Hatred was a wretched thing—one that Charles was now living with, pushing him relentlessly toward revenge.
He didn't know who that stranger was, what he wanted from his parents, what his relationship with them had been, or why he had said those words before leaving.
Alfie Christopher.
The Barren Land.
Charles searched the internet and asked the criminals in his neighborhood about this information, but he found nothing related to those words.
He sat on his worn-out couch, slumped against it, holding a piece of dry bread in his hand. In front of him, on a rickety wooden table, lay a plate of crumbled cheese tinged with yellow. He dipped the bread into the plate and raised it to his mouth, then looked ahead where a mirror rested against the opposite wall, reflecting his pale and thin face.
Charles let the bread fall from his hand.
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door downstairs. His heart jolted at the quietness of those faint knocks, barely audible.
He picked up his phone and slowly descended the stairs without haste, murmuring to himself,
"So… the time has come."
He reached the door and gripped the handle tightly, but he didn't open it immediately. He seemed hesitant, wondering whether he should open it now or not.
He knew that his fate—his entire life—would completely change the moment he opened that closed door.
Charles pushed away his fearful thoughts about the unknown future and the path he was about to walk. He slid the latch slightly, then turned his head toward the side of the room, where cracks covered the wall and burn marks stained every corner.
"There's no escaping this… There must be answers to all of this. I have to know."
He pulled the door open.
Standing before him was a man wearing a blue uniform filled with stars. On the chest of the shirt was a yellow sun the size of a clenched fist—the traditional uniform of the army.
Charles examined the soldier carefully. The soldier returned his gaze with irritation because of the delay in opening the door.
The soldier said sharply,
"What took you so long, you bastard? Come on—grab your things and get into the blue vehicle."
Charles stared at him for a moment as if thinking about something, but the look in his eyes displeased the soldier. The man suddenly slapped him hard across the face and shouted angrily,
"What's wrong with you, damn it? Are you going to stand there all day?"
Charles was stunned by the slap, as if struck by lightning. His body trembled violently, and a deep fear filled him. He quickly nodded to the soldier and said,
"Yes, sir… let's go."
Charles picked up the bag lying beside the door and followed the soldier, who kept cursing at him. He stepped outside his house and locked it tightly, then looked toward the beginning of the street where the blue military vehicle was waiting to receive him.
Through the window, Charles saw people about his age looking at him.
He sighed to ease his anxiety and said to himself,
"At least I'm not alone here."
He climbed into the vehicle, trying to cloak his steps with artificial courage. He attempted to regain his composure, but deep down he was terribly afraid—extremely nervous, unsure of what awaited him.
The moment he entered the vehicle, the atmosphere became suffocating under the examining gazes of boys and girls. It felt as though a hole had opened, sucking all the air out of the vehicle.
He sat in an empty seat beside a short girl with fluffy hair. She wore headphones and had her eyes closed, looking as if she were asleep.
He tried not to make any noise so he wouldn't wake her—he had at least a little sense of courtesy.
Charles' thin figure and average height revealed the misery and gloom carried within that body.
Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at the girl beside him. She wore bright red clothing and had a striking appearance that might make someone think she was a famous actress or singer.
Suddenly, without opening her eyes, the girl said,
"Look forward, idiot."
Charles quickly turned his gaze toward the opposite side and stared at the glass in front of him, not daring to turn his head again.
How did she see me while her eyes were closed?
A chill ran through Charles' body. He let out another sigh, trying to compose himself, but he failed miserably.
He regretted the decision to join the army. He regretted not choosing to forget everything—the murder of his parents—and simply live a normal life in the filthy Buckland district.
He cursed himself. He was a coward with no courage whatsoever. Fear filled him from head to toe. He couldn't even look someone in the face without feeling intense anxiety.
How could a coward like him search for the one who killed his parents?
And more than that…
How could a coward like him even think about revenge?