The steam from the green tea rose in thin, dancing spirals, but the air in the room remained cold. Belt's mother sat down heavily, her eyes fixed on the cups. She took a deep, shaky breath to calm her trembling hands. The silence in the house felt like it was made of glass—ready to break at any second. Finally, she began.
"You see him as a block of ice, Quiena," she whispered, her voice cracking. "But Belt hasn't always been this ghost. Before the world broke him... he was like the sun. He was the kind of child who smiled at everyone, a boy who would help a stranger before thinking of himself. He learned that kindness from the man he called 'Dad.' They were inseparable. Video games, movies, long summer vacations... for Belt, that man was his entire world. Everything seemed perfect. It was a beautiful dream."
She paused, her gaze lost in the dark corners of the living room.
"Then came the day the dream died. Belt came home from school, running, clutching a brilliant grade. He wanted to show his father. He wanted that hug, that pride. But the living room was empty. There was only a single white envelope on the table. No suitcase, no goodbye. Just a letter."
She wiped a tear away with the back of her hand.
"In that letter, the man explained that he couldn't stand 'playing the role' of the perfect father anymore. He said he was suffocating. He claimed he was leaving to the other side of the world to finally live his own life, even if it meant abandoning a ten-year-old boy without a word."
Quiena felt a sharp pain in her chest. "That's... that's monstrous," she whispered.
"That's not the part that destroyed him," the mother continued, her voice dropping to a low, jagged rasp. "When Belt read that, he was broken, but he wanted answers. He waited for me to come home. And that is when I committed the irreparable sin. I told him... I told him I already knew. That it was all planned."
Quiena froze. "Planned? What do you mean?"
"The man was not his father," the mother confessed, her face twisting in pain. "We had an agreement. A contract. He was a man I paid to play a role. I wanted Belt to grow up in a 'normal' family, with a father figure to guide him. Every hug, every game, every 'I love you'... it was all a stage play. A professional performance paid for with my savings."
"A stage play?" Quiena repeated, her mind reeling. "His entire childhood was a script?"
"Belt asked me about his real father. I told him the truth then, and it was even worse. His biological father is a powerful, wealthy businessman. We met at university, but when I told him I was pregnant, he refused to believe me. His family treated me like a criminal. He didn't fight for us. He chose his money and his status over his own blood. That day, Belt's soul didn't just break—it vanished. He understood that a rich man could 'delete' his existence, and that his own mother had built his life on a lie. Since that day, he locked himself in his room. He doesn't believe in people anymore. For him, every human emotion is just a mask for hypocrisy."
The mother began to sob, her shoulders shaking. "I just wanted to protect him! But I killed the boy I loved by surrounding him with lies!"
Quiena stood up and gently placed her hand on the woman's shoulder. The tragedy of Belt's life was now clear. He used logic because the truth was too painful. He used silence because words had lied to him his whole life.
"It wasn't your fault, ma'am," Quiena said with a firm, determined voice. "You did what you thought was right. But your son isn't a victim anymore. He's a genius. He's strong. And I will be there to help him stand up, no matter how many times the world tries to push him down."
Suddenly, the floorboards creaked. Heavy, rhythmic footsteps echoed on the stairs.
Belt appeared. He was dressed in his new black training gear, the dark fabric making his red hair stand out like a flame. His eyes were sharp, glowing with a new, dangerous determination. He stopped when he saw the two women, sensing the heavy, suffocating atmosphere in the room.
"What's going on?" he asked, his brow furrowing. "Why does it feel like a funeral in here?"
Quiena stood up quickly, forcing a bright, artificial smile. "Oh, nothing! Just girl talk, Belt. You wouldn't understand."
Belt looked at her suspiciously for a long moment. He scanned the room, looking for a logical explanation, then shrugged. "Fine. Let's go. I shouldn't be late."
"Late?" Quiena asked, trying to recover her breath. "Where are we going?"
"Where I am going," Belt corrected her coldly. "I'll drop you off at your street. Come on. Move."
They walked in silence as the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting Krow City in shades of bruised purple and orange. When they reached the alley where their paths separated, Quiena stopped abruptly.
"Belt..." she said, her voice trembling. "If I do something stupid... will you forgive me?"
Belt sighed, not even looking back. "You always do stupid things, Quiena. It's your primary setting. I don't see what would be n—"
He never finished the sentence.
Quiena grabbed the collar of his hoodie and pulled him down. She pressed her lips against his in a sudden, desperate kiss. It was an electric shock—a collision of two worlds. For a second, the logic of the universe stopped. The sound of the city faded away.
Then, as quickly as she had grabbed him, she let go. Her face was a brilliant, burning red.
"Sorry!" she screamed, her voice echoing off the brick walls. She turned and ran away as if she were fleeing a crime scene. "See you tomorrow!"
Belt remained frozen in the middle of the street, his arms hanging uselessly at his sides. His genius brain had just suffered a catastrophic "404 Error." He touched his lips, his mind spinning in circles. The logic was gone. The math didn't add up. "Why...? What just happened?"
Still in a state of shock, he arrived at the old training ground like a robot on autopilot. Uncle Jisk was already there, sitting on his usual bench. At his feet, an old, grumpy bulldog with a folded face was snoring loudly.
Jisk looked up, and when he saw Belt's dazed, wide-eyed expression, he burst into a loud, booming laugh.
"Damn it, kid!" Jisk shouted, his eyes twinkling with mockery. "Why are you making that face? You look like you just swallowed a fly or met a ghost on the way here! Is the Tiger already scared of the dark?"