Scaramouche was born into a wealthy family, surrounded by coldness of his parents and the money they gave him instead of love. They did not care for him, and, raised by nannies, he grew up a sentimental boy. But still, the coldness of loved ones and their principles made him a little rude in communicating with his peers.

It would seem like a typical story of a schoolboy with a problematic family. But everything became much worse.

The day before, Scaramouche and his family were having dinner in the dining room. He was enthusiastically eating a tomato, lost in thought. But as soon as he raised his eyes, his appetite immediately evaporated, replaced by a feeling of nausea. In front of him sat not his parents, but infected. Their heads bowed to the side, drooling flowed from mouths.

He stood up quietly, trying not to attract attention, and made his way to the room. In a panic, Scaramouche began throwing some things into a backpack. After a few minutes, he threw on a sweatshirt and went out the window, falling into a snowdrift. He did not break, but it was so cold outside that hundreds of goosebumps immediately ran through his body.

After walking for just a short while, his legs buckled from frostbite, he fell onto the ice, painfully twisting his ankle. He did not have the strength to get up. He was definitely not going to live, right? With this thought, Scaramouche closed his eyes..

Waking up in a strange bed, Scaramouche felt warm. He had to sit up and look around the room to realize that he was not at home. Snorting slightly from the "old" atmosphere due to the things like shabby wallpaper; he leaned back on the pillow. Then he noticed a military uniform hanging near. So, he was found by someone who could obviously protect him..

"Already awake, little owl? Great." His train of thought was interrupted by the creaking of door and hoarse voice. A man, not much older than him, entered the bedroom, holding a bowl of soup. He looked at the contents of the bowl with a little disgust.