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“Lord, where are you going?”

“Where I go, you cannot follow me now; but you shall follow later.”

“Lord, why can’t I follow you now? I will lay down my life for you.”

“Lay down your life for me? Truly, I tell you, before the rooster crows, you will disown me three times.”

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In the northern Midwest of America lies Michigan, a state famous for its abundance of water and a strong sports culture. With popular teams in football, baseball, basketball, and ice hockey, one can assume the extent of its sports enthusiasm.

Recently, a “Super League” comprised of capable individuals has also gained popularity here, indicating that sports have become a way of life in this state.

Yet, what Michigan is most famous for is not its sports.

It’s not the companies, the universities, the festivals, or anything of the sort.

It’s the slums.

A space overflowing with the poor class and criminals.

That space is renowned.

Detroit.

Flint.

Slums that have gained notoriety both in America and globally.

Once prosperous, now rusted and overrun with the impoverished.

A place where the poor and criminals pair up, boasting astonishingly high crime rates devoid of dreams or hope.

Indeed, what Michigan is most famous for are these slums.

Particularly, Michigan’s slums are infamous due to their past as industrial cities that once thrived in wealth. The shock of their downfall is as great as their rise, and the tale of the wealthy falling into ruin is captivating to many.

Thus, these two cities gained notoriety.

Perhaps more so than other slums boasting equal or even higher crime rates.

Consequently, the average person would hesitate to visit these places.

Especially in neighborhoods defined by exceptionally poor public safety within a city already troubled.

The law enforcement officers in Michigan even hesitate to be assigned to these cities; what chance does an ordinary person have if they step into such danger? Common sense dictates that individuals avoid risk-laden areas.

At least, one would assume so.

“Hey! Stop!”

But does the world revolve solely around common sense?

The notion that common sense is cultivated through universal awareness and knowledge often overlooks the countless exceptions.

There are plenty who engage in actions that the average person cannot understand, or those who cannot even comprehend their own actions, flooding the world with their existence.

Especially in America, a melting pot of races filled with ignorant people, this is all the more true.

Yes.

Like the Oriental man striving to step into a city known for its poor safety, risking it all in a place that clearly signifies danger.

“Traveler? I won’t say anything bad, so just turn around. There’s nothing to see here, nothing worth your visit.”

Can’t you see the graffiti covering each entrance to the street?

Written with crude phrases, perhaps even drawings of male genitalia?

With syringes and suspected drug paraphernalia lying around without a care in the world?

You can even smell the pungent odor of marijuana wafting through the area, mingled with the faint stains appearing to resemble human blood if you look closely.

Is it a lack of awareness?

Or perhaps a blindness to danger fueled by the desire to witness something ‘unique’?

It’s hard to tell.

Not that I want to.

Those who dare intrude—be they streamers craving excitement or macho men who believe they can swagger through without worry—often end up regretting.

He has witnessed countless people trampling here in their naïve bravado.

All with various reasons, yet united by a similar recklessness.

So, the man, born and raised in this very street, warns those reckless visitors.

“This place is where gangs fight all the time. Step in the wrong way, and you could be mistaken for a rival and get hurt. Even if that doesn’t happen, you might run into robbers or get into trouble. So go back.”

Half the intent was to prevent someone from facing trouble, the other half to avoid causing more trouble with rising crime rates and notoriety.

Thus, he blocked the traveler—an Asian tourist, unsure if from China, Japan, or Korea—who seemed keen on crossing into danger.

Did the man’s warning resonate?

The Oriental man paused, looking intently at him.

His slender, small eyes were akin to the stereotype of Asians in America.

His pale lips looked almost ill as if sick.

His nose twitched, perhaps trying to stave off a drip.

His skin appeared healthily tanned, yet age spots suggested ailments or scars, while the thick layers of clothing hinted merely at his sturdy build.

“You’re doing good work.”

“Good work? Sure, good work…?”

The man smirked at the Oriental traveler’s words.

‘Good work.’

Hearing such a phrase reminded him of compliments from decades past when he cleaned up trash as a boy scout.

Since then, he hasn’t received praise in such a fashion.

Back alleys speak in slang, tough guys shout to act cool, or seniors give casual commendations.

Yes, that’s the way of things.

It’s as if he had no choice but to serve as a police officer, wanting to work in the very Michigan where he grew up, even volunteering to work in the avoided Detroit.

This wretched city was such.

While capable individuals do exist, finding them is genuinely challenging.

Good people meeting the police are even rarer.

And encountering such good souls often can’t occur without them extending open hearts, particularly when one’s own heart is weary.

This city is indeed a mire created by the poor and the criminals.

A rusting, blood-soaked poor city.

A place where potential escapees choose rap over education.

A city where gang members, living by deceit, murder, and gunfire, still pursue dreams of becoming rappers.

That’s the city it is.

“Yeah. Good work. Good work indeed, which is why you should go back. If you genuinely want to turn my good work into something ‘good’.”

What sort of emotions reside in a place like this?

He once cared for it enough to work as a police officer, but such a duty led him into gang disputes, leaving him with lasting repercussions that forced his retirement. Now, living off a pension, he spends his days on the edge of danger.

What feelings linger in his heart, especially when he could simply hide at home or move to a safer state, yet chooses to remain stuck near treacherous areas, dissuading those unwary visitors?

Is it affection for the city?

Or hatred?

Or perhaps a mix they’d call bittersweetness?

He cannot say.

But the emotions and actions he carries hold value—something worthy of respect.

Hence, the Oriental traveler paused as if contemplating his words, then nodded slowly.

“I understand.”

“Good. You’ve thought well. Go on.”

The man smiled, pleased that the traveler wasn’t as stubborn as others. He gestured for him to leave, yet…

Instead of moving along, the traveler stood firmly, shooting a question.

“You seem to struggle with your hands and legs.”

“Huh?”

“Did you get that way due to crime or gang-related issues?”

An odd question.

An offensive one.

“What? Why do you ask?”

The man shot a glare at the traveler.

It was unpleasant for someone he had just met to prod at his painful past.

But the traveler continued, undeterred by the man’s cold demeanor.

“Can you tell me where that incident happened or where the people who caused it reside?”

“Ha. Do you even know how rude that question is?”

“I would appreciate your guidance. It sounds like a very dangerous place.”

To pry at someone’s wounds and then claim to want to know for safety?

The man felt animosity towards the traveler’s thoughtless inquiry.

If only he were physically capable, he would have wanted to lash out.

But well—

He wouldn’t have to hide the truth.

Perhaps the Oriental man’s culture was simply different, leading him to ask such questions without realizing the weight they carried. He had encountered rude Asian travelers in the past.

“Fine. Here, here, here. Okay?”

The man grimaced but pointed out the dangerous locations the traveler sought.

“Got it. Thank you.”

The Oriental traveler bowed and left behind an odd statement about how “your good deed may return to you as a gift” before he vanished.

“Tch. What a rude and strange guy.”

And that was that.

The Oriental traveler would never be seen again.

Yet, he felt no real surprise.

Whoever lingers in a place like that? Who stays long in a city where there’s nothing to see…?

Such were his thoughts.

Until the moment he glimpsed a news story about the disappearance of gangs and criminals from the spots he indicated.

 

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