Johan's POV
I sat in the corner of the orphanage, my eyes skimming the pages of a book that no longer held my attention.
The quiet murmurs of the other children filled the air, but I couldn't bring myself to care about their meaningless chatter.
A part of me felt disconnected, as though I were already removed from this place — distant, watching, waiting for something that would never come.
Then, the door creaked open, and I glanced up.
Naruto stumbled in, bruised and battered, his clothes torn and stained.
His face was a mix of pain and something else — humiliation, maybe.
He tried to hide it, but his eyes betrayed him.
I looked at him with the same cold indifference I always held.
"Who beat you?" I asked, my voice hollow.
It wasn't curiosity; it was simply the next question that needed asking.
Naruto froze, his eyes wide with uncertainty.
For a moment, he didn't speak, then quickly mumbled, "No one. I fell off."
But I knew.
I understood.
I had seen it too many times before.
I didn't press him.
"Okay," I said, standing up from where I had been sitting.
"I'll apply some ointment."
He didn't protest, too weary to argue.
He sat down, and I gently took his arm, applying the ointment with cold efficiency, my touch clinical.
An hour later, the sound of laughter echoed through the orphanage's dining hall.
Two children — their voices unmistakable — were laughing about how they had "taught the demon a lesson."
The words stung, but I didn't show it.
It was expected.
Naruto was the demon.
I was the same.
We were all the same here, weren't we?
Even the matron stood nearby, her eyes flicking over to the children with a knowing gaze.
But she said nothing.
Her silence spoke volumes.
She knew what needed to be done.
The demons should be slain.
And in this place, we were the demons.
Then, the conversation shifted.
One child, more cruel than the others, spoke up.
"What about Johan? Let's teach him a lesson too."
The other child grinned.
"When we find him alone, it'll be his time then," they said, their voice full of malice.
They both laughed, their voices harsh, mocking.
But I didn't react.
I didn't care.
It didn't matter.
Or so I told myself.
Inside, though, something stirred.
A darkness.
A coldness.
A plan.
A devious, twisted idea began to form in my mind.
I knew this game.
Because Johan had played it before.
Because he's the monster.
A creature born not from hatred... but from understanding too well how the world worked.
How weakness was hunted.
How kindness was crushed.
It was time to play it again.
It was time to show them what happens when you push a monster too far.
When you treat a demon like prey.
I stayed silent as the laughter continued, as the matron watched, as everything continued like it always did.
But the seed had been planted, and I felt it grow within me.
The world was a game, and I was done being the pawn.