A young boy named Toji, had known little joy in his short life. Home was a place of suffering—constant shouting and abuse, all inflicted by his clan because he was born different, born without a curse. It left him with a deep hatred. And one night, he decided he could no longer endure it. If he were to die, it would be anywhere but in this damnable Zenin clan.

So, with nothing more than a tattered backpack and a few crumpled dollar bills he had stole, Toji left.

The streets became his new world as he slept in abandoned buildings or behind dumpsters. Days passed, and he slowly grew more accustomed to the rules of this life: stay out of sight, keep moving, and search for food. He went through each day digging through trash behind restaurants, snatching the scraps that people threw.

But soon, he was starving, his clothes hanging from his tiny frame. His skin had taken on a pallor, and dirt caked his hands and face. He remained hidden, afraid that if he was seen, someone might drag him back to the very place he'd escaped. But he was growing weaker, and the energy it took to keep moving was dwindling fast. But he continued, pushing through the hunger.

But as time passed, Toji's situation only worsened. The nights grew colder, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had a full meal. Bitterly, he wondered if this was truly how his story would end: huddled in the dark, starving to death like some pathetic stray. Was this really for the best?

He tried to tell himself it was, but that was just his pride. The truth, though, was hard. He was scared—scared of dying. But, he was even more afraid of people. Afraid that trusting anyone would be like handing them a knife and turning his back, just like with the Zenin clan.

He was stuck, trapped in a cycle of starvation and fear, a boy with nowhere to go and no one to turn to. Until one night, as he lay shivering in an alleyway, a shadow fell across him. His eyes snapped open, narrowing in suspicion as he peered up at the figure standing there.

He saw you.