A small child, no older than five, stood in front of an old building. Its paint had long faded into a dull gray, and the roof sagged under years of patchwork repairs.
From inside, children's laughter spilled through the windows, broken now and then by the scolding voices of adults trying to restore order.
But to the child standing outside, those sounds felt distant—like noise that entered one ear and slipped out the other.
"What's a child like you doing here?"
A voice came from behind him.
The child turned. A middle-aged man stood there, a bag of food tucked against his chest with one arm, while small toys were clutched in the other.
The man studied the child's face—blank, unmoving, his eyes distant.
"Where are your parents, young one?"
The child gave no response. He simply stared at the man in silence, as if observing something deeper than what was visible.
The man hesitated. After waiting a moment longer with no answer, he shook his head slightly. Perhaps the child was waiting for someone.
With that thought, he stepped past him and entered the building.
The child remained where he stood, quietly watching him go.
***
Mario found himself floating above the scene. His gaze wandered across the surroundings, confusion slowly surfacing in his eyes.
"The orphanage…? No… this is the old one," he muttered.
"Why am I… floating?"
Then his attention shifted downward, landing on the child below.
As he observed him more closely, the confusion in his expression deepened.
The child had the same emerald-green eyes as him—yet they felt different. Colder. Emptier.
While he was still watching, a familiar middle-aged man approached the child from behind.
Mario's gaze snapped toward him—and widened in realization.
"Director…?"
The man looked younger than the director he knew, but the resemblance was undeniable.
It was a face he could never mistake—the first face he had ever seen.
Mario closed his eyes briefly and let out a quiet breath. "I see… I'm dreaming."
When he opened them again, he tried to descend toward the director—
—but stopped.
No matter how he moved, he couldn't get any closer. It was as if he were confined within an invisible boundary, trapped in place.
After a few failed attempts, he gave up and remained where he was, watching from above.
***
The child standing outside heard the sudden swell of excitement from within the building as the middle-aged man entered—children's voices rising all at once, followed by a woman's sharp scolding and the chorus of protests that came after.
For a fleeting moment, something stirred within the child's cold, empty gaze.
Then it was gone.
An hour passed...
The door opened again, and the middle-aged man stepped out—only to pause when he saw the child still standing where he had left him.
"…You're still here?"
He walked closer, studying the boy more carefully this time.
"Your parents might be looking for you. They're probably worried by now."
The child turned his head toward him.
The man had expected no response—but after a few moments, the child slowly shook his head.
The man's brows drew together. "…You mean you don't have parents?"
A faint nod.
The man's expression shifted as he took another look at the child's clothes. Although it was only a simple white shirt and black shorts, they were clean—almost new. Not something a child with no parents would normally be wearing.
"…Did someone leave you here, then?"
Another small shake of the head.
That only deepened the confusion. "Then why are you here?"
This time, there was no response.
A slight frown formed on the man's face. "What's your name, child?"
Again—silence.
The man hesitated.
'…Is he Mute?'
The thought lingered as he looked at the boy again—at those quiet, unreadable eyes.
After a moment, he exhaled softly.
"…Do you want to come inside?"
The child remained still for a few seconds, then gave a small, almost hesitant nod.
"Alright. Follow me."
He gestured lightly before turning back toward the building.
This time, the child moved.
Inside, a man named Carlo glanced up as the director returned—his eyes immediately landing on the boy trailing behind him.
"Director Mario… who's that?"
Director Mario looked back briefly at the silent child. "I don't know. He might be mute. For now, he'll stay here—at least until someone comes looking for him."
Carlo hesitated, concern flickering across his face. "…But, Director, we—"
"I know." Director Mario cut in gently, already understanding.
A faint smile formed on his lips.
"Don't worry. We can still afford to take in one more."
***
Mario, who had been observing from above, found himself drifting into the building the moment the child stepped inside.
Hearing Carlo's words, he let out a quiet breath.
Shaking his head, he suppressed the feeling for now and continued watching.
At first, the other children were curious about the newcomer.
