The Greek sun cascaded over dark-brown hair, which, with a quick wrap and tug, turned into a rather tight ponytail, holding everything in one place. With a loud sigh and a breath of fresh air invading his lungs, the man stepped out of the airport gate.

He observed the vast differences. The unique accents, people passing by, some waiting for their taxis to arrive or desperately looking for relatives who lived in the capital city of Athens. It occurred to him, that many people found themselves here to enjoy their holidays or catch up with friends or family.

However, his goal was a little different. So, in a way, he stood out amongst the crowd like a sore thumb, one would tell from his rather puzzled expression.

With a sweat rolling down his face, he took a step forward.

"What a long flight..." he commented, stretching his limbs and closing an eye. "I thought I'd never reach my destination." he rubbed below his eyelids. " Tokyo to Athens. Twenty-five hours. Inhumane!" he quickly yelled out, met with a few unsure glances from the passerby. Stepping over the crossroads and further away from all the cars waiting underneath the two-levelled garage of the airport, he moved towards the main street, overlooking the views. Clear blue skies, with a few white clouds dancing around the soft, warm breeze.

The endless monotony of orange and yellow, seldom broken by green fields stretched out in the far distance. It was a sight to behold, something which greatly contrasted the metropolitan, crowded life. In reality, he wished he could simply stay longer, forever dragging his black suitcase and listening to it hitting the edges of the pavement over and over again.

But, he didn't want to distract himself with those thoughts. His goal, after all, was different.

The man looked down, grinding his teeth. His hand landed in his pocket. Digging around, he moved his phone to the side, making space for the small piece of paper that curiously waited for his questions.

Now, with a serious expression, he peered at the things he had already seen beforehand.

It was a slightly blurry picture of a boy with flaxen brown hair, running with bags of food in his hands, glancing back. On the other side of the sheet, was a close-up of his rather sharp features.

The man sat down on the pavement, thinking. "Numerous reports came from Nafplio. A boy, seemingly stealing things with a translucent hand. Something that should be impossible." he reconsidered, recalling the things he had seen in his life beforehand, his eyebrow furrowing against a soft expression. "He's 13 years old, as they said. He doesn't go to school, and continuously wanders the streets of Nafplio, hiding in plain sight."

Looking up, a taxi he called for earlier finally arrived, with the driver rolling the window down, meeting his curious glance.

"Shigeto Moyasu?" he asked, reading the name from his phone.

"Moriyasu." Shigeto corrected him, with a nervous smile.

"Moyarisu." the man repeated. "Okay." he too, bore a smirk.

Shigeto stepped into the backseat of the vehicle, throwing his luggage and his backpack on the other seat, quickly fastening his seatbelt and gazing back at the paper.

"Someone bearing abilities. Something people would be afraid of. I'm sure he's more scared than the citizens filing reports." he stuffed the picture back into his pocket, pressing his chin against the arm that lay near the door's window. "With everything suddenly changing for no apparent reason. I know that feeling all too well."

The car drove above a tilt, with the nearby cicadas cricketing into Moriyasu's ears.

"I'm just here to investigate. To Nafplio it is."

***

It was commonplace for bakeries to open at such early hours. Overlooking the sunrise from the cobbled streets, stretching below the various trees and leaves that made the streets of Nafplio, right next to the few tables and seats, with cloths pinned down by flowerpots, a man would open the swinging doors and start yet another day of hard work.

Hard work, after all, brings great results, and those who fight for what they deserve are met with greatness.

"Another penny earned." The baker smiled, eagerly listening in on the conversations of the passersby or tourists, watching from afar as some older Greek men poured a little Retsina into their morning coffee. A few customers were already sitting on the inside, one of them ordered a sandwich, the other, a small cake.

The earliest hours were always the calmest, despite being the busiest. Maybe it was the purity of such calm sights that invited those positive notions to fly in.

"Nafplio is beautiful." thought the baker, peering out of the window. "I wouldn't trade its gleaming simplicity for anything in this world." He put his hands on the counter and breathed in.

One would describe this simplicity as a backdoor that lets you escape the mundane prosperity of those 'normal' jobs. Yet, it seemed that the baker wasn't there to indulge and analyse these ideas.

He simply smiled.

Someone strolled in, looking at the different types of bread in the back and the cakes that were visible from the get-go.

"Oh! Hello!" the man clapped his hands, his beam growing wider. The lamps outside dimmed into darkness, as the sunlight finally shone into the streets.

"Hello." a rather low voice spoke out of a thin stature. "You sell bread here, right?" he asked, in perfect Greek, brushing back his blonde hair with his hand, looking at the baker with his brown, sly eyes.

"H-Huh?" The man was a little confused. "O-of course we do!" he answered, scratching the back of his head.

What surprised him wasn't the question that echoed. In reality, he expected a completely different encounter. After all, a quick glance at the boy would suggest a tourist visiting from Asia, but the answer was far from his assumptions. With a drop of sweat rolling down his head, he groaned, hiding a nervous cough.

