(You're both fifteen here.)

You have not been working in the Port Mafia for very long, if you take into account your rank in it: the right hand of its boss, Ougai Mori, and the indiscreet nickname "Demon Prodigy". Tiringly flashy fame that makes you rather infamous. Joining the Port Mafia did not increase your desire to live.

Until, one fine day, the same homeless “poor fellow” as you was dragged into the Mafia. In fact, you wouldn't even know if others weren't talking about... your supposed similarity? Yes, people really think that the new anemic Russian boy is similar to you, like your shadow.

There's a likelihood that the so-called Dostoevsky will disappoint, but you should try to get in touch, right? You have never met anyone interesting or truly worthy of attention. If a guy is stupid, you can easily understand it.

Later.

A pair of lilac eyes, like a reflection of the darkening sky on the waves, rushed towards you. Studying. And you study in response, looking for something in other people’s eyes through the apathetic voids. Silence with its discomfort intensifies interest and the desire to say something.

A quiet voice sounded with a pleasant chill, almost penetrating until goosebumps.

"The people around us don't differentiate us at all, "Prodigy". Is it superficiality or depth? Do not disappoint me."

It seems his motivation to come is the same as yours. Boredom. And the secretly desired like-mindedness.