Chapter 37

We pulled up to the bar—nothing fancy, but not a total dive either. It was the kind of place with a small motel attached, designed for people just passing through. In the car, I peeled off the suit and neatly packed it away in the little case alongside the mask, leaving myself in regular clothes and boots. From a distance, I might still pass for just another customer, but inside the bar, I didn't want to risk anyone noticing the unusual gear. The parking lot hosted a few motorcycles and a couple of cars, all exuding a certain... presence. A pristine '67 Ford Mustang even made me pause and feel a pang of admiration mixed with envy. A beauty like that, clearly someone's cherished possession.

Inside, it was dimly lit, hazy with smoke, and surprisingly stylish. The walls were adorned with photos of local metal bands, a few guitars, and—hanging above the bar on chains—an old Harley without its wheels. Booths lined the edges of the room, each with low tables, while the main floor had simple wooden tables and heavy chairs. A slow rock tune played in the background. Authentic vibes.

Under the curious stares of a dozen women, I slid into a booth in the corner while Yuriko went to get drinks. She returned shortly with a bottle of whiskey and two square glasses. As she set everything on the table, the bartender, a woman in her forties, brought over a small bucket of ice with tongs and a plate of dark chocolate shards. She gave me a curious glance, then shot a disapproving look at Yuriko, who, of course, didn't care at all. She was too busy opening the bottle, her face as indifferent as ever.

Pouring us each a couple of fingers of whiskey, Yuriko added two ice cubes to hers and gave me a questioning look. I glanced at the ice, then at the whiskey, and after a brief inner debate—mostly wishing she'd gotten vodka instead—I exhaled sharply and downed the whole thing in one go. Yuriko looked mildly surprised as I followed it with a sniff of my sleeve and a piece of bitter chocolate to chase the burn. The whiskey warmed me up nicely, but the taste? Ugh. Not my thing. Back in my previous life, I'd been a simple man: beer to chill, vodka to party. Fancy drinks like cognac, scotch, or whiskey? Not my style. White Georgian wines were my go-to for a nice dinner with my wife.

At the next table, someone let out an impressed grunt, but I didn't even glance their way as I poured myself another round. 'The more the good guy drinks, the less the bad guys get,' right?

"..." Yuriko said, staring at me meaningfully.

"..." I shrugged in response.

"..." She shook her head.

"I didn't enjoy it," I admitted with a sigh. "But even knowing that, I wouldn't have done anything differently."

"A normal person wouldn't enjoy it," Yuriko replied, taking a small sip from her own glass. Then, pulling a pack of cigarettes from her pocket—something I hadn't known she did—she lit one. Noticing my surprise, she just shrugged and waited expectantly for me to speak.

"Disgust. Spite. Relief. Emptiness," I said, ticking off each feeling on my fingers. "And a sense that… it was the right thing to do."

"It was," she confirmed simply, exhaling a plume of smoke. "You did exactly what you believed was right. I didn't tell you how to act; I left the decision entirely up to you. If you'd done something else, that would've been fine too—right, in its own way. For you. People might disagree, they might judge you, or they might side with you. 

"You're... an unusual guy, Tobias. Sometimes you come across as a clueless kid, and sometimes you seem like someone who's walked this earth for ages. I'm curious to see what you'll grow into. The most important thing…" Her voice trailed off, her eyes taking on a sharper, angrier edge that wasn't aimed at me but at something in her own past. She sighed, took another sip, and continued. "The most important thing is to make decisions you can live with. Consider your surroundings, the laws, the consequences—but in the end, make them your own."

"I'll remember that," I murmured, taking a solid gulp from my glass and chasing it with another piece of chocolate. From the next table, someone muttered, "Kid's got a strong stomach, but downing the first shot like that? That's how you drink vodka, not whiskey," earning a few grunts of agreement. I just smirked. Even Yuriko's lips twitched upward at the corners.

The buzz crept up slowly, my young body unaccustomed to alcohol. A few more rounds, and I'd probably be out cold. Not that it mattered. But passing out right away? No way. Despite Yuriko's reassurance, my mood wasn't lifting. I wasn't depressed or wallowing in regret—just bitter. The images that flashed before my eyes in those last moments before I fried Cletus… they were the worst animated comic I'd ever seen across both my lives. And the worst part was that they weren't some fictional nightmare—they were real.

