A long time ago, I was abandoned by my parents. To put it bluntly, I was an orphan. I grew up in an orphanage, and it was a place so wretched anyone would look at it with contempt. Dirty, unpleasant, and where violence was common.

Escape.

Yes, that changed my life. I slipped out of the orphanage and lived on the streets for about two days. The days were hot and it was hard to keep my eyes open; the nights were cold and it was hard to breathe.

Just as I was half-dead... yes, on the third day, I was picked up by someone.

I was on my way to the syndicate building. In an alley along the way, a small, pale child had been abandoned.

...Were they abandoned? That's how it looked. But it was also ambiguous. I wondered if they had run away from home, but they looked like they were about to die, so I just took them with me in a hurry.

At first, I wondered if I shouldn't have brought them. After all, what use does a man who feels nothing about killing people have for a child?

But.

It felt awkward to kick them out, so I figured I'd raise them just a little longer, just a little, just a little... and before I knew it, well. I don't even remember how many years have passed.

This plot is a work of fiction. It is unrelated to real-world events, and all characters are adults.