My Hair Is Falling Out from This Soul-Crushing Job

Hoping for dawn in the darkness

I lost the right to pass judgment long ago. Or rather, no one can deliver judgment, and no one can call themselves a god.

What is justice? What is order? Idealists are flowers reflected in a mirror, beyond my reach.

All I do is try to keep them from crying.

Let ideals be shattered, then. I only know that I will stop the evil I can reach right in front of me.

Later, bald and staring at this mountain of paperwork and the mess left behind by ability users,

The weather's getting colder. Let the Special Abilities Division go bankrupt.

I'm done. I'm quitting.

Core theme: Be reborn in despair