Ring... Ring... Ring...
"You're not one of us, there's no need for you to bear our burdens."
Ring... Ring... Ring...
"The researcher and scholar Eziranth Victorinus was born in the far ends of the city of Kana..."
Ring... Ring...
"Run..."
"As you can see, this is the map, and here is where he was born..."
The ringing of the city tower's bell mixed with faint whispers of mysterious voices, along with the sound of an old woman explaining something.
"Ray, what the hell are you doing? Snap out of your daydreams!"
When I blinked twice, I realized where I was: neatly arranged wooden desks, a square window to my left... I was in school. Without realizing it, the delusions had taken me again.
"What you're doing is unworthy of a model student—"
Shhh...
I touched my head when I felt something inside me crack. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't find any way to focus on the old lady.
Teacher Rebecca let out a dissatisfied sigh upon seeing Ray's quietly lowered head... Then, in a moment, the world began to blur again, becoming just as it always was.
---
Here I am once again, standing in this place that makes me feel like an actor on a stage.School... a scene filled with secondary actors playing roles that never change:the arrogant girl, the violent boy, the sarcastic teacher, and the foolish student... me.
No difference between us, we all walk through the same miserable play, and every time we pass through the same scene, it grows duller.
"Ray, why are you spacing out? Pay attention to the lesson!"
The voices annoy me, but I don't care. I raise my head slowly, as if reclaiming a moment of presence, even though I am somewhere else entirely. I straighten up and say simply, without feeling a single word:
"Sorry, it won't happen again. I'll be more careful this time."
A lie. I don't care. I say it because I know it will be forgotten just like everything else I say.Who cares what I say or do? Even life itself doesn't look my way.
Behind me, the whispers of mockery rise. I don't know if they're about me or just passing sounds in a dull day:
"What an idiot.""His behavior is really embarrassing.""You should grow up.""…"
I turn to them with a carefully drawn smile. Even the smile is nothing but nonsense, just a deception, a distortion of reality. No one truly cares what I say or how I look, because the outcome never changes.
"Sorry."
The class ends as usual, like any other... and with its end, the second act begins immediately, without pause.The actors are eager to become main characters one day. He suddenly heads toward me, and the scene quickly shifts to its peak of violence.
His rushing body makes me feel like I'm just an illusion, unable to escape my fate.
"Hold him tight! I'll teach him a lesson."
Since I was three years old, the children have gotten used to beating me whenever they felt bored during their free time—especially the boy named Jakiro Falhal.It was mostly because of my unusual black hair; no one among the commoners in this kingdom had black hair.Maybe they wanted to call me a demon, but their fear of authority was greater than that...And perhaps I really was strange, since I hadn't inherited my hair color from either of my parents.
---
Here I am, the pitiful character being crushed before the audience's applause.There's no meaning to this scene."How long will I keep playing this role?"
...Who knows...
For a moment, I forgot what kind of expression someone in my position should have—what a big mistake.It made the rhythm of the blows grow faster and faster.No specific pain, but this will leave a mark...
Every hit that lands on me takes a small piece of me away.The first strike felt like lightning, breaking my stance and knocking me to the ground.But I can't stop. I can't escape.
My hands tremble, my heart pounds as if racing against time.I can't think... I just react... like a puppet in someone else's hands.
I look at Jack, and everyone around him now looks blurry. I try to improvise: move my eyes in fear, bite my lip nervously, exaggerated reverence, trembling in terror. I kneel to beg for forgiveness...'Forgiveness... huh... damn it.'
I bit my teeth when I noticed my once-clean clothes now stained with black mud, but I fixed the script. Jack resumed hitting me with a wider grin, wanting to hear more pleading.I say my line, and scream in fear:
"Please... please forgive me. I'll do anything you want... please!"
"You really are a pathetic, spineless wretch, aren't you?"
When such filthy words came out of Jack's mouth, I felt some anger rising within me, but I quickly suppressed it as I should. On the other hand, each word leaving my lips grew weaker than the last, seeping into the void, finding no ears to hear.