They approached him, spoke to him, even dragged him along to play—but he never responded. When they talked, he remained silent. When they pulled him into their games, he would simply slip away and return to his assigned bed, sitting there quietly as he stared out the window.
Even when the adults tried to speak to him, he gave no answer.
Eventually, the curiosity faded.
The children stopped approaching him. Conversations no longer included him. He was… left alone.
From a distance, the director watched this unfold. After a while, he let out a soft sigh and called for the child.
Only then did the boy react.
He stood and walked toward the director without hesitation.
Weeks passed...
The director was the only one who remained constant—speaking to him, telling stories, teaching him how to read. His presence alone seemed enough to reach the child in a way no one else could.
The other adults didn't give up. They continued to show kindness, continued to try—but the child only responded to the director. Even then, it was minimal. A nod. A shake of the head. Nothing more.
Mario exhaled softly as he watched the boy sitting alone in a small room, quietly reading. He only ever left when the director called for him.
At night, the child would sit by the window, gazing up at the stars in silence.
Time passed...
Two years unfolded before Mario's eyes, yet he felt none of it. The scenes simply moved forward, one after another, without weight.
By now, he realized that this wasn't simply a dream, but more like a memory.
'…Strange. If this is a memory, why don't I remember any of it?'
His gaze lifted unconsciously toward the night sky—the same sky the child was staring at.
"…And if this is a memory recollection… why am I watching it from above? Shouldn't I be seeing this through my own eyes?"
Suddenly, the child, watching the night sky, shifted his eyes slightly in Mario's direction.
Shhhhhh~
As Mario was lost in thought, he seemed to hear a faint sound of flowing water whispering in his ears before his surroundings shifted.
He found himself in a small room.
In front of him was an open box containing old but clean books. His hands, without his control, took out one of them.
Then his body sat down on the floor beside the box, his head lowering, and his eyes began to follow the lines of text across the page.
—
Warmth pressed against his face.
His eyes fluttered open. Light stabbed into them, forcing him to raise a hand instinctively to shield his vision. He squinted through his fingers, then slowly pushed himself upright on the bed.
A yawn slipped out as he stretched his arms overhead, joints loosening one by one.
For a moment he remained silent, but slowly the dream resurfaced in his mind—clear and vivid.
"What… was that?" he muttered under his breath.
Growl~
A sharp pang twisted in his stomach. He exhaled lightly and shook his head, forcing the thought aside.
Not now.
He reached for the bottle, took out two pills, then turned off the battery lamp. After that, he stepped outside and locked the door behind him.
Mild heat greeted him.
The light made his eyes narrow again as he adjusted, then he quickened his pace, heading toward the southern part of the city.
Along the way, he stopped by the convenience store and bought bread and water.
He ate half of the bread as he walked, swallowing one of the nutrition pills with a mouthful of water. The remaining half he sealed back in its wrapper—saved for later, along with the second pill.
Half an hour passed...
The faint scent of the sea drifted into his nose, signaling his arrival at the southern district.
He turned away from the seafood market, taking a different road that led toward the private warehouse where he worked.
"Good morning, Mario," one of the guards greeted.
Mario turned, his usual mask settling naturally over his expression. He gave a polite smile. "Good morning to you too, sir."
The moment he stepped inside, the thick, fishy odor hit him—but he no longer reacted.
He was used to it.
He checked in with the timekeeper first, then approached one of the loaders.
"Could you help me with the basin?" he asked politely.
With his thin frame, handling the heavy containers alone wasn't realistic.
The loader nodded, and together they carried over two basins of fish to his station.
Once done, Mario sat down. He drew the knife at his side and unsheathed it carefully, the faint scrape of metal soft but precise.
He picked up a fish.
Cut.
Open.
Remove.
Rinse.
One after another, the motions flowed.
Time passed without him noticing.
Then—
A familiar chill surfaced.
It bloomed inside his head before flowing downward, spreading through his body—settling especially in his hands.
His brows furrowed.
