Yukio lived in an orphanage called Senso Koji, tucked away in the crowded streets of Tokyo.
To others, it was just another shelter for abandoned children.
To him, it was a cage for him.
Every day followed the same pattern.
The other boys never left him alone. They mocked him, pushed him, treated him like something less than human. And among them, one stood above the rest—
Torio Mashahori.
He was the worst of them all.
Yukio couldn't even defend himself. Words failed him. His voice would never come out the way he wanted, leaving him trapped in silence while the others laughed.
That day was no different.
"Hey, you useless freak," Mashahori sneered, stepping closer. "Maybe I should smash those eyes of yours, Ass****."
Before Yukio could react, a fist slammed into his face.
A sharp crack echoed.
Pain exploded through his skull as blood trickled from the corner of his eye. He staggered, barely able to stay upright.
Yukio dropped to his knees, trembling. He reached out, clutching Mashahori's leg, silently begging.
Please… stop. He said it in his mind. He was mute.
Mashahori's response came as a kick.
Then another.
And another.
Each one slammed into Yukio's head, snapping it back violently. The world spun, vision blurring as the other boys grabbed his arms, holding him in place.
"Look at him, piece of shit!" One of them laughed. "He's not even fighting back."
Mashahori grabbed a fistful of Yukio's hair and yanked his head up.
Pain shot through his scalp.
Yukio's mouth opened, and this time, a sound finally escaped—
"Aaa…! Aaa…!"
A broken, desperate cry.
But it only made them laugh harder.
"Pathetic."
Just as Mashahori raised his fist again....
"HEY! What the hell are you brats doing?!"
A staff member's voice cut through the chaos.
The boys froze.
In an instant, they let go of Yukio, stepping back like nothing had happened.
"N-Nothing," one of them said quickly.
"He just… collapsed on his own. Acting like a psycho."
The man frowned, looking down at Yukio's battered body lying motionless on the floor.
"…Tch. Go on, get out of here."
The boys didn't need to be told twice.
"Let the loser rot," Mashahori muttered under his breath as they walked away.
Silence returned.
Minutes passed.
Then...
A faint twitch.
Yukio's fingers moved.
His eyelids fluttered weakly as consciousness slowly dragged him back. Everything hurt. His body felt heavy, broken.
But somehow… he was still alive.
He forced himself up.
Step by step, swaying with each movement, he walked out of the orphanage.
No one stopped him.
Outside, the city moved on as if he didn't exist.
People passed by, glancing at him only briefly—faces twisting in discomfort, in disgust. Blood dripped from his eyes and nose, staining his clothes, yet no one came closer.
No one cared.
Yukio staggered forward, tears mixing with the blood on his face.
In his mind only thoughts came...
I have no one…
No friends…
No family…
Why…?
His legs gave out, and he collapsed beside a cold metal pole.
…I want to die.
The world blurred.
Darkness crept in at the edges of his vision.
And then—
Something moved above him.
From the sky, a presence descended.
A mass of pitch-black energy, flickering like a living flame. It twisted unnaturally as it drifted downward, drawn to him.
Watching him.
"…blo…od…"
The whisper was faint. Broken.
"…blo…od…"
It rushed forward.
Before Yukio could even react—
It forced its way into his mouth.
His body jerked violently.
His eyes snapped open, turning completely white.
A thick, black substance began to seep from the corners of his mouth… then from his eyes.
Crack.
Crack.
His bones shifted, bending at unnatural angles. Veins bulged beneath his skin, darkening, spreading like rot.
His skin took on a sickly, greenish tint.
Then...silence.
Yukio stood up.
But the way he moved…
It wasn't a human posture anymore.
His head tilted at an unnatural angle. Black liquid dripped from his eyes, trailing down his face. His lips stretched into a wide, trembling grin.
A low, broken laugh escaped him.
"I… want… blooooood…"
"ha ha ha ha ha ha."