Ouch! That hurts!
Smack! Smack!
"Please… stop! It hurts so much… I didn't do anything wrong!"
"Sir… please, stop…"
A crowd had gathered, whispering and gossiping among themselves.
In the midst of chaos stood a boy no more than twelve years old with snow-white hair and piercing red eyes, his body full of bruises, and his clothes were tattered
"Oh! This damn kid again," someone muttered.
"Why is it always him? Every time I see him, he causes trouble."
Izagani didn't understand why everyone hated him. He had only glanced at the fruits — hungry, with no intention of stealing them. Yet their anger cut straight through him.
Then something whispered in his ear, an unforeseen being.
Kill them! Kill them! Izagani!
And he lost his mind, nearly controlled by the unseen being, but luckily, his thoughts came back to the present as he was about to take another blow from the man
Just happened, he noticed the man got slow, he didn't know why, but seized this chance to escape.
As he ran, he couldn't forget the being that had whispered to him.
And he stumbled upon a broken, shabby old house, his refuge, which was empty and isolated from everyone else. Then he thinks again about what happened to him earlier, he feels a sense of familiarity as he experienced the same feeling before, then, without a second thought, a dark past suddenly bursts into him, a memory that he buried long ago but always haunted him.
He was only four at the time, growing up in the orphanage, with no memory of his real family.
One day, while wandering the streets alone, he saw a little girl crying under a tree.
"She was pretty—adorable. Her hair shone like sunlight, and her eyes were as deep as the ocean. Izagani couldn't look away. Curious and concerned, he stepped closer."
"Hey! Why are you crying?" he asked, his voice small and innocent.
"I—I got lost… I can't find my parents," the girl sobbed. "I don't know what to do!"
"Parents? What's that?" Izagani tilted his head, puzzled.
The girl paused, staring at him with tearful eyes. She sniffled before answering softly, "Parents are the ones who give birth to you and take care of you."
Izagani blinked. "I don't know who gave birth to me… The only thing I know is that Mother Maria found me on the orphanage doorstep. Since then, she and the others have taken care of me."
The girl smiled faintly. "Then you're an orphan… But you still have a parent. My mom always says being a parent isn't just about blood—it's about love, care, and sacrifices. So Mother Maria is your parent. You're lucky! Even if you don't know your birth parents, someone still chose to love you and raise you."
As they shared their stories, time slipped by unnoticed.
"By the way, I forgot to ask—what's your name?" he asked.
But before she could answer, her parents arrived. It was already late afternoon. Her mother and father rushed toward her, faces pale with worry.
"My poor baby! Are you alright?"
"Did you get hurt? Did someone harm you?"
"Mom, Dad! Don't worry—I wasn't alone. He stayed with me the whole time," the little girl said, pointing behind her.
But when they turned, the boy was gone. Only the bushes swayed, as though someone had just slipped away.
The father narrowed his eyes. For a moment, he thought he saw a small figure retreating into the shadows. But with his daughter trembling in his arms, he pushed the thought aside. Still… his gaze lingered on the trees, unsettled.
That day, something changed in Izagani. For the first time, he understood what "parents" truly meant. And even as an orphan, he felt proud and thankful—because someone had chosen to love him.
When he returned to the orphanage, it was already night. Mother Maria and the other children were frantic with worry; they had been searching for him for five hours straight.
Tears welled in Mother Maria's eyes when she saw him enter through the gate. "Izagani!" she cried, rushing to him. "Thank God you're safe! Were you hurt? Did anyone bully you?"
"I'm okay… and very well, Mom!" He replied with a small smile.
Mother Maria froze. For a moment, it felt like a heavy weight had lifted from her heart. Her lips trembled. "Say that again… I want to hear it again."
"I'm okay?"
"No, not that…"
"I'm very well, Mom?"
Mother Maria broke down, hugging Izagani tightly, crying into his shoulder. In that moment, she remembered the dream she once buried—to become a mother to orphans like her.
Later that night, Izagani told everyone what had happened—about the crying girl, what she had said, and how he finally came to understand love and family. The children sat wide-eyed, whispering in awe.
Mother Maria wiped her tears and smiled with pride.
From that day on, the children began calling her "Mom."
"You're growing up well, Izagani," she said softly. "That girl… Do you remember her name?"
Izagani scratched his head. "I asked her, but her parents came before she could answer, Mom."
Mother Maria's smile widened as she heard that word again.
The next morning, Izagani returned to the place where he had met the little girl, determined to know her name. He waited under the same tree. Hours passed, then the day itself slipped away. Still, he waited patiently, hoping for another chance to see her.
But she never came. Not even a trace of her presence remained.
At last, as the sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the dirt path, Izagani walked back to the orphanage. From the top of the hill, he could see it standing in the distance.
Something felt wrong.
The gate hung open. A heavy silence gripped the air.
And on the ground… lay blood.
Fresh. Dark. Red.