He asked me, "Who is... and who would be... the strongest person in the world?"
The question hung in the air, heavy and thick.
I answered right away. I didn't think. I didn't doubt it. My brain didn't even have time to process the danger. The words just flew out of my mouth like drops of rain in a storm.
"The person with the most money in the world is also the strongest," I declared. My voice was steady, louder than I expected. "He can buy anything. From wood to houses, to big buildings. He can buy people, he can buy love, cities, and even countries."
I took a breath, but the words kept coming. I couldn't stop them.
"He can ask people to do anything for him. He holds absolute power. He becomes a god in the mortal world. He becomes absolute."
I spoke fast, abruptly. All these thoughts rushed from the deepest parts of my mind to my tongue like a flood. It was intense. It was painful, like the words were physically burning my throat as they clawed their way out. I was about to keep going, to say more, to list every single thing money could conquer, but then he raised his hand.
One simple motion.
I stopped instantly. I sat still like a stone.
The silence that followed was heavy. It pressed against my eardrums.
Terror filled me. Cold, sharp panic. Horror gripped my stomach. Did I speak too harshly? Was my answer wrong? Did I just insult the man holding my life in his hands? Will he kill us now?
My heart hammered against my ribs, hard enough to hurt. I forced myself to look up. I looked at his eyes behind the mask.
They were not angry. They were not sad. They were not disappointed. They were just there, looking at me. Deep and empty. Like looking into a dark well where no light could reach. It was terrifying because I couldn't read him at all.
"Yes. In the context of this modern world, that is absolutely true," he said.
His voice was composed now. Smooth. He didn't lose his temper this time. He was still, thoughtful. He seemed like someone entirely new, shedding the skin of the monster he was just moments ago.
"You can buy almost anything with money in this entire world," he continued, his voice lowering to a rumble. "But still… still there are some things you cannot buy, even if you have all the wealth of heaven and earth."
He leaned forward slightly. The leather of his chair creaked. The room felt smaller.
"What do you want to become, kid?" he asked me again, looking straight into my eyes with a calm, fatherly gaze.
The way he looked at me… it was strange. It wasn't the look of a killer. It was soft. It confused me.
But I knew the answer. I had known it for nine long years.
"I don't know who is the richest and strongest person in this world right now but I want to be the next most richest and powerful person in this whole world," I said. "And I want to make my father the, the father of the richest person in the world. It was the last promise I gave him before he died."
I spoke rationally, but with a louder tone. I had more energy than ever before. The words tasted like iron in my mouth. It was my goal. It was my entire life's purpose, and I had said it out loud in front of a stranger.
We were talking about being the strongest and the richest. The air was vibrating with these big ideas. But deep in the back of my mind, a quiet question was asking itself:
What is even the meaning of being strongest? What is the meaning of being richest?
I didn't even know the full scope of these words. I was just a kid from the forest. I didn't know how big the world really was. So how could I claim all this without hesitation? Without stuttering? Without flinching?
It felt like it was built into me. Stitched into my DNA. Not just to become the richest, but to become something entirely else. Something more.
"Wow. That is a very nice big goal you have, little one," he said.
He sat back, his face unreadable behind that mask.
"But remember, it is not all true."
The words were soft, but they hit me like a slap.
Something inside me snapped. A thin wire holding my sanity together just broke.
The heat rose up my neck. My hands curled into fists. How dare he? How dare he tell me my life's goal is a lie?
"What do you know about me?!" I screamed. My voice cracked, raw and jagged. "What do you know about money? What do you know about anything?!"
I cried out loud. The sound tore through the room.
"My father died because I had no money! I lived nine years in a forest, in an abandoned park, never seeing a soul except my father because I had no money!"
I could feel the forest again. The cold nights. The hunger gnawing at my belly. The loneliness that felt like it would eat me alive.
I cried out again, harder this time. The tears were hot on my face, burning trails down my cheeks.
"The first thing I got when coming to this city was money from that girl! For forgiving her for what she did to me! And you say money is not true?"
I shouted while crying, my body shaking with the force of it. I stood up from my seat. I couldn't stay still. I walked closer and closer to him. I was going to face him straight on. I didn't care anymore. I didn't care if he had a death tool. I didn't care if he was a giant. I wanted him to understand.
Then it hit me.
SLAP.
The sound was like a BANG.
My world spun. My ears rang like crazy. Reeeeee. A high-pitched scream that wasn't human.
I lost consciousness for a second. Just a blink. When my eyes opened, I was falling. I hit the ground hard.
I was in pain. My cheek felt like it was on fire. His hands were too strong. They were too big. My two faces could fit in his one hand. The force was unreal. I feared that he hadn't even used his full strength. If he did, maybe my whole head would be torn apart from my body. Maybe my neck would have snapped like a dry twig.
I was lying on the ground, dizzy. The floor felt cold against my skin. The room was spinning in lazy circles.
He stood up from the chair. The movement was sharp. Violent.
He kicked the chair to the other side of the room in pure anger.
