1899, Berlin.
In a slum lived a sixteen-year-old boy named Wilhelm Becker. He had short black hair, a dull face, and dark, emotionless eyes. His skinny body was covered in bruises and dust, as if the city itself had beaten him down.
He sat in an alley and thought to himself, I haven't eaten for three days. The hunger is killing me. What's the point of living anyway?
The mobs are nearby. If I don't move, they'll kill me.
He let out a slow breath and muttered, "Dog shit… I wish we could have completed our promise, Karl."
1891, 27th October — Munich
A boy with long brunet hair falling down to his neck stood under the sunlight. His blue eyes shone brightly, and there was something almost delicate about the way he looked. He waved at Wilhelm and said, "Hey… are you new here?"
Wilhelm glanced at the boy and replied without emotion, "Yes."
The boy stepped closer, closing the distance between them. He curled his lips into a friendly smile and said, "I'm Karl Müller. I live in the nearby slums. Do you have any place to stay… or any parents?"
Startled by Karl's overly friendly behavior, Wilhelm stepped back. Anger crept into his voice as he replied, "Why are you trying to be so friendly? I know you're here to steal my food. Just because I'm an orphan and have nowhere to live doesn't mean I'm weak."
Karl blinked, confused by Wilhelm's reaction. "Hey, hey, calm down," he said. "I'm an orphan too. I've got a small place to sleep at night in the slums. If you want, we can live together. No bad intentions."
Wilhelm paused for a moment, then replied coldly, "No. I have my own ways to survive."
He turned away and walked toward a nearby alley.
Behind him, Karl shouted, "Wait—what's your name?"
Wilhelm stopped just long enough to answer, "Wilhelm Becker."
A few days later, Wilhelm tried to steal food from a shop. The owner noticed him. Shouting followed, footsteps closed in, and Wilhelm ran—barefoot, breath burning—until he finally escaped.
Later, he sat in a quiet alley near the slums, his back against a cold wall. Hunger twisted inside him, and exhaustion weighed on his limbs. His thoughts felt heavy, scattered.
Suddenly, a loaf of bread landed near his feet.
Wilhelm flinched and looked to his side. Karl stood there, smiling brightly at him.
Wilhelm stared at the bread, then at Karl, and asked with a confused voice, "What is the meaning of this?"
Karl sighed. "Wilhelm, you can't live in this city without anyone's help. After all," he added with a grin, "you're not as talented as me."
Wilhelm lowered his gaze and muttered, "Narcissist."
"HEY! HEY!" Karl snapped. "You know I can hear you. Whatever—just come with me."
Wilhelm picked up the bread and followed Karl, eating as he walked. After a few minutes, Karl stopped at a small open area where a single tent stood.
Karl turned around, curled his lips into a proud smile, and said, "This is my little classroom."
Wilhelm's eyes widened. They sat near the tent, asking each other questions—about the city, survival, and the world beyond the slums. After a while, Karl asked, "So… what's your dream?"
Wilhelm paused. "A dream?" He shook his head. "I don't have one. What about you, Karl?"
Karl's eyes lit up. "One day, I want to create a classroom for everyone. I want to teach them the meaning of life… and explore the wonders of this world—and beyond. That's my dream."
Wilhelm listened in silence, then said softly, "I hope I can be a part of that classroom."
Karl laughed. "Dummy. We're going to be the teachers."
They both laughed.
From that day on, they spent their time stealing food, gathering knowledge, and enjoying life—if only for a little while.
Two months later.
Men dressed in black surrounded Karl's tent. Their footsteps were slow, deliberate, as if they had all the time in the world.
Wilhelm noticed them first.
A sharp fear pierced his chest. He ran toward Karl, breath tearing at his lungs, words spilling out in panic as he warned him.
Karl listened in silence.
"I have something important to say to you," Karl said.
"But—" Wilhelm tried to speak.
Karl raised his hand. His face went blank, stripped of warmth.
"My father was a mob leader," he said calmly. "Those men… they belong to a rival group. After my father's fall six months ago, they started brutally killing my family hanging them to a tree using there esophagus, sometimes burning them and creating a devil symbol with their ash and keeping the heart in middle and and many more horrible ways,but they always chopped of their victims heads."
He looked past Wilhelm, toward the figures in black. "It seems I'm the last name left."
Wilhelm's knees shook. "What are you going to do now, Karl…?" His voice collapsed into sobs.
Karl placed a steady hand on Wilhelm's shoulder. "Nothing."
"You were my brother," he said softly. "That's enough for me."
He forced a smile. "Run. Run far away. Live. And if you can… make that classroom real. That's our promise."
Wilhelm nodded through tears. "I swear it. I'll do it."
He turned and ran.
Karl watched him disappear into the alleys. Goodbye, brother.
Then he stepped back toward the tent.
The men in black moved.
What followed did not last long.
When it was over, the tent no longer looked like a tent. It sagged unnaturally, soaked, reshaped by what had been done inside. The ground around it was dark and wet, and the air carried a thick, metallic stench that clung to the throat. The tent was decorated with Karl's remains his organs and a circle was build around by his intestine.
The men stood back and admired their work.
The leader putted Karl's head in the same pouch as his other family members.
Then he picked up Karl's still warm heart and put a slash on it and poured his blood on his hand and snipped it and laughed menacingly.
"Ohhh…" one of them murmured. "What a fine piece of art."
Another tilted his head. "I saw a strange boy with this one earlier."
Silence followed.
"Find him," the leader said. "Erase him too."
Back in the present time.
The men in black stood over Wilhelm, looking down at him like carrion waiting for its meal.
One of them spoke coldly, "Boy, you hid well for the past eight years. But today, we'll kill you… and send you to your friend Karl."
Wilhelm met their gaze without fear. His voice was empty when he replied, "I don't care."
A sharp sound cut through the air.
A gunshot echoed.
One of the members asked "leader should we make an art with this one too? "
The leader replied, "there is no need he is not blood related to them, but I will keep his head".
Wilhelm's body collapsed to the ground.
Darkness swallowed his vision.
In that unknown void, faint voices began to echo—layered, distant, and unnatural.
You cannot die yet…
Your promise is not fulfilled…
You must create the BLACK CLASSROOM…
"WAKE UP, 64. WAKE UP."
"Huh…?"
"Hey, it's me. 27. Your roommate."
A boy stood beside the desk. He had an average build, blond hair slicked back neatly, and sharp green eyes. He wore a green uniform, identical in style to the one lying across 64's body.
"You suddenly passed out during the reading period," 27 continued. "You were slumped over your study table."
64's head throbbed.
Who is 64? he thought. I'm Wilhelm. I was killed by those bastards.
Is this the so-called reincarnation…?
"You alright?" 27 asked. "You should rest for a while. We still have to go to Scarlett Hall. The dean is going to announce something important about this magic academy of Celes."
Wilhelm stayed silent.
It's better to pretend, he decided. I need time to understand what's going on.
He forced a faint smile and said, "Okay. I'll take some rest."
27 nodded. "You should."
Then he turned and left the room.
Wilhelm stood up slowly and walked toward the nearest mirror.
The reflection staring back at him was unfamiliar.
An average-looking boy. Long black hair falling over his forehead. Brown eyes. A calm, unbroken face. He wore the same green uniform as 27.
Wilhelm stared at himself for a long moment.
"So…" he muttered, "this is my new body."
A pause.
"…At least it's better than the previous one."
To be continued…