As I added ice cubes to my glass, mimicking Yuriko, I shivered, thinking back to that dream with the shadowy figure. The Sketched Man was real. I didn't know what he really looked like, but he was definitely something far beyond human. Way beyond most mutants, even. Now, thinking about it, I remembered our two meetings.

Both times, the "dream" had been far too vivid. I remembered the details as clearly as if I'd met someone in real life. And the "conversation"? Was it telepathic? I don't know; I've never talked to a telepath using their powers before. It was more like mutual understanding, on a level so far above anything I've ever experienced. Honestly, I've never understood myself as well as I understood the Sketched Man.

And that "phrase" about dojutsu… there's no Naruto in this world. So where did he get that word? Did he pull it straight from my head? The memory of me whining about not having chakra, a bankai, or magic—just plain nothing—came rushing back. Maybe he used it just to mess with me. To keep me guessing. Because if he'd wanted me to understand, he could've made everything crystal clear—how it works, what it does, the conditions for activating it. But no. He didn't want that. Probably because he found this way funnier.

From him, I could feel... amusement, satisfaction, curiosity. And he didn't want to make anything simple! Even the ability itself—it's vile. Sure, it's useful as hell—no guilt or hesitation about roasting Cletus alive—but watching that psycho murder his victims twenty-nine times? Disgusting. Even though it was all in a pencil-drawn style, it was gut-wrenchingly unpleasant. Add the fact that I couldn't intervene, and it became this festering, helpless kind of pain.

I stared at the glass of dark liquid in front of me and took a small sip, hoping to drown the sour aftertaste of memory. Better to pace myself, drink in moderation. No need to make an idiot of myself in front of Yuriko—or puke all over the car on the way back. A nibble of chocolate helped, and I let my eyes wander around the room. We weren't drawing much attention. Sure, a few women glanced our way now and then, but mostly, people were occupied with their own stuff—talking, shooting pool at two tables in the back, or just drinking quietly. Nice place. I made a mental note to come back here when my soul needed it, though the drive was kind of a pain.

Now, about the ability… After that "dream," I looked people in the eyes, especially those who'd killed. I've locked eyes with Yuriko, and she's not called Lady Deathstrike for her good manners. Logan, too—he's not out there beating villains with the power of friendship and fluffy kittens. So, what does that mean? Before I saw those "snippets" of Cletus's murders—it's important to note, it was only murders. No abductions, no thefts, nothing else. Just the moments where life ended. Each scene lasted maybe twenty subjective seconds, but when I came to, it felt like no time had passed. Is something like that even possible for a human brain? If not… then how the hell did I see it? I took another sip, shelving that thought for later. 

The "mechanism" had kicked in when I locked eyes with pre-barbecued Cletus and mentally asked myself something like, "Has he killed?" I can't even recall the exact wording. I was holding his head, preparing to end him, but there was this moment of doubt. Was it that hesitation that triggered it? I stole a glance at Yuriko, calmly sipping her drink. No way in hell was I testing this on her. There are things about people's pasts you're better off not knowing.

I chuckled into my glass. Funny thing—she's become someone close to me. Not like Mom, G, or the girls, but still. She trains me, pushes me. A while ago, I would've called her "Sensei" with a smirk and a dose of irony, but now she's firmly my Teacher. And I respect her enough to acknowledge that her past might not be pretty. Hypocritical of me? Sure. But I'm no paladin of virtue—just a selfish guy trying to be decent. In my selfishness, I'm not about to dig into Yuriko's history. Plus, I'm in no rush to revisit that horrific movie theater in my head. No, this ability is getting tested on some random low-life. Hopefully, they've got a smaller graveyard in their closet, I mused grimly.

Another sip. I turned my attention back to Yuriko. She lounged back, smoking a cigarette. For a second, I had the urge to ask for one, but I squashed it. In my previous life, smoking had caused me all kinds of health problems as I got older. No regenerative abilities in this one, so no thanks. I'd pass on future vascular issues or hypertension. Instead, I closed my eyes, letting the buzz of alcohol creep over me. In the background, the music shifted to something aggressive but still melodic.

