"Monster… mons—"
Keita's eyes snapped open as air rushed into his lungs violently.
"Gah—!" His body jerked.
He couldn't scream. His lungs felt like they were filled with crushed glass. Every nerve ending in his chest sparked in agony that made his vision swim in fractals of red and black.
"Mother!" he finally gasped out, his voice a jagged wreck.
He tried to sit up, but his ribs screamed in protest, and he slumped back into the soft furs of a bed. The ceiling above him was unfamiliar and cold.
"You're awake. Though… I wouldn't do that if I were you," a voice said casually.
Keita's vision blurred before focusing. He turned his head. A man sat on the windowsill, his back against the frame, carving an apple with a small, curved blade. He moved with a lazy, liquid grace. A single jade earring dangled from his ear, catching the morning light.
"Where… where am I? I have to go back. My mother—she's still there!" Keita struggled, his fingers clawing at the covers.
"Kid, if you step outside in that state… you won't make it a mile," the man said, not unkindly, but with brutal honesty.
"It's a miracle that you're still alive. Don't waste your luck dying to a simple forestlurker." The man placed the carved fruit on a plate and hopped down from the sill.
"Listen kid… it's been about a month since you've been out. Whatever happened to your village has wiped out almost everyone. You need to think about what you want to do after you've recovered."
A month.
The word hit Keita harder than the fall from the cliff. A month of silence. A month of ash.
"Everyone…?" his voice broke.
He curled into himself as much as his broken ribs allowed. Tears began to track through the grime on his face.
"It's my fault. It's always my fault. Dad… the bullies… the cat… mom."
His mother's face flashed in his memory, illuminated by the flames of the stable. He heard a distorted echo of her voice—the lie his mind had crafted to survive the trauma.
"I wish I never gave birth to a monster like you."
"I am a monster," Keita sobbed, his hands clutching his head.
"Even the universe hates me. Why must I be born like this? Why can't I be normal? If I had died, maybe she would still be here. If I was as strong as Sota, I could have—I could have—"
The man with the jade earring didn't offer a hug. He didn't offer platitudes or tell Keita it wasn't his fault. He simply stood there, his expression unreadable while the kid continued to weep.
"You're right," the man said, his voice light, almost playful.
"You are powerless… if only you weren't so weak. You're just a crippled boy who can barely crawl. In the grand design of this world, you're less than a speck of dust on the scales of a dragon."
Keita looked up, eyes red and raw.
"And honestly? You probably are a curse," the man continued, tilting his head. "I've seen a lot of people, kid, but you… are a mess. Even if you are a monster."
Keita flinched, the word cutting deeper than any blade.
"But here's the funny thing about monsters," the man said, spinning his carving blade between his fingers so fast it became a silver blur. "Not all monsters are inherently evil by nature. You can still be a monster and protect those you care about."
Keita's breathing hitched. He stared at the man—at the casual confidence, the sheer mass of the hidden power radiating from him.
"Whether you're a monster, human, or any other living being… If you come asking for strength , then I will give you the tools to create that power." The man folded his arms.
"You would teach me?" he said, surprised.
The man stopped spinning the knife. He didn't answer.
"Teach me!" Keita shouted, the effort forcing a spray of blood from his lips. "I don't want to be the reason people die. I don't want to be the one who just watches in fear anymore."
A long silence stretched through the room. The man stared at Keita, his eyes narrowing, assessing the boy's spirit.
Then, the man laughed. It was a sharp, barking sound.
"I like you kid," he leaned in, his face inches from Keita's, "But, it'll be a living hell from now on. You'll wish the monsters finished the job back then."
The man straightened up, a dark, manic glint in his eyes that looked terrifyingly like a challenge.
"If you want me to be your master, then you don't get to cry about being unwanted anymore."
Keita swallowed hard, the glass in his lungs feeling a little less sharp against the sudden heat in his chest.
"I… I understand." he said.
"Good," the man smirked, tossing the rest of the apple to Keita. "The name's Jin. Don't wear it out."
