Side Story 24. Cyril’s Past (1)

“From now on, you’ll stay here.”

Thrown into an unfamiliar place, Cyril looked around with gloomy eyes. He couldn’t tell if it was a place for humans or livestock.

How many people had they crammed into this narrow room?

Thin, cheap blankets meant to be used as bedding were scattered everywhere, and various odds and ends were strewn about in disarray.

Compared to the warm home he’d lived in until recently, this was no better than a pigsty.

Well.

In these chaotic times, having a roof over one’s head to sleep under was something to be grateful for, but still……

They called it an orphanage.

The black undead that suddenly descended upon the peaceful village were disaster incarnate. Everyone in the village died. Killed by undead attacks, crushed under collapsed buildings.

Looking at the eight-year-old boy who survived among the ruins, people unanimously declared he was lucky. Nonsense from humans who knew nothing.

It wasn’t luck but sheer tenacity.

Cyril had used his mother’s corpse, who died embracing him, as a shield. It was the instinct to survive.

Without a doubt, Cyril was no different from a wild animal cub at that moment. He had turned his mother’s sacrifice, who threw herself to protect him, into nothing more than a tattered rag.

Could a human body be this fragile?

Cyril, having become an empty shell devoid of emotion, endured for days among the ruins. His mother’s body covering him now felt like a blanket. A thick blanket protecting him from the sharply collapsed building.

<There’s a child here! One is alive!>

The rescue team arrived far too late. Still, it was fortunate they came at all.

Ah.

Was it fortunate?

Would it have been better to die?

With pessimistic thoughts, Cyril entered the filthy room where the floor wasn’t even visible. Roughly clearing away things with his foot, he sat down abruptly as if claiming this spot as his own.

This is my space.

Don’t touch it.

Like a hedgehog with its spines raised, young Cyril’s eyes sharpened with wariness.

“Hey.”

That’s when the trouble started.

A boy approached with a frown. He was at least a hand span taller than Cyril.

“That’s his spot.”

Not my spot, but his spot? What nonsense.

Shifting his gaze slightly, Cyril saw three more boys his age approaching behind the first one. So it was one of their spots.

Cyril glanced at the cheap blanket he’d pushed aside with his foot, then glared at the boys a couple years older than him with defiant eyes.

“So what?”

“This little sh*t is getting cocky!”

Thwack!

Violence came faster than words.

The boy, about ten years old, exploded with anger at the single retort and immediately started kicking Cyril. Cyril curled up his body.

Thwack! Thwack!

The others who followed joined in the kicking.

F*ck.

Aren’t there any adults here? They just leave kids to get beaten?

Cyril kept swallowing curses as he watched other children peering in from the doorway. Don’t just watch, stop this or call someone. F*ck.

He learned a filthy lesson from day one. In the end, you have to survive on your own. Whether in an orphanage or the outside world.

With bruises all over his body, Cyril gritted his teeth.

He would become stronger than those bastards and pay them back. Twice, three times. No, ten times over!

“Hey, let’s stop. He might die at this rate.”

After joining in the beating just fine until now, one of them started getting scared. Then another one, and the one next to him also subtly pulled back their feet.

“Urgh……”

Is it over now?

Even while groaning, Cyril fiercely glared at them until the end.

Perhaps intimidated by his fierce spirit,

“Hey, it’s fine. I was getting tired of this spot anyway. There’s a spot next to you, right?”

Anyone could see there was no more room in this place.

But whether they hated the idea of sleeping next to Cyril more than death, or were just scared, one of them picked up the blanket Cyril had pushed aside with his foot and went to the farthest corner from him. The younger, weaker children were pushed out of their spots in order.

Anyway, that’s how his miserable first day at the orphanage passed.

Due to Cyril’s venomous demeanor, no one approached or spoke to him. It didn’t matter. Having survived when he should have died, what difference did it make?

Grrrumble……

A small sound that only Cyril could hear rumbled in his stomach.

He curled up like a shrimp under the cheap blanket beneath the window where moonlight streamed in.

Hungry.

What kind of orphanage doesn’t even provide food?

It was just bad luck that he’d arrived right after dinner had ended, but that was something he’d learn tomorrow.

Cyril cursed the heartless orphanage director and the staff here as he closed his eyes. Everything was utterly wretched.

If h*ll existed, wouldn’t it be this place?

Why did God make the world so cruelly? To torment people? Out of malice? Why create things like undead to make people die so miserably?

