[My English] It's not a problem if you can communicate with your fists

It was already past one o'clock in the morning when I woke up from the dream.

The seniors in the same dormitory slept very soundly, obviously I was the upper bunk, but gave me the illusion that I was actually sleeping on the lower bunk.

I walked lightly into the bathroom and took a cold shower. The temperature, which was much higher than my body temperature, barely dispelled the unpleasant images lingering in my consciousness. The cold feeling of the soles of my feet touching the tiled floor finally made me find it again." Feeling alive".

Whenever I think about those things, I feel that I might as well die.

I dug out a kimono from my luggage and put it on indiscriminately, and walked out of the bedroom with my slippers on.

If the hot bull king saw me like this, he would definitely grab me for hours of education on manners.

The top floor of the office is a training room that is only put into use when interns have workplace experience every year. It is said that it is made of materials with good sound insulation. Those below will not be affected either.

I was going to go to the training room to do something to distract myself, but when I got to the top floor, the lights were still on.

It's all over, is there anyone else?

With this in mind, I tiptoed around to the door and looked into the room.

The boy with light blond afro stood in the center of the arena in a fighting posture, raising and lowering his arms, as if he was thinking about something.

Can't tell, Bakugo is actually someone who secretly trains on his own in the middle of the night...

But since there are people in the training room, I'd better change the place. Anyway, it's just a distraction, and it doesn't have to be some high-intensity training.

I turned around to leave.

"come in."

The boy's voice suddenly sounded.Probably because the training room was too empty, I seemed to hear a slight echo.

Has it been discovered?

I come out from behind the door.In fact, I wasn't too surprised that Bakugo found me standing outside the training room. I already knew that the person in front of me had a very high fighting talent during the sports festival, but I thought that with Bakugo's personality, he wouldn't be happy. Share the training room with me, otherwise he wouldn't have come here by himself in the middle of the night.

When he was about to reach the young man, Bakugou suddenly turned around and walked a distance, and found two soda cans from the belongings placed at the base of the wall, took one for himself, and threw the other to me.

I caught it subconsciously: "...underages are not allowed to drink alcohol."

"You're blind, this is soda!"

I looked down at the packaging of the can, and it was indeed soda, the kind sold in the vending machine downstairs.However, it seems a bit too weird to give people soda in the middle of the night, at least if it is made by Bakugou, it is indeed very weird.

I pulled the pull ring, walked over to Bakugo and sat down against the wall.

Bakugo took his can of soda and lightly kicked my ankle: "Go get some over there, I don't have a seat!"

"Aren't you training?" I rolled my eyes.

Not to be outdone, the other party replied, "How can I train well with an idiot here!"

Come on, I'm an idiot.

I slowly moved to the side, barely making room for a person to sit down.Bakugo didn't think the seat was too narrow, he sat down with a "huh".The boy's sweaty arms rubbed against the not-so-heavy fabric of the kimono, causing a subtle burning sensation.

In normal times, I might have broken his can of soda directly, and I can even imagine the blond boy being splashed on the head by the sudden splash of liquid.But I just finished that kind of dream and I was really not in the mood to quarrel with him.

Bakugou sat quietly next to me, drinking his drink seriously as if training, without even looking at me.

I bit the metal on the rim of the soda can, staring at my toes in a daze.

For a while, the training room was so quiet that only the breathing of the two of us could be heard.

The boy quickly finished his soda.He put the empty can at his feet, one leg was bent to support the elbow on the same side, the other leg was stretched out straight, and the arm on the same side hung obediently by his side.

Such a sitting posture is too regular for Bakugo.

I intuited what he wanted to say, but I couldn't think of what he could say, so I could only rub my teeth against the edge of the can, making a small sound.

Sure enough, Bakugou quickly stopped me, "It's so noisy, are you reincarnated from a mouse?"

Well, it's the Bakugo I'm familiar with, the identification is complete.

I put down the can, took a deep breath, "Hey, childish ghost, why do you want to be a hero?"

"Who are you calling naive—" The boy's relatively calm expression soon broke, and he stared at me, which made me suspect that the other party would slap me on the face in the next second.

"... Whoever agrees." I twitched the corner of my mouth, and walked over the topic with a little guilt, "Okay, that's not the point, answer my question quickly, why do you want to be a hero?"

"I just want to be a hero, does this need any reason?"

I was a little thankful in my heart that the other party didn't hold on to that nickname, then sighed, and decided to put my question in another way: "Then what kind of existence do you think a hero should be?"

Bakugo froze for a moment.

When I thought he would say that your brain is burnt out and suddenly asked such an inexplicable thing, the boy's answer rang in my ears.

"Handsome."

"……Gone?"

"Gone."

This is probably a dumbfounding answer.I have asked many people this question, but the answers I got were all long, and the shortest was about five or six sentences. It was indeed the first time I heard an answer like Bakugo with only one adjective.

But there seems to be no problem.

Those heroes who stand up to protect others are indeed very handsome.

At least a murderer like me is not qualified to dream of them.

I laughed twice, and picked up the can from my side, "Then do you think murderers should die?"

"A murderer in prison?"

"No."

"The wanted?"

"No."

"Then why call her a murderer?"

"Because she killed three people."

"Is it intentional?"

"No."

"Then why do you call her a murderer?" The boy frowned and looked into my eyes. "Since it wasn't intentional, how could it be called a murderer?"

"Because she killed three people."

"But she didn't mean to."

"There's a legal term called 'manslaughter'." I propped my face with my hand that wasn't holding the can, and shook the sides of the can with my thumb and forefinger on the other hand. "Simply put, Causing the death of another without intention or premeditation."

Bakugo choked on me, he opened his crimson eyes, his brows were tightly locked.

In the end, he squeezed out a sentence: "...the subject of manslaughter is a natural person with full criminal responsibility, right?"

This time I was stunned.

"How do you know she doesn't have full capacity for criminal responsibility?"

"You're stupid," Bakugo replied word by word, frowning, "Your expression is close to directly asking 'Do you think I deserve to die'!"

The author has something to say:

Slip away, there is still a file to be changed at night, just run away if you touch the fish