CRASH.
It hit the wall on the other side of the room.
Then he came quickly. I heard his boots slamming against the floor. Fast, heavy steps toward me. Thud. Thud. Thud.
I tried to scramble back, but I was too slow.
He grabbed me by my collar and jerked me up hard. My feet left the ground. I was dangling in his grip violently.
I looked at his mask.
He was crying.
Yes, the masked man was crying. Tears flowed from the dark holes in his mask, dripping down the chin. It was a nightmare image. A monster weeping.
"Kid!!!" he screamed in my face.
"You have truly lived a miserable life with that asshole in the jungles for the past nine years!"
He screamed again. The anger in his voice was terrifying, but it was mixed with something else. Grief?
He cried again. His shoulders shook. His voice broke into jagged pieces.
"I am sorry, kid. I am sorry. I wasn't able to help you. I wasn't able to help you at all. Sorry… please forgive me."
He begged me to forgive him. He was stuttering, choking on his own sobs. His condition was worse than mine. He looked broken. Shattered.
I didn't understand a single thing he said. Not even a word. My brain was stuck.
Why is he saying sorry to me? Why is he in pain? Why does he hate my father? Why did he call him an asshole? Why did he want to help me?
Who even is he?
Is he a friend or a foe?
All those thoughts blasted my mind, seeing this reaction from this man. It made no sense. The calculations didn't add up. The same man who was cold-blooded minutes ago—the man who slapped me to the floor—was now the most fragile thing in this whole world. He was trembling.
As all this was happening, I heard a strange noise from outside.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
It was constant. Rhythmic.
I saw red lights flashing through the window. They painted the room in pulses of blood-red light.
The man stopped. He froze.
He looked down at me, still holding me in the air. Then, his grip loosened. He let go.
I dropped to my feet, stumbling. It was all feeling so fast. It was all happening too fast. My brain couldn't keep up with the shifting reality.
He stood up straight. He wiped the mask with his sleeve. He walked over, grabbed the same chair he threw—it was broken a little, but he didn't care—and brought it back to the center of the room.
I looked into the corner. I could see Mr. Nice Guy. He was huddled there, shaking. He was alive, watching all this with wide, terrified eyes. His daughter was crying slowly, sobbing into her hands, looking at me and the masked man's actions with pure horror.
As the masked man set the chair back in the middle of the room, the noise outside changed.
I started hearing footsteps. Heavy boots on wood. Dozens of them.
They were getting faster. Louder. Closer.
Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.
I looked at the door, hoping. My heart fluttered. Maybe someone has come to help us? Maybe the heroes are here? I prayed for that to be the case. I prayed harder than I ever had in my life.
Then I heard his voice again. The masked man.
"Hey, kid."
I turned to him.
"Remember. You are the true god of this world."
His voice was intense. Crazy.
"You are an anomaly that should never have been born. You are the true king of this world, and one day you will become the leader of this entire world. I am sure of it."
He said all this while screaming like a madman, staring right at me. His eyes were burning through the mask. It felt like he was cursing me and blessing me at the same time.
Then, at the very end, he gained his control back. The madness vanished.
He sat down. He crossed his legs. He looked calm again.
Voices boomed from the other side of the door. Something loud.
"OPEN THE DOOR OR WE WILL BREAK IT DOWN!"
The voices were deep. They were manly. They were sudden and commanding. They demanded obedience.
I looked at the masked man. He was sitting quietly in the chair like there was nothing to worry about.
I was still sitting on the floor, frozen. My legs wouldn't work.
Then I noticed his hand moving.
Slowly, deliberately, he pulled his hand up. He moved it behind his head, finding the clasp of the mask.
He is about to show his face.
I thought to myself. The world seemed to slow down. I was curious. Despite the fear, despite the pain in my cheek, I needed to know. I needed to see what he looked like. How does a person who has given me so much pain look? What kind of monster hides behind that fake face?
As he was uncovering his mask, the voices behind the door became louder and louder.
"BREACHING! BREACHING!"
Pounding on the wood. THUD. THUD. The door frame shook. Dust fell from the ceiling.
The mask clicked.
It slid off his face. The mask fell to the floor with a hollow clatter.
And then I saw his face for the first time.
Time stopped.
The sirens faded. The pounding on the door disappeared. The crying of the girl vanished.
There was only his face.
I can't explain the feeling I experienced. I just can't. It was like the ground opened up and swallowed me whole. It was like being punched in the gut by a ghost.
The first thing that came out of my mouth was a whisper. A breath.
"Father… is that you?"
The resemblance was perfect. The eyes. The jaw. The scar. It was the face of the man who raised me in the woods. The man I mourned.
As I said this, he looked at me with sad eyes. Eyes full of a thousand years of regret.
"Sorry for everything."
His voice was soft. A final goodbye.
Then he brought that tool—to his head.
The metal clicked against his temple.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to run to him. I wanted to stop him.
But I couldn't move.
He pressed the trigger.
BANG.