Resentment piled up steadily.

As it did, Cyril’s mind became increasingly clear.

Moisture gathered between his closed eyes. Soon one streak, then another flowed down, soaking his cheeks completely.

Over thirty children were sleeping in one room. If he didn’t want to be embarrassed, he couldn’t let anyone hear him crying.

Cyril held his breath with all his might.

A silent cry spread quietly.

Surely this cheap blanket couldn’t be comforting, how could it be……

Yet it was far better than his mother, the blanket that had protected him from the collapsed building. He wished he could sleep under such a thin blanket for the rest of his life.

* * *

When morning came, meals were provided.

Barley porridge and potatoes.

It was a terrible diet with unbalanced nutrition, but he was in no position to be picky even if they served tree bark.

Thud.

Looking down at the bowl of barley porridge, Cyril complained.

“Give me more.”

“Don’t you see the kids lined up behind you?”

At the adult’s words who was serving food, Cyril turned his head.

D*mn it.

I’m hungry too.

At eight years old, he was still a child. But even younger children with rashes on their faces were staring at him with round eyes.

“Haah.”

Sensing that his face would soon look the same, Cyril took his half-filled bowl of barley porridge and moved one step to the side. It was to receive a potato.

Wow, seriously.

Just one potato?

It was dirty and petty, but after glancing once more at the children lined up behind him, he swallowed his complaints.

Munch, munch.

Perhaps because he was so hungry.

Devouring the food ravenously, Cyril carefully scraped the bowl with his spoon, not wanting to waste even a thin drop of the barley porridge.

He got about half a spoonful more. And the bowl became clean enough that it didn’t need washing.

Looking at the now truly empty bowl with regretful eyes, Cyril stood up.

Children were gathered in small groups.

But perhaps because of yesterday’s commotion, no one was near Cyril.

It doesn’t matter.

Repeating those words like a mantra, Cyril left the dining hall with an expressionless face. He planned to look around the orphanage properly, which he hadn’t been able to do yesterday when he arrived after sunset.

* * *

Several days passed.

During that time, Cyril figured out quite a lot.

First, this orphanage was pitifully small.

There were only four rooms cramming 30 children each. It could only accommodate just over 100 children.

As for adults, there were only the director and two priests, three people in total. This meant they had no capacity to pay attention to the children’s small and large conflicts.

No wonder it’s a mess.

Coming to this simple conclusion, Cyril spent his days uneventfully. Meanwhile, acknowledging that he had been lucky.

He might have been the last child this orphanage accepted.

From what his small head could see, taking in any more orphans seemed impossible. If a new child came in, someone would have to be pushed out.

‘I hope those bastards get kicked out.’

Thinking this, Cyril glared at the group of ten-year-old boys who had beaten him on the first day.

The peer group he thought was four turned out to be twenty strong. Those annoying brats stuck together.

Avoiding trouble was the best strategy.

Fortunately, they also didn’t bother Cyril first, who seemed like he wouldn’t distinguish between right and wrong once provoked.

“Now, now. Is there room in this room?”

“……?”

At the director’s voice, Cyril, who had been sitting in the farthest corner with a slouched posture, raised his head. Was he seeing things? Where was there any room?

The words “Are you joking?” rose to his throat, but when he saw the small child in the director’s arms, his complaints disappeared like a lie.

Cute.

The girl with light brown hair had big round eyes. Scared of the unfamiliar place, she clung tightly to the director.

“From now on, you’ll stay here.”

The director put down the girl, repeating the exact same line he had said to Cyril days ago. The child seemed frightened but didn’t throw a tantrum asking to be held again.

“Go over there to that big brother in the corner.”

The director stretched out his arm and pointed at Cyril with his index finger.

Cyril frowned.

It was that fierce expression that made the children sharing his room avoid him. Cyril knew it too. That this expression was perfect for creating antipathy.

But why dump a little kid on me?

He furrowed his brow even more, meaning to say ‘don’t come here.’ He thought she would now cry in fear and run back to the director. But the brown-haired girl began toddling toward him.

“Hewwo (Hello).”

With a bright smile directed at him.

Cyril’s expression became strange. The child who had somehow reached his side took his hand.

Could the clouds in the sky be this soft?

Feeling his hardened heart melt gently from one touch of that fluffy hand, Cyril quietly looked at the girl.

The fierce expression he had deliberately created disappeared without a trace.