There was recognition there… but also confusion.
Why did it feel so familiar?
Before he could pursue the thought—
A transparent panel appeared in front of him.
[Proficiency]
[Skill: Fish Cleaning — 0 Tier, Beginner 3/100]
[Unique Skill: Simulation (?)]
That was when it struck him.
'…That's right. I turned eighteen today.'
The realization surfaced late.
The strange dream had occupied his mind, pushing everything else aside—including something he had once thought would matter.
Yet now that it was here… there was nothing.
Mario didn't linger on the feeling. His gaze shifted, landing on something unfamiliar within the panel.
[Unique Skill: Simulation (?)]
'Unique skill…?'
His brows drew together slightly.
But remembering he was in the middle of work, he decided not to pay attention to it for now and continued cleaning fish.
Time passed...
Eventually, the bell rang.
One by one, the workers stopped what they were doing and began heading toward the open space, lunch boxes in hand.
Mario stayed behind.
He washed his hands first, then took out the remaining half of his bread. He ate it quietly, swallowing the second pill with water.
Only after finishing did he stand and head toward the warehouse owner's office.
He knocked.
"Enter."
Mario opened the door and stepped inside, closing it gently behind him so as not to disturb the old man.
The man looked up from his papers. Recognition came quickly, followed by a faint smile.
"Oh, it's you, Little Mario. What is it?"
Mario slipped on his usual mask—a polite, practiced smile.
"Yes, sir. I was hoping to take tomorrow off. I'd like to visit Director Mario. It's been about six months since my last visit… he might be worried."
The old man paused, then leaned back slightly.
"Six months already, huh…"
He let out a quiet chuckle. "Last time we spoke, he asked if I was working you too hard. Even threatened me—said I'd better find a place to hide if I was."
A soft sigh followed, though there was warmth in it. "That old bastard… he really treats you like a son."
Mario gave a small nod.
For a brief moment, something genuine surfaced—a faint smile that wasn't part of the mask.
He remembered that day.
When he chose to leave the orphanage… when he asked the director to introduce him to one of his friends for work.
The man had been furious.
Asking if he had grown so useless that he needed a child to support him.
It had taken days before he finally relented.
Mario set the memory aside.
"I'll make sure to tell him you've been treating me well, sir."
"Good," the old man replied, amused. He waved a hand dismissively. "Before you leave tomorrow, stop by here first. I have something I want you to pass along to him."
"And tell him I'll have to decline drinks.
Business will keep me tied up for the next couple of months."
"I understand, sir," Mario said with a nod. "I'll let him know. Thank you."
The old man had already returned to his papers.
Seeing that, Mario quietly took his leave.
He stepped out, closed the door behind him, and returned to his station.
The rest of the day passed the same way it began—
Cut. Clean. Rinse.
Over and over again.
...
Mario finally completed his quota for the day and joined the line behind the other workers to receive his daily salary.
When his turn came, he was handed twenty copper coins. He gave a small nod and left the warehouse without lingering.
On his way back, he stopped by a convenience store and bought charcoal along with a bottle of nutrition pills.
After reaching home, he immediately cooked his meal. The hunger he had been suppressing all day made waiting impossible.
…
Mario exhaled after eating.
He did not wash the dishes immediately, leaving them on the table as he sat back in silence.
For a few minutes, he simply remained still.
Then he called up the panel in his mind.
His eyes settled on the entry for his unique skill.
"What is this?" he muttered.
Confused, his index finger hovered over the transparent interface before pressing the question mark.
[Simulation: Allows the user to perform a simulation once a month and receive the memories from the simulation. The simulated version of the user has no awareness of the unique skill or the memories from the simulation. To use the skill, simply say "start simulation."
(Note: The user may experience certain side effects from simulation memories. However, there is also a benefit. Please find out for yourself.)]
The description felt oddly personal, as if it was addressing him directly.
Mario dismissed the thought.
In a low voice, he said, "Start simulation."
A brief silence followed.
Then—
[Simulation starting…]