He walked toward the door, his step silent. "There's potions in the coffer, drink two a day. In ten more days, you will start your training. Your first task is simple: two hundred laps around the estate grounds. Every day. If you puke, keep running. If you pass out, my servants will wake you up with a bucket of ice water and you'll start the count at zero."
"Two hundred?" Keita gasped. "But my ribs—"
"Two hundred and fifty," Jin corrected without looking back, his hand on the doorframe. "Don't negotiate with me, kid. Life is a bitch, and she doesn't take excuses."
The door clicked shut.
Keita lay in silence, clutching the apple. His body was broken, his mother was gone, and the world was an indifferent machine of suffering. But as he took a ragged, painful bite of the fruit, he realized he was no longer just crying.
Exhaustion dragged him back down into the furs. He didn't mean to sleep, but the cries and frustration demanded it. As his eyes drifted shut, the shadows of the room seemed to twist into the shape of his burning home, and the voice of his mother—or the thing that stole her voice—whispered his name until the world went black.
When he woke again, the room was bathed in the bruised purple of twilight.
His body felt stiff, like a rusted suit of armor. Inside the wooden coffer, Jin had left a tray. Filled with vials of a deep, cerulean liquid that seemed to glow with its own internal rhythm. Beside them was a small note written in sharp, aggressive calligraphy accompanied by a drawing of himself:
"Drink. Don't puke."
Keita reached out, his fingers trembling. He uncorked the first potion and a scent like ozone hit him. He hesitated for only a second before tipping the liquid back.
It wasn't a gentle warmth.
"Gah—!" Keita arched his back, the vial slipping from his hand and thudding onto the rug.
Jin hadn't lied. It felt as if a thousand silver ants had been poured into his veins, all of them carrying tiny hammers. He could feel his broken ribs grind against one another, forced back into alignment by the sheer pressure of the Ryu-saturated liquid. His body, though weak and underdeveloped, flared with a sudden, violent heat.
His eyes glowed once more and through them, the world began to change. He saw his own arm—not as flesh and bone, but as a network of channels.
"Huh… what's this?" he held both his arms up looking at them.
The potion was moving through his system like molten solder, filling the cracks in his bones and knitting his torn muscles with threads of light. It was efficient, brutal, and agonizing.
He slumped back, drenched in a cold sweat, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The sensation was still tingling under his skin, but the sharp, stabbing pain of his fractures had faded into a dull, manageable throb.
The sound of floorboard creaking near the door made his ears twitch. Keita turned his head slowly. The door wasn't fully closed, a sliver of the hallway's dim light cut across the floor. In that gap, a small, round face was peeking through.
It was a little girl, perhaps no older than five or six. She had large, curious eyes that were shimmered with a soft, amber light, and blonde hair tied into two messy pigtails. She stared at him, her head tilted at an angle. There was no fear in her gaze, only a quiet innocence.
The girl blinked, a small, shy smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. She lifted a tiny hand and gave a slow, hesitant wave.
"Hero…?" she whispered, her voice barely a breath.
Keita opened his mouth to speak, to tell her he was no hero—that he was just the monster who had survived. But before he could find the words, a frantic voice whispered from the hallway.
"Lady Sofia! What have I told you about sneaking out of bed?
A maid with a harried expression appeared, scooping the little girl up into her arms. The woman looked toward the bed, catching Keita's gaze for a split second before looking away in embarrassment.
"You aren't supposed to be in here, little miss," the maid scolded gently, though her voice trembled.
"Master Jin was very clear—this guest needs his rest, and your mother told you specifically that you aren't to leave your bed until the sun is up. The Lady will have my head if she hears about this!"
"But Anya," Sofia pouted, pointing a tiny finger toward Keita. "If daddy brought back a boy… he must be the hero right? He drank the blue fire."
"Hush now, back to your room," the maid hurried away, the sound of her footsteps fading down the corridor.
The door clicked shut, leaving Keita in the dark.
Hero.
The word echoed in the silence. But as he closed his eyes, the amber warmth of the girl's gaze lingered in his mind.