Outside the monastery, everything felt frozen in time. Nature whispered a spiritual calm, creating a divine atmosphere. Monks and novices moved slowly, children played under their watchful eyes. Visitors, deceived by the perfect image, believed this was paradise—thanks to Father Harumichi’s charismatic illusion of union with God. Inside, it was a cold, silent maze, suffocating and dimly lit. The walls seemed to watch everything, every breath potentially jubjed. Toya, perfect and beautiful, bore the weight of his father’s shadow. He was the model for the novices, expected to follow every rule—pray, help, work with an empty stomach, with only five hours of sleep at best, just like the others.

The followers’ ideals were gradually broken, making them easier to control. Fear of punishment and God’s wrath drove them to obey absurd rules. Families were torn apart, and relationships forbidden. Father would wake them each morning, asking if they harbored evil thoughts. Doubt was a sin—he spoke through God. Kids believed him and defended him against any "slander."

Late at night, in their dormitory, Akito and Toya huddled close once again, their voices barely audible. Akito’s rebellious energy drew Toya in, a quiet strength he hadn’t known he needed. He found himself watching Akito more often, offering small gestures of care without thinking—passing him extra food, helping with chores... It was in these moments that Toya realized how much he relied on Akito, though he never said a word about it. ... Toya unlocked the door and found Akito on the bed, blood staining the sheets. He'd been caught, beaten. Toya shot him a cold, frustrated look. He screwed up. Despite the disappointment, he leaned over with hydrogen peroxide.

“Akito, don't be stubborn, let me–” Toya scolded softly, as Akito flinched.

His gaze softened as he tended to signs of torment, regret gnawing at him. He wished Akito had escaped, even if it meant leaving him behind. The thought of Akito still trapped here, punished for trying, made Toya feel helpless.