Narukaze sat at the far end of the long cafeteria table, staring at the small bowl of rice in front of him. The watery broth did little to fill his stomach, but he ate quietly, keeping his eyes down. Around him, children laughed, shoved each other, and whispered insults. "Save some for the rats, loser!" someone sneered. He ignored them. Survival meant not drawing attention, even if it crushed his pride.
He finished his meager meal, leaving scraps behind. Nobody noticed. Nobody cared. Narukaze had always been weak, invisible, and alone. Every day was the same: eat, sleep, survive.
Outside, the wind rustled through the orphanage yard, carrying the laughter of stronger children, the ones who always seemed to get everything handed to them. Narukaze's stomach tightened, but not just from hunger. He felt the weight of being forgotten, of being the smallest and weakest in a world that didn't care.
Yet, even in that quiet misery, a spark of determination stirred deep inside him. He didn't know why, and he didn't know how, but he had a feeling that one day, he would rise beyond the weak boy everyone dismissed.
For now, he stayed silent, ate his meal, and waited for the day his life would change.