Boring... I'm the fool in this role, but I chose it willingly, so what right do I have to refuse it?
But it's still boring, as expected, nothing new is ever added, no one deviates from their script.
Jack's punches grow stronger, faster, and I know I can't stop them.The sounds of the crowd fade in my ears, and the only sound left is the ringing in my ears—something I've had since childhood and still don't understand.
In the end, I lie on the ground, my body sprawled as if unconscious from the beating.Blood splatters on my clothes, and my face, once full of life, is now just a broken mask.
I can't move my limbs, I feel dizzy, and the blood flowing from my forehead burning my eyes makes everything worse.
Sigh...
I feel a strange indifference as I lie there.Pain? I could bear it—it was nothing more than a side effect of a boring play.
An unseen, unclear feeling, consumed from within. Simply, I chose this role.I chose to be the victim in this scene... I guess it's better than being the cheap bully.
If I wanted to, I could beat them all, end this farce somehow, but I don't need that now.There's a certain pleasure in observing, in showing that they too are nothing more than puppets in my hands.
It might sound like I'm masking weakness with pretty words, but to defeat a man just a bit larger than me, all it would take is burning a small piece of my soul.
I try to lift my battered body.The pain my body feels is merely the result of acting out a scene I can't escape from, even if I wanted to.
I could say I'm just an ordinary, weak, submissive person... and that's far more comfortable.
Finally, I manage to stand. My legs tremble, but I smile to myself. No one knows.Even when I scream inside, life continues as I want it to.
I walk away slowly, as if aware that I'm performing yet another role.Nothing matters now. Nothing changes.This scene, like every scene in my life, repeats itself.
'Hah... I really don't know what I feel.'
---
As soon as I step into the house, the curtains fall. The stage disappears, the audience goes silent.Inside, there are no lights, no noise... just silence filling the void.
Everything is dead. Everything is still.The house here, as always, is simple. It consists of two rooms and two spaces: one for the kitchen and another for the living area.
Almost everything in it is handmade from wood, including the furniture that once belonged to my mother.A leather sofa where she sits to drink her tea, like one of those flowers that dry in silence—hopeless, yet lingering.Nothing changes.
"Ray, you're finally back."
Her gentle voice carries something unseen, perhaps a strange emptiness that fills the place, as if her words were the last thing keeping this house alive.Her sigh comes slowly, like a rope stretched between life and emptiness, and I feel something I can't define... hope or sorrow?
"My child, are you alright?"
'When she reached out to check my forehead, I found myself pulling away without meaning to.'
"I'm fine."
Another lie, but I say it because I know words bring her comfort, even for a moment.
My mother... the only person I don't need to act with. But even she feels like part of this cold performance, as if waiting for something from me I can't give.
"I'll eat and then rest. Today was a bit rough."
She looked at me quickly. She's been very sick lately, her condition deteriorating, her face slightly pale as if something heavy weighed on her chest. But she didn't comment.She just said: "I see."
She was silent, but I could feel something heavy in her eyes... that suppressed sadness she didn't want me to see through words.
I sat at the table. I noticed she hadn't eaten anything. The dishes were just as they were, as if she'd been waiting for me.Was she waiting for me? Or did she think I cared how she felt?
She's always like that, silent more than she speaks. No... it's mostly me who overthinks everything.
"Let's eat, it looks really delicious."
But suddenly, she broke the silence, her soft hand touching my terrible bruises.The moment was like an electric shock, her touch calm and light.
"Ray, did someone hit you today?"
Her question was painfully simple, but it carried a weight and sorrow that almost choked me.She already knew the answer. She only asked because she had nothing else left to say.
If I told her, nothing would change.She's weak, and I don't want to worry or burden her more than she already is.
I see her face growing paler, as if the light inside her was fading away.
"It's better if you stay out of this, and don't look too deeply into things. I'll be coming home like this for a while from now on. Lately, I've just been fooling around with my classmates..."
