A nameless, homeless, weak, filthy, and stinking child sat on the streets of a grim, sprawling city. People walked past him without a second glance. Why would they care about some street orphan? Millions wandered the city, and not a single one spared him a look. Fragile, starving… pitiful.
Such was the fate of those without wealthy parents or friends to rely on. Sitting on the cold concrete, the child forced a smile.
— I suppose starving to death really is the fate I deserve. Not that I expected much… but to not even be glanced at… Ah, maybe I should've just left the city and died as food for those wretched creatures… But wouldn't that be too bitter? To die without ever tasting real food. I really believed… that one day, I'd get to eat what normal children do, not just scraps from shopkeepers… Well, guess that's impossible now."
Just then, a shadow fell over him. With great effort, he lifted his head to see a figure standing before him. A beautiful girl—at least, her silhouette suggested youth, draped in a white hooded robe that concealed her face. Slowly, she pulled back the hood, and golden hair shimmered under the sunlight. The cold wind tousled her locks, and her features were inhumanly perfect—like an angel descended into the mortal world. Her gray eyes gazed at the nameless, homeless child with pity, and in her hands was a basket that smelled deliciously of food. Kneeling, she offered a faint, practiced smile and asked:
—What's your name?
The child was stunned. The people around, who had ignored him until now, suddenly turned their stares toward him—too intensely. Whispers filled the air; clearly, she was someone important.
The nameless child rarely spoke, his throat dry, so his voice came out hoarse:
—I… I don't know. I don't… have a name.
The golden-haired girl sighed, her smile weary.
—Well then, let me introduce myself. My name is Alice. Here—this is a gift for you.
With that, she set the basket beside him and stood, preparing to leave.
The child was overjoyed—finally, after so long, he would eat. But he couldn't understand why she had done this for him. Swallowing his curiosity, he rasped:
—Why?
The girl paused mid-step. After a brief moment, she smiled and simply answered:
—You see… the person I made this for… is no longer alive. It seemed a waste to throw it away, so I thought I'd do a good deed. That's all, really.
She turned and walked away, her steps unhurried. The crowd parted before her with reverence… and fear. The latter was puzzling, but perhaps she was someone powerful.
The nameless child was glad someone had acknowledged him, though he still didn't understand why *him*. There were so many other orphans, and surely a girl like her had servants or friends to share with. But he didn't dwell on it—instead, he eagerly turned to the basket.
Inside was fresh bread, some yellow liquid, and other dishes he didn't recognize. The aroma was intoxicating. If he had any saliva left, it would've been pouring from his mouth.
Just as he was about to take his first real meal in forever, a shadow fell over him. Then another. And another. A crowd surrounded him, staring with hollow eyes. Though he didn't understand their intentions, his instincts screamed: Nothing good.
A voice rang out:
—Why would Her Highness waste her time on this piece of filth? Why should he get to taste the lady's exquisite food?
Another joined in:
—Right. So how do we decide who gets it?
—Let's draw lots. The winner takes the lady's meal.
It seemed they had forgotten to ask someone's permission. They were already dividing the food the child held. To them, he was nothing. And truly—he had no name, no family, no friends.
A deep resentment swelled in his heart. But he couldn't tell who it was directed at:
The people humiliating a helpless child?
Fate, for making him this way?
Or that girl, who had given him food but left him unprotected?
It seemed like a kindness, but no… She had given hope to a weak, pitiful child, only to abandon him to his fate. She had poisoned him with hope, and now, just as he dared to believe he might survive another day, his dreams were crumbling…
Finally, the crowd's argument ended, and a burly man stepped forward, reaching for the basket.
But another hand—dirty, frail, skeletal—clung to it, refusing to let go.
The man glared at the child's hand in disgust. Though the boy couldn't read minds, the man's expression was clear: *
How dare this filthy vermin touch what's mine?"
The next instant, the man clenched his fist and, without restraint, drove it into the child's fragile body.
The blow struck his stomach. Had there been any food inside, it would've been forced out. Instead, all that escaped was a choked gasp, tears streaming from the child's eyes.
How vile it felt—to be so weak, so worthless, so… alone. Though tears were unbecoming of men, he was just a child…
The man frowned in surprise. The boy's hand… still gripped the basket.
Yes, he was crying. Yes, he was weak, pitiful, insignificant. But his will… was unbroken.
Until death, he would not let go. As long as he could feel it, he would not yield—no matter the pain.
This basket was his. This scent of food belonged to him alone.
And only over his corpse would these bastards take it.
—Hey, you wanna die?
The child glared at the man with pure hatred. His eyes were wet, his body trembling, but his gaze… was murderous.
If looks could kill, the man would've died a thousand times over.
A chill ran down the man's spine. He raised his fist again—
But then, a quiet, icy voice cut through the air:
—That's Enough.