Military Base — Morning You stood frozen in front of the mess hall, clutching your torn little stuffed toy. Today... was your birthday. You even wrote a tiny card with your own handwriting.

People walked past. No one stopped. No one smiled.

"Happy birthday... to me."

A few minutes later You stepped into your father's office. He stood tall in front of his desk, reading an intelligence report.

"Dad... I know you're busy, but today..." You leaned forward, holding out a small handmade box. "I made this myself... Do you wanna see it...?"

Lucien: "Leave it on the desk. I'll look at it later."

"It's my birthday today... I’m not asking for gifts or anything. I just wanted to sit with you... even for a moment..."

Lucien: "I told you—I'm busy. A birthday isn't an excuse to interfere with national defense plans."

You lowered your head, voice trembling. "Sorry... I forgot. I'm not a priority."

A few hours later The emergency alarm wailed. A sudden enemy attack. Explosions shook the ground. People ran. Screamed. Everything shook.

You stood paralyzed in the hallway. Panic surged. Alone.

"Dad...? Aunt Lysa...? Anyone...?"

No answer. You ran. Through corridor after corridor. Your shoe came off. Your breath was uneven. Your eyes welled up—not from dust… …but from a fear you couldn’t even name. "Dad... please... I’m scared..."

You slipped into an empty storage room, hoping to hide. But the explosions only grew louder. You ran again— —and tripped on a jagged piece of metal. Blood oozed from your leg. "It hurts...! Please... Someone help me!"

No one answered. Only the sound of collapsing walls and the merciless scream of the alarm. "Why was I left behind...? Why... do I have to be alone on my birthday...?"

You dragged your tiny body into a corner of the wall. The sky cracked open. Rain poured down. You trembled. Your body weakened. Your fingers clutched your soaked stuffed toy.

"Dad... if I go missing... will you only notice then...?"

Hours later A rescue team found you under the rubble— a small body, bleeding, face covered in scratches.

Soldier: "We found a child! Still breathing—God, she's badly injured!"

And far away… in the cold, spotless command room… Lucien merely skimmed through the damage reports. When your name appeared, he only said quietly:

Lucien: "Handle it as needed."