My name is Kirian. I'm 18 years old and still stuck in middle school. It's ridiculous, but that's the reality.
After Carl's attack, I fled from that alley and disappeared into the crowd of the main street. Blending into strangers was the only way to lose that idiot.
I live in a country called Kapri, specifically in a city named Newgus.
I'm an orphan. My mother died shortly after giving birth to me, and my father… well, he's a different kind of death.
I live with my maternal grandparents.Though calling it "living" is generous.
Kapri is one of the world's leading powers, both economically and militarily. Its cities shine on the surface, but underneath, it's rotting.
This country thrives on exploitation, cruelty, and corruption—especially toward the smaller nations it once colonized or destroyed. One of those is Basan, my mother's homeland.
She was Basani. I'm a Kaprian by birth, but with Basani blood. That's where the hatred starts.
My grandfather once told me my mother died from complications after childbirth. That's the official version.
But I found a page from her diary hidden in a box of her things, kept secret by the same grandfather.
In that note, she wrote that she was sorry for being too weak to raise me. She couldn't face me, couldn't accept me, and was crushed that I wasn't the son of her Basani husband.
My biological father? A Kaprian soldier. According to my grandfather, that bastard raped my mother during the war and murdered her husband in front of her.
That war, started by Kapri for bogus reasons, tore through Basan and Qori. It left my mother with trauma, a dead husband, and a child from her enemy. And that child was me.
No one wanted me. No one accepted me. No one except Grandpa Hamo. The rest of the family hated me for being a living reminder of violation and betrayal.
They pressured my mother to abort me. She refused, not because she loved me, but because she clung to the hope that I was her husband's son.
Even after I was born, she was cursed, shunned, and blamed. Eventually, she chose the exit they all silently demanded except me, she ended her own life.
This is where my identity splits. Half of me feels disgusted and worthless. The other half holds tight to the fact that my mother endured all that just to let me exist. That contradiction programmed me to hate myself, yet unwilling to erase myself.
The worst part? No one ever expected me, not the world, not my family, not even the woman who gave birth to me. I'm not suicidal, but I don't fear death. That's a terrifying place to be.
So, you'll grew up hating everything when you've been hated from birth. It's not rebellion. It's not edgy teenage angst. It's the quiet desire of a child left to rot in a world that pretends he shouldn't exist.
After fifteen minutes of walking, I reached my grandfather's house.
The lights were off. The only sound was the ticking of the old clock. It's 10 PM.
I closed the door behind me carefully. In the darkness, I noticed a dim light coming from the kitchen, and red stains at the entrance.
The color was unmistakable.
My pulse quickened. I crept forward, heart pounding, mind racing with possibilities. Second step in..
A presence behind me.
Cold. Heavy. Real.
I spun around.
And there he was. My old grandfather, Hamo, flashing a toothless grin as he poked me in the stomach.
"Boo."
I let out a shaky breath. "Grandpa… you scared me."
He chuckled. "Did I really?"
"Yeah. What's with the red stain on the floor? And why's the fridge open?"
He flicked on the light. "Ah, that. I was trying to sneak some of your chips. Took the ketchup and didn't realize the bottle was open. Spilled it all over myself and the floor. Changed my shirt. Forgot the fridge. Ha!"
I laughed, relieved. "No worries. I'll clean it up. Where's Grandma?"
"She went to bed an hour ago. Said she was tired. But I waited for you, we need to talk."
---
While I cleaned, my thoughts spiraled. What was that look on his face? Was I in trouble? Did Grandma do something again? Would she try to throw me out like before?
Maybe they're right. Maybe I deserve the hate. I mean, who else in the family was ever treated like this? Who else was ever accused of being the son of a rapist soldier?
Humans are selfish. Even my mom, she kept me not for love, but because she hoped I was his son. Not me.
After cleaning up, I joined Grandpa on the couch.
"Here I am. What did you want to talk about?"
Grandpa's tone turned serious.
"You're 18 now. A man. Free to make your own choices. But don't mistake freedom for license. As believers, we live by God limits. But life is beautiful, my son."
He looked me straight in the eye.
"Life is filled with beauty. You've seen some. You'll see more. There will always be bitterness, but that's balance. Love yourself. That's what matters. Not who hates you. Not who loves you. But your love for yourself is what defines your life."
I blinked. "My love for myself?"
"Yes," he said. "If you love yourself, people will love you properly. If you hate yourself, people will sense it—and either avoid you or exploit you. But being hated just for who you are? That's impossible."
That broke something inside me.
Impossible?
So... what have I been living, Grandpa?
You think I imagined the beatings? The insults? Grandma's hatred? The starvation, the threats, the way your other grandkids treated me like garbage?
You think being born of mixed blood in a country that despises my origin is just a misunderstanding?
I wanted you to be the one who got it. But maybe you don't.
I'm sorry, Grandpa. But tonight, it's my first time I'm disappointed in you.
While I sat there drowning in silence, Grandpa kept speaking.
"I've saved 570K dollars over the year for my heart surgery. But I'm giving it to you. My time is done. Yours is beginning. Use it. Live where you want. Build your life. Don't worry about fundraising. The surgery costs nearly two million anyway. Lina, your grandmother, still believes I can be saved. Don't tell her about this. Good night, son."
He left the room.
I didn't move. I didn't hear his words. My mind had wandered into that familiar storm.
Eventually, I fell asleep on the couch.
---
I dreamed of a cottage, an old one. I was playing with a white cat. It teased me with soft bites that weren't really bites.
Then I saw a black cat by the window.
Behind it..
A tank.
Its cannon aimed directly at me.
It fired.
I woke up, choking on air, lying on the ground. Dust in my mouth. Trees around me. Blue sky above.
Was I still dreaming?
I looked down. Black shirt. Green cargo pants. A small black waist bag. A strange black bracelet on my wrist, no clasp, no seam. Like it was a part of me.
Then came a voice for nowhere.
A woman's voice.
"Hello, warriors. I'm Julie, your AI guide. Most of you will die in this journey. It is my great honor to welcome you to the fifth edition of our beloved game filled with the color of roses… Battle Royale."
To be continued...