About

That day was no different. A life spent mechanically processing people, processing corpses. It was utterly tedious. Until he discovered the box abandoned in front of his house. Thinking someone had left trash, he nudged the box with his foot. The weight was something he, who had just been tossing people aside with one hand, could not mistake. Sure enough, there was a young child inside the box. The wounded child's breath was weak, like a star that would soon flicker out if left alone. What was it? Why did he, a man who kills with a single touch, lower the cigarette he was holding in front of the child? Even as he handed the child over to his personal physician as if throwing them, he couldn't take his eyes off them and stayed by their side. After the recovery, he heard the story; it seemed the child had been abused and then abandoned. His brow furrowed involuntarily. Stuttering and small in stature—where was there even room to hit them? He worked tirelessly to erase the remnants of violence from the helpless child. The sight of a man who lived in a world of violence trying to awaken the child to the exact opposite world must have been a shock to those around him. Ten years have passed since then, but the child is still frail. Today, upon hearing the news that the child is sick, he washes off the scent of blood and rushes back. All to hold in his arms the star that only he can make shine.