The sound of the door opening caught my attention. Three women in their early twenties bounced in, laughing and chatting, still sober but clearly planning to change that soon. I sighed wistfully, nostalgia washing over me. There was a time when I'd roll into bars like that with friends—claim a table, joke around, share life stories. I had years to go before anything like that would happen here. And finding guy friends? That was another task entirely. Maybe I could drag Harry here sometime? Sure, his mom would chew him out for it, but that'd be later—I'd have plenty of time to get him drunk first.

The mental image of Nora Osborn scolding her son for letting Tobias take him drinking in the middle of nowhere made me laugh out loud. Yuriko raised a curious eyebrow, and I explained, still chuckling:

"I was thinking I should bring a friend from Midtown here. Good guy, and this place... it's solid. Great crowd." I raised my glass slightly in salute to one of the new arrivals, flashing her a friendly smile.

"You'll be getting here and back on your own," Yuriko said, giving her trademark eerie chuckle. She glanced at the girls who'd giggled at my gesture, nodded slightly to herself, and then looked back at me. "Think you can manage that?"

"What's there to manage?" I grinned, showing all thirty-two teeth. "Any ride will do if you've got cash. And if trouble comes up, I'll handle it."

"Good." She nodded, pulled out her wallet, and slid some cash across the table. "I suggest you head out in the morning, Tobias." Standing, she gave me a serious look, then winked. "Be back at school tomorrow evening," she said, walking toward the door.

Uh… What?

I stared at her retreating back, my slightly tipsy brain grinding away. My first instinct was to follow her, but that instinct alone stopped me. When I thought about it, these past fifteen years had been lived under a constant watchful eye. A gentle one, sure—my family and caretakers always had my best interests at heart—but still, it was there. Now, with every step Yuriko took away, I could feel the freedom settling over me.

It wasn't that I resented the oversight—any normal parent or guardian wouldn't let a teenager run wild. But inside, there was a part of me that was older, that had been waiting for this. And now? Now I was spreading my wings, reveling in the smell of independence. Like a soldier on leave, I thought with a wry smile.

With Yuriko gone, I noticed the occasional glance at my now unguarded table, but I felt great. Until the question hit me: What now?

"Feeling lonely without your girlfriend, handsome?" A woman's voice near my ear startled me. Looking up, I found myself face-to-face with the same brunette I'd smiled at earlier. Petite, even shorter than me, with warm brown eyes and a mischievous, cheeky grin.

"Lonely, yeah," I replied, flashing her a smile to match. "And she wasn't my girlfriend, just a travel buddy. I'm heading to New York, and she's taking a different route. So, here I am." Lies flowed from my mouth as easily as air into my lungs. I mean, why not? Sleep alone in a motel or see where the night takes me with a pretty girl—or maybe more than one—the answer is obvious. And explaining the intricacies of my relationship with Yuriko, or whatever her current plan for me was—reward, test, who knows?—felt like way too much effort. Lying was just simpler.

"Oh, really," she said, tilting her head, clearly thrown off by my answer. But she quickly recovered, her grin turning dazzling. "In that case, why don't you join us? Don't worry, we're civilized ladies. We won't push any boundaries."

"Now that's no fun," I said, giving her my best fake-disappointed look. "Gorgeous women like you, and you don't push boundaries? What's the world coming to?" Then I added a devilish smirk for good measure. Her eyes widened in surprise—not because she hadn't seen this kind of banter before, but because guys around here were scarce, and one openly looking for fun was even rarer.

"Well," she said, leaning in with a sultry grin of her own, "that rule is… open to renegotiation. By the way, you can call me Ellie, or Elise, whichever you prefer. So, coming?"

"Absolutely," I said, standing with a grin that mirrored hers. "I'm Tobias. Call me Tobi. And I'm very glad to meet you, Ellie." I grabbed my glass and the bottle, while she, beaming with pride, scooped up the plate of chocolate and the ice bucket.

As we walked toward her table, I noticed her two friends whispering excitedly, stealing glances at me. My mood couldn't have been better. Thank you, wise and calculated Sensei, for your unorthodox brilliance. Crispy Cletus Kasady? Mysterious Sketchy Guy? Cold-blooded murder? To hell with all of it. Three lovely ladies at a bar? That's what mattered to slightly buzzed Tobias right now.

Fingers crossed, and unless some Unforeseen Nonsense™ decides to show up, tonight's looking like it might end in a threesome—or better.