Chapter 2
The birds outside still watched from the window, their feathers glistening pure white, reflecting the sunlight in a radiant, almost ethereal glow. When they peered inside, the morning light streamed through the glass, illuminating the sleeping children within. The little girl's hair shimmered in the soft light as she surveyed the room, her gaze falling upon the children, some still slumbering peacefully, others revealing glimpses of their tummies as they moved in their sleep. The gentle chorus of "zzz... zzz..." echoed faintly throughout the dormitory, a lullaby of the innocent and oblivious.
She slowly brought her hand to her forehead, wincing as she felt the lingering ache. A purplish bruise, remnants from yesterday, marred her skin—not as raw and red as before, but deep enough to remind her of the pain endured. Her gaze drifted to the stains on the bed, then to her own curled-up legs, sitting silently in the quiet room. She watched the other children, recalling how some had tormented her yesterday. Slowly, she sat in stillness, understanding that speaking up was futile; even the caretakers seemed indifferent, performing only the bare minimum of their duties without regard for the children's true well-being. They were here for the money, not for love or compassion.
Perhaps she had grown accustomed to this life. No one cared. The caretakers, who were supposed to protect them, showed no interest. The other children around her despised and bullied her daily, inflicting pain and mockery in a cycle that left her isolated, like a caged bird yearning for the skies. She dreamed of flying freely, soaring above the orphanage walls to clean cities, lush forests, or sunlit beaches—anywhere that offered freedom.
But perhaps today would be different...
Perhaps the wings would return to her.
Perhaps she would leave the orphanage.
Perhaps she would see the world beyond these walls.
Perhaps she would... see the ocean.
BUT... she would not remain the same.
She would no longer live as her old self.
She would have to accept the uncertain future awaiting her.
Outside, armored vehicles slowly approached, their metal hulls gleaming in the morning sun. The doors creaked open as scientists stepped out, carrying containers filled with corrosive chemicals. A beam of light caught the hair of one figure, a beautiful shade of deep blue, as Sora entered the orphanage grounds. The staff, clad in white lab coats, bustled about, preparing for the day. Sunlight streamed through the windows, yet the eyes of the staff remained vacant and indifferent to the children, neither warm nor maternal, neither guiding nor protective like a father's presence.
Inside the dormitory, the steel door groaned as it opened. The staff's rigid faces appeared, their white coats creating a stifling, oppressive atmosphere. The sound of their shoes striking the floor evoked fear rather than comfort. The birds scattered at the noise, startled. The children remained silent, understanding that the caretakers treated them as disposable, as objects rather than human beings. Their presence was dictated solely by money; their attention was not given freely. Speaking to them meant nothing.
The staff approached the awakened children, shoes echoing across the floor, distributing papers and pens. One male staff member approached her, expressionless, handing her a flyer and a pen. The pen was worn, the paper still warm as if freshly printed. His gaze lingered on her with a repulsive, animalistic leer, fixating on the chest of the five-year-old girl with vile, disgustingly predatory intent, before he turned away with a crooked smile.
Her small hands trembled as she unfolded the paper, staring at the printed message.
At the top: the organization's logo.
Below it:
Endure. Adapt. Secure. Restrain. Survive.
Followed by:
Join the organization or remain.
And at the bottom:
Yes No.
Her eyes slowly left the paper. The staff had completed their task and now observed the children. Many of them were confused and fearful; some could not even read. Only fifteen to twenty children received a sheet, while the rest remained asleep. Most of them were bewildered, incapable of grasping the significance of the document. "Will I be adopted?" "What is this organization? Can I eat it?" Their childish minds could only form vague questions.
She too was uncertain. Her orphaned hands were damp with nervousness and curiosity. Her eyes squinted with tentative questions: "Will I be chosen? Could this be my chance to finally leave?" Yet fear gripped her—the fear of freedom, a world beyond the walls of the orphanage, an unknown, confusing realm she had never touched before. Could this truly be the promise of hope she had been waiting for?
Slowly, she picked up the pen, hands trembling. Her eyes narrowed with determination. After a moment of hesitation, she marked the "Yes" option repeatedly, each stroke heavy with fear—fear of abandonment, fear of the unknown, yet tempered by the faint spark of hope. Questions flooded her mind: "Am I really leaving? Is this a new beginning?" The uncertainty was overwhelming, thrilling, and terrifying all at once.
Suddenly, a soft snap echoed, followed by a gentle, almost comforting smile that appeared on her face—though still tinged with warmth and danger. Amber eyes, deep and observing, met the children's gaze. The blue hair shimmered like water as she scanned the room, her voice simultaneously playful and authoritative. Some children watched curiously, while some male staff bore looks of vile disgust.
Sora spoke:
> "Good morning, little comrades. Thank you for joining us today. Unfortunately…"
She smiled sweetly, bright and innocent.
> "…today's tea will come with five fewer sugar cubes. How unfortunate… I suppose you'll be sad to lose your friends… hmm."
Then, clad in yellow full-body suits with black gas masks, personnel carrying barrels of acid stepped forward. The hiss of chemicals filled the air as they forcedfully restrained the children who had chosen "No." Screams pierced the dormitory as the acid burned their faces, then arms and legs. Blood spilled across the floor while the caretakers, repulsed, vomited at the scene. Some children shrank in horror, eyes squinting in fright. Soon, the screams subsided; the children were silenced forever.
Hoshino froze, horrified, her hair standing on end as chills ran down her spine. The scene was unimaginable cruelty, an act so inhuman it defied comprehension. Step by step, Sora approached the remaining child, her smile gentle but deadly. The little girl regarded her as though facing a specter. Sora's voice was teasing, serious, and faintly menacing all at once:
> "Oh… what if you choose 'No'?"
She giggled softly, mischievously:
> "It would be… beautiful. Your body… would dissolve into clouds…"
The hiss of chemicals accompanied the children's cries. Sora pinched the girl's nose, her smile both sweet and disturbing, a twisted playfulness that unsettled anyone witnessing it.
Sora continued:
> "And it seems you do not yet have a name, little one. A nameless creature… bland and overlooked. From now on, you shall be Hoshino. Hoshi… a star. Your hair shines like stars… and No… a garden. A star garden, even more beautiful than one alone."
She squinted in mild disappointment; Hoshino remained silent, expressionless, as though robotic or deaf, presenting a facade impervious to fear or surprise.
Sora eventually turned, leaving the dormitory. She exchanged words with someone outside before continuing on her path. Soldiers appeared, guiding the remaining children toward waiting armored vehicles. Some were terrified, but Hoshino remained composed, accustomed to such grim routines. She walked among them, past the staff and windowed walls, stepping for the first time outside the orphanage.
The warmth of the highway beneath her feet, the golden light of the sun, and the orphanage receding behind her signaled a future both strange and hopeful. For the first time, the children could experience the world beyond their confined walls.
For the first time, they could feel the sunlight on their skin.
For the first time, they could truly touch the world rather than observing it from behind bars or glass.
Yet the moment was fleeting. Soldiers crowded the children into armored vehicles. The suffocating heat and cramped space disturbed many, but Hoshino remained calm. Almost twenty children were packed tightly, an overwhelming mix of discomfort, heat, and oppression—the experience of being confined yet moving toward something unknown.
As the vehicles moved, engines roared, and outside, birds soared above the orphanage, signaling a new beginning—a future filled with both hope and profound mystery. What awaited them would only be revealed with time.
[To be continued]