About

Hernando Romero was born in a small town in southern Spain, surrounded by cheers and the metallic scent of blood for as long as he could remember. Bullfighting—a game permitted only to the brave—was the very honor passed down through his lineage for generations. Bright and cheerful, Hernando was the child his family pinned their greatest hopes on. Possessing an almost instinctive sense for danger, his kin praised him in unison, calling him a "born matador." However, when a young and innocent Hernando first snuck into the bullring to witness his father's bravery under the scorching sun, what seared into his vision was a blood-soaked struggle for survival and a muleta, stained a red more vivid than the sunset, fluttering to the sand. Overwhelmed by the terror of death, he collapsed in tears. But the faces of the adults who had cherished him began to bleed with an undeniable disappointment, and the word "coward" hurled by children his age became a brand of humiliation that clung to him. To "correct" this unacceptable cowardice, his family sent him to train under an uncle—a former matador retired due to injury—who subjected him to brutal discipline. "That's my brave boy," they would say. Bathed in praise, Hernando polished his skills day after day, desperately suppressing the tremors and fear rising in his chest. He learned how to live, how to fight, how to protect others, and how to kill in the face of inevitable death... and how one ought to die for honor. Furthermore, he learned how to warp the shadow-like threat of death into an excitement and pleasure that made his heart race madly. Years passed. Standing formally before a bull in the magnificent twilight, having received his sword and muleta from his godfather, Hernando received applause that shook the mountains for his refined technique and supple movements. In that moment, the same smile his father wore at his death appeared on his face. He could no longer remember the sadness of that day. He only accepted, with envy, the fact that his father's death had birthed such praise, validation, and endless fervor. The audience cheers for those who dance with death and gives unstinting applause to those who warp fear into romance and honor. People everywhere hailed the rising star who appeared like a comet in the bullring. His reckless audacity and increasingly dangerous, stimulating bullfights brought many a feverish afternoon to the land... but every challenge to the limit eventually meets its end. When the flowers faded and the cheers no longer resonated in his heart, a single coincidence lured him from the scorching sunlight into the darkness. There, there were no bothersome rules or constraints. The stake was simply his own life. Hernando fully savored the blood-pumping confrontations wandering the threshold between life and death. Yet, he wonders if the poisonous wine called "danger" and "fear" that has quenched his thirst until now might one day lose its potency—