"Didn't I tell you to do the chores properly, you rascal?!" she shouted, swinging the broom. "And here you are, smooching off me like a fool!"
The broom came down again and again.
The boy curled inward, arms raised to shield his head, dust scattering across the floor.
Tears streamed down his pale cheeks as he whimpered, "P-please… m-ma… I'm sorry… don't hit me… please…"
Her heavy breaths filled the room, anger radiating like heat, mixing with the dull, relentless sound of bristles striking flesh.
It had always been like this.
He didn't know how many times she had hit him, didn't know how long the punishment would last.
He didn't even know why—but somehow, he felt it wouldn't matter if he did.
"JUST WHY—!! WHY DO YOU HAVE HIS APPEARANCE, YOU BRAT?!!!"
She screamed as the broom finally shattered on the last strike, splinters embedding into his bleeding skin.
"If only... If only I had never met your bastard father! I wouldn't be in this mess!" she spat, forehead scrunched with deep hatred.
It was his own mother who loathed him...
But still, he longed for her love.
Even if it was just for once.
Just once.
When she finally saw the blood, she paused.
Her eyes met his, and saw a malnourished, trembling boy whose tears spilled from eyes that silently begged for love and forgiveness.
"If only you weren't alive… cursed brat…" she thought, the words heavy with both pity and disgust.
She left without looking back.
The boy can only bite the inside of his cheek to stop a whimper.
His trembling voice was barely audible, "I-It's o… okay, Keita… I'm sure m-mama is just t-tired from work…"
The blood on his arm dripped slowly to the floor.
To him, it was… just another day.
Another day which she finally spoke to him after four days of silence.
Somehow, he was glad, even though the tears wouldn't stop for some reason.
"B-but it h-hurts… really…" he whispered.
BANG—!
The door slammed, making him flinch.
With each thump of his mother's heels, it felt like an unspoken goodbye.
"I-If only I wasn't… c-cursed…" he murmured, standing on trembling legs, bruises and cuts marking his body.
When he glanced at the mirror, he saw the features of a man he didn't know, traits inherited from a father he had never met.
And then it happened.
Something unnatural.
The blood on his arm stopped flowing.
The splinters that had pierced his skin fell to the floor, untouched. His body was unharmed, yet he hadn't moved a finger.
"I… I just want to be n-normal…" he whispered, tears spilling once more.
He didn't understand it.
Why did he have this power? Why had it made his mother hate him even more?
Why… was he cursed?
...
Four years ago.
It was a day different from the usual—different from the endless neglect and abuse he would later endure.
His mother only ignored him, as always, but today there were no strikes, no discipline.
It was the day when everything started.
The year that started the beatings.
The day he first felt it vividly.
Keita sat at the dinner table, picking at his food.
His mother glanced at him, voice sharp, "Keita, eat your food quickly. Don't waste my time. I still have to work."
He stayed silent, obedient as always.
But something stirred inside him, something familiar yet mysterious. It was stronger than before.
As he chewed, he merely blinked—and suddenly the world felt wider.
He looked at his mother, and the space between them seemed to stretch.
Huh…? What's happening? How is mama… moving away?
The distance kept growing. Fear finally shot through him.
His eyes twitched as a sharp pain split his head.
He whispered, "N… no…"
"MAA—!!" he screamed, trying to leap from his chair, but instead he fell.
Fell deeper into a darkness that wasn't darkness, a space that wasn't space.
"... d-don't leave…"
Fear consumed him. His vision blurred. The world around him finally shifted.
Through the haze, he thought he saw his mother running toward him—but he couldn't hear her.
Only the overwhelming sensation of separation, cold, and pain.
Then her voice broke through, "KEITA—! KEITA, WAKE UP—!!"
He opened his eyes. His mother's face was a mask of panic. His tiny body was trembling, and red streaks stained his cheeks.
She thought he had been foolish again, a nuisance.
Her hatred wasn't truly for him—it was for the reminder of that day, and for the man he resembled.
The man who abandoned her.
...
The day Natsuki Keita was born.
"Kyahh~ how can a baby be this cute?" a nurse exclaimed.
"I know, right~? White hair and blue eyes… such a rare albino!" another laughed, cradling him.
Ayase lay in the bed, exhausted, fragile.
She touched her child, voice weak, "N-nurse… did his father… answer the call?"
The nurse shook her head.
"We tried, Mrs. Ayase. Many times, but no one really answered."
Tears welled in her eyes as she muttered under her breath, barely audible, "Y-You bastard…"
The child in her arms—so small, so innocent—looked up at her with hair and eyes that reminded her of him.
Gojo Satoru.
He had been her boyfriend, but months had passed without a word, without acknowledgment that they were still a couple.
After a year of waiting in vain, she was forced to face the truth.
She had been 'abandoned'.
Left alone with a child born from a single mistake.
Raising him alone for four years had already pushed her to her limit.
Every day, she worked three jobs to survive and to keep her child alive.
Every day, she saw in him the same white hair, the same blue eyes, the same features that reminded her of the man who had left her.
And every day, that resemblance made her loathe her own son.
She didn't abandon him—not yet—not because she didn't want to, but because she refused to become like Satoru.
It was her thin line of pride and ego.
...
Wiping his tears, Keita began cleaning the house. It had become part of his daily routine.
Hands on his hips, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs, he muttered, "L-Let's stop… c-crying now. I still have so much to do..."
Looking after the house was all he could do.
It was the only thing he could think of to make his mother notice him—even for just a little.
As he picked up scattered chips from the broken broom, a strange energy began to stir in his hands.
