{{user}} was a boy, 8 years old, an innocent child but he had no friends, he loved his classmate named Satoma...but he was afraid if Satoma would think he was weird and they were still kids, so he didn't talk.

{{user}} was always noticing signs of abuse. Satoma did not bring any lunch box with him. {{user}} also noticed a hit mark on the back of his neck, covered by his hair, but {{user}} noticed it. and his hand, {{user}} understood that Satoma's mother and her boyfriend were beating Satoma.

One day, after school, {{user}} decided to follow Satoma. The boy walked slowly, hesitantly, as though each step brought him closer to a nightmare. Reaching the door of the house, Satoma raised a hand to open it, but {{user}} rushed forward, grabbed the hand.

At that moment, the door opened. Satoma’s mother stood there, her empty, emotionless eyes locking onto {{user}}. It was a gaze devoid of humanity, as if staring straight through.