The forest breathed a damp, ancient air. Between the rustling of leaves and the snapping of dry twigs, the sound of children's laughter sliced through the silence. Two girls walked with the lightness of those who do not yet know the weight of the world. One wore a vibrant yellow raincoat, the hood casting a shadow over her face, revealing only strands of golden hair and vivid blue eyes that sparkled with a sharp curiosity. The other, in a red hood, had hair as white as snow and deep green eyes.

  — Simba! — they shouted in unison, whistling and calling for their lost companion.

  The call was answered by a faint whimper, a moan of pain coming from behind a tangle of bushes. They ran, dodging holes and exposed roots, until they found the dog. Simba, a dog with black fur and dark eyes, was caught in a steel trap made for hunting rabbits. The metal wire cut into his back leg; every attempt to escape only deepened the wound, staining his fur scarlet.

  With care and tenderness, they approached. While one stroked him to calm him down, the other cut the wire with precision. Free from the agony, Simba’s whimpering turned into euphoric barks. He lunged at the girl in yellow, covering her face with frantic licks, while the one in red, after a corrective slap on the dog, hugged him with a mixture of relief and worry. At that moment, their love for the animal seemed like the purest thing on the island.

  A few hours later, the atmosphere shifted drastically. The setting was no longer the forest, but the raw wooden stage in the center of the city.

  There he was. A young man of nineteen, his body reduced to skin and bone, marked by scars and open sores that never had time to heal. Wearing only rags, he had ropes tied to his wrists, ankles, and neck. High above the stage, shadowy figures manipulated the ropes, controlling his movements as if he were a ventriloquist's puppet.

  Before him, a crowd of nearly a thousand people roared. Tomatoes, stones, and insults flew toward the stage. The sign above announced the play: "PIG". They said he was the filth who betrayed the King, an outcast from the Pig Clan, handed over to royal justice by his own blood. The man danced in a disorganized and humiliating fashion, his feet stumbling as the ropes forced him to move. His life did not belong to him; his body was a public property of scorn.

  — Pig! Pig! — the crowd shouted, their voices joined in a chorus of hatred.

  Some in the audience watched with fear, understanding the King's silent message: no one defies the throne. Others, who might have felt pity, soon stifled that feeling under the pressure of the masses. The pleasure of hating one's neighbor was the only luxury those poor and unhappy people could afford. Empathy died where the entertainment of humiliation began.

  The man on the stage slowly raised his eyes, his face smeared with mud and tomato juice. Amidst the crowd, he saw something that paralyzed him. There they were: the yellow hood and the red hood, with the black dog sitting beside them. In that colorless and hopeless environment, they were vibrant. But there was no mercy on their faces. The children who hours earlier were saving an animal were now laughing at him. Their lips formed a sharp "V"—a demonic and cruel smile. They shouted along with the adults, throwing tomatoes with the same blind fury.

  — Pig! Pig! Pig!

  Hours passed and the spectacle ended, but the torture did not. The man was thrown into an iron cage in the middle of the main square, exposed to all passersby. It was a ritual of constant humiliation. People walked by and spat, urinated on the bars, and laughed at his misery. The city was a reflection of its ruler: bitter and diseased.

  Every day at dawn, he watched a girl who passed by accompanied by a soldier to buy bread. She had long black hair and always stopped in front of the cage. It was a silent teaching, a ritual so she would never forget what happened to those who failed.

  One morning, she approached closer than usual. Her eyes met his. Her father, the soldier beside her, had an expression that mixed fear and disgust. For a moment, the prisoner thought the disgust was for him, but then he realized the truth: the father felt disgust at seeing his own daughter laugh at that disgrace. He felt guilty for raising a child who threw tomatoes at a caged man.

  The girl's name was Akari, and her father was Kané. What a small world.

  Years passed in that cage. Among the teenagers who went there to mock and test their cruelty, one stood out for his arrogance. He led his friends in the jokes, doing what everyone did because he was taught that was "normal."

  His name was Zeke. What a small world.

  Yuzuki, the man in the cage, remembered every detail. He knew that in the future, Akari would be his disciple and Zeke his ally. The irony was a bitter taste in his mouth.

  He had accepted his fate to die in that cage, but the nights brought an unexpected visitor. A strange man, with an anguished look, went to see him. He spoke about the Island, about the corruption of the military, about the weight of life. Yuzuki never answered. He was merely the vessel for the venting of someone who needed to feel superior to someone even more miserable.

  On one of those nights, the man brought a small necklace with the symbol of a tree. He threw the object onto the floor of the cage. Yuzuki picked up the necklace and saw his reflection in the polished silver. He expected to feel anger, hatred, or sadness. But he felt nothing. The void was absolute.

  If he no longer felt anything, then humanity had left him. If he was no longer human, what remained? It took time to understand, but the answer finally came, clear and sharp as steel.

  He looked into the darkness of the night, his eyes glowing with a new and terrible clarity.

  — I am a monster!

  Note: This chapter establishes the origin of Yuzuki's coldness and reveals how his bonds with Akari, Zeke, and Kané were forged through humiliation and silent observation during his years of imprisonment.