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"Is that?"
"E-Soul, yeah."
"When you asked for a favor, I knew something was up but never expected you to kidnap a hero."
"It's not kidnapping if they wanted to kill him."
"So you're just going to what, keep him in your apartament?"
"I'll admit, I hadn't thought about that."
He knows he's losing. This time, he won't persevere, the young man is too strong for that, too determined, too angry. Here comes the punch. One dubbed now as Old E-Soul breaths his last breath-
-only to wake up, gasping, with oxygen mask on his face and bandages covering his body. For a moment, E-Soul is surprised, but it morphs into confusion. There's beeping of a heart monitor. His whole body aches, bruises visible in few places uncovered by bandages and clothes, his prostetic gone. Wait, where's his helmet?
"Hi, you're finally awake." A voice states, one he does not recognise, which belongs to a man in mid-thirties drinking soda from the chair oposite to E-Soul's bed. "Welcome to retirement." This does not help in his confused state. A myriad of questions come to the forthfront of his mind, each one morthing smoothly to another.
"Where am I?" He eventually settles on, flinching at the sound of his own voice, unused to hearing it without the helmet's metallic note. It's hoarse, his throat gone dry.
"Guest bedroom in my apartament. The medical equipment is curtesy of a friend." The stranger holds out a bottle of water to him, but when he tries to reach out, white hot pain blinds his vision. After blinking away the stars, he sees the stranger come near the edge of his bed. He nods. The stranger gently pulls off the oxygen mask, then helps him sit upright on the bed, mindful of his injuries, finally handing the uncapped bottle. He drinks almost half of it, throat soothed by its coolness. Once he's done, he looks around the tiny room - pale yellow walls, a dresser in one corner next to tall bookshelf, plant on windowsil, singular window covered with blinds and painting the room with shadows.
"Who are you?" The stranger's answer to his last question is puzzling, nonsensical, impossible. Who, in their right mind, would take a- fallen hero. Who would take someone with zero trust - he no longer feels electricity running through his veins - and destroyed reputation, then nurse him without ulterior motive.
"Who are you?" The stranger refutes with light smirk, and as he readies to answer the question, he stutters.
Who is he?
E-Soul? He used to be, now this name belongs to a young man who defeated him. He is no longer a hero, the power which fueled him for so many years gone with public's sway. He fell just like he rose, with his end loud and brutal; end, that he's seen coming, that he's ignored while loosing trust over last month. But if he isn't E-Soul, who is he? He searches his brain for the name he hasn't used since becoming E-Soul...
Only to come up with nothing.
He thinks harder, back to hazy memories of before, trying to find it, find the one thing that's truly-
He stops. He doesn't remember his name. He cannot remember anything more than hazy visions, sound forgotten, his life nothing but a short slide show with blurred out faces and places lost to time.
He feels a tear on his cheek.
When did he start crying?
The stranger's smile grows more sympathetic at his sorry state. "Don't worry," The man says "you can create one for yourself once you're ready for it. You have time, now that you're retired." That is something the stranger has said before. Retirement. God, he hasn't expected to ever retire. He thought he'd go out fighting- which he has, although he'd lived.
The man who called himself E-Soul doesn't know if he should be in histerics over the situation.
"How is he?"
"Good, I guess."
"You guess?"
"I have no idea what I'm doing."
He's slowly adjusting, getting used to the quiet apartament and a strange man who let him stay, who must've been one of those digging him out from the rubble. It's difficult, looking at his own face like this, when previously he'd only taken the helmet off out of necessity. His face, wrinkled and old, with empty eyes staring back from behind disheveled locks of silvery hair.
It's all new to him.
He now spends his days peacefully, with walks in the park nearby Min Haoyu's apartament and reading books on the bench - or inside his room. The medical equipment was removed once he has healed, returned to Min Haoyu's friend, a cheery blonde man who must've been Smile in casual attire - explaining how he came into Min Haoyu's care. He's already finished two novels and is well into the third. He hasn't had time to read while being a hero, not to properly enjoy the stories told in books. They're quite refreshing.
Min Haoyu for most time isn't at home, the man has an office job with frequent overtime - which Min Haoyu complained about few times - and runs ragged, cooking him meals and leaving them in the refrigerator. He decided to take up cooking; after all, he doesn't pay for younger man's bills or rent, so he should at least repay in some way. First few tries with a cook book he found were a disaster, but eventually he succeeded, his dishes turning out delicious. It felt gratifying to finally succeed in something again. Min Haoyu beamed at him after coming from another too long shift to a home-cooked mean, exclaiming that he's the better cook.
Strange indeed.
It will be a while until he'll be given an apartament of his own - since he doesn't work and the one who does cannot afford such thing - but he's alright with that. There is something weirdly appealing in living with someone still so energetic.
He hasn't yet found his name. Hasn't chosen from milions of possible ones. He's thought about it and eventually came to a conclusion that one day he'll be ready to pick one. But he has time, after all, he's retired.
Two years of his only fight being with boredom, eventually finding his name and watching first Hero Tournament in which he doesn't participate later, he finally has his own apartament. And if it is correlated with Min Haoyu suspiciously gaining enormous wealth, he doesn't mention it.
"I see the money from XFC deal is going to good cause."
"Not like I have any other use for it."