Soldier Boy frowned. Those words really hit home.
The original owner's bullying of Black Noir had stemmed from worry-worry that Black Noir would steal his fame.
Afraid that someone else would climb the ranks, he broke their legs in advance. In that respect, he was a lot like Homelander.
Black Noir did not stop. He kept writing.
[Betraying you made me happy.]
At that, Soldier Boy put down his bottle. Here came the main event.
Black Noir breathed heavily, his fingers turning slightly white from gripping the pen too tightly, but he kept writing.
[I thought I would die. Dying wouldn't have been so bad, really. At least everything would have been over.]
[But I survived.]
Black Noir raised his head, exposing his entire disfigured face to the sunlight, its hideousness enough to make one's heart skip. He was alive, but that face meant he could never be a star again.
Soldier Boy was speechless for a long time.
Black Noir stared at him for a long while, then slowly wrote his final sentence.
[You asked me just now why I didn't run. Because back then, I always thought that if I did well enough, one day you would see me as a teammate.]
Soldier Boy stared blankly at that line. Suddenly, he understood something.
Perhaps what Black Noir hated most was not the beatings, not the disfigurement, not even losing his dreams.
It was that many years ago, that young man named Irving had truly believed in Soldier Boy and sincerely regarded him as his captain.
For the first time, Soldier Boy saw through a victim's own words exactly what kind of thing the original owner had been.
Black Noir tossed aside the pen and paper and leaned back against the hospital bed as though resigned to his fate.