I can't move... What is this thing hovering in front of me? Could this all just be a dream? Maybe I'm still in Forge Republic and this is all in my mind.
The beautiful insect... it's getting closer... and closer.
As the insect's gleaming legs touched Kuro's forehead, his surroundings melted into blackness—as if the creature had unlocked something hidden within him.
Kuro was no longer confined by the three men. He was in an entirely different space—a black room that seemed to stretch into infinity, with alternating white and maroon tiles. At the center of the room stood a rectangular table with a fancy chair at each end.
"TAKE A SEAT, CHILD," echoed the voice from before.
"Where am I? What a weird dream this is... I don't think I've ever had a lucid dream before. I must be unconscious—those men really beat me to a pulp."
Regardless of whether it was a dream or not, Kuro followed the instruction and sat down.
The moment his body touched the cushion, he began to hear footsteps growing louder. A figure emerged from the shadows. With each step, it became clearer—but the closer it got, the more Kuro noticed how painfully familiar it was.
When it reached a reasonable distance, Kuro recognized the figure instantly.
"What... how? It can't be. This isn't real. How can you exist?" he thought.
The figure had black hair, hazel eyes, and looked about 17 years old. It wore a black uniform and a red tie. Its skin was pale yet attractive, and it was undeniably handsome. The figure was Kurokawa Paddington—down to every strand of hair. The only notable difference was in the eyes: they were pitch black, as if shadow had replaced the whites.
"Who are you? What is this place?" Kuro asked.
The entity didn't answer. Instead, it spoke:
"MISGIVEN CHILD , THE INSECT HAS MARKED TAKE THE CUP, AND LET YOUR OLD SELF DIE."
Suddenly, a patterned wine glass appeared on the table, half-filled with a black liquid.
"What is this?" he asked.
The entity remained silent.
Kuro picked up the glass and sniffed it. No scent, no warmth. Just a void in a cup.
"MISGIVEN CHILD, THE INSECT HAS MARKED YOU. DRINK, AND LET YOUR OLD SELF DIE."
Kuro stammered. "Wait... you expect me to drink this stuff?"
"ACCEPT," the entity echoed.
"ACCEPT. ACCEPT," it repeated, louder each time. Kuro began to feel overwhelmed.
"ACCEPT! ACCEPT! ACCEPT, CHILD OF MORVIA... ACCEPT! ACCEPT! ACCEPT, KUROKAWA!"
The voice rang in his head, growing louder and louder. If it continued, Kuro swore he'd lose his mind. To end the agony, he shut his eyes and quickly chugged the liquid until the glass was empty.
The instant he finished the last drop, his eyes began to blacken—as if ink had flooded his eye sockets.
The entity spoke: "IT IS DONE. GO NOW AND UTILIZE YOUR BLESSING."
Before Kuro could think, he was back. Two men held his hands, and a third was ready to punch him.
Without thinking, Kuro moved—faster than thought, faster than instinct. His fingers touched each forehead like death's kiss. And they dropped, one by one, like puppets with cut strings.
"How... did I do that? How was I so fast? What was that insect I saw?"
His hand... it was fine. His face was fine. In fact, he felt better—stronger. Kuro couldn't make sense of what had just happened.
"Does this have something to do with that dream?"
As he tried to piece everything together, a voice called out.
"Kuro! Heyyy!"
It was Hugo. He ran up and finally caught up to him.
"Wow, Kuro, you're also late today? You know, of all the years I've known you, you've always struck me as the punctual type."
Kuro, unamused, replied, "We only just met yesterday, idiot."
"Hehe... so..."
Hugo paused to analyze the scene: a little girl unconscious on the ground, three men down—one with a nose bent in a way that would never be straight again.
"Are you going to explain what happened here, Mr. Kurokawa?"
"Well," Kuro started, "you wouldn't believe me even if I told you."
Hugo sighed and looked at the girl. "We should probably do something about her."
"She's not our problem," argued Kuro. "I've already helped her enough. I don't want her causing me any more trouble. If you want to help her, go ahead—but I'm going to school."
Kuro began to walk away.
"Come on, Kuro. We can't just leave her here. Imagine if it were someone close to you—someone at home waiting for her, not knowing she's out cold on some street, alone and vulnerable. Imagine if someone you cared about was in her shoes."
Kuro stopped. Hugo's words sank in. He remembered the girl from his memories: "Remember to write a letter to me every day, okay?"
Her big, bright smile lingered in his mind.
Kuro turned around and approached the child. He gently lifted her like a princess.
"Let's lay her on that bench over there and wait for her to wake up."
Upon hearing those words, Hugo smiled—the kind of proud smile a mother gives her child for doing the right thing.
"I knew you'd come around. You're the man, Kuro."
"Be quiet and help me carry her."
Damn this guy. He has such an odd effect on me, Kuro thought.
The two waited for more than two and a half hours until the girl finally woke up.
"Huh?" she murmured, barely audible, rubbing her good eye. "Who are you?"
Hugo sprang from the bench.
"That, young lady, is Kurokawa Paddington—the one who saved you from those ugly men lying on the ground."
She looked at the three men from a distance. People were beginning to gather, curious about what had happened.
Kuro shook his head. "So now they show up... Anyway, Hugo, she's awake. We can go now."
Hugo wagged a finger. "No. Look at her. She's injured—I doubt she can even walk. Let's take her home. You'll have the honor of carrying her."
Kuro looked at Hugo in disbelief. Was this goofball actually planning to make him do all the work, even though helping the girl was Hugo's idea?
"Why do I have to carry her?"
"Because you're way stronger than I am... I mean, just look at those muscles."
Kuro rolled his eyes and looked at the girl.
"Hey kid, what's your name?"
The girl looked at Kuro and Hugo with eyes full of respect. She didn't see two teens—she saw two heroes. One had saved her yesterday; the other, today.
"My name is Neara. Nice to meet you, sir."
Hugo beamed.
"Well, Neara, get on Kuro's back and lead the way to your house."
The girl nodded. Hugo smiled, and Kuro was annoyed.
G-M 5th Street. They arrived to find a neighborhood filled with rough structures barely passing as homes. Beggars sat every few meters. Loud noises, dogs barking, families arguing.
Neara pointed toward a small alley across the street. Kuro and Hugo followed her to a tiny house—if it could be called that—built of broken bricks, full of holes, and with large cardboards for a roof.
The little girl hopped off Kuro's back and forced herself inside. Then she motioned for them to follow.
"Come, Mother would love to meet you."
"Alright, Kuro. Let's head inside," said Hugo.
Inside was a woman—certainly not the prettiest—wearing a dress made from stitched-together rags. She looked to be in her early fifties. She sat on a wooden chair with a long stick by her side. Her irises and pupils were gray.
She heard familiar footsteps.
"My dear Neara, you're back. I told you not to go out."
Then she heard unfamiliar ones. But the feeling she got from them was strange—innocent, even childlike. Hugo entered.
She heard more footsteps—Kuro's—as he approached. Her heart grew unsettled.
Something felt off.
The closer Kuro got, the more her anxiety rose. Sweat beaded on her forehead.
She couldn't see his face, but she felt his presence—cold, ancient, and unnatural. Like something wearing a boy's skin.
She didn't know what to do, so she did the only thing she could.
"GET OUT OF MY HOUSE, YOU DEVIL SPAWN!"
The loving mother, trying to protect her daughter from the darkness she sensed, screamed.
Everyone froze. Neara and Hugo were confused.
Kuro was simply left in a daze.
"What... did I do?" he wondered.