Consciousness didn't return all at once.
It dragged itself back.
Slow.
Unwilling.
Like something that had already decided it wasn't worth it.
Then—
weight.
Something pressed down on his hand.
Not enough to break.
Not enough to matter.
Just enough to remind him—
he was still here.
"…It's still here?"
A voice.
Annoyed.
Distant.
"The filth hasn't moved for two days," the shopkeeper muttered. "Thought it died."
A pause.
Then—
"Would've been easier."
His eyes opened.
Slightly.
Light hurt.
Shapes blurred.
People moved.
Stepped around him.
Stepped over him.
No one stopped.
That felt normal.
His fingers twitched.
Pain answered.
Good.
That meant his body still worked.
"…Anna…"
The memory surfaced.
Not clear.
Not distant.
Just—
there.
"I'm… hungry…"
His eyes focused.
Right.
He pushed himself up.
Slow.
His arms shook.
Not from weakness.
From disuse.
The world tilted.
He waited.
It settled.
No one reacted.
Of course not.
He stood.
Barely.
Then he walked.
Not wandering.
Not drifting.
Searching.
The streets hadn't changed.
They never did.
Noise.
Filth.
Movement without direction.
But this time—
he didn't just watch it.
He looked for something specific.
Food.
Anything.
His house came into view.
The door was still open.
He stepped inside.
The air was wrong.
Not heavier.
Not quieter.
Just—
finished.
His sister was in the same place.
But not the same.
She wasn't curled into herself anymore.
Her body had loosened in a way that didn't belong to sleep.
Still.
Too still.
Her fingers remained pressed into her arms, weaker now, as if even that last attempt to hold onto herself had faded.
He walked closer.
Knelt.
"…I brought nothing."
The words came out automatically.
No response.
He already knew.
His hand reached out.
Touched her shoulder.
Cold.
Not unfamiliar.
Just—
final.
His fingers remained there.
Longer this time.
Not waiting.
Confirming.
"…You couldn't even wait."
No anger.
Just observation.
His hand withdrew.
Hunger didn't stop.
It never did.
He stood.
Turned.
And walked out again.
Because the problem hadn't changed.
Only the person who felt it.
The shop stood ahead.
Bright.
Clean.
Unaffected.
It didn't belong here.
Inside—
the man stood with his head bowed.
Hands pressed together.
"Thank you," he whispered.
"For this peaceful day… for your guidance…"
The boy stepped closer.
"…Food."
The word came out dry.
Direct.
The man didn't turn.
"Earn it."
A pause.
The boy looked around.
Nothing free.
Nothing loose.
Nothing given.
Of course.
Behind the counter—
a small movement.
A girl.
Thin.
Small.
His sister's size.
Her fingers clutched a piece of bread.
Tight.
Like it could disappear.
Their eyes met.
For a moment—
nothing moved.
Then—
the man turned.
"Thief."
The word dropped.
Heavy.
Final.
The girl froze.
The first strike came instantly.
A sharp crack.
She hit the ground.
Didn't even have time to react.
The second came slower.
More deliberate.
"Filth like you," the man said calmly, adjusting his sleeve, "is why this world rots."
Another strike.
The bread slipped from her hands.
Landed near the boy's feet.
He looked at it.
Then at her.
Then at the man.
Something shifted.
Not anger.
Not grief.
Something colder.
More precise.
The man raised his hand again.
The girl flinched.
Closed her eyes.
The boy moved.
Not fast.
Not dramatic.
Just—
forward.
His hand reached the counter.
Closed around the knife.
The metal was heavier than expected.
Cold.
Real.
The man didn't notice at first.
"Learn your place," he continued.
Then—
he turned.
Too late.
The blade met resistance.
Not clean.
Not easy.
For a fraction of a second—
it stopped.
The boy pushed.
Harder.
The resistance gave.
Warmth followed.
Sudden.
Spreading.
The man's expression didn't change immediately.
Confusion came first.
Then—
understanding.
His mouth opened.
No words came out.
His body collapsed.
This time—
the silence was different.
The girl didn't scream.
Didn't move.
She stared.
At him.
The boy stood there.
The knife still in his hand.
Blood ran down his fingers.
Warm.
Then—
cooling.
He looked at it.
"…So this is enough."
Behind the body—
the framed image remained.
Perfect.
Untouched.
Until—
a drop of blood struck it.
Then another.
The face didn't change.
Still smiling.
Still calm.
That felt—
wrong.
Noise returned all at once.
"He killed him!"
"Monster—!"
Hands grabbed him.
Pulled him down.
Forced him to the ground.
He didn't resist.
There was nothing to protect.
The world shifted as they dragged him.
Cleaner streets.
Quieter air.
People here looked.
Not past him.
At him.
With disgust.
"It shouldn't exist."
He was thrown into a bright room.
Figures above him.
Distant.
Elevated.
"We don't need to waste time."
"Execution."
No hesitation.
No question.
Just—
decision.
But death didn't come quickly.
That wasn't the point.
They threw him into a cell.
Soldiers waited.
Not angry.
Not emotional.
Routine.
The first strike came.
Then another.
Blades cut.
Boots crushed.
Hands forced him down again and again.
Pain came.
Then blurred.
Then disappeared.
At some point—
his body stopped responding.
At some point—
they stopped trying.
"…Dead?"
"Throw it away."
The pit swallowed him.
Rot.
Decay.
Silence.
His body hit something soft.
It didn't matter what.
For the first time—
something loosened.
It was over.
No hunger.
No pain.
No need to move.
No need to think.
His chest moved.
Once.
Then again.
"…Ah."
A breath.
Unwanted.
His eyes opened.
Darkness surrounded him.
But not empty.
Something was there.
Waiting.
END OF CHAPTER 2