"Hey! You damn brat! If you come any closer, I'll really kill you!"
Amidst the angry shouts of a burly man, Law clutched his violently aching stomach and limped deeper into the alley.
He turned his head to look at where the man stood, watching as the tear-streaked woman was dragged into the house, his face clouded with indescribable gloom.
Law knew that woman.
Her name was Nanalie.
Before the country's destruction, she had been a renowned pianist.
Now, just to get food for herself and her child, she had to submit to such scum!
Law couldn't help but curse under his breath.
He spat on the ground, feeling his head grow dizzy.
As the son of a doctor, Law knew his body well.
Given his current condition, he probably didn't have much longer to live.
But there was nothing he could do.
Since the country's destruction, food had become the scarcest resource.
The reason he'd been kicked in the stomach was simple—this street was the closest to the charity organizations from neighboring countries.
Though those nations' governments had destroyed his homeland, it had only been the work of certain individuals.
Among the countries that had destroyed Flevance, some couldn't bear the guilt and had established charity foundations, occasionally distributing free food and clothing on this street.
But even though these were free distributions, after the country's collapse, uncontrolled scum had sprung up like mushrooms after rain.
Too cowardly to confront enemy soldiers, they instead turned their blades on the surviving weak and vulnerable within their own country.
In this lawless land without any social order, violence and bloodshed found the perfect breeding ground.
How could a street as resource-rich as this remain unclaimed?
Their purpose in occupying it was simple: anyone who wanted food or clothing here had to pay the corresponding price.
Adult males could choose to join them, women could choose to offer something else, children were required to beg and hand over all the berries they earned each day, while the elderly were completely ignored—even beaten for amusement.
Though Law was a child, he stubbornly refused to beg, so he was treated the same as the elderly—forbidden from setting foot on this street.
But hunger gnawed at Law unbearably.
To survive, to one day avenge his family, he chose to endure and wait.
He needed the perfect opportunity, a chance that would absolutely allow him to realize his goals before acting.
Yet when the inevitable darkness swallowed his vision, Law couldn't help but let out a bitter smile.
So… was he truly incapable of doing anything?
The scenes of his family's deaths replayed endlessly in his mind—those heart-wrenching images making his entire body tremble in agony.
His parents' screams.
The sticky sensation of their blood pooling at his feet as they collapsed together.
The terrified look in his little sister's eyes when he hid her in the closet.
Her piercing wails as the raging flames consumed her.
The gentle smile the nun had given him in her final moments.
The countless familiar faces drowned in that sea of blood.
Every single memory tore at Law's heart until it felt like it would split apart.
Tears streamed down his face as he gazed up at the still-clear blue sky, overwhelmed by bitterness.
'God… if you truly exist, please look upon this place!'
'Flevance… has become hell!'
Law let out a silent scream.
He wanted to say something, but his parched, ruined throat could no longer produce a sound.
Around him lay piles of rotting garbage, the stench of the dying thick in the air.
Corpses and death had already tainted the hearts of everyone here.
As Law surveyed his surroundings, feeling the last remnants of life draining from his body, his lips suddenly twisted into a smile.
Maybe dying like this wouldn't be so bad.
At least now… he truly couldn't go on living.
Dad… Mom…sister… I miss you all so much.
Grief and longing wracked Law's small frame, threatening to tear him apart.
Tears rolled down his grimy cheeks, leaving pale, sorrowful trails on his ashen face.
But just then… a gentle voice reached him.
To this day, Law still couldn't describe that voice properly.
Perhaps it was like the church bells he'd heard when the nun first took him to pray.
Maybe the comparison was strange—likening a person's voice to the tolling of bells.
But honestly, in Law's memory, only that sound could match the voice he now heard.
"My name is Jake. I'm a Marine. I came here to save this country. And now… if you don't mind, I'd like to start by saving you."
With those words, Law felt himself enveloped in a warmth so soft and radiant it seemed to cradle his entire being.
How could he describe such a feeling?
Law wasn't sure.
But somewhere in his memories… he recognized it.
It was on a slightly warm winter afternoon.
He lay nestled in his mother's arms while his father wrote at his desk nearby, and his younger sister played with cloth dolls on the floor.
His mother smiled as she gently turned his head and used a cotton swab to clean his ears.
Only such memories could describe the feeling he had now.
That sensation of returning to the most beautiful moment.
Law's tears fell uncontrollably.
Through his blurred vision, he saw a large characters emblazoned on the man's clothing.
"Justice."
And so, without realizing it, Law fell asleep, slumbering deeply on Jake's shoulder.
...
Monet lowered her voice, glancing at Jake as she whispered.
"He must have suffered so much… Just what has this country been reduced to?"
Jake, still holding Law, looked around slowly and replied.
"That's exactly why we're here, isn't it? When we arrived, this place was desolate. By the time we leave, we'll make sure it thrives—and ensure it stays that way for a long, long time."
"That's no small task, Jake."
"You'll help me, won't you?"
"Since when did you become so smooth with words?"
Hearing this, Jake chuckled and turned to Monet with a serious expression.
"I always find the right words when it comes to you."
Monet's face flushed crimson, the blush spreading all the way to her neck.