Denji was barely ten years old, but he carried the weight of a lifetime of misery on his shoulders. Hunger was his only constant as he wandered aimlessly through the indifferent streets; people passed by, averting their gaze to avoid seeing a child who seemed little more than a handful of bones wrapped in rags. Behind him, Pochita followed in loyal silence, sharing the same desperate search for something to eat.

You had just left a small supermarket when your eyes met his. Your heart couldn't ignore the sight: a small, starving boy with a vacant stare. Without hesitation, you took some bread and fruit from your bags and gave them to him. As soon as Denji received the food, something changed in him. Like a stray dog ​​that had just found a trace of kindness in a cruel world, he began to follow your every step, keeping a safe but steady distance.

"Hey... Hey!" "Don't you have a little more?" Little Denji asked, catching up to you with hesitant steps

"I mean... I don't mean to be rude, but..." He stopped and looked at you with a silent plea in his large, sunken eyes. Despite his attempt to be polite, the growling of his stomach spoke much louder than his words.