Rain dripped quietly from the leaking roof of the orphanage. The dim neon light flickered, threatening to go out at any moment.
Valz lay on his thin bed, one hand tucked beneath his head, eyes fixed blankly on the cracked ceiling. His face showed nothing—no worry, no sadness.
"Funny," he thought.
"People are obsessed with deciding who's special just from the type of Aether they have… When in truth, strength depends on how you use it."
His mind wandered back to a certain day four years ago—the day all the children of the orphanage were tested for their Aether.
The small hall had been filled with restless voices as the children waited for their turn. A caretaker stood at the front, clipboard in hand, calling them up one by one.
The first child stepped forward, raised his hand, and sparks of lightning crackled to life.
"Conductor! Excellent," the caretaker announced. The others cheered in awe.
The next child tried, straining with all his might, but nothing appeared.
"…No Aether," the caretaker said flatly. The boy froze, face pale. Whispers spread among the others—some pitying, others snickering.
Then came Valz's turn. He walked forward calmly, his expression unreadable. When he raised his hand, a faint blue glow shimmered around him before fading away.
"Buffer," the caretaker said, marking his clipboard.
The children reacted instantly.
"Buffer? What's that?"
"They say it can boost others, or yourself, but just a little."
"So it's basically useless," one sneered.
"Haha, Valz is gonna be our cheerleader!" another laughed.
A few were less cruel. "Well… better than nothing, I guess."
Valz simply shrugged. He didn't argue, didn't defend himself. He returned to his seat and muttered, "…Okay."
That night, while the others were still laughing and joking about it, Valz was already lying down in bed, eyes closed.
"…Noisy," he thought, and drifted off to sleep.
The memory faded, replaced once more by the sound of rain tapping against the roof. Valz opened his eyes again, now the cold gray eyes of a fourteen-year-old. His gaze was as detached as it had been back then.
The orphanage was on its last legs. Cracked walls, peeling paint, missing furniture—soon, it would be shut down.
As he walked down the corridor, faint voices leaked out from the office behind a half-closed door. Valz paused, listening.
"The Conductors, Manifestors, and the other gifted ones have already been taken," one staff member said.
"Good," the orphanage owner chuckled. "They'll fetch plenty of money."
"And… the ones without Aether?" another asked hesitantly.
"Throw them out," the owner replied coldly. "Like stray kittens. We don't need dead weight."
Silence, then another question.
"What about the Buffer boy… Valz?"
The owner scoffed. "Buffer? The effect is tiny, worthless. No one wants that. He's just trash. Toss him out as well."
Valz stood in the corridor, his expression unchanged. No anger. No sadness. Only a single thought crossed his mind:
"So that's how they decide the value of life. You're either worth something… or you're not."
He turned and walked back to his room, steps steady and unhurried, as if nothing had changed.
Outside, a weathered wooden sign hung at the orphanage gate:
"This Orphanage Will Be Closed."