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Vell maintained his run throughout the night. He did not stop in any of the towns he passed. He considered that encountering people might lead to conflict, and he was unsure of the full extent of his new strength. He thought it was better to avoid situations where he might cause unintended, severe harm. 

[You are maintaining an excellent pace, master,] the system's text appeared. [And demonstrating admirable restraint regarding civilian interactions.] 

'Restraint?' he thought. 'Or just a preference for not having to clean blood off new, albeit stolen, clothes. Details, details.' 

After several hours, well before dawn, the distant glow of his former city became visible.

He reduced his speed as he neared the city limits; there was no longer any advantage in haste. The sun began to rise as he entered the familiar streets. He acknowledged the light but did not pause. Certain places triggered recollections of his expulsion, the accusations, and the people who had pursued him. 

He exhaled slowly and continued his survey of the area. Much remained unchanged. He noticed a particular vendor's stall, one he had frequented for its crepes. He approached it. 

"Hello," he said to the vendor. "I would like one of your special crepes, please." 

He found a seat at a small table and observed the shop. The layout was identical to his memory. From his perspective, a significant period had passed since he was last there. For the shop and its owner, it had likely been only a few months. The vendor placed a plate with the crepe before him. 

As Vell reached for it, the vendor quickly pulled the plate away. The man's expression had changed from neutral to hostile. 

"You," the vendor said, his voice low and tense. "What are you doing back in this city? Are you looking for more trouble?" 

The vendor then walked quickly towards the back of his shop, presumably to use a phone. Other customers in the shop began to murmur, their curiosity piqued by the vendor's reaction to Vell. It appeared not all residents recalled the specifics of his alleged crimes, or perhaps they simply did not recognize him immediately due to his hair.

'Right,' he thought, looking at the rapidly removed crepe. 'My welcoming committee. I suppose I should have anticipated this. Shame, that crepe did look quite well-made. Probably still tastes like betrayal, though.' 

He stood up, preparing to leave. The vendor returned from the back, now holding a phone to his ear and speaking urgently in hushed tones. 

'He's likely calling the authorities, or perhaps just spreading the word to old friends,' he considered. 'It's inconvenient. Annoying, even. But escalating this situation offers no strategic advantage.' 

He decided against any confrontation; this was not his objective for returning. 

As he walked away, the vendor lowered his phone and shouted after him, "Do not come back to my shop, you understand? If I see your face again, it will not be pleasant for you!" 

Vell continued walking, not looking back, until the crepe shop was no longer visible.

As he moved through the city, more residents began to recognize him. He heard their whispers and saw their averted gazes, some tinged with what looked like disgust. He continued without reacting to their passive judgment. 

'Being barefoot is impractical,' he thought, feeling the grit of the street beneath his feet. 'I should acquire some footwear. Preferably without another public service announcement.' 

He turned towards a street with various shops. He bypassed a store displaying expensive clothing in its window and approached a smaller, less well-maintained establishment next to it. It was a shoe shop he vaguely remembered. 

'This place is still here,' he observed. 'The owner is persistent, operating next to such an upscale neighbor. Or perhaps just stubborn.' 

He pushed the weathered door open. The interior of the shop was dim, and a layer of dust covered most surfaces, suggesting infrequent cleaning. He browsed the selection of affordable shoes and selected a pair of plain white slippers that seemed sturdy enough. 

'Ninety-nine credits,' he noted, looking at the handwritten price tag. 'The old man hasn't inflated his prices. Commendable, in its own way.' 

He walked to the counter at the back of the shop. The door to a small back office was ajar, and he heard the muffled sounds of a low, tense argument. He moved quietly to the doorway and looked inside.

Several men, whom he identified as local low-level gang members by their attire and demeanor, were confronting the elderly shop owner. The old man appeared bruised and visibly frightened. One of the men held a firearm, not pointing it, but keeping it visible. 

"Old man?" He said, his voice calm. 

The shop owner turned sharply, his eyes widening with a mixture of fear and surprise when he saw Vell. 

"Vell? What are you doing here? You should leave, quickly, before they—" 

Before the old man could finish, one of the gang members next to him delivered a short, sharp punch to his side, he gasped and fell silent, clutching his ribs. 

The apparent leader of the group, a man Vell recognized from his past as Roric, rose from a chair he had been occupying at the old man's desk. Roric approached him, casually twirling a knife in his fingers. 

He stopped a few feet in front of Vell. 

"Well, well. Look who decided to grace us with his presence. I heard you were back in town, Vell." He then gestured with his head towards the suffering old man. "We're just having a little chat with our friend here about his rather distasteful hobbies. Turns out he's quite the collector of inappropriate material." 

The other gang members remained tense, their eyes shifting between Vell and Roric, unsure how to react to their leader's almost casual tone with the newcomer. Roric, however, seemed relatively relaxed, though his eyes were watchful and assessing. 

"You look different," he commented, his tone conversational but with an undercurrent of scrutiny. 

"Something's changed. You carry yourself differently." 

"Still finding reasons to trouble the elderly, Roric?" Vell asked, his voice even and devoid of any noticeable inflection. 

Roric chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "This time, it's more than justified, believe me. He brought this particular misery squarely upon himself." He walked back to the desk and picked up a small, worn cardboard box.

He opened it and showed the contents to Vell. Inside were numerous photographs of very young girls, some in school uniforms. Vell recognized the faces of several children from the neighborhood. 

"Is that…?" He began, his voice quiet. 

Roric nodded grimly. "Yeah. One of them is the boss's youngest daughter. You remember how protective he is about her. Imagine what happens when he finds out about this little collection." 

"How did this come to your attention?" Vell inquired, his gaze steady on Roric. 

"We saw him in the park, taking pictures near the children's play area. Too often. It made us suspicious," he explained. "So, we decided to confront him. If we were wrong, we'd have apologized, maybe given him some credits for the misunderstanding. But then we searched his back room and found this." He closed the box with a snap. 

"If the boss sees this, the old man's life is over, and it won't be quick or clean." 

Vell looked from Roric to the frightened, whimpering shop owner, then back to Roric. He took out the small pouch of credits he had acquired and placed ninety-nine credits on the dusty counter for the slippers. 

"I understand your professional obligations, Roric," he said. "I don't particularly approve of these methods as a general rule, but this specific situation is not my concern." He picked up the slippers. "Perhaps I will see you around later." 

He gave a slight nod to Roric and turned to leave the shop. 

Roric watched him go, a thoughtful expression on his face.

'He really is different,' Roric thought. 'Colder, somehow. More detached. But maybe that's what it took for him to survive what they put him through.' He then gestured to his men, his attention returning to the matter of the shop owner. 

Vell did not look back as he exited the store, the new slippers feeling surprisingly comfortable.