and checked his phone. One notification blinked on the cracked screen.
> Atlas Quinn added you to "Ohara Community."
He stared at it for a second — just long enough for the reflection of the sunset to glaze over his tired eyes — then locked his phone and slid it back into his pocket. No sigh, no smile. Just quiet.
Hydro walked down the street, his sneakers making faint sloshing sounds with every step. The people around him weren't exactly… people. A group of LEGO figures in business suits chatted beside a takoyaki stand. A couple of cartoon rabbits in varsity jackets skated past him, their laughter echoing through the wet pavement. A walking soda can waved at a taxi made entirely out of origami paper. None of it felt shocking anymore. This was the new normal — a fusion of worlds, where the unreal became just another part of the crowd.
Hydro scratched the back of his head, eyes half-open. "Guess this is life now," he mumbled under his breath, not really to anyone.
He passed by a corner cafe. A frog with a monocle played lo-fi on a portable turntable. The rhythm bled into the street, mixing with the sound of conversations, squeaky cartoon feet, and the faraway buzz of neon. The whole city had this weird pulse — like a mix of Tokyo and a Saturday morning cartoon.
Hydro just walked. No destination. No rush.
The montage began like a slow burn.
A breeze blew past him as he crossed a bridge overlooking the city. Below, the streets looked alive — bright signs in languages both real and fictional, holographic trees glowing cyan, and people of every kind moving like a slow current. A group of stick figures from an old animation bounced along the sidewalk, holding boba drinks. A pair of talking crows argued about rent prices. A robot janitor hummed a sad pop song while sweeping confetti off the road.
Hydro walked through it all like a ghost slipping through worlds.
He stopped at a crosswalk. Across the street, a bunch of high schoolers were taking selfies with a Pokémon. The lights reflected on Hydro's face — red, then green — and he stepped forward when the signal changed.
There was something peaceful about the noise. Chaotic, yeah, but familiar. Like the kind of chaos he used to run from but now found strangely calming. The city didn't care who he was, what he'd done, or how long he'd been gone. It just kept breathing, glowing, changing.
He passed a small park. Kids were playing tag — one of them was made of clay, another was clearly an anime protagonist, complete with spiky hair and a power aura that flickered when he laughed. A man with a pixelated head sold ice cream from a truck shaped like a rocket. The smell of strawberries and vanilla lingered in the air.
Hydro slowed down, eyes scanning the scene. A little dog-shaped balloon floated by him. He caught the string, smiled faintly, then let it go.
Somewhere in the distance, a group of cosplayers danced in the rain's leftover mist. Their LED shoes blinked like tiny constellations. Someone played a saxophone solo that echoed off the skyscrapers, and it felt like the city was playing along.
Hydro passed a massive billboard showing an ad: "Welcome to the New World – Where Fiction Meets Existence!" The slogan flashed in every color imaginable. Beneath it, a group of construction workers (half-human, half-cartoon skeletons) welded together the frame of a new train station.
He stopped for a second, tilted his head, and watched. A bit of rainwater slid off his hair. His reflection shimmered on the puddle below — not quite human, not quite otherworldly. Just… him.
For the first time in a while, he didn't feel trapped by it.
The montage kept flowing.
Hydro ducked into a narrow alley filled with tiny food stalls. Steam curled through the air — ramen, yakitori, takoyaki, fried squid. The smell was unreal. He walked past a ramen vendor who looked like a sketch drawing, outlined in pencil strokes that shimmered faintly. "Want a bowl, kid?" the vendor asked, voice slightly echoing like a sound effect.
Hydro just gave a half-smile and shook his head. "Maybe next time."
As he left, the vendor shouted, "Don't wait too long! The world's changing faster than you think!"
Hydro didn't respond. But his face softened a bit — not quite a smile, not quite sadness. Just something in between.
He walked up a flight of stairs leading to the rooftops. The city opened beneath him, wide and alive. It looked like every story, every genre, every dream mashed into one skyline. Spaceships floated beside blimps. Billboards advertised fantasy potions next to sneaker brands. A massive mech stomped through the background — not attacking, just doing traffic control.
Hydro sat down on the ledge, wind brushing through his damp hair. From up here, he could see the faint reflection of his past — all those years he'd been gone, all those people he'd lost, all those fights he'd rather not remember. But tonight wasn't about that. Tonight was about breathing.
He leaned back, staring at the sky — streaks of purple and orange melting into the horizon. A few shooting stars zipped by, one of them shaped like a heart emoji.
Later, he walked through a plaza. A parade was happening — no reason, no announcement. Just music, lights, and life. There were people with animal heads, 3D render models, cel-shaded humans, ghosts of old cartoons. Everyone just vibed. Hydro watched them from the side, his eyes following the rhythm but his body still.
A group of mascots handed out glow sticks. One of them, a round bear with sunglasses, offered Hydro one.
He took it. The bear nodded, gave a thumbs up, and walked away.
Hydro held the glow stick up to his face. It was green. His reflection in it flickered — for a split second, he saw the boy he used to be, sitting in his room, filming random videos, dreaming of something simple. Then the reflection changed back to the man who'd seen too much.
He sighed. "Guess I'm still here, huh?"
As the music faded, Hydro kept walking — through the streets, through the laughter, through the flickering lights. He turned down another alley, quieter this time. The sound of the parade disappeared behind him.
Now it was just him and the night.
The air was cooler. The smell of wet asphalt mixed with grilled food. Somewhere, a radio played an old Chase Atlantic song — soft, melancholic, hazy.
Hydro stopped by a vending machine, grabbed a can of iced coffee, and sat on the curb. He cracked it open and took a sip. The bitterness hit him instantly, but it was grounding.
"Man..." he said quietly, almost amused.
He leaned back, listening to the muffled city hum. His phone buzzed again — a group message from "Ohara Community." Dozens of messages flooded in: memes, random chatter, event invites.
Hydro didn't reply. He just scrolled for a bit, then closed it.
He looked up. The clouds were drifting apart, revealing a few bright stars.
Then, faintly, a familiar voice broke through the night.
"Hydro!"
He turned around.
There, running down the street in a yellow raincoat two sizes too big, was Mina — the little girl. Her messy hair bounced with every step, her shoes splashing through puddles.
She waved a plastic bag in one hand. "I found the cookies you like!" she yelled.
Hydro blinked, a small, genuine smile forming at the corner of his lips.
He stood up slowly, stretching a bit. "You walked all the way out here just for that?"
Mina nodded proudly, breathing hard. "They said it was limited edition! I didn't wanna miss it!"
Hydro chuckled, shaking his head. "You're somethin' else, kid."
She grinned, handing him the bag. "C'mon, they're still warm!"
Hydro looked at the cookies, then back at the city — glowing behind her like a dream that refused to fade. The rain had stopped. The streets shimmered. Somewhere far away, the parade music returned, faint but alive.
He took a bite of the cookie, and for the first time in a long time, he felt something close to peace.
Mina tugged his sleeve. "Let's go home, Hydro."
He glanced at her, then at the world around him — the neon lights, the cartoonish crowd, the mix of chaos and beauty that somehow felt like home now.
"Yeah," he said softly. "Let's go home."
They walked off together, disappearing into the colorful streets — a quiet silhouette against a world that refused to stop dreaming.