8/12/20xx Shizuoka, Japan.


    The sky hung heavy with storm clouds, the city drowning beneath a curtain of rain.


    Inside a rusted, crumbling apartment, artios lay motionless on a bed barely held together.


    His eyes fluttered open


    A dull gaze met the ceiling.


    Slowly, he sat up. His face was gaunt, dark circles hollowing his lifeless stare. His body—thin, fragile, barely more than skin stretched over bone. His oversized shirt draped loosely over him, reaching past his knees. Long, unkempt hair, streaked in two colors, hung just above his shoulders. An eyepatch concealed his left eye. His right eye, crimson red, gleamed faintly in the dim light.


    His head swayed. His limbs ached. No matter how much he slept, the exhaustion never left him.


    His feet touched the cold floor. He stood, swaying slightly. Step by step, he moved toward the hallway.


    Then—


    "Ah… ah… ah…"


    His ears twitched.


    His unfocused gaze turned toward the bedroom next to his.


    Through the cracks in the door, he saw.


    "Ah… yeah… it''s Mom."


    Flat. Emotionless.


    It wasn''t a question. It wasn''t shock. It was routine.


    Without another glance, he turned away.


    The stench hit him as soon as he entered the living room—stale beer, cigarette smoke, rotting food. Empty bottles littered the floor, mixed with trash bags, used condoms, and decayed leftovers. The air was thick with filth.


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    This was home.


    Normality was a long-forgotten concept.


    In the dim flicker of the television, a bloated man sat slouched on the couch, his gut spilling over his waistband. Though overweight, his face was still striking—sharp brown eyes, long lashes. His jawline was still slightly visible, The remnants of someone who had once cared about his looks.


    Now, he didn''t.


    A bottle tilted at his lips, his unfocused gaze glued to the screen.


    ''He''s at it again…''


    Atrios stood at the edge of the room, looking at the man who had given him life—yet felt like nothing more than a stranger.


    Sakamoto.


    His father.


    A slow, lazy grin spread across the man''s face.


    "Oh… Atrios. You''re awake," he slurred, wiping his mouth.


    "Good. Grab me another beer."


    "….."


    Atrios didn''t move. His dull eyes stayed locked on his father.


    "…..Why?"


    The words left Atrios''s mouth before he could stop them. His voice was quiet, yet it carried the weight of everything he could never say. "Why are you doing this… father?"


    A pause.


    Then—


    "Atrios."


    His father''s tone shifted.


    "Come here."


    "….."


    Atrios knew what was coming.


    He had broken a rule.


    But he didn''t care. He was too hungry. Too weak. Too tired.


    And so, artios walked forward.


    Perhaps… he wanted it.


    Perhaps… he hoped that this time, he wouldn''t get back up.


    His steps were slow, dragging through the filth beneath him.


    Then—


    —SLAP—


    Pain exploded across his face.


    His frail body hit the floor. His skull throbbed where it struck the ground, his vision blurring at the edges. The world spun.


    "How many times do I have to tell you…?"


    A shadow loomed over him.


    "You don''t ask questions. You do what you''re told. Son."


    His blurred vision focused on the ceiling. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths.


    ''I feel dizzy… I don''t want to live like this… But why? Why can''t I just die…?''


    His fingers twitched.


    His body screamed in protest as he pushed himself up.


    He staggered toward the fridge, empty of food, what was inside that fridge was nothing but beer and junk food, that he was not allowed to eat.


    Cold glass met his trembling fingers.


    Turning, he handed the bottle to his father.


    A slow, satisfied smirk.


    "Good boy."


    "....."


    Atrios turned away, walking toward his mother''s room.


    -----


    A belt snapped into place.


    The bald man adjusted his shirt. Broad-framed—not fat, not particularly muscular, but thick with a strength that spoke of countless battles. Tattoos and scars covered his body, one scar running down his left eye.


    He grinned, looking down at the woman beneath him.


    "… That was good, Rozha-san."


    Rozha, Atrios''s mother.


    Her face was pale, framed by long, silken black hair. Her crimson eyes, once vibrant, were hollow now.


    She lay still.


    Empty. Soulless.


    She did not respond.


    The bald man smirked.


    "Clumsy as always, aren''t you?"


    He ran a hand over his head, buttoning his shirt.


    Stepping toward the door, he pulled it open—then paused.


    Atrios stood there. For a moment, silence.


    Then, without a word, the boy walked past him.


    The bald man''s grin widened.


    His eyes lingered on the boy, something vile glinting within them.


    "Lucky kid," he muttered, licking his lips. "Maybe next time, eh?"


    He left, the door clicking shut behind him.


    ------


    "Mom…"


    The boy climbed onto the bed, pressing himself against her.


    A frail, broken woman wrapped her arms around him, fingers threading through his tangled hair.


    "Son… I told you to stay in bed until I came for you, didn''t I?"


    Her voice was soft, barely a whisper.


    Atrios said nothing. He only held her tighter.


    "….."


    She hugged him back, silent tears slipping down her face.


    He was the only reason she hadn''t given up.


    But deep inside, something stirred.


    A feeling she couldn''t suppress forever.


    End of chapter 2