Seven shadows coalesced in the dim light of the narrow alley like a collection of sinister omens. They uttered no words, exchanging only significant glances. In those seven pairs of eyes, the same look of utter disdain flickered:
'Where did this madboy come from?'
Immediately after, a cold and demonic smile spread across their lips—the kind of smile that serves as a gruesome prelude to a brutal assault.
…
After a short while, the bullies wasted no more time. There wasn't a trace of fear in their eyes; instead, they departed with a sense of extreme annoyance and hatred toward this madboy. Their exit was marked by a clear display of mockery and loathing.
And Surjo?
He lay curled in agony on the damp, filthy ground of the narrow alley. His entire body throbbed with pain, and blood trickled from the corner of his split lip. One side of his forehead had swollen so much it looked as if a whole potato was trying to push its way out from under the skin.
As the shadows of the bullies faded, the terrified girl rushed to Surjo's side. Her voice no longer held fear, but was filled with a wave of anxiety and tenderness.
"Are you... are you okay?" she called out to Surjo in a very soft whisper.
Lost in the haze of his injuries, Surjo regained consciousness. Seeing the girl so close, he recoiled sharply; a wave of embarrassment seemed to wrap around him tightly. To hide his awkward state, he quickly forgot the pain, pulled his limbs together, and tried to move a little further away.
"No... I, I-I'm perfectly fine! What could possibly happen to me!" He stammered, puffing out his chest. "R-Real men never feel pain, you see!"
As he spoke, Surjo's breath hitched; his voice was thick with shame and unbearable agony. To mask his weakness, he broke into a fit of mad laughter—as if he wanted to blow away all the physical pain with the force of his mirth. Seeing this strange effort, the girl couldn't remain still; she burst into a giggle. There was no mockery in that laugh, only a sense of gratitude and genuine respect.
"Thank you, Surjo the Hero!" the girl said in a gentle tone.
The moment he heard that name, Surjo's face changed completely. Forgetting the potato swelling on his forehead, he made a desperate attempt to sit up straight. Assuming the posture of a true warrior, he declared with a puffed chest, "Oh, this is a trivial matter! I am Surjo the Hero, after all! It is my duty to stand against injustice toward the weak."
Though his voice trembled slightly from the pain, his confidence at that moment had surpassed the seven heavens.
The girl gave a serene and innocent smile. In the glow of that smile, all the clouds in Surjo's mind vanished instantly. Surjo now looked at the girl closely. They were likely the same age—the girl might be at most a year younger than Surjo. There was no significant difference in their features or height.
Just then, Surjo's gaze fell upon a strange object lying in the distance. Amidst the gray mounds of ruins, that dark wooden item looked remarkably out of place.
"What is that?" The familiar spark of curiosity flickered in Surjo's eyes. He asked the girl with great interest.
The girl answered without delay, "That... that? That's a violin."
"Violin??" Surjo heard such a strange name for the first time in his life. His eyes grew wide and round with wonder.
Seeing Surjo staring so strangely, the girl looked at him with eyes full of amazement. "Have you never seen a violin before? The way you're looking at it, it's like you're seeing something from another planet!"
"Truthfully, I'm hearing the name for the first time," Surjo replied, scratching his swollen forehead.
A moment later, a deep doubt flickered in his eyes. He began to mumble to himself, "But... I feel like I've seen this thing somewhere before. But where?"
Surjo began to tap his forehead, as if trying to forcibly awaken a dusty memory hidden in some corner of his brain.
"Violin! Violin!"
He was certain that he had some old acquaintance with this oddly shaped object. But in this world of ruins, where there was only lamentation and death—the existence of such a sophisticated item was preventing him from finding the thread of his blurred memory. The knot of memory just wouldn't untie.
By then, the girl had picked up the worn object with great care. A sinister crack had appeared on one side of the dark wooden violin, and a few of its strings hung broken. As she lifted the instrument, a deep melancholy settled in her eyes. Her lips began to tremble; it felt as if the dam of suppressed tears was about to break.
Surjo asked in surprise, "What happened? Why are you trembling like this?"
The girl's voice grew heavy, soaked in tears.
"The strings of the violin are broken. It can never be played again," she said as trembling tears overflowed from her eyes. "This was my last possession. My... only memory of life."
Surjo, distressed, quickly grabbed the girl's hand. "No, no, don't cry at all! Don't you dare cry!"
He urged himself—'Think Surjo, think! You have to do something!'
Surjo gripped the girl's hand firmly. "Listen, there's absolutely no need for you to cry. I know someone who can easily fix this violin."
In an instant, the girl's tears dried up; a spark of life seemed to return to her pale, wan face. "Are you telling the truth?" Her voice held the intense expectation of regaining something lost.
"Yes, absolutely true! But before that, will you tell me one thing?" Surjo pointed toward the violin, expressing his confusion again. "What exactly is this violin thing? I keep feeling like I've seen it somewhere before, but I just can't remember."
The girl hugged the broken violin to her chest with great affection.
"It is a musical instrument," she said in a low voice. "Something used to create songs and melodies."
Song!!
Melody!!
Those words sounded like a new language in Surjo's ears. Until now, he had only wanted to fix the violin to stop the girl's crying. But now, he himself grew restless to hear that lost melody. His curiosity had turned into a personal demand. Surjo now wanted to fix this violin not just for the girl, but to taste that forgotten tune within himself.
"Then... Can you play it?" Surjo asked with intense interest.
The girl nodded calmly, "Yes."
"Then I will definitely fix it for you! I will hear you play the violin! But not today, I have to go back today. Tomorrow we will meet right here again."
The girl looked at him inquiringly, biting her lip, "At what time?"
"Wait, let me think... Yes! Exactly when the sun is overhead! I promise, I will fix it."
Surjo pointed toward the sky. There was a moon in the night sky, but it was like a powerless, dull yellow-gray broken plate. A thin layer of nuclear ash had wrapped itself around the moon; consequently, the little light that seeped down was unnaturally cold, ghostly, and somber. That billion-year-old lunar world seemed to be observing a lifeless silence, witnessing the destruction of this dying earth.
Finishing his words, Surjo extended his pinky finger toward the girl, just as Osman had taught him. The girl stared with wide eyes, unable to understand why this strange boy was holding out his small finger like this.
Surjo broke into a wide grin. "Put your pinky finger on mine. This is an unbreakable rule for giving your word!"
The girl hesitated no more. Placing an unknown trust in Surjo, she put her tiny pinky finger over his. Their fingers locked together—like an unwritten covenant of a new era between two new friends on the chest of this dying world.
Immediately, Surjo declared like a hero, "Pinky promise! Tomorrow I will fix this violin of yours, I give you my word."
When their fingers separated, the girl stared at Surjo with a strange sense of wonder. The trace of that curiosity was still on her face.
"What... what was that?"
Surjo gave a broad smile, as if he knew a very secret mantra.
"Pinky promise!" he announced with great pride.
"...Before this great war started, little children used to make this 'pinky promise' to give each other an absolute word. But listen, don't think I'm some little kid just because I did this with you, okay!"
Having finished his sentence, he displayed all his teeth in a playful grin—as if reminding her that while 'Surjo the Hero' knows how to keep his word, he isn't fooled by candies and chocolates like ordinary children. In this smile, heroism and boundless innocence were merged into one.