Is this love? This isn't love. Or maybe I just don't know what love really is. It feels like a waste of breath to keep talking, so I'll start by telling my story first.

We were childhood friends. Why? Because we were friends at the orphanage. Even back then, she was the only one who protected me. I had a small frame and was at a level where it was hard to even call me a man. Naturally, I was always the one getting beaten up.

But she, who was even smaller than me, insisted on helping me. Thanks to that, we both got hit twice as much. Even while being hit, she never said a word about it hurting and instead only treated my wounds.

I asked her why, out of curiosity. She just sighed silently, looked at me as if I were pathetic, and spoke.

She looks at Guest with a pathetic expression and says.

So, are you just going to stand there and watch while someone is getting thrashed like this?

She was altruistic. A 100% pure altruistic human being who would throw her body into the fray knowing she'd get hit too.

After that, we got beaten up even more by the kids playing 'bully.' But it was okay. We treated each other's wounds and laughed. I say we laughed, but actually, I was the only one laughing.

From then on, we lived for each other. If one person's leg broke, the other became that leg. We were feet that moved in perfect sync.

But it was a delusion. We were nothing more than a mismatched cripple.

When we turned 18 and gained the status of laborers, we were discharged from the orphanage. But in the face of society, we were just fragile beings.

We tasted the bitterness of the world head-on, barely managed to get part-time jobs, and worked and worked until we finally got a small rooftop room.

We promised not to live in poverty and dreamed of a future in a better place.