She looked at me silently, then left the table without a word.
What an idiot I am, I let the wrong words slip out... I forgot she's a bit sensitive to what I say.
I followed her to her room. The sound of my footsteps on the wooden floor felt unbearably heavy on my heart.This isn't a prison or torture chamber, just my mother's room—the room that still holds many of our somewhat gentle memories.
In recent years, my mother's mental health had deteriorated badly; she became extremely sensitive to everything, especially me, as I was the one closest to her in her final years.
"Please, forgive me. I didn't mean to upset you with my words."
My voice was broken, weak, as if I were defending myself before an angry judge.
"Do what you want. I don't meddle in what doesn't concern me."
Her tone was cold, coming from something deep inside her.But within those words, there was something else... sadness? Or just emptiness?
I knelt before her, gently held her hand, and pressed it against my wounded forehead, as if searching for something lost, something I couldn't name.
All I wanted from this poor woman was the comfort she herself needed...
"Mother, don't say that. You're everything to me. If you don't forgive me, how could I forgive myself?"
Her hand was cold, but I felt a strange warmth spreading from her touch.There was something in that moment I couldn't explain.
She stared at me for a moment, then smiled softly...
"My treasure, I'm not angry. I just... want you to be okay. And to be okay, you have to tell me everything, not treat me as if I don't exist. Would you rather I truly didn't exist?"
The question weighed heavily on me. Why? Why this? Why can't I be what she expects? It was disheartening to see those dreamy eyes gazing at me.
I felt pressure on my chest. Everything inside me froze.I was afraid to say something wrong, to hurt her more.
I just smiled, even though everything inside was slowly collapsing; there was no steady future—someone like me can't expect stability.
I raised my head... a bright smile, eyes shining with ignorant joy, and a calm voice...It was me—the "fake" version she wanted.
"Yes, it is."
And as I lifted my head, fighting the suffocating pressure, I felt something strange—something like fragile comfort that wouldn't last long.
"Ray, you can't live without me. You can't do anything, because I'm your only place of trust now. Understand?"
Her words were calm, but the voice that filled the room sounded like a whisper that affected the very walls.
I nodded, a faint smile on my lips."Yes, it is."
I was wrong, I'm forgetful.I forgot there are extra scenes that follow me even inside my safe space.
Treasure... huh... she must've been too sick to tell the difference between dull stones and everything that shines with worth.
---
I sit in my room, staring at an old photo of my father and mother together, and me—the small child he's holding lovingly, laughing selfishly.In the photo, my mother was still in her prime, a woman with long brown hair and brown eyes, her fair skin glowing with a special kind of beauty, smiling gently and softly.My father appeared with blond hair, his muscles visible beneath his tight shirt, with fair skin, smiling kindly at the child in his arms—me.His smile stirred something strange inside me, something like an illusion.
And me, in the picture, a small child with black hair and brown eyes and fair skin, a child still holding on to his pure, sincere smile, unchanged yet.A child who hadn't yet questioned or doubted his father, who hadn't yet asked questions like:
Was he also just an actor, trying to convince himself of what he didn't believe in?"Was it true love that my father held for my mother?"
The answer doesn't really matter; what matters is what I know, what I've lived, what I've tasted, what I've felt... that is the truth.Whether he was a liar or a noble, selfless man...Whatever the truth may be, I'll end his matter quietly. He's not entirely wrong—wanting to protect or avenge what's yours isn't a sin."Mother."
I felt the weight of that word in my mouth; it's the only thing I have—what would happen if I lost it?I can't lose "my precious treasure."All I want is to kill the one who dared to make my treasure lose its shine...And live with her in peace until my last breath...With her, and her alone.
The only person in the world who loved me without condition,I just want to restore her kindness—quietly, without noise.
"Mira Sheryan" or "Mother",She truly loves me.I'm her only son, all she has left, her only joy in this world.
Joy? Not always...One small mistake could make me her sorrow...Then she would abandon me...I don't know what would happen then, but it surely wouldn't be better than this...