What does "Hero" truly stand for... someone who saves the world from darkness, or those who simply bring fleeting beauty to others?

They walk through fire and flood, shielding people from danger and fear. They even help others see what justice—or goodness, or virtue—really means.

Or perhaps people today are just lost. After all, their expectations have been fed to monstrous proportions.

Their eyes are always drawn to hero comics, movies, and cartoons. Heroes *must* be supernaturally powered saviors who fix society and rescue the world.

They’re like attack dogs leashed by pacifism—always on call when needed. Just like today’s licensed, government-sanctioned heroes: society’s hounds. The most wretched creatures in existence. The government’s dogs. Eating kibble branded "honor," acting in the name of nation and people.

So then—what *is* justice?

Is justice merely supernaturally powered, licensed individuals striking down criminals? Is it that stereotypical, that monotonous?

Wrong. The mediators resolving disputes. Soldiers fighting in wars. Ordinary people fulfilling their duties, holding to their morals. Even doctors saving lives—they embody justice too. They protect patients with everything they have. Same act of salvation, yet utterly unequal attention. They might never make headlines like the flashy heroes.

To them, this world holds no fairness. A hero in a strange costume rescuing a cat from a tree earns cheers, applause, viral news coverage.

But doctors? They fight to save a life. If they fail—even through no fault of their own—they face icy glares from grieving families. Hunted by extremists. Abandoned by hospitals buckling under pressure.

Those families couldn’t save their loved ones themselves. What right do they have to blame someone who tried—and exhausted every ounce of strength against death itself?

Some pour their entire being into a desperate attempt. Others can only wait outside hospital rooms, hearts pounding with fear, begging nonexistent gods. When hope dies, they don’t curse the heavens—they curse the doctor who just battled the reaper and lost.

So again—what *is* justice?

"Please... don’t."

The blood-soaked man slumped against the wall, knees drawn tight to his chest.

His eyes bulged slightly, swollen. His heartbeat hammered against his ribs. He wanted to run. Couldn’t.

The floor reeked of corpses and gore—a river of blood painting the truth. This place was filth.

"Don’t..."

A paper airplane glided slowly toward him. Closer. His fear sharpened with every inch.

As its sharp tip neared his face—it pierced his constricted pupil dead-center. Blood burst. Flesh tore.

Then—like a swarm of hornets—the darkness vomited more paper planes. They ripped through his body, shredding him.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH—"

Justice needs no spotlight. Even buried deepest—it remains.