Saino — A Past Written Before Birth
Saino's earliest memory was not of pain, nor of sound.
It was warmth.
Small hands wrapped around him.
A fragile heartbeat—uneven, yet gentle.
His mother's face hovered above him, pale and exhausted, yet glowing with a fragile happiness that felt almost unreal.
She smiled when she saw him.
That smile was real.
She had spent most of her life inside hospital walls, breathing recycled air, watching days pass through narrow windows. Tubes, medicines, and whispered conversations between doctors defined her world.
And yet, in that moment, none of it mattered.
She looked at Saino as if he were her entire universe.
She did not know.
She never knew.
While she lay in hospital beds, unaware, decisions were being made elsewhere.
Before Saino was born, a scientist had already devoted years to a single obsession.
To break the final barrier of the human mind.
Conscious thought was slow—limited, hesitant, bound by fear and doubt.
But beneath it existed something far more powerful.
The subconscious.
If one could command it completely, hesitation would disappear.
Fear would lose meaning.
Human limits would cease to exist.
The scientist had tried before.
Again and again.
Every failure ended the same way.
Death.
Children whose minds could not withstand the process simply collapsed.
Their bodies were buried.
Their names erased.
Yet the scientist continued.
When Saino's mother was pregnant—weak, hospitalized, drifting between pain and medication—the scientist spoke privately to Saino's father.
"If this succeeds," he said, his voice steady, almost reverent,
"your son will become an unexpected existence. A human beyond humanity."
He did not mention the bodies.
He did not mention the graves.
And Saino's father did not ask.
Permission was given.
The night Saino was born, the delivery room was tense.
Machines hummed softly.
Doctors watched the screens more than the child.
Then—
The readings stabilized.
The baby cried.
The scientist stared at the data… and began to laugh.
It was not relief.
It was triumph.
Years of obsession had finally produced a result.
The experiment had succeeded.
The scientist did not live long enough to witness what Saino would become.
Once the data was secured—once the results were undeniable—the man vanished.
No arrest.
No scandal.
No investigation.
Only silence.
Those who knew understood what that silence meant.
Some secrets were too dangerous to exist.
As Saino grew, his mind awakened at an abnormal pace.
At five years old, he solved problems meant for university professors.
Not through calculation—but through instinct.
Patterns revealed themselves instantly.
Solutions felt obvious, as if they had always existed.
Adults watched him with awe.
They never saw the fear hidden behind their admiration.
One afternoon, as Saino quietly wrote on a sheet of paper, the door opened.
A white-haired man entered, smiling warmly.
"Dear kid," he said gently,
"let's go. It's time to have some fun."
It was never fun.
Day after day, Saino was taken away.
Questions became traps.
Conversations became tests.
Even silence became pressure.
The white-haired man was the world's greatest master of psychology and manipulation—a man who had broken leaders, reshaped criminals, and controlled crowds with words alone.
Months later, he stood before Saino's father, visibly shaken.
A memory flashed through his mind—
"Hey, kid. Tell me your name."
The smile he had worn back then had not been meant for a child.
"It doesn't work," he admitted quietly.
"He resists manipulation instinctively. Worse—he learns it."
The man swallowed.
"In months, he absorbed my entire life's work. My methods. My rhythms. I have nothing left to teach him."
A child had surpassed him.
Despite everything, Saino remained gentle.
In the hospital room, he sat beside his mother's bed, speaking endlessly about the world—about ideas far beyond his age.
She listened, smiling weakly, laughing softly.
"My son," she said, reaching out to touch his hair,
"you're such a good boy."
Saino hesitated, then asked quietly,
"Mother… why should I help others?"
She looked at him gently.
"You shouldn't help because you expect something in return," she said.
"You shouldn't live only for yourself. Live for others too. That's why… you should help them."
Saino smiled.
"Yes, Mother," he said softly.
"I will."
They talked for a while longer.
At the end, she reached out again, her fingers brushing through his long hair.
"I like your hair, Saino."
That touch—
was the last.
That night was their final conversation.
She died without ever knowing what had been done to her son.
She remained completely unaware of the experiments, the training, the darkness surrounding him.
From that day on, Saino never changed the length of his hair.
It remained exactly the same.
Because that was how it had been when she touched it.
Something else disappeared that day.
Saino did not cry.
Not because he was strong—
but because he no longer knew how.
He forgot how to smile.
Forgot how to cry.
Forgot the meaning of joy.
Her death carved a wound so deep that some emotions were lost forever.
On his way out of the hospital, Saino passed a children's park.
Laughter echoed everywhere.
Except for one place.
A white-haired boy sat alone, head lowered, one hand resting on his knee, eyes empty.
Yagami.
Saino stopped.
He walked up to him and spoke without emotion.
"I don't know why you're like this."
Then, slowly, he reached out his hand.
The scene faded.
Years passed.
At fourteen, Saino stood before his father.
"I'm leaving home," he said calmly.
Inside his mind, a decision had already been made.
I will never use my subconscious power again.
"I want to live like a normal person," he continued.
"I want to understand struggle. I want to see the world without power. I want to know the meaning of my life."
His father did not stop him.
He did not apologize either.
That silence was their final conversation.
Some children are born.
Some are made.
And some are written into existence long before they ever take their first breath.
Saino was one of them.
Present.
Saino lay on the ground, bloodied, exhausted.
After leaving everything behind… this was where he had arrived.
"I came here to understand life," he whispered.
"And all I found was cruelty. Darkness."
His voice trembled.
"So I made one goal," he continued.
"To change it."
"If I die today," he said softly,
"I'll die happy."
A strange warmth spread across his face.
He was smiling.
His eyes widened slightly.
…I'm smiling?
Did I get my emotions back?
If rebirth exists—
Let me be reborn in this new world.
Without subconscious power.
Without destiny.
Let me enjoy this world…
With my friends.
Yagami.
Rue.
we see saino lying on the ground he said after I left all things I came here just because when I understand the life I feel like the world is not that what it should be it is full of cruelty and darkness . I make my one and only goal just to change it if for that today I will die I will die happily by saying this suddenly his we see his face he was smiling his emotion was backed to him he thought
If rebirth exists—
Let me be reborn in this new world.
Without subconscious power.
Without destiny.
Let me enjoy this world…
With my friends.
Yagami.
Rue.
The scene shifts and we see
While the world was collapsing—cities crumbling under massive destruction—we see Rue inside a room, playing the violin.
The sound was loud.
Perfect.
Flawless.
His fingers moved with absolute precision, as if the chaos outside didn't exist. Explosions, screams, earthquakes—none of it mattered to him.
Outside, Yagami stood frozen, confused.
What is happening…?
Then he noticed a small child standing alone near the road.
Suddenly—
A vehicle, thrown out of control by the earthquake, came rushing toward the child.
Yagami's eyes widened.
In an instant, he moved.
With overwhelming speed, he grabbed the child and leapt away just before the vehicle crashed into the ground, shattering everything in its path.
The dust settled.
The child was safe.
Yagami slowly looked around, his expression turning grim.
Then a single thought crossed his mind—
Where are you… Saino?