Hector Ayala.
Yasuo repeated the name.
"Never heard of it."
He was telling the truth.
There was no such person in Vought's hero roster, at least not in the brick-thick " Modern Superhero Guide " that he was forced to memorize.
"That's perfectly normal."
Hector leaned back, the metal chair creaking painfully.
He pulled a handful of peanuts from the pile of greasy parts, threw them into his mouth, and chewed them with a crunching sound.
"If you've heard of this, then I need to consider whether I should kill someone to cover it up, or move to the Antarctica Continent overnight to live next to penguins."
"You weren't a car mechanic before."
Yasuo spoke, and it wasn't a question.
"I'm a mechanic, and I'm certified."
"Your hands are very steady."
Yasuo put down the bottle and his gaze fell on Hector's hands.
Those were hands covered in calluses and scars, with black grime that could never be washed out under the fingernails.
But in Yasuo's eyes, those were more than just a pair of hands that did manual labor.
"To make a living in this godforsaken place, anyone with unsteady hands would have been buried in that cactus patch long ago as fertilizer."
Hector picked up a dirty rag, wiped his hands, turned around, leaned against the workbench, and stared at Yasuo with a playful look in his eyes.
"But you, big star. I'm curious, just how many dirty secrets are hidden beneath that sword of yours that you dare not let see the light of day?"
Yasuo smiled.
The smile didn't reach his eyes.
He picked up the longsword and placed it horizontally on his knees.
The scabbard is covered with countless tiny scratches, each one representing a battle, a life-or-death struggle.
"My ledgers are in complete disarray; some debts are simply unpayable, so I have no choice but to carry them on."
Hector looked at the down-on-his-luck Ronin.
He initially thought it was just another plastic doll created by the Vought International, a mascot that only posed in front of a green screen.
"If you're here to see a therapist, you've come to the wrong place."
Hector pulled another can of beer from under the pile of parts.
Foam welled up and dripped down his wrist, but he didn't care.
"There's only engine oil and scrap metal here. If you want to repent, turn left up ahead and there's a church. Although the priest there is a pervert who only stares at little boys' butts, he should be happy to listen to your rambling."
Your past seems somewhat unpleasant.
"You hide yourself here, using the smell of engine oil to mask the stench of blood on your body. You pretend to be a rude mechanic, giving the middle finger to everyone who passes by."
Yasuo stood up and walked over to Hector.
The two were less than a meter apart.
What are you running away from?
Hector's beer can was crushed, and the murky beer splattered everywhere.
His stubble-covered face turned grim and terrifying.
"Knowing too much isn't a good thing. Do you even know what it means to be forgotten, you outsider?"
Hector pointed to the dilapidated repair shop.
He pointed to the desolate plain outside the window, bathed in the pale moonlight.
Being forgotten isn't about no one remembering your name. It's about having your entire family slaughtered like chickens while your so-called emergency number is constantly busy.
"It's because those superheroes in their tight suits are busy filming cat food commercials in the next block and have no time to care about the lives of a few poor Latinos."
Tell me your story.
Yasuo placed his longsword on the table; the blade from Ionia gleamed coldly in the dim light.
"I have wine, and I have time. Since this wind has blown me to you, let it blow out all the old grievances."
Hector stared at the sword.
He was weighing his options, struggling, or simply searching for a reason to reopen the wound.
That was three years ago.
Hector's voice deepened.
"I own a small auto repair shop, but business is good. I have a younger sister, Ava. She's in university studying law, and she's the pride of our family."
"That was our whole family's hope, our hope that she could climb out of that quagmire and live a decent life."
Yasuo listened quietly.
He had heard this kind of opening countless times.
In the refugee camps of Ionia, in the occupied territories of Noxus, the stories always begin with hope, but end in the same bloody fashion.
"This piece of land has caught the eye of a local gang called the ' Magia '."
"They wanted to use it as a transit point to transport that damn powder. I refused. That was the most assertive and regrettable decision I've ever made in my life."
"Then?"
Yasuo asked very softly.
"Then?"
Hector let out a bitter laugh.
"Then that night. No warning, no negotiation. Two school buses just rammed through the gate."
"I wanted to fight back, so I picked up a shotgun. But I was just a mechanic, and they were beasts who killed people like water."
Hector looked up, his eyes bloodshot, reflecting the hellish night three years ago.
Firelight.
Gunshots.
There were also screams.
"They broke my legs and forced me to kneel on the ground. They made me watch..."
Hector's Adam's apple bobbed violently; he simply couldn't swallow the sip of wine.
"I watched them drag Ava out. Right under that elevator. The one in charge was wearing an expensive suit and was chatting and laughing with someone on the phone."
"One bullet, Ava fell. Blood splattered all over me. It was hot. So hot... I can still feel that heat every night now."
"And then what?"
They thought I was dead.
Hector pointed to his chest, where a hideous scar ran through his entire chest.
"They shot me three times, then set a fire and threw me into a garbage dump like trash."
"Perhaps it was my fate to die, or perhaps God wanted to keep my wretched life to suffer, but the fire didn't burn me to death."
Hector touched his cheek.
"But just as I was about to breathe my last, I heard my heartbeat."
"It wasn't my heartbeat. The sound was stronger, more powerful. It was calling to me, deep within that stinking mountain of garbage, beneath layers of filth, it was calling to me."
"I dug up the mountain of garbage."
Hector took the amulet from his chest; it was shaped like a roaring tiger's head.
"This thing..."
Yasuo narrowed his eyes.
"I know what it is."
Hector stared at the amulet, his expression becoming incredibly complex.
"But the moment I got it, my wound stopped bleeding."
"I fled New York. With it, I fled all the way to this godforsaken border region. I want to figure out what this thing is, I want to know..."
Hector paused, then looked at Yasuo.
"With this power, can I go back and tear those scum, those arrogant gangs to shreds?"
"A soul dwells within this stone."
Yasuo stood up and gently placed his hand on the hilt of his sword.
The surrounding airflow began to swirl, stirring up dust from the ground and forming a miniature vortex around the two of them.
"A lonely, angry, and vengeful soul. It chose you, not because you're in the garbage dump, but because your heart is dead."
"Only someone who has died once can bear this kind of killing intent."
One is an exiled swordsman, the other is a car mechanic burdened with a blood feud.