A faint red glow formed on his palms.
When he dropped each chip into it, they simply ceased to exist, devoured by an invisible force.
He continued with the other end of the broom, piece by piece, as tears fell freely. The wood vanished as if erased from existence.
This was his power.
The very thing that made his mother fear him, that had branded him as 'cursed'.
He hated it so much.
He wanted it gone.
He wanted to be "normal".
But one day, he discovered anime and saw people wielding powers, conjuring things from thin air.
Performing feats that resembled his own.
He saw how other people became happy when people like him helped them.
Families smiled again after being rescued by mages.
Parents hugged their children tightly, laughter breaking through tears that had been held back for too long.
Homes that should have been lost were saved, and hope returned where fear once lived.
Keita watched it all from behind the screen, chest aching in a way he didn't understand.
If I help people…
Will mama... smile at me like that too...?
The mages on TV were praised, loved, called heroes. They were never called cursed.
Their powers were beautiful—something to be admired, something that brought people together.
Keita clenched his small hands.
He wanted that.
Not the praise. Not the title.
Just the warmth.
The way parents wrapped their arms around their children, the way someone looked at you like you mattered simply for being there.
It was then that he fell in love with magic, trying to mimic what he saw in his spare moments.
He didn't understand how it worked, but the energy inside his body obeyed his will. Whatever he imagined, it somehow happened.
This might also be the reason why 'it' came to life.
"Keita, are you okay...?"
A soft, comforting voice came from behind.
Rubbing his eyes, Keita smiled faintly, "I'm okay, Captain Pengi… I'm used to it, after all."
His gaze dropped, sad but steady.
Squik~ squik~ squik!
Suddenly, the penguin stuffed toy darted forward, tapping Keita's thigh with a soft squishing sound each time it moved.
"Keita, I'm always here for you, you know."
Easing into a playful tone, the toy added, "Ehem~ then how about I make an exception today and let you hug me?"
Without hesitation, Keita dove into Pengi's soft body, burying his face into the comforting warmth.
"Just for a while… I promise I'll clean afterward," he whispered.
Captain Pengi gently tapped his back, holding him in return.
Gradually, Keita calmed down.
In response, he hugged Pengi tighter, making the toy flinch slightly.
So soft~ Pengi~!
"Ke-keita… l-let go… Keita," Pengi stammered.
Keita released him immediately, eyes downcast.
"Ah, sorry, Captain Pengi… it's just… you're so cute," he murmured, fingers intertwined.
"Sigh... well, we can't help it. I was born cute after all~"
"But after we finish cleaning, who knows, maybe I'll let you hug me again..." Pengi said, turning his back playfully.
"R-Really?!" Keita's eyes sparkled like stars. "Then let's clean now!"
Grabbing the broken broom, he set to work.
Pengi silently thought, Just how much are you willing to endure, Keita...?
"Start with the floor first. I'll tidy the bedroom," Pengi said, waddling toward the small storage room Keita always slept in.
Keita nodded without complaint.
He grabbed the rag and knelt on the floor, scrubbing carefully, methodically—far too practiced for a child his age.
Every movement was precise, as if mistakes weren't allowed.
The storage room was barely large enough for a futon and a box of clothes.
Pengi paused at the entrance.
"…This again," he muttered.
The futon was neatly folded, corners aligned with obsessive care.
There were no toys. No drawings. No signs that a child lived here—only order.
Too much order.
As Pengi began to clean, his gaze caught on faint marks along the wall.
Old scratches. Dried stains that no amount of scrubbing could fully erase.
His flippers clenched.
Outside, Keita hummed softly to himself as he worked, a cheerful tune from some anime he liked.
The sound clashed painfully with the room Pengi stood in.
"…Keita," Pengi whispered, though he knew the boy wouldn't hear him.
For nearly two hours, the two companions worked side by side, sweeping, washing dishes, folding clothes, and erasing garbage with what Keita imagined as "magic."
It was their routine. Their world.
Locked inside, forbidden to go outside, these small moments—tidying the home, playing with his only friend—were his comfort.
...
"Captain Pengi~! I'm done!"
Pengi exhaled slowly before removing his small, tattered apron, forcing a smile onto his round face.
"…Good work."
Finally, their house cleaning was done.
Both sat on the sofa, taking in the space they had restored.
The lingering stench of alcohol was gone, replaced by a faint shimmer of cleanliness.
At eight years old, Keita had mastered every household chore without guidance.
Though he had learned them all the "hard way".
Sliding off his sweat-drenched T-shirt, he turned to Captain Pengi, "Pengi, can you dry my shirt, please~!"
He fanned himself while Pengi extended his tiny flipper-like hands.
Almost instantly, a cold, icy wind swirled around, brushing against Keita's skin.
He shivered, then smiled, "Thank youuu~!"
"If I wasn't here, how pitiful you'd be…" Pengi muttered, sighing.
Keita turned to him, eyes bright, a genuine smile on his face.
"That's why I'm thankful you're here, Captain Pengi~!"
Pengi's head tilted sideways, shy under the praise. He conjured a popsicle with a small flick of energy.
"Hmph~ Don't look at me like that... Here—eat this instead!"
Keita took it happily. Though the popsicle was plain and flavorless, it somehow tasted amazing to him.
Pengi inwardly sighed.
He had known the truth for over two years now.
He was a "cursed spirit".
Instinctively, he knew.
But the truth had to be hidden to protect the child who had subconsciously created him.
Keita hated the word "cursed" more than anything, believing his powers and Pengi's very existence were simply "magic".