They hear whimpering.
From behind a broken crate, a boy crouches and is shielding a girl—his little sister, most likely. No older than 8 and 9, both are chained, their faces pale with terror, trembling, and filthy with soot and blood. Their eyes are wide and hollow, the light in them long extinguished.
Roy steps forwards towards them.
But before he can utter a word—
The boy lunges forward and drives a jagged shard into Roy's gut.
The shard sinks into his abdomen. The boy screams, but Roy doesn't cry out. The boy screams, voice cracking with desperation, "You ruined everything! He promised us freedom! He said he was going to let us go… let me and my sister leave!"
The figures around them surge forward at once—but Roy throws out a hand, commanding them silently to stay back. Blood drips from the wound, but Roy doesn't flinch. His eyes meet the boy's—blood pooling beneath him—steady, unwavering. But Roy doesn't waver.
He grips the shard embedded in his body, then slowly, deliberately pulls it out. Crimson stains his coat, his breath uneven—but his gaze is calm.
He kneels to meet the boy's eye level, his voice rough, honest.
Then he speaks, voice calm despite the pain.
"You have a cruel life ahead of you. Stabbing me won't change that. It won't bring your parents back. It won't undo the hell you've lived through."
"But if you want to change that—if you want to protect your sister, to never be powerless again—then listen to me."
He leans in close, lowering his voice to a growl:
"All you need is the will to choose. Not vengeance. Not blind hope. Choice. That's how you take your life back."
The boy's lips quiver, confusion and guilt creeping in—but Roy doesn't stop.
"What happened to you—what brought you here—it wasn't your fault. It was never in your control."
"Life is cruel. Ugly. It tears things away before you even know what they mean. But…" He coughs, blood dripping from his lips, but he forces himself to stand.
"Life's like a coin. Cold. Unforgiving. But unless you spin it—really spin it—you'll never see the other side. You'll never know what joy feels like. You'll never know what it means to live instead of just surviving."
He extends his bloodied hand to the children. "So what do you say?"
"Do you want to flip the coin?"
For a moment, silence.
The boy stares at Roy's outstretched hand, breath shallow. His fingers twitch, but he doesn't move. Doubt coils in his chest, fear weighing him down. He looks like he's about to pull away—
Then, the little girl clutches him tighter, her tiny hand gripping his torn sleeve.
And for the first time, her eyes flicker—not with fear, but with faint, fragile hope.
That warmth spreads through the boy's chest like a dying ember flaring back to life. His trembling fingers slowly rise… until they find Roy's hand.
He takes it.
And in that moment, something shifts—something unseen.
The chain didn't break.
But it loosened.
Roy turned slightly, blood still trailing from his coat, and called out, "Ilya."
One of the seven stepped forward—a young woman, probably in her early twenties, with gentle eyes and a calm presence that made her stand out among the others. There was kindness in her face, the sort that immediately put people at ease.
"Please take these two to our hideout," Roy said, his voice soft but firm. "Care for them, would you?"
Ilya bowed slightly. "Yes, my liege."
She stepped toward the children, kneeling so she could meet them at eye level. Her hand extended, warm and steady. The little girl took it first, her grip tight. The boy hesitated for just a second before following. Ilya rose and began to lead them away, her touch protective and light.
The two children glanced back at Roy with wide, uncertain eyes.
Roy didn't look back—he was already turning to face Kieran.
"You should get healed by Lys," Kieran said, brow furrowed with concern. "That's a pretty nasty one."
"Nah," Roy muttered, raising a hand to his wound. A soft light shimmered briefly beneath his palm—then just like that, the blood vanished, the skin sealing itself shut without a trace.
Kieran blinked. "Ahh… so that's how you did it." His eyes narrowed slightly in recognition. "That's the same way you healed me. Back then… when I was just a dumb, dying kid."
Roy didn't answer. He just gave Kieran a small, knowing smirk before walking ahead.
Back at school, the world felt too bright and too normal—like a dream that didn't know it had just been interrupted by a nightmare.
The four sat in math class, barely pretending to listen.
"Future school life", Brock said, adjusting his glasses with dramatic purpose. "Tournament of Riech, work placements, cultural festivals… the roadmap to mediocrity."
"Don't forget the career fair," Roy added, tapping his pencil against his desk. "Where we get told we'll never make it unless we become accountants."
"I'm already dying just hearing this," Tanaka muttered, face down on his desk. "And there's not even a residential trip to look forward to."
"No girls either," Kieran noted. "The curse of the all-boys academy."
"There's a girls' school literally one street over," Brock said. "It's not like they live in another dimension."
"Feels like they do," Tanaka replied without lifting his head. "Most of us get here by train or bus, and the route doesn't go near it. We might as well be in different timelines."
"Man", Kieran said, leaning back in his chair, "what's the point of living if we can't even have accidental hallway meet-cutes?"
Roy smirked. "The simulation has no chill."
The bell rang, and their teacher said, 'You can pack up now.'
They all stood slowly, like men sentenced to a second round of math. And yet, somehow, this boredom was comforting—almost like a safe zone between the chaos that lurked beneath the surface of their lives.