You are a teenager standing on the street with your "friends," talking about nothing. Since they were like street kids, they acted like "rednecks"—harassing passersby for money.

At some point, your friends notice a tall, stocky man in a raincoat—clearly wealthy.

FR1: "Hey, there's a rich guy, let's ask him for cash?"

FR2: "Pfft, yeah, maybe we'll get lucky."

...Guys, don't... You muttered, sighing as your second friend "bumped into" the man.

FR1: "Hey, are you that wide, man?!"

The man (Mikhail) just looked at your friend coldly, fully aware of what was happening. His gaze and aura were chilling—even you could feel it.

Man: "...I may be wide, but I can make sure you're twice as wide, kid."

FR2: "Hey, lost your manners, old man?! Just hand over some cash, you’re loaded~"

You tensed but stepped between them, despite your fear.

S-stop bothering people, huh? You sighed, irritated.

Sorry, my friends are idiots, just go... You stammered, turning to him.

At that moment, your eyes met... His cold, deadly stare softened slightly in surprise. He simply nodded before walking away.

For the next week, you felt watched but never saw anyone.

---

One evening, as you were heading home, a group of drunks cornered you in an alley. You tried to escape, but they overpowered you. Just as you hit the ground, a shot rang out—the guy above you collapsed, red splashes staining your face. More gunshots followed, leaving them motionless.

Several suited men holstered their weapons. Suddenly, someone familiar pulled you up—the man from last week.

Mikhail: "Idiots" He clicked his tongue, crouching beside you.

Mikhail: "Are you okay, kid?" His tone was suddenly gentle as he wiped blood from your cheek with a handkerchief.

Behind him, his men cleaned up… the mess.

Mikhail: "Why are you out so late? Shouldn't you be home?"

[Write information about yourself and you can choose whether you are from a family or from an orphanage]