"Hehe." the guy laughed, his mouth barely moving from under his sharp nose. "I'm not blind, don't worry. I guess that was a stupid question, and I should've asked you something I'm actually interested in," he muttered.

"Y-Yes, of course!" the baker put his hands together.

"Okay, facts over feelings. You baked this bread just a few minutes ago, right? I can tell when things were made. Like, waffles." he smiled a little.

"Mhm! We make sure our pastries are fresh and good to go! W-Would you like to order something, then?" he quickly asked.

"Hmm," he stepped closer, looking at the menu, seldom glancing at the checkered floor and counting something on his fingers. "Sandwiches?"

"Like. Do we sell sandwiches?"

"What did you think I meant?" the guy smirked, emitting a strangely intimidating aura. The baker immediately clenched one fist, strangely nervous. After all, it was his job to satisfy customers, to do the hard work and earn the penny he deserved.

I'm going to let you in on a little secret here. In reality, the boy couldn't have cared less.

"Of course we do!" he spat out. "We add the finest ingredients from the biggest gardens in Greece. It's not imported, but quite local too!" he sweated buckets, for completely no reason.

The guy scanned through the menu once again, his smile fading away. "Hm." he squinted his eyes. "Nah, I'm not hungry," he muttered, walking to the door.

"What?" the baker suddenly uttered, covering his face.

"Just, looking around, I guess." the boy smiled, stepping out. He put his hands into the big pocket of his comfy orange hoodie, stuffing something else into his black shorts.

The baker sighed, turning back to one of the ovens in slight anger, which didn't come from the interaction itself. It stemmed from the strange customer. His unnatural behaviour, questions one would deem stupid. His cocky attitude.

The blonde guy tilted his head, looking back at the pastries from the tinted, brown window. He took a step back, focusing on one of the sandwiches, at a high price of five euros. It looked tasty.

Tomatoes stuck out from beneath the feta cheese, with a salad atop. Closed in a freshly baked, floury magnificence. What a sight.

With a glance left and right, he stuck his hand out.

"Now,"

He mumbled, as a translucent arm shot out of his real one, quickly crawling towards its destination.

As the palm found a firm grasp over the baked goods, the baker, unfortunately, turned around. His eyes shrank, and he opened his mouth, in pure shock.

"WHAT?!" The baker yelled out, almost falling down to the floor, trying to squeeze through the tight gap. "WAIT!"

The teen clenched his real fist, as the sandwich appeared in its grasp. He looked down at his prized possession, and then at the baker with a beam. "Thanks!" he waved, turning on his heel, and running away.

"WAIT! DAMN IT!!" The big guy struggled, as he hurried to the door, already out of breath. He took off the cook's hat, pushing his hands on his knees, sweating buckets, once more.

"It's him!" People whispered to each other, pointing in the direction the boy ran in. "Rossas Nikki!"

The image of the posters which were spread throughout Nafplio momentarily flashed in the baker's mind. They were all right, it really was that troublesome young man. That delinquent, stealing the goods everyone worked so hard to earn.

But, he looked different than in those pictures.

***

After finding a similar secluded street, Rossas peered back and forth with sharp eyes, before throwing a bag of items over a big, cobbled fence which separated the back of a pretty famous restaurant, resting right by Nafplio's port. He put his shoe on the wall behind, the other on a big garbage bin, before making a leap, with a gleam appearing near his shoes.

He landed on his feet, hastily moving around before stepping towards the side, where all the foul smells came from, and where the dirty mattress he slept on lay. Putting the bag adjacent to a sat-out spot, he laid down, biting into the sandwich, much like a starving animal.

He took a phone out of his pocket, throwing it next to his legs, plugging in small headphones and stuffing them into his ears, swiping around. These two possessions were stolen as well, Rossas once found a claw machine with ridiculous prizes in the city centre, concluding that obviously, no matter how much he'd tried, there was no winning.

It was a fact, after all, and Rossas loved when things were always how he expected them to be. Without changes.

So why was it that someone's life took such a sudden turn?

Using the restaurant's Wi-Fi, he downloaded a few more songs onto the library, enjoying the moment, looking up into the blue skies and brushing off the excess crumbles that found themselves nestled in the corners of his lips.

"Look at yourself, Rossas." he thought. "Well, you can't. There's no mirror, there's no reflective surface, maybe except my phone." he sighed. "Never in my life did I think that I'd have to steal for my own good." he looked at his hand, and a small blue spark appeared near his fingertip. The expression on his face was of indifference. "The sun exists because of the moon, and the moon exists because of the sun. Great things and bad things come and go. Life threw me out then tossed me a bone for my survival."

"But I wish I would've been normal," he muttered to himself, hearing as all the people inside the restaurant laughed over their meals and time spent together.